A/N: I apologize! I had some reservist stuff to do the past week or so, and then I decided to work ahead again. So, expect something within the next 48 hours or so.

Chapter Thirty-Two - "Not a Matter of 'If'"

As I bound up to the twentieth floor of our hideaway, I'm impressed to see Emery and Clancy watching the entrance in a way that it would be them who sees me and not the other way around. They shine their lights towards me and when they realize who I am, lower them to reveal relieved expressions.

"Zenobia!" the two exclaim haggardly.

"In the flesh…" I reply dryly, fighting to stop myself from dropping where I stand as I shuffle lamely into the apartment. Before I could peel off my uniform, the opening stanza of the national anthem has me, Clancy and Emery moving to the nearest window.

A male from District 1 appears. I've yet to see Spinel up there which surprises me. The sullen face of Lucas and the brooding expression of Tatiana stare down at me. The victors, the outliers at least, often said that they disliked seeing the fallen because they often had a hand in their ends. I don't mind at all. Their deaths, Tatiana and Lucas, rewind in the back of my head like a holotape. The thought of them in their final moments knowing that I bested them makes me grin from ear to ear.

"That's right," Clancy murmurs, craning his head to face me. "There were two of them. How did you manage…?"

"Lucas had a bullet in his back," I reply with a grin. "Tatiana had some loose grenades on her person. I'm surprised it didn't make much of a mess, the explosion I mean."

"So that's what that was…" Clancy mumbles, clarity washing over his features. We return our attention back to the sky. One D3 down. Three down from D6.

"Those two were cut down by machinegun," Emery murmurs with a sad shake of the head. "So loud, so much blood." a look of realization flashes over her face and she mutters something; "Cicero…"

My head snaps toward her. "What?" Cicero? Alive? Is that what she said? Due to fatigue and wanting to see the fallen, I push it aside. Two down from District 5. One from District 7. One from 8…And then the Thirteens appear, Matixs' inner circle. My grin returns, only for it to blow up into a full-toothed smile at the sight of the two from District 9 and then Thom to wrap the night up. I replay the scene in my head again, shooting their legs from under them and watching them drop to the ground only for the mutts to finish the job, Matix dropping to his knees, his eyes wide with disbelief as Irene coddles him.

"You know something odd?" Emery asks aloud.

Clancy turns his head to her. "What?"

"For a Thirteen, Thom was quite nice to me," she says. "I wonder why?"

"He was trying to swindle you," Clancy answers. "Calm you down just enough to-"

Emery shakes her head. "No, I mean…they were close to killing me and he calmed them down."

"It was a ploy, Emery," Clancy presses. "He was only trying to use you. Besides a tiny few, no tribute - no rebel - in here or at all, is 'nice'."

I hear Emery murmur something along the lines of, "...Not entirely true."

"Listen to your brother, Emery," I say.

I've seen the security tapes and with my own eyes. The way they look at each other - Matix and Thom. The sneaked holding of hands, the confining of their fears to one another right up to him crying out at the sight of the mutts tearing Thom apart. Sure, people would call Thom a 'nice guy'.

He may have been nice and quite frankly, I don't care. He's a rebel all the same and deserves to get punished like one.

"Wouldn't be surprised if he offed himself t'night," Paulus snorts from behind me. "Matix, I mean. I never seena boy cry out like that and we went to Overwhill. Fuckin' Overwhill Academy!"

I silently giggle. Hopefully not, I think, 'Cause I ain't done yet'. It doesn't end until I finish him with my own two hands. Until then he can sit there and think about tonight, knowing that it'll all end with me being the last thing he sees.

With fourteen faces coming and going, the anthem finishes right on time to usher in the morning of day thirteen. Thirteen. Callista immediately pops into mind, with her Capitol beliefs in superstitions and traditions. I don't put much weight into things like that, but after a day like yesterday, I hope for a day void of unnecessary drama.

When I push off from against the windowsill, I notice Clancy and Emery eyeing me…again.

I offer up a shrug. "What?"

"Your arm," Emery says, eyeing the body part. "It's so bloody. Seriously Zenobia, I don't know how you manage."

As soon as she says that, and I raise my forearm to see, the adrenaline from the day's actions begins to leave and the fatigue begins to set in. If it weren't for the gauntlet protecting my forearm proper, the mutt would've ripped it clean off. I peel off my jacket, careful of the affected arm and then I remove the gauntlet in question, hissing as it begins to throb due to the lack of pressure keeping the wound tight. The gauze has soaked all the way through. And then there's my hip and the painful panging sensation that comes from it. The culprit? A kitchen knife of all things.

Emery and Clancy watch as I hold a light on it, grab it by the hilt and tug it out with a grunt, scowling at the six inch blade before tossing it aside. The twelve-year-old eyes me like I'm a superhuman.

I offer up a shrug. "Coulda been worse."

"Like being shot in the ear and beaten black and blue?" asks Emery.

"Or nearly strangled to death?" adds Clancy dryly.

"'Exactly," I reply, looking them over from head to toe. "You guys are startin' t'get shabby too."

Upon saying that Clancy rolls his shoulder and winces. "Mutt nearly took it off, the armor is the only reason I'm not one-armed," he says. He didn't bother to look at it further because he wanted to make sure the coast was clear with me before he did. Besides her scuffed glasses and busted lip, Emery escaped the worst scenario a tribute could encounter in the Games.

"I always stand up for myself," she explains, detailing her ordeal. "Some of them didn't like that so much."

"How did you even get into that position in the first place?" Clancy asks. "With everything going on, I didn't even bother asking."

"The fog was getting so heavy," Emery replies. "And then Cicero was being chased by mutts and he's one of us so I had to hel-"

The boy with the green hair and brazen grin flashes through my mind. "What happened to Cicero?"

"Spinel…" she answers, shivering. "She bashed a Seven boy's head in - Conifer's? Yes Conifer's…We were next, could've been next if…"

She last saw Cicero luring the oddball from District 1 into a classroom while she escaped through a mound of furniture. She heard a gunshot and then nothing. None of them appeared in the sky tonight. So what happened?

"A 'clean break', maybe?" Clancy proposes. "One of them was injured but managed to escape? Maybe we'll find out tonight?"

I shrug. I can't spare another thought about anyone outside this apartment because I'm hurting badly. Emery immediately moves to help Clancy rid himself of his layers, wincing alongside her brother at the deep bite marks in his well-toned shoulder.

Emery mews out a nervous sound. "Imagine if it was wors-"

"How about we don't?" Clancy reprimands. "If you find yourself lame in here, you might as well go back to the cornucopia and yell out for someone to 'just do it'."

I'm about to peel off my t-shirt when I realize they're in the room.

I catch Clancy's eyes at my midriff as I quickly tug the shirt down, scowling at him while he turns his attention immediately elsewhere, clearing his throat. Emery appears unfazed, watching me with concern.

"Are you alrig-?"

"Yea..." I reply quickly, shaking my head in an attempt to rid it of flashbacks. "Be back in a sec."

I select one of the ancient bedrooms as my changeroom. If there are bedrooms, we might as well use 'em. Maybe I'm too tired, but I don't see the glowing red light of a camera. Even if there was one, maybe Flickerman and his panel of Hunger Games superfans are going over the kills of the day and predictions on what happens next, totally not fixated on me.

Wishful thinking.

I make sure to close the dust-choked blinds to cancel out the night sky and work by flashlight. My body screams for a painkiller and I oblige, downing two with a swig of water before going about cleaning my wounds and dressing them up again. I'm barely decent when I hear the knob turn, causing me to jump. Thank Panem I thought to lock it.

"Zenobia?" it's Emery, Clancy wouldn't be as brazen to walk in. Too old.

I exhale through my nose. "What?"

"...I was just checking to see if you're alri-"

"I'm fine, okay?" I snap. "I just want some privacy…if somethin' were wrong you'd know…"

"There's not much privacy in the Games…From what I've seen at least. But then again, I've only ever seen one, or two…" there's a pause. "Um, I wanted to help dress your wounds-"

I groan. Please go away. "I don't need help…for Panem's sake-"

"I dressed you pretty well last time, didn't I?" she chimes through the door. "I think it's best you have someone else look you over, lest you want an infection or something?"

My top half hastily covered with a dusty towel, I'm about halfway to the door and swing it open when she brings up the possibility of infection. I can't afford to be more beat up than I already am. With small, nimble hands, the former Young Pioneer goes to work stitching, balming and binding me back together. I can't help but notice the way she goes about it all without a care in the world.

"For someone that almost died today, multiple times at that, you're holdin' up pretty good," I muse.

Emery pauses and glances up from her work. "It was quite nerve-wracking, actually. I'm surprised I didn't drop from a heart attack when they took me."

"They wouldn't've taken you if you stayed put like you were told," I quip back.

Emery frowns. "B-But I-"

"Your sib, naturally, was runnin' through the streets like a mad man lookin' for you," I continue without a care. "Could've gotten me killed. I'd be madder, but goin' after you had its trade offs. Three tributes dead-"

"I lived, didn't I?" she replies, shrugging irritably. "You know Zenobia, I'd really like it if you didn't treat me like a baby-!"

"In here, you pretty much are." not caring for her gobsmacked expression, I continue on. "If it wasn't for Cicero or your sib and I, the day could've ended a lot worse for you."

Emery stops patching me altogether. The job is pretty much done anyway. As she sits there with her head hung low, I allow a lengthy yawn to escape my lips. The pills were taking over. She knows I'm right. Hells, I was like her not too long ago. Eleven, twelve years old, thinking I could better my naysayers.

The difference between me and her is the difference between a Two and a Capitolite. Like Syndra, Daphne, Max and Cicero, she's on borrowed time extended only because her brother is the exception and Viondra brought up the reserve - the reserve being them once the others were dead. Still, she had her uses, and I can't afford her being sulky right now.

"Listen…" I say, sighing. "You'd do best if you left the heavy lifting to us. You'll literally live longer. Alright? Just do what you're told and we'll be fine…for now."

Even with the dim lighting, I can see her wiping the tears from her eyes. "If making it to the top thirty doesn't prove it, I don't what will make you see that I'm good enough! My brother thinks I am, so why not you?"

She eyes me, waiting for an answer I do not give. Instead, she rises from off the bed and leaves the room in a huff. Surprisingly, she closes the door gently. Paulus sits at the foot of the bed, an amused grin on his lips.

"Damn. Ya laid it on pretty thick, sis," he says.

Lazily inspecting the bed, I ease my way on top of it and allow for sleep to take me. "She needed to hear it." I murmur. "Could've delivered it thicker but I'd be riskin' it on the account of her brother bear."

Naturally, as I step into the living room the next morning, I barely catch a glimpse of Emery scribbling in her diary before I'm immediately ushered back into the bedroom hallway by a severe-looking Clancy.

"Listen, I appreciate your alliance with us and all, but you're overstepping it," he says.

"Not really," I reply with a shrug. "Last time I checked, I'm district and you're Capitol. Who's been training for this since she can walk? Me or you guys?"

"I respect your drive, Zenobia," Clancy says. "Snow knows you have it in spades, but I think you should leave the 'tough love' to me."

"You and me, we could die today and then what?" His long exhale in reply makes me know he knows I'm right. "Her age is an advantage, if she can use it right."

"How can she 'use it' right, in your opinion?"

"She ain't all that 'useless', she's a great medic, for example." I reason. "You just shouldn't fill her head with big thoughts. The youngest victor is fourteen for a reason. Fluffing her up will just get her killed."

"Tributes like yourself kill plenty of tributes and die the same more often than not," he retorts. "Who's to say your strategy trumps ours?" his expression quickly changes when he notices a shift in mine. "Look, what I'm trying to say is that Emery and I are just as much of a target as you are and in a Games like this, in order for either of us to make it, you have to open yourself to some…consideration."

'When's the last time you've seen a brother-sister duo make it out alive?' is what I want to clap back with but I immediately hold my tongue, opting to instead enter the living room proper. When Clancy and I settle down and dig into breakfast, I notice Emery's sheepish glances toward me before joining us proper with her head held high, sitting next to me rather than her brother.

"Thanks for coming back for me, Zenobia, Clancy," she says in a timid tone, maintaining leveled eye contact between myself and her brother. "With all the running around, snarling mutts and tributes wanting to kill us, I forgot to tell you guys. I'll try - no I will - listen to you next time but to be honest, I didn't have much choice…"

"It's okay, Em," Clancy replies, his voice tender. "You're here in one piece. That's all I care about. Many tributes your age would have fared worse."

My eyes flicker towards and lock with Clancy's. She's twelve, yeah, but there's been plenty of shitty little tributes and she isn't one of them. She already heard the tough stuff last night. No use putting her down again, distracting her brother and putting me in jeopardy. "What your brother said. Next time, just play it safe. They drill that to us all the time back in Two. 'Play to your strengths, punch above only when necessary.'"

Like an eager freshman cadet, Emery nods gingerly while tearing into a breakfast ration. We eat in silence when another cannon rings out. The initial shock of one going off is like blinking to me, unlike Clancy and Emery who seem startled. I'm glad that the ball is continuing to roll after yesterday. In my opinion, one more tribute down means one more step towards Matix and I occupying the same space again.

"And then there were thirty," I drawl. Twenty-odd tributes are still out there. Twenty-odd too many.

"Speaking of…death," Clancy drawls, his eyes flickering toward me. "Yesterday night…I know about your 'partners', but the others, how many of those were because of you?"

"Two of them," I answer without skipping a beat. "Three if you account for the Nine boy being torn apart by mutts. If I were his ally I probably could've saved him."

I watch with intrigue as Clancy turns to his sister for a reaction. I'm expecting a wide-eyed awe from the younger sister. Surprisingly, she glances up from her meal, a slight frown on her face as she shrugs.

"It's not a surprise," Emery answers, her tone low. "She's mad. She must be really mad if she's able to kill so many people."

"Not to mention forcing herself into a Games in which there are no volunteers…" Clancy replies with a playfun half-grin. "You've obviously been around the arena…How many more are there?"

I grunt out, stumped by the question. The bloodbath was a blur. I was just happy to finally show these rebels just how badly they had fucked up. It was a lot. And then there were the following days and those too were becoming hazy. Getting the drop on others, and then them getting the drop on me. I've stopped counting, and I don't remember properly keeping track either. Kill, kill, kill 'till I'm killed, that was the goal from the beginning.

"What, I dunno…fourteen, seventeen?" I answer somewhat dismissively. Thinking about this begins to bother me even more. The novelty of killing Matixs' allies is quickly wearing off. So do the deaths of the others I've fought. I want him.

Clancy's gobsmacked by my supposed kill count. I find it kind of odd seeing him so 'expressive' in comparison to his reserved, serious demeanor. "Gee. That knocks Brutus Gunn out of the water…Enobaria Golding, Kurt Bonatz…Lyme, your aunt - all of District 1,too."

"How many kills do Careers usually get?" pipes up Emery.

"I think the average for Careers is seven-point-five? That's counting assists."

"That doesn't concern you?" I ask them with a cocked brow. "Me killin' nearly an entire roster of tributes?" Why would it concern them? If their circumstances didn't bring them to the arena, they would most certainly be watching me from the comfort of their own living room. Still, ally or not, I wouldn't be surprised if something in their heads 'clicked'. Where does this alliance go? What's stopping them from killing me regardless of what pact Viondra hashed out?

"I think I'm just glad I'm on your side…" Emery says with a sad, sheepish grin.

My eyes flicker over to Clancy. "And yourself?"

"I stand corrected. There are no tributes like yourself. But I do argue that there are other ways than your way."

I grin, shrugging. "Let's agree to disagree."

As the morning continues on, things remain quiet besides the cannon that brought us down to the top thirty.

My mind is telling me to pick up my rifle and continue the hunt, but the tempo of the Games and Academy doctrine are telling me to take five, save my energy. People are probably still digesting everything that's gone on. Truth be told, I haven't truly digested everything that's gone on. The earthquake, nearly dying to a Thirteen, being saved and assigned a brand new alliance and being put to the test with a feast and a rescue. All that and I've yet to get to truly know the two I sit down with in this apartment.

"Look what happened to the others," Paulus notes. "Does it really matter when they're gonna be dead soon?"

"No," I murmur in reply. "It doesn't. But they're just like you an' me…In a way."

"I'm sorry?" Clancy asks, half-dazed as he leans up from his resting position.

"I'm sorry what?"

Again with that look as if I have a million heads. "Zenobia, you said something…"

"I said it would be nice to learn a thing or two 'bout you guys," I explain. "Y'know, bein' in an alliance an all…?"

"Learn something like what?" Emery pipes up, taking her eyes from her diary.

"Like how a loyal Capitol family like yours got caught up in all this…Must've done somethin' really bad…"

Clancy's features immediately turn dark as he folds his arms. "Didn't you watch the interviews?"

I give him a flippant nod. "Course. Doesn't mean I know everything? 'Sides, we all know people tend to embellish things."

"Well, what we spoke about was true because we made damn sure to get our side of the story out there," he replies. "Otherwise Emery and I would be dead by now. We had nothing to do with his actions. None."

Clancy and Emery could very much be Paulus and I on the other side of the coin. They lived a decent life back in the Capitol. Their mother was a law expert who helped develop laws for Panem, he was on his way to attending military college, the same one I was eyeing and Emery was looking forward to finishing her final year of elementary school all while balancing sports, pioneering and hanging out with her friends whenever she got the chance.

One thing that seems to be the case for every other Capitol tribute I've met here is the fact that they all come from well-to-do families. Why were so many traitors and how many Capitol-born tributes will follow after this year? Plenty, it seems, seeing as a lot of them followed Emery and Clancy to District 12.

"It was a 'fish out of water' moment for sure," Clancy continues on. "All alone, far away from home in some random flat. We have family back home, too. We could barely say goodbye."

I recall the first night I'd met these two. Emery cried over their mother. "What happened to mom?"

Clancy turns to his younger sister, who immediately collects her things and moves over to the kitchen island, laying her head against it. No use retraumatizing herself. He then turns back to me, extending his hand forward while exposing a precise scar on his wrist. The exact area where one would plant a tracker. A nod from Clancy confirms it.

"To pay for our dear father's mistakes, they'd sent us to a camp…" he recalls with an unpleasant edge, even going as far as to massage his temples, maybe to stave away bad memories. "I guess they saw use in me, so they sent me to build things. That left mother and Emery. Mother…Mother was a doting type. Very strict but only because she cares for us 'so very much' and 'only wants the best'..."

I jerk a thumb towards myself. "Mom was a community home brat, raised by a Capitol matron."

"So you know how things go," he replies with a light grin. The grin is quickly replaced with another scowl. "Emery was there when it happened. Sickness. Spent the night on the same bed, only to wake up to her gone the next morning."

I cast a glance towards her now, Emery. She still has her head against the island while her hands shroud her face and ears. "Despite it all, she's still kickin'..."

"She's tough…" Clancy replies, glancing at his sister while nodding along. "Brave."

"And all this is because your dad, a Peacekeeper, betrayed the Capitol," I say, looking Clancy square in the eyes. "Do ya hate him?"

He ponders the question, letting out a long, labored sigh while awkwardly adjusting himself. "I'm mad, but I can't say I hate him outright. Shouldn't he have known this'll happen to us? Kicked out of our city - our home - mother dying and now Emmy and I are in the godsdammned Hunger Games…Believe it or not, I'm still wrapping my head around it all despite it being nearly a year since this all began."

"That's quite the tale…" I reply, slowly nodding along. "If it means anything, you're doing pretty well so far."

"Things can only go 'pretty well' for so long, especially when there's so many outside factors."

My forceful entry into these Games, alongside flashing lights and reporters clamoring for 'Ms. Spitfire!' flash through my head and I immediately feel awkward. It may not be the factor, but it's right up there with the fact that it is highly unlikely all three of us will live to the end based on the odds alone. How this 'opportunity' will end, I do not know. But it's clear that we're collectively ignoring it.

You can only ignore the mutt in the room for so long…

Another cannon breaks up our moment of awkwardness. And then there were twenty-nine. Moments after that, our holographic guides make their presence known.

"It seems that the remaining contestants are forgoing their rest period and are eager to cut down the numbers some more," Chimes Vi.

"This is understandable. Prolonged arena exposure often leads to…desperate actions," adds Pax.

A telltale beep from my communicuff lets me know that there's yet another boundary shift. As Emery joins us in the living room once more, I blow up my holomap for everyone to see. Our building is in the 'eye' of the boundary, with the fringes being the hospital and the northwestern portion of the city park.

Clancy says what I'm thinking. "A normal arena size fit for a normal Hunger Games."

He's right. The arena no longer took up the entirety of the park, but rather a few blocks. The end is so close yet so far away.

"If people are hunting, then we should too," I say, taking in the 'deer in headlights' looks I get in return. "We can't stay holed up in here forever. Better to be on the offense than defense."

"We just lost fourteen tributes, after a feast, no less," Clancy complains. "Maybe those tributes died from their wounds-"

"You heard the holograms," I interject. "Those weren't passive deaths. It's obvious people are active. We need to be too. The more active we are, the quicker people die…the quicker people die…"

"The quicker this all comes to an end…" Clancy finishes with a sigh. "Whatever that 'end' entails...Gods."

I give Clancy a quick lookover, turning my attention to a tired twelve-year-old Emery.

"Don't they take breaks?" She asks aloud. "That's what our escort, Pluto, says. Usually after deaths they give us time to calm down. They seem to do that in past Games…"

I fight to keep a sigh in. I forget that these are Capitolites I'm talking to. Despite their decent showing so far, they need their rest too. Truth be told, there won't be much resting if those two cannons weren't enough warning.

I even make a show of looking into a camera and watching my cuff's screen, knowing that Viondra is probably watching this right now. There are no messages telling me to do anything. It's my call. In an arena like this, it's best to catch other people on their ass rather than the opposite.

"We need to head out," I say, watching the faces of my allies carefully as I quickly add, "Since we're in the 'middle' of the map, we can use this apartment as our base while going clockwise as we've been doing. Maybe most tributes are licking their wounds?"

"Which makes it a quicker day for us," Clancy says with a sigh and a conceding nod.

I return the nod. "Exactly."

"W-What about your arm?" Emery interjects. "Clancy's shoulder? What happens if we run into something we can't handle?"

"Your patch job is workin' wonders," I say evenly, going as far as to maneuver my arm for her to see. "Not to mention the balm we put on it. How 'bout you, Clancy?"

With a strained expression, he rolls the affected shoulder. "The binding helps."

Emery is not impressed, but says nothing as I dismiss them to pack for the day.

We creep the arena's boundaries clockwise as agreed upon, slowly slinking through the husks of taxis, buses, mounds of rubble and the tall grass if we can't avoid it. The tall grass. Every inch you move, there seems to be a spooked bird that flutters off elsewhere. I think I hear a tribute trudging along just meters ahead and when I pounce forward, I'm knocked onto my bottom by a shaggy, raving stag, raising its forelegs into the air before galloping off into the brush. Deer, here? I think to myself as I give my head a shake. Clancy and Emery stifle their laughs, continuing even though I don't find the incident as amusing.

"I wonder how he got out here?" Emery sniggers.

"I'm not surprised," says Clancy while tugging me onto my feet. "The entire city is basically wilderness."

"I'm surprised they had them in here at all," I mutter as I stretch out my various kinks.

"I snared a rabbit on our first night," Emery says proudly.

I'm aware of the mutts among us and the birds, but normal game? Then again, who needs to properly hunt when there's mystery crates with food strewn around the arena? Not to mention the feast that gifted us each at least one dinner ration.

We encountered no other tributes for the rest of the morning, opting to stop for lunch in a dilapidated second floor apartment that had its walls nearly destroyed, creating a 'ramp' that allowed us to get up here in the first place. A blue box yields us jerky, a date square, two handgun bullets that go directly to Emery and some gloves. A game of seeing who fit the glove best has me claiming them, which is a good thing seeing as the cold rain has been completely replaced with a bitter cold and flurries that makes sitting around uncomfortable. I return the gawking stare of Emery, who scoops pasta into her mouth.

"Were you getting married?" she asks me. "Before the Games…?"

"Gettin' married? Why would you…Awh shit!" right there, on my middle finger sits Randall's promise ring. It's…not in the best of shape, what with the running around and the numerous near misses I've had during my time here. There's scuffing along the band and the diamond itself. I can feel it as I take one finger and run it along the length of the ring. "Shit." I immediately go about attaching it to my other token - the dog tags of all my immediate family.

"Why would you volunteer if you were getting married?" asks Emery in a lowly tone.

"I wasn't gettin' married…yet. It's a promise ring," I answer her. "A boy back in Two gave it to me. Maybe if things weren't so screwy…"

"Clancy fancied a girl, too," chirps Emery. "A pretty blonde one. I met her once, she's lovely."

A blonde girl? Well then...With a grin on my lips My eyes flicker to a flustered Clancy. It's an interesting look for such a massive guy. "Emery-"

"I'm pretty sure I remember mother and him chatting about getting one of those too-"

"Emery!" Clancy hisses, groaning as he rises from off the ground. He jerks his head towards the street. "Can we go now? Maybe focusing on surviving will kill this conversation."

I agree. Best to move on with the day. I take the lead, scanning from left to right as I shimmy down the slab and onto the sleety streets. Emery to my left and Clancy to my right. It doesn't seem like 'moving weather', but if two cannons went off, someone is making moves.

"Who's the lucky girl?" I ask Clancy.

A sad frown spreads across his face as he shrugs. "Unfortunately, it doesn't matter much anymore…What with the war reaching the Capitol and the arrests, I didn't even get to say goodbye."

I nod along. He brings up an interesting point. I forget that these guys are Capitol citizens. They watch the Games, not participate in them. What must their friends and family think, watching them now as they fight in the Games. Do they hate them, root for them?

"I think it's nice to have someone to fancy." Emery has a thoughtful expression on her face as she glances my way, and then to her brother. "I've only barely started...having crushes, I mean. If it feels nice now, surely it will get better…" she frowns once she realizes. "Would've got better…"

"Remember what I said the night before launch day," Clancy says pleasantly, with an equally warm grin on his face.

I hear something that makes my heart jump. I've been on enough target ranges to know immediately what that sound was. letting out a sharp curse as I hit the ground, I shove down Emery with me out of sheer instinct. A few feet away, Clancy's no longer grinning now but grimacing, down on his knees while pawing at his throat. I watch as a bullet strikes his head and explodes out the back of his skull.

Coming Up Next…

With a pained sigh, I shuffle over to Clancy's fallen form, searching his pockets for valuables before pulling his jacket over his head. Emery gives me a glare that could melt a girder.

"Don't recommend looking into the eyes, you won't get the image out," I say. Stuffing Clancy's contents into my rucksack. "I'm checking him for things…s'not like he'll need 'em…and he'd want us to have 'em…"

Emery doesn't reply. Her head is downcast and I can't read her face from this angle. I experienced this very same thing. I know how she's feeling. It's still fresh, but maybe I can pull her out somehow…

"Listen, city mouse. Clancy would want you to get serious now," I say. "What you choose to do from this point forward can either-"

Her head is still downcast. "He was right, you know."

I swallow, wincing as the movement strains my chest. "I beg your pardon?"