A/N: I recently slayed the beast that was University. Grades are looking to be good. Four more months until my four-year sentence is complete. Currently stockpiling chapters as I type this. So far, 3 arena chapters remain...Still debating on how to deliver the 'end'.

Merry Christmas, happy holidays. Expect another update within 72 hours! And then another throughout the week.

Chapter Thirty-Seven - Uncertainty

I sit at the kitchen island table, my cake and diary laid out before me. In the Hunger Games of all things where having a birthday cake is the definition of 'rare', it's the diary that holds my attention.

For the first time in my life, I'm not sure how to get ink on paper.

It feels awkward. My time here is being recorded and displayed for millions to see. I wonder to myself, if I somehow manage to win, what's the point of writing when my Games will be here for years to come? I quickly stave off the thought with a shake of the head, though it doesn't go away completely.

I tell myself; They might know Emery the tribute, but they barely know Emery the person.

So, I give my pen a shake and prepare to write. Where to begin? My brain hurts. Too much things inside. Just get them out! It's been days since I last wrote. Days since…Just. start. Small. A refresher perhaps.

December 2nd.
Day 16

Some two years ago, Mother and Father gave me my first communicuff. Since I was so "opinionated" as Father would say. "Just like your Mother!"

"Chat away on this," Mother said. "Maybe then you'll feel better."

So I did. I chatted my heart out until I ran up the memory. Now, I have this diary. I think that her buying this diary, even with the war going on, was her saying the same thing. "Write. Write so you feel better."

For the first time in a very very long time, I don't feel like writing anymore. Simply writing my heart out won't help. But I'll try. For Mother, for Father, and for Clancy. Yes, for Clancy now, too. Clancy's gone… If asked who would make it over who, all of Panem would point to my brother without a hitch. I marked that day off with an 'X'. The worst day of my life. At least Mother passed in my arms, peacefully.

And then Spinel got me. Teased me. Teased my family and my home. And then I got her back.

I killed Spinel. I haven't seen many Games, but I've seen how some non-Careers react when it pertains to killing. Vomiting. Crying…Going absolutely mad.

I cried, but it wasn't because of her. It was because of my being here. I'd go as far as to say I don't care, about killing her that is. And that concerns me. But then I think back to everything that's happened to me over the past year and it makes perfect sense as to why my shooting her in hindsight makes me feel so numb.

I've seen death plenty of times. How many more terrifying moments can someone have before they don't care anymore? "Not caring" seems wrong to say…All I know is that it was easy to pull the trigger. This - the Games, the War - is NOT my fault. It's theirs. And the fact that she had the mouth to say that I…

I hear a sharp crack off in the distance, tearing me out of my headspace as I clasp either end of the granite kitchen island, my heart bunching up in my throat. Gunfire. With the amount of muttations running around and weapons strewn about, it isn't unheard of to hear the occasional shots every now and then. But these ones were so close…Did Zenobia find someone?

There's another sharp crack. Startled birds fly by the window, their erratic flapping and cries accompanying the cannon of the unfortunate tribute.

Concerned, my eyes shift towards the hallway entrance. Zenobia had gone off on her own. 'Scouting' she said. Could that cannon belong to her? A quick check of my communicuff's empty notification screen tells me otherwise. They would tell me if something is amiss, right? No, it couldn't be Zenobia's. If it were Zenobia, something tells me there would be even more of a racket…and more than just a singular cannon.

I wait a while for another cannon to fire. When none does, I give my pen a shake and continue:

Yet another cannon has fired. Twenty-two, including myself, remain. At least Pluto gave me a birthday cake...What I mean by that is each cannon is a slow march to 'the end'. If I were three years older, I would be at least somewhat elated at the fact that we were oh so close because I would actually have a chance! But I'm not sixteen, I'm thirteen. Thirteen and a helper to the girl who didn't just give Katniss Everdeen a run for her money, but reached into her pockets and outright took it.

…Now that I think about it, the comparisons are canny. Zenobia. Katniss. 'Ms. Spitfire'. 'The Girl On Fire'. Rue. Me. All we need is for me to die in Zenobia's arms.

Again, I ask myself what's the point of writing?

…Well, what is the point?

?

Well…There's preservation. I'm no rebel! I'm just a girl with bad luck by the bagful. I told Pluto to get this book to the rest of my family when I…go. Annora has a copy(ies). Death or not I deserve to have my views saved…Clancy, Mother, Father…Me…we mattered. Maybe my written words will hel-

"Whoowee! What d'we have here…?" a male voice bellows. "Hey Sis, get a load of this!"

My head lurches upward to find not Zenobia but two different people entirely. The sibling duo from District 10, Tanner and Maja, strolling into the living room with gawky eyes. I'm reminded of just how good we have it when I see their physical condition. Grime streaks their faces, hair mussy, their uniforms caked with dust and muck.

My brain screams for me to go for the holster attached to my belt, but my body remains frozen in place, hands on either side of my diary. With a shotgun being pointed in my general direction, it's best to stay still.

"A sleeping bag, comforters, a buncha rations and…" I think the older boy's eyes are about to pop out of his head as he lays eyes on my present. "Is that a fuckin' goddamn birthday cake?!"

Shotgun at the ready, Tanner advances towards the table with a fierceness that causes me to bleat out a nervous squeak. "We're out here crawlin' through the rubble like rats and this pipsqueak gets a cake! I oughta blow your goddamn…"

Before he could blow me away, Maja strides ahead of him and pushes the barrel downward. "Tan-!"

Annoyed, Tanner shoots his sister a glare and scoffs. "What, Maj!"

"It only makes sense. The cake I mean…she's just a kid-"

Tanner levels the barrels towards my head. I can't help but stare into the two, dark holes. "Oh, please don't tell me you're sweet on her! You heard them with Caesar-!"

"Wasn't the Three girl enough?!" Maja shouts.

"Uh…No, actually. Won't be 'enough' till everyone else is dead, you know damn well that's how this goes!"

The two break out into an argument. A battle of morals. Maja firmly believes in the Rebel cause while Tanner has no reservations in killing. I consider drawing my gun, but the fear of being too slow, coupled with Tanner's gun still being aimed toward me has me second guessing. Not to mention I'm shaking so very hard I fear I might fall out of my seat. I think to myself: Is Zenobia dead?!

"She seems to be well off, let's just take her things for our own!" Maja argues. "Kick her out. She'll be dead by the final fifteen if not before that!"

It seems Maja's reasoning works, as well as my girlish charms for her having enough pity to propose letting me live. Just like the Peacekeepers back at the prison camp. Tanner holds his aim towards me for a few more seconds before dropping the barrel and scoffing.

"Well shoot, s'not like what she has is pure crap. Seems like a perfect trade off to me…" from scanning the room, his eyes fix squarely on me with enough hatred to make me drop dead if it were possible. "Go on, get! 'Fore I change my mind!"

Eyes still on his shotgun, I slowly begin to rise from off of my stool, all while making an attempt to conceal the holster attached to my belt.

Maja raises a hand toward me. "Wait."

"Wait?" Tanner and I say in unison, his with agitation while mine comes out in a stutter.

"If out of all the Capitolites put in these Games you're the last one standin', at Thirteen, then I wanna know what you know."

Tanner guffaws. "Oh for fuck sake-"

"Ninety-six tributes is a big number, Tan! It wouldn't hurt to fuckin' know what other people have been up to!"

Grumbling under his breath, Tanner moves to the living room proper and sifts through my things. I can't help but notice his bandaged leg and the heavy limp that comes with it. "A hatchet, a machete…Girl, how many kills do you have under your belt!?"

Ignoring him, my eyes shift back to Maja, who motions for me to sit, which I steadily do. She sits down opposite of me, on the other side of the table, relying on her spear like an elderly person with a cane.

"Not gonna lie…Emery was it?" she begins as I nod. She nods in return. "Not gonna lie, I'm kinda surprised to see you still runnin' around. Twelve-to-thirteen-year-olds don't exactly last long in the arena."

"Being the youngest tribute by a mile will do that for you…" I reply quietly.

"Havin' a sib built like a brickhouse'll do that for you, too." Maja quips. "Saw his face in the sky the other night. What happened?"

I want to stay quiet. It's none of their business. But I'm at their mercy now. If I want to get out…"He was shot."

It's a simple answer. They don't need to know anything else.

Pursing her lips, Maja frowns as she glances back at her brother. "I'm sorry to hear that. As you can see, Tan and I are waiting to cross that bridge when it comes." she squints at my face, taking in the gauze wrapped around my jaw. "What the hells happened there?"

I find myself padding the wound down. "During the feast, I ran into a boy from Six…with a knife."

Her brows furrow. "And you killed him?"

"No, I haven't made any kills," I lie. "My brother killed him…."

Usually, I'm a terrible liar. Maybe because the pressure isn't turned all the way on, my fib is working. Tanner joins us at the table now. He's made himself at home, his backpack now off and my kukri in a sheath attached to his shoulder. We eye each other down as he pulls the container holding my leftover cake to his end of the table. All I can do is watch as he opens the cover and begins eating my birthday cake. The way he eats it is what gets to me. The way he takes the fork, scrapes up a piece and shoves it down his gullet just to rub it into my face. Maja just sits there with a stupid look on her face, ignoring the fact.

The island table offers good cover for the lower half of my body. They don't notice that my hands are resting on my holster. As far as they're concerned, they've already beaten me. Let them think that.

If Zenobia were here, she'd want me to fight.

"Unbelievable…" he grumbles, his mouth full as he shakes his head. "'Parently we're all supposed t'be 'equal' here…guess not." he notices my prolong staring at him and reacts accordingly. "D'ya have a problem, rainbow?"

My eye twitches in annoyance. 'Rainbow', really? "I'd like it very much if you would calm down," I say, making sure to sound as little and pathetic as possible.. "You're scaring-"

"Calm down? Calm down?!" Collecting his shotgun, Tanner bursts from out of his seat and stomps toward me. "Don't Fuckin' tell me to 'calm down'-!"

His sister is quick to claim him. "Tanner!"

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to be rude!" I plead, raising my hands up. "I don't want any trouble...I'm…I'm just scared."

I should've drawn my gun right then but again, the timing didn't seem right. I clutch my middle and make a show of rocking back and forth.

"Sittin' here, munchin' on cake, tellin' me to 'calm down'," he grumbles, his face etched with scorn. "I don't care if she's a little girl, I'll stomp her into wine! Should let them know what it's like to see one of their own children die, shoot…"

There's an awkward silence that follows after. Maja gazing blankly at me, all while Tanner stuffs his face. I quickly conclude that they haven't been eating as good as Zenobia and I have. I can't help but wonder just how bad it is out there.

"Why are you still here?" Tanner asks.

An idea quickly comes to mind. "W-Well, if you guys got to know my experience, maybe I should know your side…Have you guys seen Zenobia Rivendell?"

Like saying 'Katniss Everdeen' among a group of loyalists, mentioning Zenobia gets an immediate reaction. Maja sits up taller as Tanner leans in toward me.

"Whatabout 'er? Y'seen 'er?!" he hisses.

"N-No, no!" I babble, shaking my head. "Everyone hates her and wants to kill her, so…"

"Well no, we haven't seen 'er."

Oh thank the Capitol! I let out an audible breath that thankfully doesn't rouse their suspicion. I barely glimpse toward the hallway entrance in hopes that Zenobia is watching, waiting. If she were here, she would waste no time killing these two…

"On the second day, we damn near had a chance to get 'er," Maja says. "She's one slippery bitch."

Tanner moves from his seat and presents his bandaged leg. "Whore damn near blew my leg off! Capitol's probably all over her like bees to honey!"

"She's got skill. Whatever they teach in that murder academy of theirs in D2 they teach 'em well."

"So you almost caught her?" I ask.

I listen as Maja explains how she and a group of Fours and Elevens chased Zenobia for blocks, only to follow her into a subway system, which given that this is a destroyed city with no electricity, is just a dark cave. A cave in a Hunger Games setting is never good so as a result, a lot of them never made it back out.

"I'm surprised we didn't all die," says Maja. "She won't be livin' for long, though…You can only run for so far."

I adjust my seating, taking in the story Maja told. Part of me is surprised Zenobia made it out of something like that…On the other hand, part of me knows that when you're angry, you can do anything.

I should know. I'm angry right now.

Pieces of my cake dribbling out of his big mouth, Tanner juts his fork toward me. "Why are you still here? Leave, 'fore we change our mind." he offers some of my cake to his sister. "Try some o' this, it's good stuff."

I leave my stool and begin to round the table all while eyeing the unattended shotgun lying in the middle of it, the stock and trigger facing towards me.

My brain hatches a nasty plot, nastier than the one I had in mind as soon as I saw these two enter the living room. My hands leave the holster around my waist. I could draw my gun and empty my remaining bullets into them both. It's not like they're paying attention. However, doing it that way would be too easy. No, like Spinel, I want to show him what happens when you take me for a weakling.

"So much for 'stomping me into wine'," I quip. I swipe the shotgun from off the table and level the barrel towards the dismayed faces of Tanner and Maja, Tanner's hands scrambling for the trigger that my fingers already wrap around.

I pull the trigger.

It's nothing like a pistol. There's an ear-deafening bang and a flash that whites my vision over. The power is so much for my growing body I find myself flying and screaming backwards into the kitchen cabinets.

A cannon fires overhead.

Over by the island, someone else is screaming too. Maja. It quickly reminds me of…me. I don't have time to register much else as she slides into view, chest heaving, blood dotting her face looking all wild-eyed with her spear in her hands. My brain repeats a singular word:

RUN!

My legs scrambling like a cartoon character about to flee, they finally decide to work as I spring away just in time for Maja's spear to pierce the wooden cupboard where I once was. I skid onto the ground again, gawping at Maja's rage-filled eyes as she plants a boot into the cupboard in an attempt to yank her weapon free. I waste no time scrambling around the other end of the kitchen island . . .

. . . Right into the bloodbath that was Tanner's body.

His blood, a deep crimson, is sprayed all across the floor and ceiling. His entire forehead is caved in, a singular eye bulging out while his mouth remains frozen in shock.

"Where are you?! Come here you little bitch!" Maja skids around the corner, her spear at the ready.

I cry out, springing onto my feet only for them to betray me, slipping against the mess on the ground as my face slams onto the blood-soaked, hardwood floor. Heart in my throat, I spin onto my bottom, slipping and sliding away not nearly as fast as I need to scramble out of the living room and out of this building.

Maja, chest heaving, takes her sweet time stomping over to me. She grips her spear so hard I can see her bulging veins. "Gonna take my sweet time with you, don't you worry…" she growls.

Her eyes flicker upward and she stops. She stopped. I follow her eyes and gasp out in relief.

Zenobia stands in the entryway. Emotionless. She wields Spinel's shotgun and I can't help but focus on the sizable bayonet attached to the barrel.

Maja remains frozen, shock etched on her face. I spare a glance to either of them and wonder why Zenobia hasn't shot her yet.

Maja glares at me, taking in my lies of being alone. She scoffs in utter disbelief . "Oh, you-"

Zenobia stalks forward, bayonet jut toward Maja. Maja flinches first but quickly lashes out at Zenobia. I see now the difference between Zenobia's Academy training against a regular tribute like Maja, the latter's thrusts and swipes are hesitant in comparison to the former's flighty bobbing and weaving.

Zenobia scores a hit, nicking Maja's arm and then thrusting her bayonet into her belly. Despite this, Maja doesn't give up, instead cussing up a storm as she tries desperately to keep Zenobia at bay with a few haphazard swipes. The room gets progressively bloodier. Maja's seething curses become desperate cries of pain. Zenobia doesn't break a sweat, disarming Maja as she strikes her with a series of fluid buttstrokes, sending the Ten girl reeling onto her belly.

Crawling away in a last ditch attempt to flee, Zenobia clambers onto Maja's back, trapping her. She raises her shotgun's butt into the air, in line with Maja's head.

I wince at the first blow and the resulting loud wail that Maja makes. Her cries gradually grow weaker as Zenobia's exertions get louder. As solid steel continues to make contact with flesh, I look anywhere but my front.

It's then that I notice that I still have my pistol holstered. I can't let my mind get clouded like that.

I wince as the contact of steel on flesh becomes progressively wetter. No more sounds come from Maja. When her cannon finally fires, Zenobia rises onto her feet, chest heaving, blood peppering her face. She glances over at Tanner's fallen form and then back to me.

"That you?" she asks. Catching a glimpse of Tanner's splayed out arm, I nod stiffly. Grunting in approval, she gives me a wolfish grin in return. "Nice."

Despite seeing so much death over the past year, I can't help but feel a wave of discomfort wash over me, and I quickly excuse myself to the bedroom. Not long after, Zenobia comes in with the gains taken from the duo. Knives, shotgun shells, bits of medical supplies.

The rest of the evening continues on in silence. I don't dare leave my spot to check the skies when the anthem plays. Zenobia announces them anyways: "D3 egghead and two Tens…That mean's Ten's eliminated from the Games. Good…one step closer."

From wiping down Zenobia's face of the excess blood, to forcing down a pouch of food, to laying my head down to 'rest', scenes of Maja and Tanner's deaths replay in my head endlessly. The next morning, we awake to vibrating communicuffs and the holograms telling us there's been a boundary shift. The first significant shift in days.

"C'mon, City Mouse," Zenobia says, slinging on her rucksack. "'Bout time we moved on anyway."

I follow Zenobia's lead, gathering my things and hooking left towards the apartment door without so much as even glancing back.

The place, to me, fell out of favor long before the Tens.

As we venture down to the ground floor, I keep seeing flashes. The shotgun erupting before Tanner's shocked face, Maja shielding herself in vain as Zenobia clubs her to death. I barely feel a thing. Sad? Mad? I think to myself: Shouldn't it?

But then I remember Clancy's words of advice before this all began: Keep going. Keep going until you absolutely can't.

That's right. I've got to keep going. No time to feel when the going gets tough. I have my diary for that. When the time is right.

December 3rd.
Day 16

We just finished what Zenobia calls a 'listening halt', Which basically means when we enter a new area we 'wait out; to see if we're being followed or not.

We moved from that apartment and found a ground floor townhouse. For some reason, I feel extremely vulnerable, being on street level. I guess what they say is right, pertaining to the Games. Having the high ground is the best position you can have.

Honestly, giving the goings on in that apartment, I guess the ground floor will have to do.

And it was no easy feat getting here. The earthquake ruined most of the roads. I wonder to myself how people would navigate the place, you know, as some arenas become attractions later on.

Zenobia is a hard charger. We ventured through waterlogged streets, over and sometimes through toppled buildings and patches of unearthed tunnels that remind me of the Transfer back home in the Capitol.

(Is the Capitol truly 'home' anymore?).

Anyway. We encountered no tributes yet, despite the shifting boundaries that move and shrink at the same time. We continue the same strategy that my brother and Zenobia coined - keep circling the 'ring' all while the remaining tributes will move to the center where it's considered 'safter'.

I couldn't help but glance at my communicuff every ten seconds. That gas is deadly stuff although personally, dying by the gas seems like a better alternative than some of the things I've seen…and done…

The fear doesn't seem to be going away, rather it seems to be getting worse by the hour. Zenobia noticed and made me talk.

"They say, back home, that talking among allies leads to connections and connections lead to well…" she said. "We're kinda past that point now. If it makes you feel better, talk."

I wondered what I should talk about and she didn't seem to care about the topic. The first thing that came to mind was talents. I couldn't help but wonder about Zenobia ever since she marched down the aisle. I knew about Zenobia the tribute, but what about Zenobia, the girl from District 2.

She didn't like the topic, but she answered anyway. Apparently looking ahead is comparable to a 'pipe dream'...though we both know that it seems highly unlikely that that would be the case.

I called her a liar if she didn't have future aspirations and she snorted.

Apparently she plays the fiddle. The fiddle!

Naturally I was doubtful. "You, playing a fiddle?" I couldn't imagine someone as serious as Zenobia serenading a crowd with upbeat tunes. But then again, a lot of victors from District 1 had beauty routines…and they killed plenty.

Apparently her mother was a 'bandie' in school, so it brushed off. Zenobia has bigger things in mind, though. She plans to work. An officer in the Peacekeeper Corps doing the things Father would have. Like work at the Citadel.

That seems right for her. I brought up that promise ring and her wanting to start a family, and she said she would work on that too. Mother said that too, but then Clancy came along and me soon after.

I told her about my writing. That would be a perfect talent. Writing about the happenings in Panem. I was iffy when she asked about being a reporter on HV.

Like her fiddling, I don't think people would take me seriously. That would be rather awkward, wouldn't it? Going about life like a 'normal person', all while everyone knows you for the Games.

I told Zenobia that it could work. We have lives too, right? Who's to say we can't do whatever we want after she one of us wins?

Zenobia agrees with me.

...

The boundaries have settled, for now…Vi and Pax always have something witty to say.

"The boundary has now stabilized."

"Don't get too comfortable!"

I'm glad Zenobia decided to settle down for the evening. I have a hunch that the heavy snowfall outside isn't stopping her from dragging us out to hunt the remaining tributes. Back in her district, I wouldn't be surprised if they make her sleep in weather like this for practice.

Who knew eating would calm my nerves down. Eating means staying put. Staying put means staying alive. Though I can't truly be at ease…not without Clancy, not without the future seeming so ghastly.

…

Zenobia isn't doing very well, I've noticed. She puts up a strong face, but it's obvious in the way that there's a constant sheen of sweat on her skin, and the clamminess. When I asked to check her bandages she snapped at me.

I guess those pills she's been gulping down are all the help she needs. She didn't even eat anything with them!

Is that why she speaks to herself sometimes…? I speak to myself sometimes, but only when I'm trying to recall something, not a full blown conversation like she has. With 'Paulus' I often hear. Her brother.

Even though I still have some family left, I guess we're both on the same boat in that regard. No immediate family, no siblings, no father, no mother. All are gone. Where would we be without each other, I wonder?

It's then that Zenobia enters from outside. The cold radiates off of her as she sinks onto her sleeping bag beside me.

I clamp my diary shut. "Anything?"

"No, nothin'," she replies, agitated. "Somethin's gotta give. Another quake, somethin'. Almost twenty days now."

Weren't Tanner and Maja enough 'action'? I want to say aloud, but decide to hold my tongue and think of something else. "The boundaries are getting smaller and smaller, there's only so many places they can hide…Maybe tomorrow will be different?" I say, again cringing at my reply.

Simply put, I don't want to fight. If I had my way, I would find a corner and stay there until the end. Every conflict I'm in, I win by a stroke of luck or Clancy and Zenobia are there as safety. Clancy's gone and what happens when - if by some miracle - Zenobia and I are the last ones remaining, and our 'partnership' ends, what's she going to do to me, place a gun against my temple and 'make it quick'? What if I can't keep up? What if she decides to abandon me if we get in a bind?

I mean, that's what a 'limited liability partnership' means, right?

Zenobia nods. "You're right. First thing t'morrow, We'll rehash our strat. Maybe that'll yield more results."

"Strat?"

"Strategy."

"Okay." I manage out, my stomach binding into knots. Fretting for what I potentially face tomorrow, I slip into my sleeping bag with a sigh. A moment passes before I notice Zenobia's gaze hasn't left me yet.

"Kinda been wantin' to know 'bout somethin',' she says, her voice unsure. "Spinel. Your diary..."

I frown. "...What about my diary?"

"Well, writing about boys is one thin-"

I let out a panicked squeal as I launch from out of my sleeping bag and collide into Zenobia, forehead against forehead, throwing a haphazard hand against her mouth. "Shhh!" I hiss at her, lowering my voice an octave as I say, "Don't talk about that so loudly!"

Zenobia grins. "What's the matter? Don't they already kno-"

I wave her off. "They probably -" I stop myself from continuing. They - the viewers - probably forgot about Spinel's initial rant against us after the fight broke out. "I wish I had the time to scribble in a diary about things like girls!"

I'm not about to remind them again by speaking it aloud. And besides…She might be watching me right now.

"If we talk real quiet-like," Zenobia says, speaking that way, "Then can we?"

Pursing my lips, I give it a thought for five seconds before nodding. Zenobia grins, slinking down onto her back as we snuggle in close. For extra security, I use a spare tarp to cocoon us further, shrouding us from any potential cameras or microphones. The screens on our communicuffs bathe the void with a deep blue hue.

"Really?" grouses Zenobia.

"Yes, really," I whine in reply. "It's my business and people are watching!"

Zenobia tilts her head. "Fair 'nough. I have friends who are like that," she continues, resting her head behind her back. "Who, y'know, like each other…as girls."

"Really?"

"Mm. One of 'em is from the Capitol, too,'' Zenobia replies. "Not even just them too, come t'think about it. Heard and seen some things from classmates here an' there…"

"So it isn't…wrong, is it?" I ask, slightly confused. Why all the uproar with Dawn's mother? My mother, even? "Some of the grownups I know were quite cross with me when they found out yet my friend's aunt is married to a wom-"

"Found out what? Why would they be 'cross' with you?" asks Zenobia.

I pause, heat rising to my cheeks as I avert my eyes. "...I may or may not have kissed another girl during a slumber party. Her mother walked in during." I let out another whine when Zenobia chuckles dryly. "Stop it! We didn't hear her coming!" Zenobia shushes me - as we are in the Hunger Games. I lower my voice. "It was a whole big thing. They wouldn't let us speak for days and Mother took me to a doctor-"

Both of Zenobia's brows raise. "A doctor?"

"Because apparently I 'act out', and the kiss was the icing on the cake," I explain with a huff. "During our last moments together the night before she…passed, Mother said she didn't 'expect that' of me. Liking another girl."

"Well, people didn't expect me to volunteer, yet here I am," Zenobia replies with a bit of an edge. Perhaps she had naysayers in her life, too. "It's not up to others to say what they expect of you. A job maybe, but not when it comes to your life. S'all up t'you. Wherever you end up, do what's right-"

The void becomes a million times more cramped. Wherever you end up. Chances are I will be dead while Zenobia is whisked out of this arena. We both know this. Still, Zenobia purses her lips and exhales through her nose.

"It ain't wrong, City Mouse. It ain't anyone's business but yours. You do what you want," she says. "Anyway…Who's the lucky girl? What's her name?"

"Her name is Dawn," I breathe, suddenly feeling…lighter, warmer. In my mind I see her as clear as hair as dark as the night, nice fair skin, dark brown eyes. It's the night of her birthday party, our friends asleep around us with the lights dimmed low. Our hands in each other's lap, she's leaning in ever so closely to deliver what would be our first kiss. "Dawn Fong."

I get another chuckle from my ally. "Oh boy…"

"What?"

"That tone of voice. I know it veery well," Zenobia replies with a wry tone. "Tell me about 'er."

Oh why not! Cupping my hands around her ear, I tell her all about Dawn and I. The warmth I get when I'm near her, the giddiness, everyone else seemingly ''disappearing' whenever she's near.

And then the anthem rings out.

My happiness is extinguished as soon as I hear the opening flourish. Zenobia's face immediately goes firm as she exits our little void. I have no choice but to join her, rising onto my knees as I peer out the window and up towards the sky. Despite the occasional gunfire, there were no cannons so therefore no faces accompany our national anthem.

Zenobia isn't pleased, hissing out a curse as she settles back down onto her sleeping bag while running a hand through her hair. "Somethin's gotta give…" she mutters, repeating her phrase from earlier on. "It will give, t'morrow."

That's the problem. I watch the sky now as the anthem comes to a close, our nation's emblem exploding into a million pixels. There are twenty-two of us now. If Zenobia has her way, twenty-two will turn into fifteen. Slowly but surely, we're coming to the end. My end.

I can't help but wonder now, as I slink uncomfortably into my sleeping bag; how are the friends and family we left back in the Capitol? How is Dawn? Poor, poor Dawn. First she lost her family and her home and now me?

I can only hope that when I go, she decides to look away and never view these Games again.

"Well Viondra and co, we finally got you!" Caesar teases, throwing one leg over the other while sitting. "No more coquettish grins, no more teasing comments!"

"Well, Caesar," I begin, "Let me just say that we are glad to speak on Zenobia's behalf. To offer some insight. It's been a pleasure getting to know this brave girl over the past weeks..."