II: February: District Four.
Waves are not measured in feet or inches, they are measured in increments of fear.
His spear is caught firmly in the meatiest part of Meena's shoulder.
It's more gruesome than he was expecting. The worst part is, she's already dead. Still, the bits of flesh clinging to the spear's tip, the clots of blood… it's all making it so much worse than it had to be.
Now, of all times, Amani is thinking about the rumors that come out of Two every year about the Killing Floor. For once he's starting to understand why they would do it, why they would make their tributes kill someone long before they got up on that stage. It can't throw you off if it's something you've already done.
But at least he knows, now: expect the unexpected.
He hears Tiernan behind him, shouting his name. Amani finally pulls with all his might and frees the spear from Meena's body. She sat three spots behind him in math, one to the left. They did a mock spar a week before the reaping with blunted swords.
And now she's dead.
Amani can't allow himself to dwell on it, though, even if his stomach gives an awful little churn the longer he thinks about her. His allies, his friends, don't appear to be sharing that same sentiment. Tiernan and Kona are on the offense just past the right side of the horn, keeping Heddon pinned between them, bloody-armed and panicking. He was a pleasant fellow trainee too, always offering a hand down to you when you ended up on the training mats, congratulating you even when you failed.
Amani watches him die all the same, when Tiernan finally slips past his raised arms and sinks an identical looking spear-tip into his neck.
Just don't think about it.
He raises his arm, spear glinting in the warm afternoon sun. Running through the sand like this is starting to get to him, dragging his legs further down with each step. "I've only got two!" he calls to them, gesturing to the bags hanging from his left arm. Only two, but they're such a massive weight that his shoulder is beginning to ache from it. Still, Kona retrieves one from him with a pleased smile.
Amani isn't even sure they'll need all the supplies contained within them—the vibrant seaside town that spreads out from the beach as far as the eye can see appears to be the most picturesque little tourist town he ever did see. This is what the Capitol imagines every inch of Four to be. Where Six's arena was desolate and dreary, the Capitol has bestowed on them golden sunlight.
The glare blinds him as Amani turns back to the horn one last time, eyes roving for anything else close. Almost everyone else is gone, already—Moises and Pike remain at the horn's entrance, fending off anyone who gets within ten feet. With the size of the two of them, Amani can't help but be surprised they're even bothering.
Moises had asked him to tag along, early on. He would have been the fifth in an alliance that appears to be entirely alive despite the carnage. But he couldn't leave these girls behind. Strength in allies and numbers were one thing, but Kona and Tiernan had been by his side for years.
"We have enough," Tiernan comments. "Unless you plan on fighting those two."
"Another day!" Kona says, ever chipper. It's likely to come sooner rather than later, but at least it won't be amidst such chaos. If that fight has to happen, it needs to be planned.
Amani urges the two of them forward, first, keeping himself at their backs as they begin their half-hearted run up the sandy dunes, putting further distance between themselves and the water's edge. There will be numerous places to hide within the town itself, but that doesn't mean they can afford to stop anytime soon; if the group at the Cornucopia succeeds in their mission, it won't be long before they're roaming the streets, armed to the teeth and ready to draw blood.
He can't help but wonder how everyone else is fairing, watching their classmates and fellow trainees fall all around them. Does anyone else even care? Amani knows he shouldn't—that's not what his father is expecting of him, after all, and he knows caring about such things isn't going to get him anywhere.
This isn't what he wanted. Isn't where he should have ended up. But he's here, now, and all of the people who wanted it as such are watching him now, no doubt beaming with pride and overjoyed their efforts with him over the years didn't go to waste like so many trainees before him.
They knew that he could do it. That's why they pushed him, is it not?
If only they knew at the guilt beginning to gnaw at the lining of his stomach.
There was no way in hell you were going to catch Jordyn Palladino in the middle of all that.
Even from a distance the fights going on around the horn's edge looked like a mess, and a mess was not something she had any plans to be involved in. Come the late game, sure, if she had no other choice, but now?
It just wasn't going to happen.
It had been surprisingly easy to convince her allies that she should stay around the plates and collect supplies while they went in closer to the middle. Jordyn knew that was because of Benthos' influence. Oh, her dear little Benny, lack of brains and all. His role as their unlikely and de-facto leader meant everyone felt compelled to listen to him.
And he felt compelled to listen to Jordyn, at least somewhat, though she knew that had much to do with the role Benthos had played in her bed.
It hadn't even been intentional, is the thing. She had found a fast friend in Adeliza, willing to give poor old reaped Jordyn a chance, and all it had taken was one conversation.
Y'know Benthos Delacruz, right? Top of the class? He's always had a thing for you, JJ, I think you should go for it…
She had spent just shy of eighteen total minutes with him, watching him shoot arrows, before she had put a hand on his arm.
The rest was history.
Jordyn can't help but watch him from her position a few pedestals over, though really it's the grating shriek that catches her attention. He trips up the little girl, the one whose name Jordyn didn't even bother remembering until now, because this was her role—bloodbath fodder. It's Kairi, she thinks. And, despite her size, Benthos doesn't hold back whatsoever. He cuts away at her, hacking downwards until blood is spraying up into the air, splattering across his face.
She bends down to scoop up another knife, keeping a wide berth as Sibyl sprints away from the beach, headed deeper into town. The girl may be younger than her, but she's still one hell of a fighter.
And Jordyn was still reaped.
Her parents had bawled their eyes out, the both of them. Jordyn had been shocked, but it had been easy to hide it in the sway of her hips, throwing her hair back over her shoulder. Sure, she had never been the best at the Academy, had taken years to even lock down a weapon she liked, but Jordyn still had it in her. Even if no one else thought so.
Their victors, their mentors… they never would have picked Jordyn. Maybe if she had made it through this year to next, when she was their only option left, but never as is.
So here she was, getting her glory one way or another. At the end of the day, when she won, it wouldn't matter whether she cried out her desire to volunteer into the sky or if the escort called her name. The crown would fit the same way regardless, and Jordyn would look damn good in it, as she did everything else.
Jordyn never expected to get so lucky with her allies. Adeliza, tall and muscular and capable of hitting any target you presented her with. Marlo, who was quickly approaching her with a sword in each of his hands.
He smiled when he finally caught up to her, slightly breathless. "Working hard over here, Jords?"
"Always," she says, adding a wink for good measure. He's a good guy, Marlo, better than half the licentious lot you would find back in Four. That's probably why he agreed to keep her as an ally; he actually liked her instead of just wanting to crawl beneath the sheets with her.
The same couldn't be said about everyone else.
Adeliza was close by now, but Benny—her brutish, handsome Benny, was still doing God only knows what, zig-zagging between opponents like he had nothing better to do.
"What is wrong with that man?" Marlo ponders, cocking his head to the left, and Adeliza snorts upon arrival, no doubt wondering the same. It didn't take Jordyn long to figure it out after that, especially with all the time in the world to watch. Her allies had her back. There was no need to be afraid anymore.
She can't tell exactly what it is that Benthos finds, but he finally rises from the supply piles and begins his charge towards them. Jordyn offers a wave the closer he gets because it's the little things that work, the gestures that he appreciates. Stoking a man's ego is the best way to ensure that he'll stick around as your shield.
From what Jordyn can tell thus far, he'll do more than a good enough job.
"Hey, handsome," she calls. "Having fun?"
"The most," Benthos responds. He almost immediately bypasses her, eager to strut right to the head of their alliance and lead the way off the beach, but his feet stutter-step at her side, pausing for half a heartbeat that no one else seems to notice. His palm presses against hers, fingers tangling together.
Jordyn doesn't let herself blink, even, as she feels the capsule press against her skin. She simply removes her hand from Benthos' grasp and slips the vial into her pocket for later, picking up right after her allies as if there was nothing to interrupt her pace from the beginning.
She wasn't sure if the Gamemakers would listen. The whims of a single teenage girl can't always be that high on their priority list. Someone on that balcony heard her plea, though, and they've delivered. Jordyn had thought sharing the information with Benthos would be a long-shot, but he clearly hadn't been so sure.
The 'makers are taking note of her presence. Benthos is already doing her work for her.
Reaped or not, Jordyn thinks she may just be set.
Nine cannons fire after the bloodbath.
Nine faces appear in the sky the first night, the moon glowing bright over the ocean.
But that second day? Nothing.
It's unnerving to even be sitting here with the arena so hush-hush; no matter how hard he strains, Amani can hardly even hear the waves despite their proximity. Any noise he does happen to hear is brought on strictly from paranoia, and it takes all the coaxing in the world for him to relax. Still, the hair standing up at the back of his neck does nothing for his nerves.
Nerves he didn't even know that he had until being in here. It's just that he's always been good at hiding it, or busying himself with thinking of other things. Now that there's nothing else to preoccupy his mind, the useless lump inside Amani's skull is trying its best to break free.
Judging by the girls muted whispers behind him, they don't share those same sentiments. He's unsurprised that they're so comfortable, shoulders pressed tight together as if they need the warmth. Even with the sun gone, they've chosen to stay outside—a rooftop is as safe a place as any, when they don't need to worry about the elements. Amani has a clear look all the way around them. Even the Cornucopia glints further down the hill, just barely visible.
"Aren't you two supposed to be sleeping?" he asks, peering over his shoulder until both Tiernan and Kona flatten themselves back to the ground, mockingly afraid of him. "Y'know I'm waking you up in three hours regardless, Tier."
"Jackass," she fires back, though the word doesn't land as true without any malice put behind it. Kona chuckles into the crook of her elbow, at least doing something to muffle the noise they're making.
"Get some sleep," he instructs, settling himself more firmly against the concrete barrier at the roof's edge. Perhaps if he makes more of an effort to lay low, the girls will be lulled into a further realm of quiet. Not that his two friends have ever done so before, but there's a first for everything.
The way they're talking, their proximity to one another, it almost feels like they're back home. Granted they'd be safely tucked away inside and a hot breakfast would be waiting downstairs in the morning no matter whose house they had crashed at, but the familiarity allows some of the tension to leech from his particularly sore shoulders.
If they were at home, though, it would be four instead of three. He can't help but remember that.
"D'ya think Carrack misses us?" Kona wonders, as if on cue.
Their fourth, left behind to stare at a screen, watching his three best friends. All while he comes to term with the fact that, at best, only two are returning to him.
"I'm sure he does," Amani answers.
"I wish—"
Her voice, so gentle, cuts off so suddenly that he can't help but send a quick glance her way. Kona is only staring upward, though, hands folded primly over her stomach. She may not have said it, but Amani heard it. Judging by the look on Tiernan's face, she understands it just as easily.
I wish he was here.
But they don't, not really. Not one of them wants Carrack here, because that would mean another one of them has to die. Amani was already nearly sick at the thought that he was doomed to lose one of his best friends—he's not sure he can handle another.
His father would be beyond disappointed to know that that's the reason Amani almost pulled himself out of this, against the advice of anyone and everyone who knew him. If he had stayed back home with Carrack, at least the girls could have won together. Amani would have aged out of the reaping bracket in peace, the way he desired. Everyone gets what they want, right?
In that alternate universe, perhaps. He could hardly even stare too intently at Meena when she died, and he had only spoken to her a half-dozen times before. What is he to do when it's one of his best friends, instead?
He closes his eyes. Rolls his spear overtop his knees, letting his breath roll in and out until the gruesome images have removed themselves from his brain.
"Be quiet over there," Tiernan orders, voice muffled. "I'm trying to sleep."
"You are not," he says flatly.
"How am I supposed to sleep when I keep thinking about the fact that nothing's happened?" she asks. "God, I keep opening my eyes expecting to be swooped by rabid gulls, or something."
As always, they're on the same wave-length. They've recognized the signs as well as he has; they've perused their way through much of the town, combed through buildings and made a grand show of sight-seeing, but nothing has come of it. They haven't seen a single soul since the bloodbath.
Something will give, sooner rather than later, and if the three of them don't pick up the pace it may very well be them.
"We'll make a plan in the morning," Amani decides. "Once we're all rested, and clear-headed. Then we'll decide what to do."
Tiernan nods. Kona pops a thumbs-up over the rim of her sleeping bag. To think he was so stuck on right here, right now, trying to come to terms with the thought of being without some of his best friends when they're still right here beside him. Amani needs to think further than that, compare actions, or lack thereof, with consequences.
They need a plan, a course of action, before someone else forces them into one.
Benthos charges ahead like a bull enraged one too many times by its incompetent rider.
"I'm telling you, I saw someone," he insists. He flips one of the knives Jordyn had given him between his fingers as he moves ahead, axe thumping against his legs as he moves.
Jordyn hasn't seen hide nor hair of anyone, not even a flicker, and neither have Adeliza or Marlo. He's just so damn insistent, though, that they're trailing after him like a bunch of lost puppies, eyes peeled for signs of movement. It's all she can do to keep herself close to his back, doubling her pace to match his. If anyone is to jump out at them, he'll be the first to deal with it.
"They're probably long gone," Marlo says behind her. "Or they should be, if they're smart."
She can't help but agree. If Benthos really did see someone, a solitary person, the wisest decision for them would be to run as fast and as far as they can possibly get. Even the most well-trained of this lot doesn't stand a chance this outgunned.
Still, it doesn't stop Jordyn from looking. Every time she stares into one of the color-blocked houses for too long she swears she sees the flicker of a shadow, a curtain moving with no breeze to ruffle it. It's too often, so many times that it outnumbers the people left within this arena, but she can't stop her eyes from being deceived.
That's what people thought about her, though. Oftentimes they saw one thing, whatever they wished to, and never bothered looking for anyone else.
It should bug her more, but there were bigger concerns at hand.
When Benthos leaps away from them, it's so abrupt that Jordyn jumps despite her best efforts, stumbling back into Marlo's chest without warning. Even his steady hands keeping her upright don't do quite enough to quell the sudden thundering trapped within her chest as he tears off, squeezing into the narrow space between two of the houses. There's a panicked shout, items crashing and breaking as they're trampled to the ground in the process.
"I guess we should help him, huh?" Adeliza asks, though the tilt of her shoulders as she looks after him suggests entirely otherwise.
Marlo finally lets go of her with a careful look, pulling a sword free as he forges a path after Benthos. Jordyn hurries after him, refusing to be last in line as she turns into the slight alley, stepping over a toppled trashcan and two broken pots, the ceramic harsh underfoot. She can just barely hear a struggle on the next street over, though it ends abruptly.
"I've got him, guys!" Benthos shouts. Jordyn squints her eyes against the harsh sun as she steps back out into the road—Benthos is just now pulling his captive up from the sloping road, and pins him to the side of a seafoam green house with both hands. He's put the knife away. He's not even taking out the axe.
"Ah, not the kid," Marlo mutters. He's not as slight as Kairi was, not as young either, but the gangly, long limbs and awkward angle of the hardly struggling boy trapped beneath Benthos' hands suggests someone not even yet fully grown, just beginning to come into themselves.
Jordyn can't even recall his name. Kairi, at least, had been in the Academy for six or so odd months. This kid is fresh off the street—she thinks, even, that he was the twenty-fourth name called, her successor in reaped beings.
"Good eye," Adeliza comments. "You gonna do it, or what?"
She can hear Benthos humming, a little tune beginning to form under his breath. "I mean, nothing much has happened…"
"What's that supposed to mean?" Marlo questions. Her stomach turns uneasily at the glint in Benthos' eye, something unusually changed from the look he had only five minutes ago. He had been smiling. Joking around with her. In its place now is something much more sinister.
"I just think we should have some fun, is all," Benthos suggests. He pulls the boy from the wall, and drags him up the front steps of that same seafoam house, shouldering open the door with a rough crack. The boy continues to let out a series of panicked squawks as he's yanked inside against his will.
Jordyn is the last one up the steps after him, feet feeling as if they're stuck in a patch of sludge. "You don't need to play with your fucking food, man," Marlo snaps. "Just kill him. You've waited long enough."
"They need entertainment."
"I'm not doing it like this."
"No one said you had to do anything," Benthos tosses back. He pulls the knife free from his belt yet again, pressing the blade's tip into the boy's cheek. "I'll do it myself."
Marlo whirls—Jordyn doesn't jump, this time, but it's close. He shoulders past her and right back out the door, looking back not even once, and she finally feels proper panic begin to creep up her throat.
"Marlo!" she shouts. "Where are you—"
"He's leaving," Adeliza says quietly. "And—"
"Don't say it, Adeliza," she interrupts. "Addy, c'mon. You don't need to leave."
"I'm not doing it like this either. I'm not watching him butcher a fourteen year old."
Jordyn feels small, and frankly, in front of Adeliza, she is. A fair bit shorter, not nearly as strong. What is Jordyn to do besides plead? She can't physically stop her. Besides, would she even want to? Jordyn has no desire to watch a butchering anymore than the rest of them. At least Kairi was over within thirty seconds—there's no telling how long Benthos will keep this one alive in the name of amusement.
"Have fun with your monster," Adeliza says, voice low. "In the very least, he'll probably spare you. Can't say the same about the rest of us."
Jordyn can only stare blankly after her as she descends the steps, moving into a quick jog after Marlo's retreating form.
The room feels cold, two people down. It would be quieter, too, if not for the rapid breathing of the fourteen year old boy ten feet away. A line of blood drips down his cheek, rolling down the rounded curve of his jaw.
"It's just me and you, beautiful," Benthos says, and her eyes snap up to him immediately. "Unless you're leaving me, too."
It's as if the boy he's holding onto is nothing more than an object. A poisoner she may be, but Jordyn was never in the market for torture. Anything she could do would be leagues quicker than whatever Benthos is cooking up in his brain as they stand here. She doesn't have much of a choice, though. Her other allies were never so dedicated to her—is them leaving so hastily, without even hearing her out, not proof of that?
Jordyn finally takes a step back, swallowing around the lump in her throat, to close the door.
Benthos smiles. "That's what I thought."
"Where the hell are Zara and Naida?"
It's the question Amani has been letting roll through his head, finally vocalized in Tiernan's voice.
Two forms remain at the Cornucopia—Moises and Pike. But the girls? They're nowhere in sight.
"Hunting?" Kona suggests. "Makes it easier for us, in any case."
They had been planning for a quick assault, in and out. With four people standing guard over the Cornucopia, they couldn't afford to hang out any longer and risk the severity of a game-changing injury. Raiding them, though, even killing one of them… it would be enough to buy them some time. Their theoretical clock, extended.
They're good friends, those two boys. Always together at school, training as a pair. Amani forces those thoughts out of his head, as much as they sting, and says it anyway. "We need to kill them both."
As long as he doesn't imagine the aftermath, it can't hurt too bad. Amani can only think of the here and now.
"Moises has a bow," Tiernan notices, peeking over the neatly manicured shrubs at the house's edge to get a better look. "We need to be careful going in."
"Better idea," Kona cuts in. "Give me ten, I'll cross the road and come down on the other side of the beach to draw their attention. Once they've noticed me, you two can sneak in from behind. They'll never see it coming."
"You're good with that?" he asks.
"I mean, you're slow as hell, and Tiernan would sooner trip and fall flat on her face, so…"
He narrowly avoids the two of them scuffling in the middle of the flowerbed, shoving his way between them. "Okay. It's a plan, then. We'll move down, you head around. Just don't let them know we're coming up behind them."
"Because I was totally going to do that," Kona says flatly, flicking her finger into the side of his head as she rises into a crouch, before inching her way around the house's edge away from them. "Hey Moises, Pike! Look out behind you!"
"Fucking idiot," Tiernan mutters, though gives Kona a mocking salute just before she disappears, one that's quickly reciprocated.
At least they're typical banter has calmed him, some. As much as it could, at least. "Let's go."
Together they inch down the hill and closer to the beach. Though there's no hope of seeing her, Amani finds himself looking back for any signs of Kona. She stays hidden, though, no doubt keeping to the shadows between houses and lingering around the dunes before she dares pass over them onto the beach—she'll be able to see them, from her vantage point. She'll know when to go.
"Here," he instructs quietly, keeping himself low as he settles amongst the thick-growing verbena at the base of the dunes. Tiernan's dark hair tickles at his cheek as he fixates on the Cornucopia and beyond, watching. Waiting.
It's not long until a familiar head pops up over the sand some ways away, disappearing just as quick. If it was any other situation, Amani may have laughed at how comical she looks, but there's no bringing himself to do it now. When she finally tears over the top of the dunes with a hearty shout, weaving in-between the tall-grass with startling quickness, anxiety pools in his stomach.
But, as predicted, both Moises and Pike turn immediately in her direction, frantic in their movements. The former knocks an arrow, aims it high—
Tiernan is on her feet first, a half-second after Moises fires his first arrow. Amani doesn't bother waiting around to see how close the arrow comes, launching himself after her and across the sand, focusing only on the two figures lingering at the front of the Cornucopia. It's Pike that notices that first, Moises too caught up in firing arrows in Kona's direction, but there's nothing he can do with only a knife in each hand.
When Moises finally turns, pulling another arrow from the quiver, Amani has already prepared for it. In such proximity, that arrow will almost certainly hit one of them. Before it can he slows his pace, drawing his arm back with the spear at the ready; he sends it hurtling forward with all the force he can pull from his body.
Amani feels distant from his own body as the spear buries itself in the center of Moises' chest so hard that he's flung back to the ground, just as Tiernan meets Pike somewhere to his left. He ignores the grating screech of their weapons meeting as he races forward, pulling the spear free. Moises' eyes are already glassy, but his fingers still twitch haphazardly.
He'll be dead in a few seconds. Amani turns, diving low where his friend and foe alike are trying to go high. He sweeps the spear towards Pike's legs, driving it into the backs of his knees so that he falters, stumbling forward. Tiernan's sword finally connects, plunging right over-top of his hip. The howl he lets out makes something in Amani twitch, a noise that he never should have been hearing from someone he knew back home. His brain may be unaccepting of it, but his body moves regardless. All muscle memory.
The spear-tip cuts through his throat and bursts free from the other side, a gruesome spray of blood and cartilage splattering over the sand.
"Where's Kona?" Tiernan asks, gritting her teeth as she yanks her sword free.
A cannon blasts. Moises', he assumes. Pike gurgles for a few more moments before his follows, but Amani doesn't even get a breath in before there's a third, so quick in succession that it feels almost like a hallucination.
There's no warning when Tiernan takes off. Amani doesn't think twice in following her—he trusts what she's doing, no matter what it may be. Her frenzied pace quickly carries her away as she begins to ascend the dunes.
He's only halfway there when he sees the figure lying in the sand, when Tiernan throws herself down to her knees with a half-hearted wail. When Amani finally gets there, she's sobbing.
And Kona is dead, an arrow lodged beneath her breastbone.
"No," Tiernan chokes out, repeating the word over and over. Her hands flutter uselessly over the rosette of blood that has blossomed across Kona's shirtfront before she finally looks up at him, a plea in her eyes. A plea for what? Amani's breath is caught in his throat, his legs like lead as he sinks to the ground beside her, and he finds he can move no further. To touch her, to check for a pulse just in case, to beg for another alternative…
But his friend is dead. He knows it.
"This isn't happening," Tiernan wails. "She was supposed to run, she was fast enough, how did he hit her—"
She pounds both fists into the sand, finally, with a furious scream that makes his heart restart. Each time her arms flail out they get closer and closer to him, and one finally skims across his arm, a brief flash of pain shooting up to his shoulder. All he can think is that he should be crying, should be doing something other than just sitting here wishing for an alternative. It's not even a pleasant numbness that has overtaken his body—it's just cold.
Don't cry, his brain demands. Don't you fucking dare.
Just like everything else, he shoves it down.
Amani can count on both hands the amount of times he's hugged his friends before—his family never brought on the pinnacle of physical affection, and he's never yearned for it the way most people do. He knows what Carrack would do, though, so Amani pushes aside his own desires and stretches out to her, wrapping a hand around Tiernan's arm until he can pull her flush to his chest. For a moment she strikes out at him, too, until she goes limp. He feels the moment the rage drains out of her body, leaving nothing but grief in its place.
Still clutching her tight, Amani begins to stand. They can't sit here. It's just the two of them, now, and waiting here with Kona won't bring her back.
Tiernan's legs wobble when he finally gets her upright, but he doesn't let go. "C'mon," he urges, unnerved by the way his voice breaks at the end. "We have to go."
She turns her face away from his chest, looking down at the body of one of their best friends. Amani can't force himself to look at it any longer, or even consider it as that. Even the thought of staring at it brings a roar to his ears, blood turning to ice in his veins.
"Amani," Tiernan whispers hoarsely.
"Let's go," he presses.
"No… Amani," she says again. "Look."
And he does. Not at Kona's body, he realizes, but beyond it. Tiernan was never looking at that to begin with. He follows her gaze to the water.
Or rather, the lack thereof.
The waves had almost brushed against the Cornucopia's tail-end, previously, but they're gone now. Only dark, dampened sand remains in the place it used to be now that the water has receded. It takes a long moment for him to see where the waves are, the unnerving sheen in his eyes meeting the sun in the middle; there's a new shoreline, now, yards and yards out.
Beyond it…
It's not like a normal one. Not like the ones they were taught about in school that come up slow, brought about by the earth shaking beneath their feet. The gulls are silent. There's no wind in the trees.
The roar in his ears is not a product of his own body—it's the water.
And the water, the tidal wave, is about to come crashing down on them.
"What's your name, kid?" Jordyn asks, settling in front of the bloody post Benthos has him lashed to.
She's not sure if he can talk, anymore—Benthos spent an hour the day before knocking his teeth down his throat, and Jordyn wouldn't be surprised if some were still stuck down there. Every breath he lets out is a wheeze, tongue running over his bloody, ragged gums as he stares at her like she's the one to be afraid of.
Benthos is outside, now, pacing outside the house like he can figure out who those three cannons were by the way the wind blows. Jordyn doesn't bother telling him otherwise—the break is nice.
The kid swallows again, emitting a rough gurgle. "Kill… me…"
She tilts her head, refusing to look away from the gouges Benthos has cut into his skin, a network of bloody lace. The broken fingers, the bloody stumps of his missing toes, the swollen contours of his face. "Is that what you want?"
There's immediate regret written upon his face when he nods, pain further contorting his features.
"You know I can't," Jordyn says, but that doesn't stop her from thinking. No amount of talking to him or trying to pull him away has convinced Benthos to let go of this—if he has it his way, Benthos will be torturing this poor kid until the end of days. If she kills him, he'll hate her for for it, and having a shield that detests your very being isn't the best sort of shield to have.
But then again, if he doesn't know… can he really hate her?
Jordyn taps her fingers anxiously against the vial still resting in her pocket, flitting over the stopper. It would be quick. Painless. With all the damage Benthos has done to him, it wouldn't be a stretch to say that the kid's heart finally gave out. No one ever said she had to be calculating only to serve her allies best interests, either.
"What's your name?" she asks again, but he's closed his eyes, letting his weight drop fully against the post. In all senses except literal, he's checked out.
The kid still jolts when Jordyn crouches down before him, gently easing his chin up. "Shh," she advises, flicking the stopper off with the tip of her nail before she presses it to his bloodied lips. "It's not going to hurt."
He swallows around the blood in his mouth, letting the poison sink down the back of his throat as Jordyn curses herself internally for letting it all go down the drain. She could have saved a few drops, even, for future use. Instead she's wasted it all on this half-dead kid and for what, her own bleeding heart?
She watches him fall still, at long last, unable to help herself from sighing. All of that, and for what?
"His name is Grayson," Benthos says behind her. "Or should I say was."
Jordyn doesn't move. She stares at the boy's—Grayson's—lifeless face, his dark eyes glazed and blood-shot. "I don't know what happened," she says evenly. "He just—"
"Oh, c'mon, Jords," Benthos says. "I know you're blonde, but you're not stupid enough to believe I'm falling for that, right?"
When she stands, she tries not to let her hand drift immediately to the knife in her belt. Any sign of it, and he'll kill her. Jordyn wouldn't stand a chance against someone like Benthos, and that's precisely why he's here. He's supposed to protect her from everyone else. To his credit, she thinks he would have, had she not just killed his plaything.
"Who knew you wouldn't be able to handle it when things got ugly?" Benthos asks. "Y'know, except everyone."
"Excuse me?"
"You're not meant to be here. You're not cut out for it."
"And yet you're the one still here with me," she snaps.
"Because you were spoiled for choice, right?" Benthos laughs, now, stalking forward until he's right in her face. It takes a hell of a lot not to shrink away. "No one wanted you except Adeliza, and I'm sure you would've fucked her too if she didn't already have a girlfriend back home. Marlo wasn't down, and neither was Heddon. Moises and Pike were attached at the hip. Hell, we both know you would've gone after Amani if he swung your way, but you had no other options. So you're stuck here with me. Not the other way around."
He's still laughing. With a savage kick, he sends Grayson's body careening over, where he lands in a pool of old, dried blood. His own, too. "That's what I get for letting a whore in my bed, huh?"
It had been deeply-seated upset, until now, and that very thing unfurls and blossoms in her stomach into something much worse: fury. "Fuck you."
Benthos turns towards her once again with a crooked grin. "You wanna say it again?"
This isn't Four. She can't sleep her way out of an argument, can't wrap someone around her finger and convince them to do her bidding. So Jordyn balls her fists, fear turning into adrenaline as her dear old Benny's fingers twitch towards his axe, the knife she gave him. "Fuck you."
He lunges for her. Jordyn is faster. She throws herself towards the stairs, grabbing ahold of the bannister to pull herself up faster. She can feel him practically breathing down her neck, his hands skimming at her ankles.
And then he stops. So abruptly that Jordyn stumbles at the first landing, looking back down at him.
Benthos no longer has eyes for her. He's turned away, fascinated by the windows. Horror bleeds into his eyes, centimeter by awful centimeter. She hears the roar. Doesn't understand it.
And can't comprehend it before water brings the house crashing in on itself.
The arena is swathed in complete darkness.
There's no differentiating sea from sky. It's as if ink came raining down instead of water, staining everything a shade beyond the typical blackness.
For a long time, Amani thinks he's gone—unconscious, or dead. It could have been minutes or hours later when he realizes he can still feel himself drifting aimlessly through the water, fingers latched desperately around a piece of debris. He can hardly see his own hands to know what he's clinging to.
But he knows it's not Tiernan.
Amani keeps expecting to be able to see more clearly. The still-moving water carries him past what's left of the houses, only the upper floors and the sloping roofs still visible. They look like monsters in the dark, wide, looming shapes that morph and grow before his eyes, shifting constantly.
It's the shock, or the blood-loss. He's cut and scraped open everywhere he can feel, the cool air stinging at the open wounds on his face. Even that pain isn't enough to stop him from realizing.
He may not be able to see, but he can hear. And if Tiernan was anywhere near, she would be calling out for him.
Tiernan's gone.
He had been holding onto her when the wave toppled down over them; they had just made it off the beach and onto the road, their breakneck pace still not nearly quick enough to outpace it. They had turned into one another, held on for dear life. Somewhere in the midst of water flooding his nose and mouth, of debris sending him tumbling every which way, he had let go of her.
She… she was still alive. If he was, she was too. They would find each-other once again.
Until he saw any sort of faces in the sky, that's what Amani would believe.
He's not going to do anything floating about in this water, though. Debris scrapes at him from every angle and Amani tries not to think about what's suspended in the water beneath him. He's only half-certain it's a house at all when he catches sight of the next shape that passes by, but as the water carries him towards it he stretches his frozen arms up to the roof's edge and begins to pull himself out.
It's painstaking progress, his shaking fingers refusing to cooperate along with his battered arms, but when the next chunk of debris drifts by he plants his foot on it and drags himself over the lip of the roof. His backpack is gone; only his spear, lashed tightly to his back, remains as he flops over onto it, shivering.
He's not won, but he's alive. Him, and everyone else still with such a privilege, just survived a tsunami.
It doesn't make a lick of sense.
The first sign of life around him comes in the gentle scrape of fabric against concrete, a slight inhale that has him sitting bolt upright despite the dizziness that nearly forces him back down. A blurry shape is curled into the corner of the next roof over, unmoving now that they've been spotted.
Amani has no idea who it is; he's not sure he has the energy to devote to finding out.
"I'm not going to kill you," he manages, leaning back against the roof's edge.
They don't offer such words of truce back, but Amani didn't expect them to. People just aren't that good, usually. When they finally twitch, Amani barely reacts to the movement. He only sees them straighten for a moment, giving a jerky nod, and then re-settle into their spot, arms curled tightly around their knees.
Amani can rest easy tonight. He just has to stay awake for the faces, first.
He has to know.
Jordyn doesn't know how long she's been laying on this balcony, but the dawn in the distance begins to give her an idea.
She's been in and out of sleep, or unconsciousness, for far too long now. A tinge of pink is starting to infringe upon the blackened sky, and it makes her keep her eyes open for longer than she has in the past twelve hours.
Her head feels like it's going to split open. Her fingers have found numerous gouges—one down the left side of her jaw, another cutting across her temple. Her lip is split down one side. She almost certainly has some cracked ribs, if not worse. Breathing hurts just enough for it to be an inconvenience.
She had tried to throw herself up the rest of the stairs as the flood had knocked Benthos down, but it had caught her too quickly. It was even stronger than the threat of his hands, and it was all she could do to take a breath before she was submerged.
The beach had been one of her favorite places in the universe, until yesterday. Jordyn was beginning to re-think that now.
The good news was that Benthos was gone—not dead-gone, but gone enough for her to be safe.
The bad news is she wasn't safe at all, and her face was fucked.
Not exactly the thing to be worrying about at a time like this, but it was doing wonders to keep Jordyn sane. If she thought about the rest, her situation and what she was to do now, she would scream until her throat was raw. Clawing her way through the railings that made up this balcony, emerging from the floodwaters, had been hard enough. Now she was alone, and Jordyn wasn't sure she could even stand.
The water was still lapping closer, though. Occasionally it seeped over the balcony's concrete edge and soaked her all over again.
Somehow, that wasn't the worst part. In her proximity, face nearly pressed up against the bars, Jordyn was seeing things in the water. It had happened so many times now she couldn't blame it on the concussion. The ripple of bodies, moving too fast to be those of the dead. Long and narrow, weaving between the debris and making the water churn.
It wasn't until the sun began to rise that she finally saw the glimmer of scales, the unmistakable sign of a threat.
Jordyn had to get the fuck away from the water.
She bites down on a cry as she grabs a hold of the railing and begins to haul herself up. The blood that fills her mouth as a result is nearly enough to make her panic on top of it. Jordyn wedges her foot between the sliding door until there's enough room for her to stumble through—the room looks as if it's been taken to with a sledgehammer, but it's dry.
The worst mistake she could possibly make is passing by the still-intact mirror at the far side of the room, but Jordyn moves towards it as if drawn by some invisible energy, horribly curious. Blood cakes her face, soaked down her neck and into the collar of her shirt. Strands of hair have plastered to her forehead where the blood has congealed, the rest of it tangled into a ragged mess that she can't even begin to come through with her ragged, torn fingernails.
She won't be gaining anyone's favor by looking like this. If there wasn't six of them left, now, Jordyn would sink right down to the floor and cry at the thought alone.
But there's six. Only four more need to die, and she gets out of here. She gets her glory when no one ever thought she would.
That feels like a dream, too, but Jordyn saw the faces in the sky. She counted them. She has them all committed to memory.
"Moises," she murmurs as she forces herself from the mirror. The first one. "Pike and Kona. Grayson."
The four before the water came down. After that, much worse.
"Marlo and Sibyl," she continues, and her voice wavers helplessly. He didn't deserve that death. "Ennis and Tiernan. Zara."
Nine deaths yesterday. Six left, now and she was one of them.
Benthos is still out there, somewhere. Adeliza too. It took hours of racking her brain for the remaining three between fits of waking and sleep, but they came to her one by one. Amani. Takoda. Naida.
She looks like she's been through hell and crawled out the other side. She has no shield. No clear path out.
But make no mistake: Jordyn is getting the hell out.
Takoda shimmies down the roof's edge halfway throughout the day and disappears.
That's who the stranger is, who kept him company up in their respective sanctuaries in the dark. It took him until morning to figure it out.
Amani had a lot figured out by that point.
Tiernan was dead.
Not long ago he had two friends by his side, the people nearest and dearest to him, and in a matter of hours both of them had been stripped away. He can't help but think of her alone, submerged, searching for Amani or air that she could not find before it was stolen from her for good.
It's too quiet without them both, too mind-numbing. When Takoda returns, seemingly out of nowhere, the noise of him scraping his way over the side of the roof has him shivering, the hair at the back of his neck straight as a nail. He's soaked, again, curls plastered down to his scalp as he sprawls out onto the concrete, arms held tight to his chest.
He should've figured the kid would come back—safety is hard to come by, now, and navigating the rooftops would be no easy feat.
Amani had been trying not to watch him before, and he continues not to. He doesn't know him so intimately, not like the people in his age group, but he had been everywhere in the Academy, the finest version of a puppy dog bouncing around at everyone's feet. Even if you hadn't known him, his eagerness and zest did not go unnoticed.
"Hey."
Amani curls up tighter instead of letting himself jolt, hardly turning his eyes to where Takoda stands now—he's reached across the slight gap between their rooftops to place a few items on the narrow ledge. An orange, an apple, a bottle of something to drink. Everything looks more than slightly waterlogged, but his stomach comes to life in response. His throat, in even more of a predicament with its currently parched state, begs him to get up.
He doesn't allow himself to move until Takoda retreats back to his corner with a nervous smile, arms still laden with fruit. His fingernails dig into the peel of an orange and juice floods over his fingers.
Finally, he gives into his stomach. Amani eases his way over and snatches all three things up before something can swoop down and take them from him, trying not to fixate too long on the churning water only a foot or so below the roof's edge.
"You can come over here, if you want," Takoda says, punching away thoughtfully at a section of orange.
He's never needed company, but it's as if he can hear their voices, feel their presence still around him. They would want him to go over there.
So Amani does.
He sits down in front of him, a good few feet of space that allows them enough room to breathe. Takoda smiles at him like nothing is wrong—he looks even worse than Amani feels, skin shadowed with horrifically dark bruises and hands gashed open. It wasn't difficult to notice how he limped across the roof, either, his thigh wrapped tight with stained bandages.
"Thank-you," Amani says quietly, trying not to tear too ravenously into the apple.
"No worries. I mean you didn't kill me, so…"
He doesn't even think Takoda's armed. He's a full head shorter than Amani, too, and lanky as all get out. If Amani wanted to, he could pitch him off the side of the roof without thinking twice about it. This kid isn't going to do anything to him, though—if that was his plan, he would have figured something out while Amani was asleep last night and gone through with it.
"Why are you here?" Amani asks, unable to help himself.
"This rooftop is as good as any other."
"No, I mean here. In the arena. The Games."
Takoda hums, tapping his bloody fingers against his good leg. "Well, my pops died like four months ago. Almost five now, actually. And ma's pregnant with twins. I'm gonna have two little sisters."
"So…"
"So we need the money. Ma won't be able to work for much longer, and nobody takes you seriously in the fisheries until you hit twenty, at least. If we don't get the money, one of us will starve, I bet. Probably me."
He says it so casually, so blasé, that Amani can only blink. Takoda doesn't seem phased, peeling away more of the orange's skin with that same eagerness that he always presented while training.
Takoda is sixteen; not nearly as well-trained as at least half of the field that existed a few days ago, and not strong enough in any other respect to make up for it. He's skinny. Naïve. He could have waited until next year, when Four had no other person to send in his place. When he had a better chance.
But he's here now, without much of a choice. If he stayed home, someone was going to die anyway. At least if he dies here, now, the stipends from the Academy will keep his family alive.
It's a noble thing to die for. Far too noble for someone his age.
"Why are you here?" Takoda asks in turn. He stretches forward to hand Amani another apple, balancing it carefully on his knee.
Because it's who he's supposed to be, who his father wants. Because if he turns out to be a waste then he'll never be able to live with it, with all of the watchful eyes and the disappointment of his trainers. Worse, still, is if he gets out of here—the Capitol will fawn over him. His District will raise him as a hero. Every person in this Godforsaken country will look at him like something he's not, all because he's here when he never wanted to be.
Saying it all would be a release; catharsis in its purest form. Amani leans back to rest against the roof, keeping his second apple tucked close to his side. "I don't know," he says instead, voice low. "I really don't know."
When she first hears the noises downstairs, it takes everything in Jordyn not to scream.
She hasn't left this room since she fought her way into it—the tap in the bathroom drips enough water to sustain her, and that's good enough.
Curling up on the bed and trying to pretend the rest of the world was gone was the only way to keep herself sane. She had kicked off her waterlogged shoes and socks, stretching out her pruning feet, and something in her relaxed as she wrapped herself in one of the quilts and willed herself to sleep.
No peace lasts forever, though.
She forces herself to her feet, grip tight around the knife, and tiptoes barefoot to the top landing, straining her ears. Sure enough she can hear someone wading through the water, the quiet sound of strained breathing. There's no chance they've heard her, but Jordyn doesn't doubt they'll be up here soon.
Jordyn has the element of surprise and not much else. She presses her back to the wall, shoulders knocking gently against the mirror that still hangs from it.
Well… she has that, too.
Jordyn lifts it from the wall inch by painfully slow inch—it's large, but not so heavy that she can't get a good grip on it, wrapping her hands around the metal wiring at the backing to keep it close to her chest. It's not the shield she would prefer, but it's the one in her possession. It'll have to do.
And so she waits, hardly breathing, as the noise continues downstairs. The creek of the oaken stairs beneath the water is hardly audible, but the rapid sloshing as the intruder pulls their feet from the flood and further up each stair, getting closer and closer. It feels as if it's been hours instead of a mere minute or two.
The shadow that finally appears at the landing is warped, seeming much larger than it must really be. It doesn't matter who it is, though—Jordyn has to take them down.
She swings away from the wall, driving one of her bare feet back against the plaster to launch herself even faster. Jordyn doesn't even get a good look at who her enemy is today before she slams her makeshift shield into their chest. Grass crackles and they shriek—it's only enough to tell her that it's not dear old Benny, but a further examination is lost as their feet slip against the hardwood and they go careening backwards, tipping over the edge of the stairs.
It's odd, in a sense, that Jordyn doesn't feel the slightest bit bad as they tumble head over heels downwards. She races after them without thinking about it, and gets to the landing only a heartbeat after, diving on top of them without a heartbeat's hesitation.
Before she slams the mirror down once again, she gets her first good look at Naida's face, blue eyes bright and watering and awfully bloody as glass rains down over them.
A knee drives into her gut, Naida's hands gripping at the edge of the mirror with frantic desperation as she rears up, sending its frame slamming into Jordyn's face. Stars burst in colorful spots across her vision as Naida uses the momentum to drive her back against the stairs, head nearly cracking into the bannister.
For the first time, true panic creeps up her throat and grabs a hold. She didn't want to do this. Jordyn wasn't supposed to do this. She was never a brawler, didn't get involved in the Trials back at home, was never quite aware of how to get down and dirty in the literal sense. All she knows now is that Naida is clambering on top of her and all Jordyn can do is lash out, kicking her legs and flailing her arms, trying to dislodge the other girl's heavier weight.
And that's a long, curved blade in Naida's hand, descending so quickly that it nearly catches her in the face. It's tip gets caught in the stairs instead, giving her a moment to collect herself.
It reminds her that she has a knife of her own, too.
She can't get to it, though. It's pinned beneath them, freed in the scuffle, and Naida knows it's there too. The other girl wedges it beneath her knee, saving it from Jordyn's reaching fingers.
Her fingers can't scrabble their way to the knife, but they find something else instead. The cracked off, uneven piece of frame fits perfectly in the palm of her hand, and even though Naida's knife descends towards her face, she lets that very fact go for the first time in her life.
The knife skims across her temple, tearing open another old wound, as Jordyn twists about. Her face will make it another day.
And so will she.
It's a fact that becomes all the more real, as she finally manages to bury the wooden shard in the side of Naida's neck.
The girl gasps. Jordyn tears the shard free, dragging it further along her throat in the process, and blood sprays across her face, soaking down her hands and arms. The hole continues to pump blood as Naida's full weight collapses down on her, the girl spasming in a violent fit.
Jordyn pulls herself free, grabbing at the stairs to pull herself away. She nearly races back upstairs, eager to get away from the threat of carnage, but something stops her as Naida rolls onto her back, fingers pressed desperately against the hole in her throat.
Her vision wavers. Her head thumps. Blood drips down into her eyes and across her shoulders, staining every inch of her arms. It pools sticky in her hands, stuck under her nails for good. She's not sure she feels very much like Jordyn anymore, but the truth remains.
She's done it.
Jordyn takes no satisfaction in it, either, but she can't help a little smile—something almost proud lighting up her face—as Naida goes still. She nudges aside the girl's leg to expose her nearly-lost weapon, the house now blissfully silent.
She says it, anyway, as if there's still an enemy to fight. "Give me that knife," she demands from a corpse, wrapping her blood-soaked fingers around its hilt. "Bitch."
It's all so quick, so quiet, that Amani will never be quite certain of what caused his body to stir.
All he knows is that it didn't happen fast enough.
When he comes to, blinking the haze from his eyes, the shadowy figure hanging over Takoda's corner seems as if it could be nothing more than a trick of the mind. But then it moves, and in the dim sunlight he sees the flash of a blade. There's a gasp, an agonized cry…
Amani is on his feet before he recognizes the conscious decision to do so. The figure there morphs quickly into a person, a strong body bowed by the agony of surviving the last few days. Adeliza, he knows, but he's unable to fully register her there at all as his eyes find the knife buried between Takoda's ribs.
His momentum doesn't give him the time to grab his spear, nor would Amani have reached for it anyway. He crashes into her, his only intent to get her away. The awful moment in which they remain suspended in the air seems to last a lifetime before they crash into the concrete, his weight driving her so hard into the ground that there's a sickening crack, a muffled whimper beneath him.
She does not fight his weight. Does not try to move.
Or perhaps she's incapable.
Amani doesn't allow himself to fixate on the realities of what has just happened; if this was back home, he would be calling out for help, telling her to remain calm as one of the trainers ran over. He squeezes his eyes shut as he begins to bundle her backwards, pressing at her limp body until she rolls off the edge of the roof.
There's a heavy splash, the beating of limbs against the water for only a few seconds, and then nothing.
His knees catch painfully against the concrete as he crawls back towards Takoda, the knife still buried in-between his ribs. His eyes glimmer with a wet sheen, mouth parting uselessly as he looks up at Amani, a plea on his lips.
As if there's anything he can do, now. As if Adeliza couldn't have just fucking killed him outright and run the risk of the cannon waking Amani up.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs, and he hates every instinct in his body that knows what to do. Takoda trembles as he reaches for the knife, leveraging a hand against the boy's ribs so that it doesn't tear out quite so viciously. He still sobs as it comes free, blood washing over his filthy shirt.
It almost looks as if Takoda is about to say something, but Amani knows that whatever the words could possibly be, they'll only haunt him in the long run.
He drives the knife into Takoda's chest, where he knows there will be a critical rupture.
A cannon fires. Adeliza's, he knows, as the water below them comes alive with shapes that cause it to ripple and churn. He can't bear to even look at it.
Takoda's is slower. His hand locks around where Amani's remains frozen at the hilt of the knife, stuck in his chest. He thinks of his mother. His little sisters, the ones he'll never meet. He thinks of a sixteen year old stuck in this hell while somehow Amani remains alive, through no real intent of his own.
He doesn't want to be here anymore. All he wants to do is cry, scream, slam his fists against the pavement until they're raw and bloodied, but he can't even do that.
All he can do is remain.
All she can do is keep moving.
Sitting doesn't sound so simple, anymore—it sounds more like waiting around to die.
Jordyn hasn't stopped for more than a few seconds to catch her breath since yesterday. Naida's cannon was followed by two more perhaps an hour later. She had thought it would end, after that.
She no longer knew what she was searching for, exactly. There were no signs of life left in this arena, even though she knew something was alive beneath the surface of the water. Jordyn confines herself to the rooftops and balconies, carefully picking her way across debris that can be confirmed stable.
She's not sure there's anything left to find.
When she sees him, from a distance, she finally allows herself to stop. Her feet, still bare, are cut open and bloody, toes curling against the pavement as she lets herself breathe. Even without any defining features visible, she knows who it is.
She knows it's him.
Benthos is coming right towards her, trying to navigate the watery roadway just as she is, to varying degrees of success. His weight nearly sends him tipping into the water many times. It becomes clear by his lopsided gait, his right arm held tight to his chest, that he's worse off even than her.
Jordyn keeps expecting him to shout, to call out to her, but he doesn't so much as speak. His gaze doesn't rise to confront her, either—he keeps moving, eyes forward. He's nearly right below her now.
It's not until then that she could make out the obvious thing separating them. His eyes are glassy, fingers spasming, head constantly swiveling around as if unable to be kept still. His whole body trembles, too, blood spilling from his somehow-cracked lips. What she can tell is that he didn't have the good sense to hole up like Jordyn did—Benthos kept on the move, exhausted himself, lost the things that held the fiber of him together.
A part of him is gone. Something has been chipped away, lost in the rush of water.
Although it wouldn't be easy, Jordyn could drop down on him and hope to get her knife in his throat before he managed to throw her off. It's better than stumbling in circles, looking for the remaining person. Does he really deserve to be caught so unaware, killed without ever having a chance to fight back? Jordyn is no doer of good, but somehow it seems wrong.
If she hadn't killed Grayson, he would have taken her to the end. No questions asked.
Jordyn crouches down by the roof's edge, regretting the words as soon as they spill from her lips. "Hey, Benny," she says, watching his head jerk up towards her, nostrils flaring as he breathes out. The manic glint in his eyes increases tenfold when he finds her just out of reach, balancing precariously on a wooden beam floating between two houses.
"Of course," he croaks, voice raw. "Of course you're still alive."
A part of her hates him. Benthos would have killed her had the wave not crashed in and carried him away. Right now all she wants to do is scream until her voice sounds the way his does, hurl accusations and jump right down there to kill him. The only issue is, Jordyn isn't sure she would win.
He doesn't sound angry, though. That's what catches her off-guard. He only sounds confused, lost as if reduced to some child-like state.
"I could say the same about you," Jordyn decides on, after some time, and he laughs. It sounds painful—it is, no doubt, but he doesn't stop.
Jordyn isn't sure he even can.
"You look like shit, Jords," he claims, rubbing at his eyes. His feet slip against the beam, arms wind-milling about until he regains his balance, the water lapping over his shoes.
She does. They all do. Does it matter what state her shield is in, though, so long as it's still in one piece? This is her chance to get it back. If she takes him back now, if they track down whoever's left and take them out… that's it, for them. Their fate sealed. She'll have him forever.
"So what are we doing, Benny?" she asks. "Are we going to go finish this, or do I need to come down there and kick your ass?"
He smiles. Something in him is still enamored with her, as much as he hates it.
They always are.
Jordyn drops her arm over the roof's edge. He takes a wobbling step forward, reaching up to her. Beneath him, the water flashes with things unseen, the new piece of debris he's chosen to tilting dangerously.
And her fingers miss his as something leaps out of the water, half an inch apart.
Jordyn screams—it's some convoluted variation of his name as the thing wraps it's scaly arms around his knees, webbed hands producing talons that cut into his thighs, hooking in too deep to remove. It's opalescent eyes are bulging as it pulls at him, green-blue tail thrashing in the water as finally it gains momentum.
She reaches down, but it doesn't matter. Benthos tips away and screams, too, as his back crashes into the water. Jordyn gets one last look at him before he's pulled under, gone so suddenly it's as if he was never there to begin with.
"No," she breathes, arm outstretched still. "Come back up."
She waits. Breathes. A moment later, a cloud of blood blooms across the too-dark water.
And then, a cannon.
When he hears the blast over the arena, Amani chalks it up to delusion.
He has not sat here while the last person has died, staring aimlessly up into the sky. He has not sat here all day, all night, into the day again, his legs like lead. He has not watched hovercrafts come and go—first for Adeliza, her body mangled beyond belief, and then Takoda, his body seeming much smaller against the clouds.
He has not won, because that doesn't make sense.
"May I present to you the Victors of District Four—Jordyn Palladino and Amani Layne!"
But that's… that's his name. One of two.
He hears the hovercraft before he sees it, somewhere off in the distance. It blots out the sky above him when it arrives, casting shadows over his face that feel somehow permanent.
Amani doesn't really see the hovercraft, though. He sees his father, clapping him on the shoulder, congratulating him. He sees their mentors and their victor's proud eyes. He sees the Capitol's fawning looks, hears their adoring cheers as they place a crown upon his head, too heavy for him to carry.
He sees a victory that he does not want.
THE VICTORS OF DISTRICT FOUR… JORDYN PALLADINO (17) AND AMANI LAYNE (18).
thecentennialcelebration . tumblr . com
Thank you to Goldie and Ali for Jordyn and Amani. ❤
For legal reasons I am considering this Ali's first boy and no one will be taking that away from me, thank you.
A random side note that I forgot to mention: I got great feedback last chapter re: submitters & their respective characters, but if that's ever not the case for somebody in the future after you first see your character PLEASE let me know. I truly don't care what it is - if you think it's OOC or just weird or something doesn't sit right with you and you don't tell me now, I'm not going to be able amend it and continue on with those changes down the line. Learning characters is not a simple process and I will not be offended whatsoever by any sort of suggestion or advice.
Don't get me wrong, I love the love though. You're welcome to keep up with that. Makes me uwu.
Until next time.