Day 3, Part 1:


Azolla laid on the ground, hands behind her head. A large hole in the ceiling revealed the second floor of the hotel; another gap in the next ceiling up allowed the stars to peek through. It'd been through that very gap that she'd learned of the Five boy's death, during the brief Fallen recap of the night before.

Not just the Five boy. Kiran.

Her last interaction with him had been the second day of training. She'd tried to ask him about writing, only for him to challenge Navarro to a fight before running with his tail between his legs once Navarro brought out his fists. She wondered how he'd died, or if he'd found some kind of resolution before he died. Unless she won, she wouldn't ever find out.

Could she win? Did she have what it took? She hated the thought of having to kill someone, to stab someone until their life flowed out of their body. She didn't know, yet she didn't dare say that she wouldn't do it in a fight. Back when she and her brother lived on the streets, she'd seen plenty of good people do worse out of desperation. It had only been good fortune that saved her and Nico from the same fate.

She sighed. What hour was it now? Navarro was on watch; she could hear his regular footsteps, the thud of his boots against the wooden floor. She'd need as much energy as possible for the day, filled with its unknown twists and terrors.

Navarro's steps approached. He paused beside her; he sat down nearby, against the wall. "You still awake?"

"Unfortunately."

"That sucks."

Very helpful. Much appreciated. She rolled onto her side, turning away from him. "Good night."

Eyes closed, she breathed in and then out, in and out—wasn't this supposed to help with sleep? At home, she'd never struggled to sleep, usually filled with eagerness for the promise of tomorrow. But there was no promise here. Maybe she'd die, or Navarro, or both, just like Kiran and Liat and all the others that had gone before them.

She wondered where they went. Hopefully, wherever that was, they found peace.

Navarro spoke again, right as the lines between reality and dreamland began to blur. "You're acting weird."

Drat. There went any hope of sleep again; she'd have to start right over. "It's nothing; I'm just tired," she mumbled. "Just trying to sleep."

"I mean all day. You've been acting weird. Something's wrong."

Of course things were weird—these were the Hunger Games, after all. It would've been stranger if she hadn't been affected. But she didn't say it, of course. She shut her eyes and hoped for him to shut up. She rarely turned down a conversation, but in the middle of the night, sleep-deprived, haunted with the faces of the dead—what an excellent time for conversation!

She sighed. That hadn't been a kind thought; she was better than this. Besides, it wasn't like her brutish district partner to ask her what was wrong. Resigned, she sat up against the wall.

"I… couldn't sleep either," Navarro said, shuffling closer, "when you were keeping watch. The floor's too hard."

A tiny chuckle escaped her lips. Years of street living had conditioned her to sleep on any surface.

She could feel him bristle. "Are you making fun of me?" he said.

"It's nothing."

"Why do you keep saying that?" Though she couldn't see him in the dark, she could almost hear his frown.

"Do I?"

"You said it just earlier." He nudged her. "When I said you were acting weird. Yesterday too."

She fidgeted; this was a mistake. "Because it is nothing. I'll go back to sleep; I'll need the energy—"

"It's not nothing. Anyone with eyes can see it. So spill."

He'd been nothing less than uninterested last time she mentioned their dead peers; he'd chided her for caring. As if he would understand now! She hated how his asking suddenly legitimized the questions in her head, forcing them to the forefront of her mind—she couldn't ignore them if he kept bringing it up!

But if she didn't talk, he wouldn't shut up, and she didn't have the energy to argue at this hour of night.

She scooted away from the wall, preparing to give sleep another try. "Just thinking about Kiran, but you wouldn't understand."

"Who's Kiran?"

"Five boy."

Silence, followed by shuffling. She braced herself for his confusion as she laid down. He wanted an answer; here it was.

"The… dead one?"

"I told you you wouldn't understand," she said as she closed her eyes, yawning. "I'll try sleeping again. Wake me up in the morning."

As she'd known deep down, Navarro did not shut up. The guy had never been good at letting others have the final word. His voice wafted between her consciousness and her dream state.

"I don't… I mean…" he sputtered, his useless words culminating in a sigh. "That's hard."

Not bad, considering Navarro and all. Perhaps it wasn't quite empathy, but had she ever expected more from him? Alas, her burdens were still her own to bear. At least he'd shut up now.

She grunted acknowledgment and hoped for the emptiness of sleep to pull her under, where the burden of death would ease off her troubled heart and allow her some temporary peace.


Ilithyia sat on the doorstep to the courtroom, her arms around her knees. Morning could come at any moment, but for now, the sky still laid under the dominion of a million stars, each one smiling down at earth with concealed secrets of the universe beyond, a whole new world just out of human reach—though it'd never stopped her from dreaming.

She stared at the fire they'd lit out front in the street. Its warm rays burned hot against her sore skin, casting her arms and legs redder than they already were. Her trusty dual axes laid at her side. It didn't matter that the Gamemakers' rain had eaten away at the top layer of her skin, that parts of her arm hurt just to touch. If anyone dared to challenge her, she'd still tear them to shreds like she'd done to the girl from Three, whose blood stained the stone beneath her.

She shifted in her spot, sending zaps of pain throughout her body as her clothes rubbed against her acid-burnt skin; she gritted her teeth—it didn't affect her! She still wished someone would appear. Sitting here could only keep her occupied for so long before her fingers fidgeted and unpleasant thoughts filtered through her mind.

If only Adora were here

They'd been robbed. The unspoken promise was that Districts One and Two survived the Bloodbath; it'd been the norm for over a century, since the days long before Ten and Seven joined their ranks as loyal beneficiaries of Panem's single benefactor. Though Star Alliance infighting had weakened the strength of this promise in recent years, she'd laid her worries to rest upon meeting the Sevens and Tens—they'd have no Cornucopia showdown among themselves this year.

That was the promise she'd held to when she spent her day out with Adora and Ven, the certainty she'd had when they rose into the Arena, when she spotted her friends around the ring and prepared to sprint for the most glorious adventure of their lives. For the most part, it had been everything she'd desired and more—the thrill, the rush of adrenaline, the pure exhilaration that'd filled her lungs as she darted around the Cornucopia, checking off the boxes she'd imagined over years of intense training.

That was, up until Adora died.

How could she have died? In that single moment, the falling tower crumbled over her euphoria. Then everything had moved on, as if nothing had happened, as if everything had gone according to plan—But it hadn't! Now Adora was gone and Nevaeh hated her and what was she supposed to do? What could she do?

"Are you okay?"

Eros stood in the doorway, back against the frame. He rubbed his eyes and yawned.

Ilithyia nodded. "It's fine."

"Does it still hurt?"

"No," she said, rubbing a spot she knew to be particularly sore. Sure enough, the sharp prick of pain confirmed that the wound was still there. "Maybe a little. But not much."

He settled down beside her. "I should've stopped you from going outside…"

"You didn't know." She sighed. "Blame me and my own idiocracy. Or idiocy. I don't care."

"Whatever."

"Exactly."

She chuckled. This was already so much better than sitting out here alone. The more, the merrier, after all. Back on that first night, when they'd all circled around, chatting and playing marbles, it'd been the time of her life. Her fingers teased the bag of marbles in her pocket. Nevaeh had given them to her on that first day, back when Ilithyia had still considered the Ten girl a solid friend, her "hermana," as Nevaeh would say.

Now, she wasn't sure. About anything, really.

"What's wrong?"

She looked up to find Eros looking at her, his lips pressed together in a firm line. "Nothing."

"C'mon, sis. We can trust each other, right?"

She slowly opened her mouth. He was right; they were a team—not just a team; he was her friend, the one that'd been at her side since they boarded the train away from District Two, long before she'd met Ven or Adora the Tens. If anyone deserved to know, it was him.

But she couldn't speak. It'd be admittance.

"I'd rather not talk about it."

He sighed and looked away. Now she'd disappointed him, but it was too late to go back. "That's fine. I get it."

"I'm sorry."

"No, no. Don't be." He still gave her a hopeful smile. "But I'm here if you ever want to talk."

She grinned. "Thanks."

"No matter what happens with the rest of them," he said, gesturing back at the courthouse,"we still have each other, right?"

Though it hurt, she nodded anyway. She'd been naive to think that they could all be best friends; Nevaeh's cold shoulder had proved it to her.

Gentle beeping descended from the sky like a gift from the stars. The silver parachute glimmered in the dark, reflecting the light from the campfire. Before it had a chance to complete its descent, Eros leapt up and caught it.

"Hmm," he said, examining the surface of the metal canister. "For Ms. Ilithyia Aella."

"Let me see." She reached for it—oh gosh it hurt to move—he swiped it away with a playful grin. "Eros! Not right now!"

After a dramatic sigh, he extended it to her and winked. "For you, m'lady."

She snatched it from his hand, half expecting him to pull it away. Sure enough, her name was lettered across the silvery surface. A small silver jar sat inside, snuggled tight in the surrounding cloth.

"What is it?" Eros asked.

With eager anticipation, she yanked the lid off and dipped her finger into the off-white cream inside as soothing coolness filled her finger. She slathered some on her arm, her legs, her face—oh the relief!

She found Eros smiling at her; one broke across her face as well. They were a team, the District Two team. With Eros at her side, their mentors at their back—this was what really mattered. As for Nevaeh and the Tens and everyone else… well, now that she had her eyes set on the most important thing, she'd figure it out as she went, as she always did.

What could possibly go wrong?


The morning sun dawned upon the two girls as they snaked down another derelict alley. Virginia clenched her knife in her hand. Though a yawn crept up in her throat, she stifled it and kept her eyes wide open, ready for any tribute that might wander their way.

After all, they were on the hunt again.

Clarke had woken her this morning about the same time as yesterday. It'd been a rough shake of the shoulders, a sharp "Let's go," and Virginia had complied, despite every bone in her body desperately wishing for more sleep after a long night of bad dreams, all filled with red-dripping knives and choking blood.

She deserved it, though. She'd killed a boy. Ellis' ally. Not that it was wrong because it'd been Ellis' ally—the moment she'd drawn the knife against the boy's throat, she'd known it in the very core of her being. But to look up and see the horror etched into Ellis' gentle face… It was too much. She could still see him now, fleeing from her.

She was the monster now, the bad guy, the antagonist of his story.

Oh, how she hated it! She hated the Games. She hated these early morning hunts, where her body and mind pressed through the city with a weapon in hand, ready to end another life, while her soul died a little more with every step forward, every subsequent decision to barrel down this path she knew to be destructive and wrong. She hated how she still complied with Clarke's every decision, as if blaming the de facto leader between them somehow absolved her of her own guilt.

When she'd saved the Nine girl back at the Cornucopia, she'd somehow expected a change. Laforza had died; her fortunes had changed. Turns out she'd just swapped one callous ally for another, as if the universe was dead set on keeping her where she was.

She didn't remember Clarke being so cold back in training. If anything, she'd mostly seen the girl laughing and talking with the Twelves and the rogue girl from Seven. So much for that. She hadn't heard a single laugh from Clarke since.

Clarke turned down another lane, momentarily disappearing. Virginia paused. If she wanted to run, she could leave at any time. There was no official alliance contract between them; there'd be no consequence. Sure, Clarke would probably be furious—whether because she valued Virginia or her pain killers, Virginia didn't know—but the Nine girl was unarmed with a crushed hand to boot. Virginia could win that fight.

But Virginia forced her feet to follow anyway, quickening her pace to catch up with Clarke. Hadn't she been the one to seek out Laforza in the first place? She stared forward robotically; she forced her mind back to that fateful day about a week ago, when Jakob had humiliated her in the Justice Building. As if holding herself captive, she fixed her memories on his stinging words, the look of utter contempt on his face.

She had to win.

If she dug deeper, she knew her logic would come up flawed—nothing between her thoughts and her feelings lined up properly. This was one equation she wouldn't be able to balance. But she'd sought out Laforza for the purpose of victory, and with that goal in mind, she'd keep telling herself that Clarke was an excellent ally as well.

The two stopped at the end of the alley, where it flowed into one of the main roads. Virginia peeked out around the edge. Just like every time before, the road ran all the way out into the desert, where it blended with the scorching sands until it stopped short at the horizon, where the sun was rapidly climbing in the sky. Unlike before, there were two figures, somewhat faint in the distance.

"What is it?" Clarke whispered, her tone sharp enough to cut fabric with.

Virginia pointed. "I don't think I'm seeing things… right?

Clarke mumbled a curse under her breath; she tugged on Virginia's shoulder to pull her back. But it was too late. The distant figures suddenly picked up their pace.

They'd been spotted too.


At the sight of the other tribute—or was it two?—Zirconia broke into a huge grin. She and Zeph hadn't seen anyone else for days—fine, it'd been less than two days, but still! Hours upon hours of wandering this deserted wasteland, finally broken by the appearance of life.

Zeph's hand rested on her shoulder; she reminded her lungs to breathe. These were the Hunger Games, after all. She wasn't dumb, not any more than the average person, she assumed. But then she saw the pixie cut and the bun and her heart flew into her throat because there was no way Clarke wasn't one of the two.

Oh, how she'd missed her! Those days in training, with Clarke and Liat—it'd been as close to heaven as it could've been, well, given the circumstances. All those plans they'd come up with (she whispered a thank you to Zeph)—finally they would come to fruition, even after that disastrous first day, when they'd permanently lost Liat and temporarily lost Clarke—

She stepped forward. Zeph's hand didn't seem quite as enthusiastic; she glared at him. "C'mon!"

"Shh—"

"Shush you—let's go!"

She grabbed his wrist and broke into a run. A very slow run, since she might as well have been dragging a bag of rocks (for heaven's sake, the rocks would've been more enthusiastic)—but hey, she was trying!

"Y'all!" she shouted. "Oh my gosh—is that you?"

Sure enough, the pixie cut—Clarke!—stepped into the street. Zeph mumbled behind her—"Oh my gosh, keep it down."—but she didn't care.

Shaking herself free, she broke into a sprint. Clarke's features came into view; it was actually her! After so long, so much worrying, so much searching! (She hadn't mentioned it to Zeph, but there'd been a reason she'd refused to stay in one place for too long.) She saw the girl's incredulous smile; she threw her arms around the girl—"It's so good to see you!"

"I—" Clarke gulped, voice starting to shake as she pressed Zirconia back. "I thought y'all left me. Or abandoned me. Or—"

Zirconia grabbed her by the shoulders and looked her dead in the eye. "I would never do that to you. Got it?" She conveniently left off that Zeph had wanted to leave her, but the Nine girl didn't need to know that.

A wide smile spread across Clarke's face; she pulled Zirconia in for another hug. "I'm so glad…"

Zirconia turned to the other girl, who'd hesitated back beside the wall, one of her hands clenched nervously around the strap of her backpack. "Who's this?"

"Virginia, from Eight. She pulled me out of the wreckage after… " Clarke's voice dropped. "You saw the face in the sky?"

Sadly so. Zirconia nodded slowly. To think that Clarke had been trapped at the Cornucopia—and she and Zeph had left her to die! Oh the things she'd tell Zeph later—but that was later. "I'm so sorry." She gave the new girl—Virginia—a smile. "Thanks."

"My pleasure," Virginia said. Her voice was soft, almost choked out.

Zirconia figured things would ease once they got to know each other better—things usually did around her. After all, the Eight girl couldn't be terrible if she'd stopped to save Clarke—who might as well have been a total stranger.

Zeph approached from behind. He appeared at ease—was he truly so, or just trying to be diplomatic? She loved him with every fiber of her being, but gosh, he could be so complicated.

Whatever. That was too much worry for now.


Ven stood alone in the center of the courtroom. A chill had fallen over the atmosphere; though the blazing morning sun streamed in like fire, the very energy of the room stood in absolute ice—and it'd only gotten colder since Sos, Eros, and Adair left to hunt. Ilithyia sat on the front doorstep. Nevaeh had gone somewhere out back, as far away as she could be. Neither had spoken to each other since their argument.

He wished the Ten boy had stayed behind; Ven had a million questions to ask regarding Sos' own investigation on Eros. But Sos had risen this morning and prepared himself to hunt, and for some reason, Nevaeh had seemed perfectly content staying behind, though Ili would be here too.

Could Nevaeh be trusted? He'd always assumed so, given Sos, but he also hadn't expected her to react so coldly last night. If she and Ili were really that close, wouldn't helping her have been a no-brainer?

He'd thought he knew. Apparently he didn't. But he still knew that if things didn't get fixed soon, the alliance would self-destruct, and he wasn't ready for that. Not yet. Even if it was inevitable, this was far too soon for a Star Alliance to start turning on itself.

Perhaps this was why alliances had been smaller for the past few years. A large alliance was so much work to maintain. If neither Ili nor Nevaeh was going to work on maintaining their alliance, then he'd have to do something himself.

He started with Ili first; he figured it would be easier since he knew her better. Of course, he also knew her to be ridiculously tenacious, but he preferred not to think about that part. He'd have to face it sooner or later anyway.

When he stepped out the front door, he found her tossing marbles at a crack in the road. Though her skin still had an unnaturally pink hue to it, it was already a huge improvement from last night's red.

He smiled at her. "You feeling better? It looks like it's healing properly."

"Yeah!" She pulled a silver parachute from her bag. "My mentor sent me this early this morning."

"That's a relief." It reassured him too—if she was in a good mood, maybe this conversation wouldn't be too hard. After all, even she had to see the value in protecting their team.

"Oh, for sure." She unscrewed the lid and showed him the off-white cream inside. "This stuff is magical. The Capitol's fancy-schmancy stuff really works."

"I'd hope so. It'd suck to get something only for it to not work."

She tossed another marble. This one landed just a bit short; it still rolled in anyway, nestling itself comfortably in the crack. She let out a whoop. "There we go!"

He chuckled as he sat down. Part of it was genuine; the other part was nerves—how would he bring up last night without triggering an extreme response? Would she even give him an extreme response? The more he thought about it, the more he concluded that he didn't know her as well as he thought. Perhaps it'd been true back in the Capitol, but all bets were off now. Everyone knew the Games changed people.

He tested the waters. "How are you feeling today?"

She gave him a funny look; his awkward smile deepened as he realized they'd just talked about this very question. Thankfully, she gave him a good-natured grin. "It's all good, Ven."

"What about last night?"

'I—" She sucked in a breath; she looked away. "I've been reconsidering some things; that's all."

He frowned. "Reconsidering…"

"I figured it out; don't worry. Eros and I had a good talk, so I'll be fine."

Now that Eros was involved… What had they discussed? An escape plan—or even worse, an alliance self-destruct plan? He trusted Ili up to a certain point; he knew she wouldn't agree to a plan that would eliminate him. But what of the Tens? Nevaeh and Sos were fierce fighters. They wouldn't go down without serious damage—if they ended up being the ones to go down at all.

"What?" Ili furrowed her brow. "I'm serious. It's nothing to worry about."

He laughed lightly. "You know I'll find something to worry about anyway."

She frowned. That intense stare—it was genuine. "Like what?"

"That the alliance will fall apart."

"It'll be Nevaeh's fault," she huffed. "I don't know what's wrong with her, but I'm not going to put up with it."

"Well—"

"Look." She sighed. Her cheery demeanor couldn't hide the sadness lurking in it. "She clearly didn't care. Why should I?"

He bit the inside of his cheek. He wasn't about to excuse the Ten girl—he didn't understand her either. But he had to say something. "So you're going to throw away the whole friendship over one issue?"

She bristled. "She's the one throwing it away."

The first words that came to mind was a whole spiel about how both parties were usually at fault in any given conflict, but he figured it wouldn't be as effective on Ili as it was on his own little brother back at home.

"So what I'm hearing is," he said, "that if she apologized to you, you would accept it?"

Her fingers played with her hair uncomfortably; she shifted in her seat. "I— I guess so. But it better be real."

"Then let's hope she does," he said. "You guys were so good together in training."

"Yeah… Those were good times, weren't they?"

He grinned; he knew she'd come around. This situation could still be saved. "I'm sure we'll have more good times."

"I hope you're right."

Ven left her at the doorstep, excusing himself to go back inside. It took a little more effort to reach Nevaeh, but he eventually found her about a block away from the courthouse, hacking at a barrel cactus.

He raised an eyebrow. "What's that for?"

"Water." She brushed the sweat off her forehead. "I'd like to not run out." Was it an accusation? It might've been; it was hard to tell with that flat expression on her face.

"Is it that bad?"

"Y'all used up at least three days of water." She didn't even look up as she shaved the spines off with her knife. "At least."

He crossed his arms. He wouldn't ever apologize for helping a friend. "I was just trying to help her."

She sighed. "I get it. I'm just trying to help all of us not die of thirst."

"That won't matter if 'all of us' doesn't exist anymore."

Nevaeh narrowed her eyes. As they searched him, attempting to probe into his thoughts, he stared back, maintaining unwavering eye contact. Even so, he kept a hint of a friendly smile on his lips. He didn't need her antagonizing him.

Beeping shattered the silence. Silver glimmered above, the same hue as the one Ili had shown him. But this one was much larger; a small wooden crate floated down. Through the cracks between the panks, two plastic gallons of water sparkled in the sunlight.

He smiled. "I don't think we'll have to worry about dying of thirst. But the alliance…"

"Did Sos set you up?"

"Nope." A hopeful sign—Sos had been talking to her. "So you'll talk to her?"

She sighed. "Do I have much of a choice?"

"Yes. But it's the right choice."

"I swear—are you sure Sos isn't behind this?"

He threw his hands up, chuckling. All the more evidence that Sos was a trustworthy guy. "Sos had nothing to do with this; I promise." After carefully folding the parachute over the gallons, he picked up the crate. "Won't be needing the cactus anymore, eh?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not gonna waste a perfectly good cactus."

"How do you open it anyway?"

"No idea. Mamá did all the cooking back home." She shrugged. "But they're tasty. Sos promised to cut 'em open if I found some for him."

"I'm looking forward to it."

The heaviness overhead had lifted. Nevaeh ran ahead back to the courthouse; he trudged behind with the water, just relieved that the conversations had gone well. Perhaps he'd worried too much. It wouldn't be the first time.

When he finally returned and heard the two talking, he knew he'd done well.


As the three of them wandered the deserted streets, Sostonio trailed behind his two allies, more than happy to let them go on ahead. He stared wide-eyed as Eros poked his head into a house on the left, slinging a pair of handcuffs around his finger. The goal was to hunt, yet he wished with all his might that they'd return without seeing a single person.

He found himself putting extra weight into each footstep, grinding the pebbles into the road with loud crunches. His sweaty palm closed around the lasso coiled over his shoulder. Their instructions had been clear—to bring back anyone they caught alive, to play a disgusting game of court trials—and they'd undoubtedly rely on him to trap a fleeing tribute without killing them.

If only Nevaeh hadn't said those words! Sos knew she'd meant it as a figure of speech; she'd never intended for Eros to take it literally and pass it along to Ilithyia!

He wondered what the repercussions would be if he intentionally missed and played it off like an honest mistake. He doubted he could pull it off convincingly; he'd never been good at games of pretend. Besides, allowing another tribute to escape was delaying the inevitable at best and signing away his own death at worst.

Adair wandered into a building that looked to be some kind of shop. He pointed at the disturbed dust patterns below. "Someone's been here recently."

Sos peeked in. The dilapidated home looked about ready to fall, only left standing by the stillness of this lonesome desert. A closet door was open in the corner, through which fallen brooms and baskets fell out onto the floor. Eros nudged a basket with his foot, revealing a scrap of plastic wrapping.

The Seven boy did a little whistle. "Anyone still here?"

Sostonio strained his ears. He knew the other two did the same, yet he hoped for the exact opposite. The only sound was the ever-present breeze, rusting as it weaved through the rafters. He breathed a sigh of relief.

"No? Have a nice day then."

As they moved on, Eros chuckled lightly; Adair joined him. It made Sos' stomach flip. How could they be so nonchalant? They looked like kids playing a game of hide-and-seek; this was twisted on so many levels—he wasn't sure where to start. And to think that Capitol kids grew up on this stuff, day in and day out!

Cálmate. He took a deep breath and then another. No need to make a huge fuss about it on live television. If Snot were watching at this moment, he wanted the younger boy to see him calm and self-controlled, not splashing his emotions everywhere like dirty dishwater.

"Hey, Sos," Eros said, looking back. "Could you keep the footsteps down?"

Sostonio nodded. "My bad."

He did just that. As he'd told Nevaeh and she'd told him—he'd think of the alliance. For their sake, he'd play his part as a trained tribute from District Ten, another hunter of the Star Alliance. Given last night, they already had enough underlying drama without him being uncooperative. But when push came to shove, would he actually kill someone?

Too bad he wouldn't know until the time came.


Crouched in the shadows, Ellis peered through the window of the workshop. A square of light fell on the floor near him; he didn't dare step in it, instead waiting to the side, where a passing tribute would be less likely to spot him. His eyes wandered towards the hallway in the corner of the room, which led to the back door. Once again, two exits were safer than one.

Once again. He gulped, as images of knives across throats and choking blood filled his mind. It'd been safer for himself; Kiran hadn't been so lucky. How did it all go wrong? Kiran had fallen asleep on watch; he should've checked on the Five boy more often—or found a better place for the night!

But the universe had given him another ally—Iggy, out of everyone it could've been—and he vowed not to allow a repeat of what'd happened to Kiran. He couldn't let her die; he wouldn't.

He wouldn't be able to handle it.

And to think that it'd been Virginia who attacked them! He didn't want to believe it though he'd seen her with his own two eyes; it was unmistakably her. He'd known that she desperately wanted to win, that she'd do whatever it took to win—at least, according to what she'd last told him.

But she'd also told him that she didn't want to kill during their last hours in the Capitol, when he'd found her numbing herself with television in the middle of the night. He'd given her a hug. She'd accepted it almost robotically, cold at first, but then she pulled in closer and they'd fallen asleep together on the couch, just relieved to not be alone.

Yet she'd killed Kiran. If the house hadn't had a back door, would she have killed him too? He liked to think that she wouldn't. But it'd been dark inside. He hadn't known it was her until he'd escaped and the light came in—she might've killed him before realizing what she'd done. He'd be dead. And if he knew anything about Virginia, she wouldn't take well to killing him either. District Eight would be out of the Games in one fell swoop.

He leaned back against the wall with a sigh; he found Iggy staring. Though he felt about as alive as the wasteland around him, he mustered his strength and gave her a smile so she'd know he was okay. For her sake.

"Do you want another candy?" Her voice was like a mouse, suddenly small, as though the desert ruins had sucked the energy out of her. "I-I know it's silly, but I don't got nothin' else…"

For once, sugar was the last thing on his mind, but her smile was so innocent; the girl was trying so hard. "Sure," he said as he pulled his cheeks back in a grin.

She brightened. With a warm smile, she scurried over and placed another one of her sweets in his hand. "Here!"

"You're sweeter than sugar. You know that?" he said, unwrapping the lozenge. It took quite a bit of effort now; the candy's surface was sticky, half-melted in the desert heat.

"Um…" She laughed lightly. "Mama says that sometimes, but…"

"She's right." He gave her a playful wink. "Be careful or you'll melt too."

It was almost unreal that someone like her could exist up in Panem. All his life, Ellis had lived in the dreariness of District Eight's industrial forest, always having been the one to strain for sunlight when others only saw the ubiquitous shadows. Never had he ever found someone that seemed to attract sunlight with her existence.

But they were in the Arena. Both of them. He didn't dare say he had the goodness in him to die for her, but if he didn't win, he knew he wanted her to.

"Maybe it would be better if you moved over there." He pointed at the corner by the hallway. "So if someone comes in…"

"O-Okay." She stared at him wide-eyed, but she picked up her bag and obeyed without questions.

"Thanks." He nodded. "Sorry." He found his muscles tense from head to toe. He leaned back again and shut his eyes, but his arms tingled and his eyelids flew open once again, half expecting to see Virginia and the Nine girl, ready with knives to kill.

Iggy still watched him.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I'm a little on edge."

She smiled at him. "Everything will be alright."

"You're right," he said. Now she was comforting him. He should've been the strong one, the one to comfort her amidst all this stress. But it seemed like he hadn't done her a lick of good so far. She'd been the one to find him, stay with him, do her best to cheer him up.

She continued. "Mama always told me—"

Crunch.

Ellis lifted a finger to his lips. The sound was distant, somewhere outside the walls. In the street, no doubt. Though adrenaline immediately burst into his veins, he breathed deep, maintaining his cool. He'd spent too much time thinking of escape plans to mess this one up.

Crunch. Crunch.

Louder now. A chuckle. Unintelligible words. He motioned for her to rise and pointed at the hallway. They might make some sound on their way out, but he'd rather risk it than stay and hope they didn't check this building.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

He hurried Iggy down the hall with a gentle hand on her back, trying his best to muffle his footsteps as much as possible. With each creaky step on the old floorboards, his heartbeat shot up in intensity until he felt as if his ribs were about to snap. He could hear his pulse in his ears; every hair on his arm stood on edge.

The floor cracked below him. His eyes flew wide, and then there was no floor.

Iggy shrieked. His feet landed with a jolt; the floorboards had collapsed from under him, though Iggy remained above. What'd once been the floor was now a jagged wooden edge. It came up to his chest; the rest of his body stood in the crawlspace below.

A shout from outside. No hiding now.

Iggy grabbed his arm and tugged as he leapt. His hand, slick with sweat, slipped off the edge and he fell back, nearly pulling Iggy into the crawlspace with him. The shouts rang louder now—just a house down? Two voices, a third in the background. Distinctly male. That left one possibility. He stared into her terrified eyes as realization dawned on him.

"Go." His voice was raspy, choked in his throat. "So we don't both die."

"N-No—"

He felt a sob welling up. "Please, Iggy. You deserve to live. Just—"

"We can do this!" Her hand latched on his wrist. "C'mon. On the count of three."

He lacked the will to argue. He wiped his sweaty hands and propped his arm over the edge. She started counting; it echoed in his head like a gong, eternal in its sound as time seemed to slow.

"Three… Two… One… Jump!"

He propelled himself upward; his chest slammed against the floorboards, but he was up! Tears streamed down his cheeks—from fear or joy, he didn't know. In ecstatic frenzy, he scrambled after Iggy, away from the caved-in hole in the center of the hall.

The front door slammed open.

He stumbled to his feet. Whirring flew past his ear; a knife lodged itself in the wall beside him. District Seven. And Seven had more, this next one aimed beyond him—Iggy! Not on his watch. Not again. Ellis lunged forward; he shoved Iggy out the back door and off to the side as the next knife nicked his ear.

Now they were out. But the hole in the floor would only delay the hunters for so long. He grabbed Iggy's hand—he wouldn't, he couldn't leave her behind, not again—he fled across the street into an alley.

The alley opened into a wide street, where they immediately came face-to-face with three-story walls— a mansion on the opposite side of the road with its door wide open. Though some of the roofing had started to fall, most of it remained in surprisingly good condition. Its window frames still held glass, even the massive ones on the bottom floor.

No time to think. He bolted for the door; once Iggy stumbled in, he bolted it. Not foolproof, but it'd buy them some time. As he caught his breath, he surveyed the dusty home around them. They stood in an atrium; an engraved balcony ringed the upper floor. But that was no good. Once upstairs, they'd be trapped.

"You okay?"

She nodded, panting.

"Let's find another exit."

They scrambled down the first hall. Nothing but bedrooms, dusty and threadbare. Useless. Back into the atrium. Down another route, passing through the parlor.

A hard thump sounded from the front and Ellis' heart nearly flew through his chest—thankfully, the door held fast; the bolt held it shut. But now the Star Alliance was at their doorstep. He snaked his way through a billiard room, Iggy right behind him, still no door in sight. A panic started to simmer—but there had to be one somewhere in a house this size!

Iggy grabbed his hand. She pointed at an open doorway; he followed. They stepped together into the mansion's kitchen, a room replete with cupboards, counters, closets—and an exit. Ellis flipped open a few cupboards en route to the door; they'd long been empty, just like everything else in this desert town.

The sound of distant shattered glass filled the air, turning Ellis' mind back towards the great windows lining the front of the building. Before long, this place would be swarming with trained killers.

Time to leave.

He grabbed the door handle. It refused to budge. He gave it a good shake—maybe it was stuck; he slammed his weight against it. Nothing. Every drop of recent relief drained as his knuckles turned white. The door was locked; they were trapped.

"What's wrong?" Iggy said, voice barely audible.

He whispered back. "It's locked."

"But we're on the inside."

"I don't know," he said through gritted teeth. "It has to be some Gamemaker trick."

"What do we do?"

Footsteps, distantly down the hall—but they soon wouldn't be distant anymore, once the Star Alliance eliminated the dead ends and arrived in their corner of the mansion. Ellis whirled around. His breath hitched in his throat. He needed a plan, and he needed one fast.

Iggy looked at him expectantly; he couldn't meet her eyes. He had no time, no route; if they stayed, they'd be dead within minutes. He clenched his trembling hand—but fighting wasn't an option, not when he was completely unarmed and facing three of the scariest opponents in the Arena.

Visions of red and the dead clouded his mind. She'd die because she followed him; he'd die too, and all would be lost. He'd let her down.

Not yet. He pinched himself. They hadn't been caught yet. But with nowhere to run—

"H-Hide," he whispered. "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry. But that's all we can do."

She frowned, but then it lifted into a sad smile. "Please don't be sorry."

"But I—"

"You did your best." Her voice was shaky now. "Can I give you one last hug? In case…"

He threw his arms around her, tears beginning to well up in his eyes. Though he wanted nothing more than to pause in the moment, he released her and stepped away. Words failed, for seemingly the first time in his life. He gave her a gentle nudge towards the wall of enormous closets. Thankfully, she got his message and disappeared into the darkness.

Chatter, now closer.

As if snapping from a trance, he darted into a closet, a different one from Iggy's, only to find this one full of old furniture. Tables, chairs, dressers—there was nowhere to hide here, not without making enough noise to alert the whole mansion to his location!

Too late to change. The swarm of voices was close enough for him to make out words now; he could feel the floor shake under their footsteps as they stormed the kitchen.

"Y'all think they're in here?"

"They have to be. They wouldn't be dumb enough to hide upstairs."

"Maybe they're up there, expecting us to look here first."

A loud creak—one of the closets. A thump, and then a crack. Ellis held his breath and pressed himself against the wall, every sound sending a fresh wave of terror through his bones. Iggy, please be okay.

All fell silent.

A sudden scream broke it. Iggy's scream. Ellis crumpled to the ground; he curled his hands over his head. A primal yell started deep in his chest and he bit his cheek to suppress it, instantly flooding his mouth with blood.

"Please! Don't kill me, please—"

He squeezed his eyes shut; he plugged his ears, bracing for the cannon that was sure to come—the marker of her death, of his abject failure and utter inability to protect her, no matter how hard he'd tried. He mouthed desperate apologies, ones she'd never hear because this guilt would remain on him forever.

But no cannon came.

He slowly released his ears. Had he missed it? Not possible; he would've felt its vibrations. All three of them were still there, too; he could feel the floorboards creak as they shifted their weight.

"Wasn't there another kid with her?"

"I don't think so."

"I'm pretty sure there was a boy—let's split up. It's not like she can do anything."

He'd forgotten to worry about himself. Instantly, fear shot through his veins like electricity. He was frozen; he couldn't move. He was stuck in his corner, covered in tears—and oh gosh, now the sounds were louder and the footsteps were closer and he still had nothing he could do.

He hadn't been able to do anything for Kiran. Or Iggy. Now it was his turn.

The door swung open. District Ten stood there, the very one that'd given Kiran his nasty cut back at the Cornucopia. Ellis felt his fingertips go numb, but he still balled them into a fist. He wouldn't go down without a fight, even if there was no way for him to win. The guy entered; he peered around the dark corners of the room.

They locked eyes.

Ellis gulped, yet the Ten boy didn't say a word. Instead, the boy gave one of the tables a good push, filling the air with its screech. He knocked a chair over and then righted it again; he shuffled around the dresser in the corner.

Then he left. He shut the door, and Ellis was in complete darkness.

"Y'all have any luck?"

"Nah. You think he ran out the back door?"

A shake of the doorknob. "The door's locked. Ain't no way he got through that." Ten's voice. A few heavy slams followed it, as if someone was kicking the door. Finally, a crash. Now the wind from the outdoors filled in the silence. "It's open now, but still."

"Oh well. At least we got the girl."

"—and more water—"

"I'll still check upstairs though."

That last statement was fainter now; he hadn't been found! His entire body tingled as he listened to their voices fade into the indistinct distant chatter. He rose softly—he scuttled into Iggy's closet, only for the empty room to face him with bleak reality. It was true. She was gone. He picked up her little backpack, strewn in the corner. It'd been the one he'd given her back at the Cornucopia, though when he looked inside, the water bottle was gone, leaving only her sponsor gifts. He suddenly became conscious of his parched throat.

What were they going to do with her?

That hug had been the last. If they hadn't killed her immediately, it must've been because they had worse plans back at their base. He'd seen his fair share of gruesome Hunger Games deaths over the years. With a heavy heart, he gave the hallway a solemn look, silently asking for her forgiveness, that he hadn't been able to protect her, that he wouldn't be able to save her.

Full realization didn't strike him, however, till he stepped into the now-open doorway, ready to leave this cursed place behind. Back in that closet, District Ten had covered for him. It'd been intentional. Even now, this exit was only available due to Ten, a trained tribute, the very one that'd nearly killed Kiran. None of it made sense, yet it was simultaneously clear as day.

The Ten boy had just saved his life.


As Adair descended the staircase, he whistled a mountain song, tapping his fingers on the bannister along with the beat. He hadn't found anyone upstairs, but was that really any surprise? No, and neither was Sostonio's odd behavior. That's why he needed the Ten boy to go on ahead, to give him some room to think and observe without interference.

He glanced out the now-open front door, where Sostonio and Eros waited with the handcuffed girl from Eleven. His eyes wandered back down the hallway where they'd found her, where her friend undoubtedly had been as well.

With eyes closed, he paused at the bottom of the stairs, just long enough to note the tiny creaks and shuffles that came from the back of the mansion.

"Alright, boys," Adair said as he exited the mansion, stepping back into the relentless sun. "On to the trial!"

"You find anyone?" Sostonio called.

"Not even a spider. Her friend must've escaped."

He winked at Sos, and that was that.


A/N It's been three weeks. Whoops. I hope y'all enjoy the chapters, though. Let me know how I can improve.

Question: What are your predictions? How is this "trial" going to work? How will it end up?

I'd love to know y'all's thoughts!