IMPORTANT NOTE: I am posting several chapters very close together. To avoid spoilers, take a peek at the previous chapter to make sure you've read it before you start this one!

TW/CW: Description of horse death in third POV.

Fahad Azerola, 17

D10M

Northwest of the Cornucopia

9 July 329 AEDD

Big Hand Nails Down — Soap&Skin

It had been too peaceful. Fahad's stomach told him trouble was on the way. He wished the streak of good luck would continue, but he and Mare had been boring, and boring was bad. Worse than bad, really, since it meant the Gamemakers would want to spice things up. Maybe they would pick someone else. The Careers, maybe, since they hadn't killed anyone since the first day of the Games? Unlikely, but it was a nice thought. They had been making some progress, however mundane. They inched their way into the rainforest a little more and headed to where the canopy seemed lushest, which led them to a wide, slow moving river.

This was a positive development. There were fish in the river, so Fahad didn't have to worry about eating more grubs in the future. It was tricky to catch the fish until he came up with the bright idea of finding a sharp stick and just skewering them as they drifted by in schools. Fish obtained, he and Mare found some twigs that seemed less wet than most of the wood in the jungle and somehow found the right type of rock to make a spark with. This produced a sputtering, smoky fire that popped indignantly as it consumed the not-as-dry-as-they-would-have-liked twigs, but smoking the fish on a spit actually seemed to work out well. The fish were delicious, with crispy skin and glistening white flesh. Fahad found himself especially delighted with warm food, since he hadn't had anything actually cooked since breakfast the day the Games commenced, when he was still in the Capitol. They had no knife to fillet the fish with, but that was okay. They ate around the organs, plucked bones out of their teeth, and were grateful they had something so good to eat in the first place.

Then Fahad saw the snake behind Mare. It was a long snake, five or six feet long, with nondescript coloring that allowed it to go undetected until it had moved and caught Fahd's eye. He screamed, which made Mare whip around and scream also. They both scrambled away from it and waited until it slunk back into the undergrowth. After a few minutes of panicky breathing, they dared return to the fire and the fish.

"Are you okay," Fahad asked.

"Um, I think so. It bit me, but it's not very bad." Mare showed him the skin on the back of her elbow, which bore two small bumps he might have mistaken as the work of a mosquito. The bite was nondescript, with no prick marks, and looked mild.

"Does it hurt?"

"No. But I am scared it's poisonous." Mare sounded nervous, which made Fahad scared. He was not the leader, and he didn't trust himself to take charge of the situation. "I don't like snakes."

"There's got to be a way to get the poison out of the wound," reasoned Fahad. "I've heard you can put butter on it? Or suck out the venom with your mouth."

"Anti-snake hickeys?" Mare laughed, despite the circumstances.

"It's not dumb if it works, right?"

"Look, Fahad, babe. I appreciate the effort, but I don't think sucking snake venom into your mouth is a good idea."

"Please, let me at least try. It's worth a shot."

"But if it's poisonous, you'll consume the poison. You'll die."

"No, I won't."

"You might."

"That's a risk I'm willing to take." He took her hand in his.

"We should wait. If I start feeling off, then we can try, but there's no point doing it if we're not sure it's poisonous. Imagine all the germs lurking in snake saliva. The Gamemakers'll give you one heck of an infection."

"No, because if you're experiencing symptoms, it'll be too late! Please, you have to let me. I'll be careful, I promise."

"Okay," Mare said hesitantly. It was obvious she really didn't want to be doing this, but Fahad was relieved she was allowing him to help. It was the least he could do. Mare had saved him so many times over by knowing things about the desert and carrying him when he was too tired to walk and comforting him when his mind was spiraling. He couldn't stand by idly and watch her die, not now, when he could have prevented the snake attack in the first place if he'd been paying closer attention. He brought his lips to the bite. Kissed it reverently. Every piece of Mare was something he wanted to cherish and keep safe forever, as impossible as it was in the Hunger Games. The kiss felt right to him, like a prayer that would shelter them from the bad outside things and the risks of giving people anti-snake hickeys.

He tried to build up as much pressure as possible to draw out the venom, to reel it back from the flow of the bloodstream, wring it outside so it couldn't hurt her. His mouth filled with sweetness and then the metallic flavor of blood, and he kept at it until the sweetness was gone and all he tasted was human.

He spat, then scooped river water into his mouth. He swished, spat, scooped, swished, spat. Scrubbed his tongue with ashes. Scooped, gargled this time, spat again. He tasted the neutral environment of his own mouth, relieved, and decided that all was once again right in the world. It would be totally fine.

Mare laid down next to him on a large flat boulder overlooking the river, warm and mossy. They napped, and woke, decided to wash in the river, napped, woke again. Her body twined around his, and then under it, and over it, and Fahad didn't care if all of Panem was watching because it was nothing to be ashamed of.

Then a fierce pain began to glow in his stomach and he started wondering if he hadn't been careful enough after all.

Tybalt Alistair Martell

D2M

Cornucopia

9 July 329 AEDD

Homemade Dynamite — Lorde

When Nathaniel announced that he'd come up with a brilliant new strategy in which the Careers explored somewhere new, Tybalt made sure to yawn obnoxiously so Nathaniel understood a.) how boring he was and b.) that everyone else came up with the same plan four days ago. Nathaniel shot him a look. "Don't be like that. This is a good thing. Haylia and I were talking and she helped me understand that my ego was getting in the way of my leadership, and I want to fix that." This sounded very reasonable, so Tybalt assumed it was a lie to conceal some half-baked plot to kill him.

"So naturally Haylia will be leading it, since it was her idea," he said.

"I will be leading it and Haylia will be coming with me," Nathaniel amended. "Along with someone else. Not you, someone with talent."

"I wasn't planning on volunteering," Tybalt said, immediately convinced that Nathaniel was up to no good. "And how are we defining talent, exactly? Getting critically injured by a twelve year old girl in the Bloodbath and then letting her escape?"

"She was thirteen."

"She was better than you."

"We're not talking about this right now!" Nathaniel seethed. "I think Odicci or Orpheus should come because they have the most kills."

"One from each district sounds fair," Odicci said diplomatically. "But if you'd rather stay with Nikita...?" She really wanted to go. Tybalt could hear it in her voice, but he needed to protect her from Nathaniel. He'd heard all about her secrets. He knew half the story from what she told him, and he'd gotten the other half from Nikita the previous night when they shared the watch. Nikita hadn't exactly volunteered things, but well, boys were very forthcoming when your hands were all over them. Nikita had started complaining about his sunburn, and Tybalt offered to apply some more sunscreen, which Nikita agreed to a little too quickly. Neither of them mentioned the fact that it was dark at night, and therefore there was no risk of sunburn. That had turned into Tybalt pressing kisses to Nikita's back, tutting over the peeling skin ("Oh, you poor boy. You clearly aren't being looked after properly,") and finally confessing that he found him attractive and earning a confession in response ("I was scared you hated me at first, but I think I really just wanted your approval,") which led to expanded opportunities.

It also led to some very chapped lips. That didn't matter, though. Only the information did, and Tybalt knew that he, Nikita, and Odicci were working towards the same thing. This meant that none of them could risk splitting to go with Nathaniel, so Tybalt found Nikita's eyes and threw him the kind of gaze that instantly melted any thoughts of accepting Odicci's offer to stay with Orpheus. "I don't mind," Nikita said at once. "You deserve to go. I'll be okay."

"Then I think it's settled," Nathaniel declared. "We'll leave early tomorrow morning to avoid the worst of the sun, then head towards the northwestern quadrant of the arena. Pack generously. We don't want to run out of food or water and make the sponsors bail us out."

"I imagine it will be very restful without us," Haylia told the group.

"Nah, it'll be boring. We'll just keep an eye out for trouble and talk about your eyebrows behind your back, Nathaniel."

"What's wrong with my eyebrows?" Nathaniel challenged.

"You have four of them, and I don't really care for your second face."

"Christ, do you ever shut up?"

"Nope." Tybalt smirked a little.

"You're so insufferable. I bet your dad's really proud of you."

"My dad's a social-climbing drunkard. I'd be more worried if I thought he was proud of me."

"I'll bet he likes the neighbors' kids more than you."

"We live in a castle, sweetheart. We don't have neighbors." Nathaniel shoved Haylia at him.

"Go take him on a nice walk away from me, please."

"Sure. It's been a while since we're re-paced this same dirt circle. C'mere, Ty, I bet we'll find the hidden tributes this try. Eighth time's the charm!" Tybalt allowed himself to be guided away into the desert on Haylia's arm. One last shit-talk, for good luck, but it ended up being worried and sad.

"Hayles, please try to stay alert. I don't want you to die."

"I'll try. No telling with that one in charge, but I'm not keen on dying."

"He'll try to kill you."

"Probably," she agreed. "But you need to know that he's counting on you guys to turn each other into mincemeat when we're gone. No matter what, you cannot get baited into a fight, okay? You can't. I really don't want that for you."

"I know."

"Walk safe. Don't let Nathaniel take the night watch."

"I know. He might insist, but we won't let him do it alone. I think Orpheus also suspects."

"Oh?"

"He's not dumb. Even if he acts stupid lovey. Which, by the way, you may want to avoid getting too serious with you-know-who."

"I won't!"

"Mmh. Do be patient. No rash decisions."

"Of course not." Tybalt didn't make rash decisions. Nor did he make bad ones. And that's coming from me, the narrator, so you know it's true.

Mare Duster, 18

D10F

Northwest of the Cornucopia

9 July 329 AEDD

Mais je t'aime — Grand Corps Malade ft. Camille Lellouche

Mare didn't like Fahad's chances of survival at the moment. After their celebration of the seemingly successful anti-snake hickey, it became clear that Fahad was in pain. He said nothing to Mare, but she could tell that something wasn't right. She asked him if he was still feeling okay and he insisted unconvincingly that he was fine. She accused him of hiding it, and he confessed that his stomach was killing him. It was a poor choice of words, considering the circumstances, and Mare was getting concerned. She searched her memory for solutions. What were you supposed to do if you ate something toxic? Mare remembered something from early childhood. She must have been six or seven. Sunny tried eating a sweet-smelling flower when they were messing around making pretend potions outside, then started going pale. Mare ran to their parents, who gave Sunny medicine out of a bottle that made her throw up whatever she'd ingested.

Ipecac syrup, her mind supplied, but Mare had no access to it in the arena. She and Fahad weren't going to be sponsored anytime soon, or they would have been rescued as soon as Mare was bitten. Then she remembered that gag reflexes existed. "Make yourself throw up with your fingers," she suggested. Fahad gingerly poked the back of his throat, then recoiled before he stilled himself for long enough to target it successfully. He bent over and threw up. "Again," she urged. "As many times as you can. You need to get rid of the poison."

But the poison did not want to be gotten rid of. Fahad vomited several times, then rinsed his mouth with clean water, but the stomachache only intensified. He started having trouble moving around and complained that his body was beginning to numb. His facial muscles slackened, and Mare was afraid. She was terrified of losing anyone else after how her family had been killed. She did not want to see Fahad die in front of her, because death disgusted her, but mostly because she loved him.

Did she love him? Yes, she confirmed, she did. Boys were strange and confusing, but she liked Fahad a lot. Ever since she'd fibbed to herself that she was only allying with him for protection later on, she'd known she cared about him. The events of the day had only made her realize how upsetting that could be when he inevitably got hurt. She scooped him up. His skin wasn't clammy; his forehead wasn't warm. Please let him be okay. Please, God, please let him be okay.

(He was not okay. She knew this, and she was fibbing to herself again, trying to soften a blow that she already knew would inevitably knock her for a loop. But she couldn't lie to Fahad and pretend he would survive, because then he wouldn't be able to choose what to do and say during his limited remaining time on this earth and that would be a sin too terrible to imagine.)

Mare had never put down a horse. She'd never wanted to listen to her father put down a horse. He'd shown her once, after a neighbor's runaway gelding had stumbled on a ravine near the Dusters' ranch. His scream had been horrifying, and her father had trekked down to investigate. He found a horse with a shattered leg, and he'd shaken his head sadly and gone home to get his pistol. Sunny and Mare had begged him not to hurt the horse. "Girls, he's already hurt," her father explained. "Horse bones don't heal like ours do, and he won't ever be able to recover. The humane thing is to do is to shoot him in the head, so he won't suffer." Mare asked if she could come along to say goodbye to the horse, and her father agreed. She was glad she went, but she plugged her ears when the gunshot came.

This was the same, because Fahad was also not going to live, but also different, because he was a human with the power to tell her what he wanted, and he didn't want to be put down. Even if he asked her to end the suffering, Mare had no idea how she would do it, or if she could force herself to do it in the first place. Instead, she held Fahad and hugged him against her as tight as she could. She kissed his hair, his face, his lips. He couldn't speak. The paralysis was setting in. She could feel his fear, and she couldn't do anything meaningful about it. "I love you," she told him. "I love you. I love you, I love you so much. I love you." She said it like she was begging for clemency, but she knew that to be sponsored an antidote now would be to deprive the audience of watching a tearful goodbye between lovers, and no Capitolite would want that.

He squeezed her shoulder as best as he could with his increasingly stiff fingers. Bad things were happening in his body and she cursed whichever Gamemaker put the fucking snake in the arena because she and Fahad both knew they'd rather be devoured by wolves or boiled alive in an active volcano than suffer the slow, agonizing death the venom condemned its victims to.

He felt smaller than usual in her lap, steadier because the toxins locked him up so he couldn't fidget and shift his weight around. He wasn't looking worried, because his face was locked in an unnaturally calm expression. It was like the poison had stolen the essence away from him and replaced him with a not-Fahad, and Mare felt herself crying holding her dying boyfriend, the first person who made her feel safe and happy and wanted and capable, like she could protect someone for the first time since she'd failed to protect everyone else.

He cried stiller than a painting. She cried like sorrow personified, like a goddess in the flesh, like her love had magical properties. She heard the stilted restriction of air, the suffocation, the inability to breathe. She saw no fear or sadness or pain, but she felt it all. She clung to him. "I love you. I love you. I love you I love you I love you IloveyouIloveyouIlove—"

KABOOM!

Odicci Harbore, 18

D4F

Cornucopia

9 July 329 AEDD

The Outsider — Marina and the Diamonds

Odicci had suddenly become the last defender against a threat she'd had no idea existed until the night before she entered the arena, and now it was even more important that the Career Pack remain intact. That would be a lot of pressure for any tribute, but Odicci had the advantage of knowing the lay of the arena in advance. There were three sections of the arena, she had been told, a desert in the middle, a jungle crescent in the west, and a boreal forest crescent in the east. The arena was shaped like an oval, not a circle, and there were three white stone obelisks near the border, one per section, arranged in a triangle. There was a river mouth in the northeast, and the river broadened and wrapped around the south edge, slowed, and fed into a delta in the jungle. The Cornucopia was at the very center of the arena.

That was helpful, but it was more helpful to know who exactly she was in the arena with. There wasn't time for Kaylee to let her know about that, but she knew that Nikolai Fassnacht needed an uncontroversial Victor this year. The insurgents, led by the former Head Gamemaker, were counting on something to go wrong and stoke public outrage, and they might even try to sabotage the Games to turn the Capitol on the current administration. Odicci couldn't let a rebellious or unpopular tribute survive, and the District Four team had made sure to hammer home that she didn't need to worry about anything as long as she won the Games.

So she was pushing the stress away. She had entered the Games intending to win, and she would win. That was always the goal, and now instead of winning for herself, she'd be winning to save Panem. The question was how best to do that. Yes, the Careers needed to explore, but Odicci wished Nathaniel was going alone. It was an irrational wish because of course that wasn't happening, but Nathaniel was the greatest threat to the Pack at the moment, and Odicci really didn't want his ineffectual leadership to take anybody else down with him. She liked her allies, and while she understood that they would all need to die, she didn't want them to go this early.

She was staying home with Tybalt and Nikita, which was sure to be interesting. It didn't take much brainpower to catch onto their little fling, and while Odicci wouldn't recommend love triangles in the arena on general principle, it seemed like they were less insufferable together. She might be third-wheeling for a while, but on the bright side, they'd have plenty of time to come up with a strategy.

Speaking of strategy, which tribute had died? She supposed it could have been the Gamemakers stepping in to pep things up a little, but it was also possible that there was a dangerous outlier around. A kill of unknown origins was bad news for the Pack, but perhaps not so terrible for her. She had received her first sponsor gift at dinner, a single pink sugar pearl. The days were long, but she was taking night watch. She should really rest up, she decided, and with some effort, she settled into a dark sleep.

The new messiah looked at the girl in the mirror. She was knelt low in a white nightgown swaying with the breeze from an open window. Curtains fluttered in and out of frame. The girl had a waterfall of soft blonde curls that collided with her shoulders and tumbled down in streams down her chest. She looked familiar, but also unnatural. She was separate from the self, not a replica of the new messiah, but something else entirely. The girl picked up a jute basket and set it by her knees. She fished for a tube of cream and spread it slowly across the bridge of her nose and out to her cheekbones. Slowly, she blotted it with a lace handkerchief, dabbing away the cream to coax her exhausted features out from under the powder.

She stood and made her way out onto a small wrought iron balcony. It was raining hard, and the sea beyond churned with white froth. She stepped into the storm, which drenched her. It turned her white nightie translucent, made it cling to her legs. It pasted her hair flat against her skull and whipped it into her eyes. She put a hand on her stomach, flat and tapered out in a perfect hourglass, but something in her eyes suggested that uglier forces were at work. Her body held the memory of something she wanted to drown.

The scene was awash with noise, the swishing and rattling of the thunder and lighting and punishing lash of rain, but it was suddenly broken by a giggle. The girl glided out of frame and returned with a child in her arms. She walked her over to the balcony. "It's raining, Mommy," the child murmured.

"I know. It's beautiful, right?"

"It's loud. Will we go to the beach later today?"

"Not today. It's a good time to stay inside."

"That's not as much fun. Can I watch the Hunger Games?" The girl looked at the child suspiciously.

"Who told you about the Hunger Games?"

"Dad did. He said not to tell you about it. Or tell you that he let me have candy to not tell you about it." She unfurled her closed fist to reveal a round pink sweet.

"Oh, that's not right. The Hunger Games aren't really, um, appropriate."

"It's only the interviews!"

"And?"

"...The other part. The blood-something?"

"Bloodbath."

"The Bloodbath. And the starting fireworks."

"Sweetheart, what did he tell you about those fireworks?"

"Nothing."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Just that they were really pretty this year." The girl teetered on the edge of telling the child that they weren't fireworks at all, but she stopped herself just in time.

"Let's not watch any more of that, okay? Go pick out a book for me to read to you."

And the child did, but she also peeked around the corner and saw her mother's head buried in the closet, her hands on a long handle with a blade on top. "Guandao!" she exclaimed, delighted to say such a fun word.

The girl's head snapped up. "Yes. It is a guandao." She paused. "Odicci, how did you know that?"

There was no response.

Griffin Cadbury, 18

District One Mentor

Mentor Lounge, Capitol

9 July 329 AEDD

The phone rang. "The mission is over," Nikolai Fassnacht informed me. "We're bringing the mentors back."

"Is that good?" I asked.

"Yes, it's excellent. Now, everyone will return within the hour, but I wanted to let you know ahead of time. I also wanted to let you know I'll be meeting with you in five minutes, so if you need to pee, now's a great time to do it."

"Okay. I'll be ready."

"Great." He hung up. I went to the bathroom on his suggestion, brushed my teeth to get rid of my coffee breath, and returned to the main lounge just in time to hear his knock before he opened the door.

"Hi."

"Hi, Griffin. Once again, I appreciate your compliance with the emergency procedures. I know it hasn't been easy."

"Oh, it's alright."

"You say that, dear, but those circles under your eyes say otherwise. It's tiring, waking up constantly to check on the tributes. Make sure you sleep in tomorrow."

"What if Orpheus needs my help?"

"He won't. I wanted to meet with you regarding the mission because we've determined some things."

"We have?"

"Yes, in part thanks to information gathered from tributes, the rest thanks to the very hard work of mentors and Capitol agents. We've determined that the leader of the insurgency is in District Six, and we're aware of her home base."

"Why not storm it or blow it up?"

"She has a small atom bomb stored beneath it, with a remote detonator on her person at all times." My water glass slid out of my hand and shattered on the floor. Nikolai ignored it. "Yeah, not great, right? It would wipe out all of District Six at best, which is why we're not going after her there. We're making her come to us, and that happens when we hit Final Eight family interviews. She's going to dress in uniform, pose as her sister, who is a Peacekeeper locomotive operator, and infiltrate the Capitol while transporting someone's visitors."

"What if Danny and Vica die?"

"Oh, she can go from any district, but Peacekeepers don't get searched when they enter the Capitol, unlike regular civilians. And if we search all the Peacekeepers, she'll catch on and run. So we're doing something special."

"Which is?"

Then he explained the rest of the plan, and I found myself wondering if Nikolai Fassnacht was a lunatic or a genius.

Hey y'all,

We're so back. Having fun? I'm having fun.

—LC :)