Nolan Okorie, 18

District Eleven Male, he/him

If there was one thing Nolan Okorie had learned in his eighteen years of life, it was that the world was a cruel place.

That was just the way of things. Nolan had accepted it by this point. There was no use fighting it. The world was cruel. The best Nolan could do was try to keep up with it.

The sun was bright today, beating down on the back of his neck. Nolan paused to wipe sweat off his forehead, squinting up at the brilliant blue sky above. He'd lost track of time, but based on the position of the sun, it was well past noon. He'd be out here picking fruit for most of the day, but at least this was a rather isolated farm and there was no risk of running into anyone else.

Despite the heat of the day, Nolan shivered and rubbed his arms. This far out in the District, it was lonely, and he felt as if he hadn't been warm in months. He was cold, and everything ached, and Nolan was hollow in a way he'd never been before. His hands stilled, tightening around nothing, and Nolan forced himself to take a few deep breaths.

Nothing would ever go back to the way it was before.

He remembered having someone that was his, someone that cared about him and loved him and wouldn't leave him. But with the joy of love came the pain of loss, and so Nolan lost this as well.

It wasn't fair. But why would anything ever be fair for him?

Where Nolan went, things were bound to go wrong. Even from a young age, he had a penchant for causing trouble, and soon enough trouble started looking for him as well. It found him in the streets, at school, even in his own house. Nolan got into fights and stole and wreaked havoc for reasons that he could never explain.

Nolan couldn't quite explain his actions even now. He always had an insatiable need to be heard, and he was always more than willing to deal with the consequences.

(That is, he thought he could deal with the consequences. Once upon a time, that seemed so easy. But now all Nolan could do was attempt to come to terms with everyting that had already passed.)

Nolan's behavior got him into plenty of fights in his youth - ones that he usually won. He often got home with bloodied knuckles and a bruised face and questions that he couldn't answer. His parents flocked to him, concered for his wellbeing and scared for what he was doing to his future. No one wanted a boy that couldn't control his temper or his fists. And it wasn't that Nolan ever wanted to hurt people, he just… he just did.

(Maybe it was a good thing that Nolan had never been particularly good at making friends. He'd just find a way to ruin them too.)

When things took a turn for the worse, it started out small. It always did, after all. Failure stews in the small details, festering until it can act and drag everything into hell. Nolan had always known this, but he was still taken by surprise when one of his fights led to the other boy's head smashing into the corner of a box. The only other witness stopped still, and Nolan knew right there that it was all over. There was no way to come back from this.

His actual trial was a blur, one that Nolan tried his best to block out. He was only fifteen, after all, but a boy had died. There had to be repercussions for something like that.

Why? his parents asked him, tears streaking down their faces. Why would you let this happen?

(And Nolan could never answer. He couldn't even now. The sun was bright and the day was hot and Nolan Okorie felt as if he didn't even know the first thing about himself. Three easy enough truths to admit aloud, but only one of them gnawed at him. There was something so simple and yet complex about the question why, but Nolan could never drudge up an answer. Maybe he'd never be able to. )

All that to say, Nolan very quickly found himself shoved into a jail cell with all the other juvenile delinquents of Eleven. They were separated into their own section of the prison, far away from where the older occupants were. That part always amused Nolan - why act like they gave a shit now? They'd all been thrown into prison for some reason or another, so what did it matter if they were taken out of this prison by someone older and more aggressive? Nolan could put up a fight if it came down to it. If he'd been thrown into this prison because of his fighting, then he'd go out the same way.

When a year had passed, and Nolan got a new cellmate, he expected to have to fight again. That was the way of things in a prison like this - if you ever let your status slip, even for an instant, then you'd be at the bottom of the food chain with no clear way back up. Nolan had seen it happen to many people around him, but he himself had managed to steer clear of any major infighting. For once in his life, he'd learned how to keep his head down.

(He wondered if his parents would finally be proud of him.)

Instead, the boy just smiled at him, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. "There's no need for that," he insisted. "Name's Ryker, it's a pleasure to meet you."

This was by far the most perplexing situation Nolan had been in throughout his years. Before him, Ryker extended a hand and offered him a rather pleasant smile. He hadn't expected to see anyone this cordial, but Nolan was too tired to argue now. Part of him believed that Ryker was just trying to lower his guard, that there was some sort of cruel twist that Nolan just hadn't figured out yet, but…

But Nolan accepted his hand and shook it once, giving nothing but his own name in response. That was enough to please Ryker, who gave him a slight smile.

"You don't have to give me a look like that," Ryker laughed, drawing his hand back. "Is it not a pleasure to find such amiable company here? That's quite a rare thing, you know."

Nolan tilted his head to the side, taking in the rather unassuming boy standing in front of him. He still didn't appear to want anything, so Nolan was having issues sorting out what the goal of this conversation was. Maybe they were just… conversing? But Nolan couldn't see the point in that either. Maybe-

"Are you always stuck in your head like that?" Ryker asked, bemused.

"Huh?"

The other boy gestured vaguely. "You look like you're thinking about something very hard. I hope it's not my fault."

"Just wondering what you want," Nolan muttered, sitting on the very edge of his bed. "You're unlike anyone I've met here."

"I'd hope so," Ryker said, laughing softly. "After all, you're unlike anyone I've met here either."

And, for whatever reason, that made Nolan smile. "You've hardly met me."

"I've seen enough to know that I mean that as a compliment."

"I hope that means we'll get along here."

"I hope so," Ryker said, giving him a smile that he couldn't decipher. "I'd hate to cause any trouble."

While Ryker's words were innocent enough, Nolan caught something behind his smile that gave him pause. Not that he believed Ryker would cause him any trouble, but… Nolan couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. He'd call it an almost mischievous look, as if Ryker was aware of something that Nolan didn't know.

"I'm sure you would," Nolan said slowly, unsure if Ryker was willing to divulge any information to him.

"Don't look so cautious, it's nothing to worry about." Ryker grinned despite his words, making Nolan wonder if there truly was something to worry about. "Can you keep a secret?"

And while Nolan knew without a doubt that any secret this boy told him would be dangerous, that he'd be better off not knowing, he couldn't help but nod his head and lean closer.

"I'm getting out of here someday," Ryker promised, quietly enough that only Nolan could hear him. "And, if you want, I can bring you with me."

"Why would you offer me that already?" Nolan asked, immediately on edge. "Couldn't I use this information to turn you in?"

"You could," Ryker admitted, "but I don't think you will. You want to get out of here too, don't you?"

"Who doesn't?"

"We could help each other," Ryker said, eyes gleaming. "I trust you, you trust me."

"What makes you think that's a good idea?"

"I have a feeling," was all that Ryker could offer in response to that.

Nolan watched him for several long moments, taking in this strange boy and his strange philosophies. He still couldn't wrap his mind around why Ryker would trust him so quickly, but… he was willing to learn. And beyond that, there was something about Ryker that he just couldn't put his finger on, but it was enough to make him smile and agree. He'd do whatever it took to get out of this prison. And if he managed to make a friend along the way, well, Nolan couldn't complain about that.

And everything beyond that… well, Nolan didn't want to linger on it for too long. He didn't want to think about the way that they'd gotten closer, the way that they'd worked together, the way that they'd gotten out. Nolan had nearly lost hope in a place like this, but Ryker had given that hope back.

(Ryker had given that hope back and more. In their long and quiet nights together, Nolan had learned more about the boy than he'd ever dreamed. For someone that had only known violence, Ryker had shown him that there was something softer to be explored.)

(It was such a burden to love and to be the one left behind.)

And now, Ryker was nothing more than an echo, one that Nolan could feel in everything he did. Ryker was a quiet shadow, one that Nolan could always see out of the corner of his eye. And… and Ryker was gone, and Nolan was the one left behind.

No, it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair at all. But Nolan knew that dwelling on the past wouldn't make things better, so he gritted his teeth and went back to work. He'd gotten this far, after all. As long as he kept his head down and stuck it out through the Reapings, he could disappear entirely. This District would finally be rid of the plague called Nolan Okorie, and he wouldn't have to worry about ruining things ever again.

He'd finally be free.

That's all he'd ever wanted. For people to stop telling him what to do, for the world to stop watching and waiting for him to screw up, for the ability to go outside and just… exist, free of his shackles.

(Was that even a possibility for him anymore? Nolan wasn't sure, but he was willing to find out. That kind of hope was all he had left at this point.)

So he returned to his work, tucking Ryker close to his heart where he belonged. Nolan watched the sun set in a blaze of glory, counting down the days until he could get as far away as he could.

But even as he held that hope tightly, he could feel it beginning to slip out of his fingers. There were some kinds of pain you could never forget. And no matter how hard Nolan tried, he'd never be able to escape his sins.

Maybe someday they'd take him down with them.

Marri Esters, 15

District Seven Female, she/her

In the dark, Marri dreams of what once was and what will never be again.

It's not as if her whole life has been a relentless onslaught of misery - no, that would almost be kinder. It's more like watching her whole life build up to a peak, a steady crescendo, and then everything shattering all at once. Marri was left hanging onto fragments, trying desperately to put the pieces back together even though she already knew they no longer fit.

But she could try. It was rare for her to get time to herself, but when she did, Marri holed up in her room and painted. Her family never had much by way of money - hence why her days were largely spent at school or at work - but she learned how to make do. The endless forest around their house was full of natural colors, and she'd use those to bring her thoughts to life.

Nothing made sense anymore. But as Marri smeared a bright red berry across her canvas, she tried to trace things back to the beginning. Surely she'd be able to make sense of it then.

She was fourteen. The summers were hot and the days were long and all Marri wanted to do was spend time with her friends. She hoped that someday she'd get a reprieve from the endless cycle of work, sleep, school, work, sleep, school, but that would only ever be a dream.

"C'mon, Leah!" Marri called over her shoulder, sprinting faster through the woods. "Don't get left behind already!"

She heard rustling several feet behind her and the indistinct murmur of voices, but Marri couldn't tell what they were saying. It was likely that Sawyer was trying to help Leah through the shrubbery that Marri herself had already passed through. The three of them had visited this stretch of the woods dozens of times before, making their way to the lake under the cover of night. Marri was confident in her ability to get there - perhaps a little overconfident - but Leah didn't trust herself that much. She had always been more careful than Marri, anyway.

Just as she thought that, her feed skidded in the mud, and she had to dodge to avoid running into a tree. She barely caught herself, managing not to fall by bracing her hands against the trunk. Her laughter rang in the night air, and her momentary pause gave Sawyer and Leah enough time to catch up.

"You okay?" Leah asked, hand hovering over Marri's shoulder.

"Right as rain!" Marri chirped back.

"Looks like the rain is what almost got you," Sawyer said, frowning at the mud. "Maybe we should've waited for another night."

Marri shook her head before continuing on their path. "No way! We haven't been able to go for a whole week now!"

"It's not like the lake will disappear if we stop going," Sawyer shot back, but she heard the shrubbery moving behind her and knew he was following anyway.

She quietly smiled to herself, tilting her head up to bask in the moonlight as they continued their journey through the woods. These nights were peaceful, and they were often the only real time Marri had to herself. She didn't mind working to pull her weight at home, but… well, it wasn't necessarily something she enjoyed doing either.

The trio continued on in a rather comfortable silence, occasionally helping each other over fallen logs or through mud. The air was sticky and warm, still recovering from the heat of the day. Marri had hoped that going this late at night would help the world cool down, but this summer had been the hottest in a long while. There was no real escape from this kind of brutal heat, though Marri had at least gotten used to it by this point.

The lake itself was shimmering silently under the light of the moon. The surface was still, with only the slightest of ripples, and Marri grinned to herself. After a week of being forced to stay away, too busy with work and school to do much besides study in her free time, she could finally be with her friends again.

Leah moved towards the shore first, slipping her shoes off and sitting down on a rock. She already had her book open, though her eyes were fixed on the water instead of the pages. Sawyer slid his shirt off before jumping straight into the water, breaking the serene surface. Marri herself glanced between Leah and the lake, trying to decide where to go first.

Eventually, she settled down onto one of the smooth stones next to Leah, taking her shoes off to dip her feet in the water. After an entire day in the sun, the water was still warm, so Marri wiggled her toes and watched tiny waves lap at the shore from Sawyer's antics.

"What are you reading?" Marri asked, peeking over Leah's shoulder. "Something fun, I hope. It is summer, after all."

Leah smiled bashfully and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Well…"

"Don't tell me you really brought a textbook all the way out here in the middle of summer!"

"Not a textbook! Just, uh, an English assignment. It's due the first week of class, so technically I have time then, but-"

"But you're going to finish it early because you're a nerd. Makes sense to me."

"I just don't want to procrastinate on it!"

"Does that mean I have to read this book too?" Marri ducked her head down to glance at the cover. "Maybe I should get started on it if you are."

"As long as you don't ask me to help you cheat."

Affronted, Marri placed a hand to her chest. "I'd never do such a thing!"

"True," Leah said, nodding her head. She glanced out at the surface of the water where Sawyer was swimming, occasionally diving down into the lake. "We can read it together to make it more interesting, though. They chose a pretty boring one for this year."

"How boring?" Marri scrunched up her nose at the cover. "The kind of boring where I'd rather go to work and stare at paint dry for a few hours, or the kind of boring where I'd rather go home and bang my head against the wall a few times?"

"Probably neither?" Leah flipped through the pages of the book distractedly. "The writing is good, but it's very descriptive, and that's not quite my style, so I'm finding it harder to read."

"Almost like the words are too pretty to make any sense?"

"Exactly," Leah said, flashing her a smile. "I knew you'd get it. When I tried to explain it to my mom, she looked at me like I wasn't making any sense at all."

"I think it makes perfect sense! Why use many words when one will do just fine? There's no point in dragging it out for no reason. Besides, who wants to sit down and read about people describing things for hundreds of words? Talk about boring."

"Nothing has really happened yet, anyway. It's almost like- wait. Do you see Sawyer?"

Marri frowned at the sudden urgency in Leah's voice, glancing out at the lake in front of them. The surface had largely smoothed out again, except for a spot near the middle where bubbles floated towards the surface. Her throat tightened. Though Leah was already getting up beside her, Marri stayed rooted in place. She couldn't move, her gaze fixed on the spot where Sawyer wasn't surfacing.

"Something's wrong," Leah muttered, standing up and scanning the area surrounding them. "Did you see anything?"

Shaking her head slowly, Marri stared with wide eyes at the water in front of them. They'd been coming here for months, and nothing bad had ever happened. This was their place to relax, to take a step back from the world.

How could something possibly go wrong?

She tried to convince herself that none of this was real, but a splash jolted her back to reality. Marri was still on the rock, only able to watch as Leah swam to where Sawyer was last seen.

C'mon, Marri, move. You can't just sit there. He needs your help too.

Leah's head ducked under the surface. Marri's nails bit into the palms of her hands, drawing blood, but she still couldn't force her legs to move. The water on the lake stilled again, the seconds creeping by, and yet…

Are you just going to sit back and let him die?

"No," Marri whispered, but she was still too petrified to move. "I… I can't."

It's because you're powerless to do anything about it. There's nothing you could do, even if you tried.

But Marri couldn't bring herself to try at all. She stared as Leah brought Sawyer to the surface, watched as he retched and cried, and all the while Marri was completely helpless to her own surroundings. She couldn't lift a finger to help.

You didn't even bother to try.

And what did that make her? A coward, maybe? Someone that would stand by and let others do what she should be capable of?

The three of them went home immediately after, each splitting off to their own houses without much more than a goodbye. For once, Marri was completely silent, lost in her own head. She wasn't sure how to deal with anything that just happened, and her friends didn't either. While she and Leah remained close, she hardly spoke to Sawyer at all after that night.

Maybe some things just weren't meant to last.

Three days was all she had.

Now that she thought about it, it almost wouldn't be fair if Marri had more time to deal with her father's death. That would be too kind. She'd spent her past year in a haze of work and school, hardly seeing her parents at all, and now one of them was gone.

Where did that leave her?

Simply put, Marri was a mess. She could hardly bring herself to leave her room for three days straight, calling off work for the first time in her life. She couldn't move. She'd been thrust back into that imminent fear of death and what came after - if there was any after at all.

It was a stroke in the middle of the night. No one had been awake to notice or do anything about it. But still Marri blamed herself, wondering what all she could've done differently.

Useless.

The first thing to get her out of her room in three days was the Reaping, and it's not like Marri even wanted to go to that. She hardly had the energy for anything. But she let her feet take her through the square, a monotonous journey to a monotonous ending.

She didn't bother to hide her tears when she heard her name. It's almost as if she already knew. Who else would it be, anyway? Even before Marri Esters! finished ringing through the square, her face crumpled as she burst into tears. All she could see was the cruel churning of water and the cold silence of death. They were reaching out for her.

She didn't want to let herself fall into their grasp so easily.

But even if Marri learned how to fight, how to keep going strong, what was she fighting for? She'd already lost so much. Now that death stared her in the face, taunting her with what could be the end of her life, all Marri could do was fear what the future holds.

She wondered if she had a future left at all.

Ibai Zubizarreta, 18

District Four Male, he/him

There was nothing more enticing to Ibai than a good book and something interesting to research.

Even though he was three days out from the Reapings, he was still spending the majority of his spare time doing copious amounts of studying. His sister, Miren, kept coming to check on him no matter how much he insisted that things were fine. This was just the way he preferred to do things.

Ibai paused, rereading one of the lines in the book before scrawling down another line of notes. He tapped his pen on the paper a few times, trying to decipher what this could mean for the upcoming year. Since it was right before a Quell, based on the trends of past Games, it should be significantly more toned down, considering most of the real effort would be put towards whatever the Quell would be. But Ibai couldn't bring himself to call that a safe assumption, not when he had watched last year's Games. If anything, he figured this year would be better - worse? - and that's why he needed to extensively prepare.

And besides, he wasn't much in the mood for training, not now. Ibai couldn't quite bring himself to pick up his karambits without-

Well, nevermind all that. He shook his head to clear it, bringing his face closer to the book. He hoped that if he got close enough, he could practically drown in these words and they'd get rid of all the memories trying to clog his mind.

"I should've known you'd holed up in here," a familiar voice said, breaking the silence he'd become comfortable in.

Ibai jumped slightly, glancing up at his sister with wide eyes. "Were you looking for me?"

Miren slid into the chair across from him, leaning her arms on the table. She tilted her head to look at him, trying to read the name on the spine. "Mom thought you were training, but I wanted to check around the house first."

"I've already gotten the volunteer slot, so there's not much that I can still do when it comes to training," Ibai acknowledged, tapping his pen again. "Much more helpful to spend my time looking at something that can help. This book is quite fascinating. It's all about the history of the Games, so I've been taking notes on all the commonalities in recent years."

Miren frowned at him. "You know, we should really talk about-"

"Did you know that tributes from Four are actually more likely to get into water related accidents in the Arena?" Ibai asked, desperately hoping to reroute the conversation. "If there's any water in the Arena at all, that is. The incidence of large bodies of water dropped off after the 120th Games, though that's likely because of the slow shift in Head Gamemakers and the new philosophies being introduced. Actually, there's a clear trend of Four tributes suffocating in general - between the rock collapse last year and the drownings of Four tributes in the 119th and 120th Games, it's a definite cause for concern this year. Even if there's no body of water nearby, there's no telling what could happen."

He looked back to Miren almost expectantly once he was done, but she was just frowning at the floor. Ibai tilted his head to the side, trying to decipher her expression, but he was never particularly good at that sort of thing.

"If it's any consolation, it's not like all of the Four tributes in recent memory died because of suffocation," Ibai continued, glancing back down at his hands as he twirled a pen between his fingers. "There's Kano from last year, and even though Bastian nearly drowned, he went on to win."

"A lovely track record," Miren finally chipped in. "Two tributes in the past few years, and one of them died anyway."

"It's important to note trends so I can try to avoid similar mistakes."

Miren cracked the slightest of smiles. "You're very technical about this. Doesn't it… Doesn't it bother you that your life is on the line?"

She doesn't think you can do it. And she's right, isn't she?

"If I know what to expect, then I can better prepare myself," Ibai muttered after several long seconds passed. "As long as I know what everyone else before me did, then I can know what worked and what didn't."

"That's fair," Miren conceded. "But-"

"Weapon choice is another big thing in recent years," Ibai said, returning his gaze to the extensive notes he'd taken on the subject. "There's been a sharp increase in outer Districts picking up knives or a similar small, melee weapon, likely due to the fact that they think any sharp weapon is better than none at all. It needs the least amount of training for the best outcome. Anything like a spear or a sword is cumbersome to someone without much strength or training."

"And?" Miren asked. "You use those… those… knife things."

"Karambits," he corrected her. "And there are several distinct differences there, but we don't need to get into those right now."

"Ibai, you're losing me. What are you getting at here?"

"Right. If I keep track of what weapons I'm more likely to come into contact with, then I can more adequately prepare for them. Anyone from One or Two could use a variety of weapons, but since outer Districts are consistently the biggest wildcards, it's important to keep track of what they use, too." He glanced up at her again, taking in the way her eyebrows had pinched together.

She doesn't care, she's just entertaining whatever you have to say. It's not like she actually believes you have what it takes to win.

Do you?

"Like last year," Ibai continued without giving her the chance to chip in. "There were several that picked up skills with a knife along the way, and the ones that didn't had… prior talents. Like Lilith with the crossbow, or Crush with… well, with the rocks."

"The rocks didn't quite take training."

"It's not about training, it's about familiarity. They're more likely to go back to what they know. If you don't know anything, then you default to what appears easiest. For most, that's knives."

"You sure have put a lot of research into this," Miren commented, leaning back in her chair. "Training's really caught your attention, huh?"

"I've already gone through all the information I could find on edible plants, and I'm not sure my request to the library will go through in time for me to receive the more in depth files before the Reapings. The only logical step from there was to start compiling notes on trends in recent years. This new Head Gamemaker may have only had one year in charge so far, but he's been working behind the scenes for long enough that I could glean knowledge from previous years as well." He frowned, glancing down at his notes again. "When I put in a request to see the complete history of Gamemakers, they denied that for some reason."

"What kind of information were you hoping to get out of that one?"

"It would make the most sense if a Head Gamemaker took turns in each of the different sections before they took control of the whole thing - arena design, mutt design, managing the events - so it would be more helpful to my research if I knew what Leon had been in charge of through the years."

"Could you make a guess?"

Ibai immediately frowned at that. He wasn't ever the type to rely on just a guess, as there were plenty of things that could go wrong from there. If he didn't have all of the facts about a situation, he could draw the wrong conclusions, and that was something he couldn't allow to happen. If he went into the Games with a half-baked idea of what would truly be in there, then there was no telling what all could go wrong.

"I'd prefer not to," he eventually said, realizing that the silence between them had lengthened once more. "It's easier to go off of what I do know."

"And what would that be?"

"The last Head Gamemaker preferred letting the tributes themselves take control of what happened in the Arena. Any muttations or arena events were usually caused by their actions. But last year… well, the tributes still had plenty of agency, but you could tell that there were forces within the walls driving them in certain directions or trying to achieve certain outcomes. Leon appears to be more controlling. He has clear ideas in his mind of what he wants to play out, and no matter what, he'll take steps to ensure that happens. Almost like whatever happens is up to the tributes, but he knows enough about them to predict what choices they'll make. Like Imperia with the folders or Phaedra with the Justus clone."

"Sounds like some sort of experiment."

Ibai considered that before writing it down in his notes. "Maybe it is. Whatever the case, it's something I'll have to watch out for."

"Do you have any idea what sort of thing they'd use against you this year?"

In truth, Ibai had at least a bit of an idea, but he didn't particularly want to open that can of worms right now. "I don't think there's any way to truly tell until I get there."

She shot him a look that he couldn't decipher, so Ibai just glanced away. He hoped that she wouldn't press, but if there was one thing his sister was, it was persistent.

"Are you sure?" she tried gently, her voice softer than it was earlier. That immediately made Ibai feel frustrated for reasons that he couldn't quite place, but he tried to brush it off.

"Why wouldn't I be?" he tried. "Anyway, there's always the issue of outer District volunteers, but those always appear to be entirely unpredictable. It's anyone's guess whether they're semi trained or if they have ulterior motives for wanting to go into the Games. Hopefully there won't be any this year - or, at least, hopefully there won't be any like the ones from last year."

He paused, wrinkling his nose as he tried to gather his thoughts once more. Ibai flipped through the pages of his notes, skimming all that he'd written down. There was something frantic about his movements, but even he couldn't quite place why he was acting like this. Maybe he was worried that if he stopped for more than a second, he'd see blood splattered across the floor, and then he'd hear the screams, and then-

"Ibai," Miren said, reaching her hand out until it was just barely brushing his.

He startled, but managed not to move his hand away. "Miren," he muttered, eyes flicking up to her. He was stiff due to the sudden eye contact, but he forced himself not to look away.

She bit her lip, tapping her fingers on the table. "I just… about Dacre, maybe we should-"

"I'm fine!" Ibai insisted, snatching his hand back to grip his notes more tightly. "I'm fine. We don't… I don't…"

"It's okay to be upset about it," Miren explained patiently, but Ibai was already tuning her out. What did she know about his feelings on the matter? What could she possibly know that he didn't?

She doesn't understand you either. None of them do. Why keep trying?

"I'm not upset," he said, his voice raising slightly before he hurriedly lowered it again. "I just… I'm fine. There's nothing to worry about. I got the volunteer position, the reapings are in a few days, and everything will be fine."

You don't even believe that yourself.

Miren just sighed, her shoulders slumping. "I won't try to force this one out of you. Not today, anyway. But…"

He stared at her without blinking, watching as she struggled to find the words. Ibai twitched in his seat, unable to sit still, though he couldn't figure out where his sudden restlessness had come from. He felt the urge to fill her sudden silence with some other fact to keep this particular conversation at bay - the only one his mind could scrounge up at the moment was, of course, boat related, but he tried to ignore it. So, instead, he silently reiterated it to himself.

Ships have a finite lifespan, and can't last forever. Most cargo ships can only last twenty to thirty years depending on the build, but a plywood or fiberglass sailboat could last up to forty years. But, of course, correct maintenance was crucial. A steel-hulled ship could last up to one hundred years if it was taken care of properly.

"Nevermind," Miren finally said. "I won't bother you any more with it today. I just… it might be best to talk it through before you leave."

"Right," Ibai muttered, already glancing back at his book. "Later."

By this point, Miren figured out that the conversation was done. Ibai hardly noticed as she left the room, his shoulders slowly slumping as he relaxed. He was left with only his books for company, and with recent memories lurking in the edges of his mind, there was nothing to do but throw himself into his research again.

That was fine by him. After all, he still had plenty of work to do.

Maybe he'd finally be able to convince himself that he was worthy of going into the Games.

omg kya it's still sunday! update grind never stops even when i post it last minute as fuck. um. get used to it bc i'm a procrastinator at my core.

but! i hope u like this group! they're all um having a really nice time! thank you to firefly for nolan, lumi for marri, and ty for ibai! i hope u enjoy ur kids bc i sure did!

next week is callum and zeph and svelte! i'll get these intros out weekly if it's the last thing i do. we're officially halfway there! see ya next time :D

~de laney is out