June 19, 14:49
Memorial Medical Center
Whoever the cannon belonged to, it wasn't Marri.
Bile creeps up the back of Zephyr's throat as they press themself against the wall. Her shrill screams have turned into broken whimpers. He's pretty sure some of her blood has trickled into the hallway and stained their shoes. Inside the room, Theo raves to himself about putting on a good show, and proving them wrong. Zephyr has tried to block out the rest.
The sound of the cannon still lingers in his mind, a bone-chilling finality that has once again struck close to home for Zephyr. They think about the way Callum's face contorted in fear and pain in his final moments, about how Xander trembled at the mere thought of Saccharine's presence, about how Ibai was left at camp all alone with her.
Zephyr squeezes their eyes shut, but that doesn't block out the noises. Marri can't have much longer. Ibai might already be gone. If Thessaly or Theo find out he let another tribute go, they'll have his head.
The easiest option is clear. Zephyr needs to run while they still can, get as far away from the Careers and Ibai and Xander and anyone else that could rely on him, could turn on him. They'll strike out alone, forging into the unknown and leaving their allies behind for good. It would be for the best, really.
(But… Callum's dead eyes stare at him from within the darkness. Sheer terror is painted on his face, even in death. If Xander is right, and that is the work of Saccharine Esculenta, the demure girl who's gone unseen within the alliance for nearly two weeks, then…)
There's another whimper, and then a second cannon rings out. Zephyr flinches away from the wall. Laughter rings in their ears, and they know their time is almost up. A decision has to be made, before one is made for him.
Zephyr could very well be wrong about everything. Xander could be lying to save his own skin. This might sever every connection they've made so far, everything that's kept him safe. There's a thousand betrayals he can't explain – abandoning his allies, letting another tribute run free, turning his blade on one of their allies – and if this goes sideways, Zephyr could be dead by sunset.
But he could also be right. And that is what makes Zephyr turn on his heel and run, silent steps leading him towards the door to the stairway, desperately praying that they're not already too late.
June 19, 14:25
Taylor Park
Another day, another disappointing lack of running into other tributes.
Each day that passes feels like the tightening of a noose. Nolan's growing twitchy, and every glance Jasmine sends his way feels more and more like a warning of some sort. He's seen it before in jail, right before someone gets jumped. It's what the prisoners do to check for weaknesses, keep an eye out for wardens, and make sure this is a fight they can win.
(And that's what gets Nolan. He knows this isn't a fight Jasmine can win, not unless something else has all-but managed to incapacitate him first. He's well aware that she's more clever than he'll ever be, but… he could snap her in half if he wanted to.
She must be aware of that.)
Nolan's lost track of where they are. The buildings in this area all look the same, a monotonous stream of homes and storefronts ruined by time. Weathered signposts still stand proud, though it's impossible to tell what they used to proclaim. Nolan can almost imagine what this place used to look like, and then wonders if it's somewhere Ryker would've liked to go. They didn't get to talk much about the future. He wishes they had.
They've only gone this way because Jasmine swore she heard voices in this direction earlier. Nolan didn't, but he certainly isn't the most observant of the two, so he didn't bother arguing. It's better this way. If they find another tribute, they can prove this alliance is actually worth something. If they can't… well, time is running out.
Trying to distract himself is turning out to be a hopeless cause. Jasmine's eyes are boring holes into the side of his head, and Nolan is starting to think she really is about to snap and try to kill him. He flattens his lips into a thin line and turns to look at her.
"What?"
"I don't know you very well," Jasmine says, in that tone of hers that means she's trying to figure something out.
Nolan does nothing more than hum. He's pretty sure that was the point of their little arrangement.
"You're dark and mysterious," Jasmine muses aloud. "And you've got Ryker – how did you two meet, anyway?"
"Not important."
"Isn't that usually one of the most important things about a relationship?"
"Maybe not if he's dead," Nolan replies flatly.
Jasmine's laugh is tinged with nervousness. Nolan can't pinpoint why, but his own nerves flare in response. "That's fair. Tessa's got her own thoughts on the matter – she thinks you've got some sort of tragic past."
He's not entirely sure why someone else's opinion matters here. "Does she?"
"Yeah, and I guess Ryker fits the bill there, but…"
Her hands twitch. Nolan's gaze narrows in on that movement. "But?"
Jasmine sucks in a breath. "She thinks there's something more. Like that you were in jail."
"How does she know that?"
"I dunno." Jasmine finally meets his gaze. "It's true, then?"
"I…" Fuck, he did just accidentally confirm that. "It was an accident. A misunderstanding."
"That led to jail?"
"Big misunderstanding."
She still won't look at him. "What sort of misunderstanding?"
"Why are you asking?"
"Don't I deserve to know?"
"Why would you?"
"Well… we're allies, aren't we?"
"Allies, but not friends. That much has been clear from the start. How long have you known?"
"Known what?"
"Quit fucking around. You've been acting skittish for days. Is this why? When did she tell you?"
"I haven't-"
"You have. If you're going to demand the truth from me, you don't get to keep your own secrets. So spill."
"I don't owe you anything," Jasmine sneers, clutching the mirror tightly in her hand.
Nolan can see her thoughts moving a mile a minute, but her bag is too far away – she won't be able to reach it in time. If she moves even an inch, Nolan will- he will-
(He's supposed to be different now. That's what he promised himself. If Nolan is going to go home, attempt to reunite with a family that thought he was dead, then he needs to be capable of change. Be more like Ryker. Be something more.)
(Then again, maybe this is why Nolan survived the escape and Ryker didn't.)
So he tries to stop himself, tries to soothe the fire burning through his veins. Nolan raises his hands – a gesture of surrender, a placating motion, he's not sure which – and takes a step towards Jasmine. Any attempt to form words feels sour in his mouth. That's why violence has always been the easiest answer for him, because nothing else has ever worked.
But then, he supposes, none of it really matters. Because the instant he takes a step towards Jasmine, a gilded knife is aimed directly at his face.
Jasmine wills her hand to stop shaking. She's done this before, she's done this before, just not with the cruel edge of a blade. The berries she'd shoved down Orson's throat had left no trace besides a twisted expression of agony. This will be different; Jasmine will have to figure out where to aim her knife, make sure she strikes before her opponent can. If she doesn't win this fight in the first few moves, she won't win at all.
(Thank god Tessa gave her a knife hidden in the handle of that mirror. Jasmine has never been as unarmed as she's appeared.)
The expression on Nolan's face is purely dismayed. He stares at the weapon in Jasmine's hands like she's already used it on him.
"This was always your plan, wasn't it?" Nolan doesn't back down. A rusted hatchet hangs at his hip. Jasmine can't stop looking at it. "How long have you known?"
A bead of sweat trickles down Jasmine's back. She licks her lips. "Long enough. What did you do?"
"Does it matter at this point?"
"It was bad, wasn't it? That's why you're deflecting."
He grits his teeth. "You ask a lot of questions, but you don't wait around for answers. Why would I tell you anything?"
Jasmine tries for her most disarming smile. "We're still allies, aren't we?"
"You've got a funny fucking way of showing it."
"Can you blame me?"
"Yes, actually. This is none of your business. I've shown no intent to harm you. My past shouldn't mean anything now."
"What about Ryker?"
He flinches. "Don't talk about him."
"Why not? You do all the time. Your past means something to you now."
"Like Sheridan?"
"That's different."
"Bullshit." His gaze is scathing. He hasn't reached for the weapon at his side, but Jasmine is ready when he does. "You've got your own secrets, so why do mine matter so much to you?"
"Because I want to know what I signed up for. Don't you owe me that?"
Nolan scoffs. "Right. I owe you my life story. Did the terms of our alliance cease to matter as soon as I became a big scary criminal in your eyes?"
Jasmine's jaw clenches, and he knows his accusation landed true. Her hand has grown steady, as if she's growing more sure of herself. Their alliance is very clearly over, but Nolan still hopes to avoid a fight.
(He can feel dirt under his nails, a grave dug by his own hands. There's never been much hope for him, so why would that change now?)
"You've never done anything you regret?" Nolan asks, taking a step closer. Jasmine's hand wavers again, but she stays rooted in place. "Something catastrophic, something you can never take back?"
"That's none of your business."
"So that's a yes."
"It's a back off."
"Oh, but I thought we were sharing now. Isn't that what you wanted? Or were you just looking for a good enough reason to kill me?"
Her gaze hardens. "Can you honestly say you haven't been thinking the same?"
"Yes," Nolan says instantly. He wonders if he really means that.
"It's been days of nothing. I really am grateful that you saved me in the bloodbath, but…"
Not grateful enough to spare his life in return.
"We don't have to end things like this," Nolan says quietly. He still has hope, though he's not sure what for anymore. "We can go our separate ways, end this cleanly-"
Jasmine's lip trembles. "I don't trust you."
Nolan recoils as if wounded. And that's not quite what Jasmine means, anyway – if she's going to make it to the end, she has to be able to kill. That's what the Hunger Games means, after all. Senseless violence is the only way to reach the end, as barbaric as it might be. And Nolan… though he's always been cordial to her, there has to be a reason he went to prison.
He's a criminal. Jasmine has to remind herself of that. He's just like Orson. So if Nolan makes it to the end, he'll walk free, just like Orson almost did, meanwhile good people like Sheridan are buried six feet under and nothing will ever make that okay.
(And if all Jasmine does is deal out justice… then she's not bad. She can't be bad.
Right?)
The odds are certainly not in her favor at the moment, but that's what Jasmine wants. If Nolan figures out she's up to anything, he'll move more swiftly than she'll ever be able to counter, and she'll be dead before she can make her own move. So Jasmine lets her hand tremble again, eyes widening like she's terrified. She takes a step forward, knife still raised as a pathetic attempt to ward him off.
She needs him to underestimate her.
"We were supposed to be a team, and I know the rules we established, but- but being a criminal feels like something pretty notable. You were just trying to get me to lower my defenses, weren't you? And you're only upset because I'm making the first move!"
"What the hell are you talking about?"
Nolan finally takes a step back. Jasmine has been cataloging the general layout of their camp since day one. He keeps his shortsword in the bag currently behind him. He's not retreating, he's merely preparing to arm himself.
A fight was always inevitable between them. All they needed was a little push.
(Better now than later.)
"You've been pretending to be this- this nice guy," Jasmine spits out. "But you're a liar, and you've been trying to trick me into helping you win. I bet your Ryker isn't even real, not like my Sheridan. I can't help you get home, not when-"
Not when I couldn't help Sheridan.
Her vision is suddenly blurred with tears, and Jasmine is mortified to realize this isn't all an act anymore. Tessa told her she has to keep her emotions under control to maintain control of the situation, and now Jasmine has thrown everything off balance. She takes a sudden step backwards, nearly tripping over an uneven patch of ground.
A hand flashes in front of her face, and Jasmine acts before she can think. She shrieks, lashing out with her knife, and warm blood sprays across her face. She gags at the feeling, stumbling another few steps backwards. Her head spins, but she manages to focus on what's in front of her, the reality of her situation slamming into her.
Nolan still holds no weapon. His outstretched arm was merely an offer to help, and now Jasmine has thoroughly cast it aside. A jagged gash runs through Nolan's forearm, so deep that Jasmine can see bone. She knows there's enough supplies in her bag to fix it, but- but-
His face hardens. Jasmine's run out of chances here.
"Fine," Nolan grits out, "if this is what you want, then fine. Have it your way."
He draws the same shortsword he used to kill the girl in the bloodbath – the one he used to defend her – and Jasmine tries not to look at the blood still crusted along the blade. Her own knife feels like barely a toothpick in her hands. Her backpack is too far away, and she's got the wrong knife. This one won't be of much help right now, but the other one could knock him down in a couple short minutes. Jasmine doesn't have much time, but that's the best chance she's got.
She has to make it count.
Nolan lashes out before he can think twice. Jasmine must see the movement coming, because she throws herself to the side and out of reach of his blade. Even though she's still armed, she doesn't move to attack him again – instead, she's aiming for something behind Nolan.
He doesn't understand why, but he knows he has to cut her off. His first swing lands in the grass next to her feet, his second gets caught in the fabric of her dress. His own outfit suddenly feels terribly restricting, like that's what's been holding him back all along.
But it does give him an idea.
Nolan feints with his next move, and Jasmine falls for it, twisting to the side to evade him. Instead, Nolan strikes downward, pinning her skirts to the ground. Her responding scream is chilling enough to know he hit more than just fabric.
Good.
Jasmine barely manages to catch herself with one hand, and it doesn't take much more for her to rip the sword out of her dress, but at least that's stopped her momentum. She rolls over onto her back, knife raised to defend herself, and drives it straight through Nolan's forearm.
The pain is barely there, dull and unremarkable. Nolan grits his teeth and rips it out of his arm – a choice he'll probably regret later, but right now he can barely think. Instead, he just snarls and drives the knife through Jasmine's stomach up to the hilt.
Her eyes flare wide, but her struggling doesn't stop. She drags herself forward with both arms, then flips over to retch onto the ground. Her arms tremble with exertion, and Nolan watches with more than a little morbid fascination.
Blood streams down his arm, but Nolan can't feel much of anything. It doesn't matter at this point, anyway. No measly scratch is going to do her much good. Nolan won this fight ages ago, and she's merely been prolonging it.
But even as Jasmine coughs up blood, she turns her head to look at him, and her lips twist into a smile that chills Nolan straight to his core. He takes a wary step back, unsure of what's running through her mind. He disarmed her, didn't he? And there's no chance she managed to store another secret weapon on her person, right? So then why-
"Two days," she rasps. "All about contingency plans… pretty good sponsor gift, huh?"
"The hell are you talking about?" Nolan's head spins. "You've lost."
"Sure seems like it. But I made sure to take you down with me," Jasmine hisses.
Then, with what must be every ounce of strength she still has left, she lunges once more towards her backpack. Nolan moves faster, his shortsword piercing straight through her back. Jasmine's fingers twitch mere inches away from the zipper, and then a cannon goes off.
Shit.
Nolan drops to his knees, still trying to make sense of her last words. The only wounds he has to show are nowhere near deadly, so why…?
He focuses on her backpack, unceremoniously upending it and digging through its contents. Blood continues to run down his arm in rivulets. He'll fix that later, he'll figure something out, but he needs to know what the hell Jasmine was so determined to get her hands on. He recognizes a couple of these poisons, he's pretty sure he remembers her fiddling with this knife, but…
A scrap of paper flutters out of the bag, landing in a puddle of blood. Nolan scoops it up swiftly and holds it to the sky, squinting to read whatever it says.
J,
Contingency plans are everything. Even if you can't win this shit, do your damn best to make sure you never really lose. This will give him two days at most. Strike fast, strike soon, strike to kill. You may only get one chance.
-T
June 19, 16:02
The Cornucopia
Saccharine has made a slight miscalculation – Ibai is far heavier than she anticipated.
Ultimately, this doesn't change her plans too much. It just means Saccharine has to improvise a little bit. And she should have plenty of time to do so: based on the two cannons sounding off, it appears her allies have had a productive day. They certainly won't want to stop anytime soon.
So Saccharine studies the scene in front of her, drinking it all in. Ibai hasn't moved from where he crumpled to the ground after she stabbed him, and his wound continues to bleed into the mud beneath him, blood and rising water swirling together to create a picture that looks rather familiar. The thought is gone as soon as Saccharine can force it away – she has to focus on the here and now. They're too close to the Cornucopia for comfort, and she doesn't want Ibai to be discovered too soon. Granted, Saccharine supposes blood loss would be a rather lackluster way for one of her allies to die, considering they've trained to die in the heat of battle, but perhaps that's too fitting for someone like Ibai. She can't outright kill him, either – that would be too quick, too painless. Ibai volunteered and has nothing to show for it. He must've stolen this position from someone far more worthy. Saccharine intends to make things right.
Something flashes in front of Saccharine's face, and she instinctively swats it away. Color falls from the air, landing in the water slowly consuming everything in its path. Saccharine flinches away at the sight of a butterfly weakly struggling to drag itself from the water weighing its wings down, and then-
Ah.
That would be fitting, wouldn't it?
As if the gamemakers already understand her intentions, it begins to rain once more. A heavy drizzle, the kind that draws mist out of the ground and makes Saccharine shiver from the chill. The butterfly struggles, its legs waving in the air as if trying to find a way to swim.
Saccharine merely turns her back on it. It would be dead by morning regardless.
Instead, she makes her way back into the Cornucopia, where most of her supplies still are. Though she rifles through them to find one paralytic in particular, the thought strikes her that this could be the end of the line. It might be in her best interest to set out and find a new target after this. With Ibai gone, Thessaly and Zephyr will be thoroughly devastated, and Pantheon will continue to struggle from not being the center of attention.
It would be so fun to watch them implode from a safe distance. Saccharine can instead spend her time hunting down those obnoxious Nines, get them to tear each other apart while she barely has to lift a finger. Then there's the children that are still running around freely, basking in the innocence Nectarine never got to have. All Saccharine has to do is find and kill one, and then the other will completely crumble. Then there's Eight and her little pet… sowing the seeds of distrust will be far too easy.
She can't help the smile that crosses her face. God, it will be so delicious. Any fleeting moment of happiness in this Arena will be thoroughly a distant memory by the time Saccharine is done with this place.
(For Nectarine, or for herself?)
Saccharine makes her way back to where she left Ibai's body, and prods him with her foot. He stirs slightly, but doesn't actually awaken. Saccharine nods once and sinks to the ground next to him, drawing up her paralytic in a syringe. She's given this to several girls before – a far lower dose, of course – to stiffen their muscles prior to a day of sparring. A high enough dose could kill a person, could stall their heart entirely. Saccharine intends to give Ibai a dose somewhere in between, so that when he wakes up he's powerless to do anything but watch the water slowly overtake him.
(Drowning – maybe that's how Nectarine felt on that final night. Alone and afraid and overwhelmed. There was no way out, there was no other choice for her at all. The butterflies all looked so peaceful as she swept up their fragile corpses – maybe it would be the same for her? To finally achieve a sense of peace…
No- no, that can't be right. Nectarine can't truly be at peace, not when her failure led to the success of so many others. It must eat away at her, the same way Saccharine practically aches from the loss of her sister. It's not fucking fair, and it never will be fair, not until Saccharine makes it right.)
Something churns inside of her, something so blinding and all-consuming that Saccharine has to take a moment to recollect herself. It's as if her mask is slipping, like everything is coming close to spilling out of her – for good. But if that happens, she won't be perfect little Nectarine anymore, she'll just be Rin.
(And what could possibly be a greater disservice to her sister than that?)
Saccharine sniffs. Her gloves are nearly shredded by this point, but she slides them back on to pull an aconite root out of one of her vials. Despite taking precautions, the tips of her fingers begin to tingle as she grinds up the root and mixes it with crushed butterfly wings. From there, she goes through the steps with nothing more than muscle memory guiding her movements.
The solution she draws up is a murky green, and Saccharine knows that if she'd created this at home, she could use it on several trainees and still only be halfway through the syringe. Well – she would've made sure to water it down a fair bit. No need to kill any trainees and get the whole academy on alert, even if they deserved it.
(She still remembers the way some of them cried at Nectarine's funeral. Saccharine's own face was perfectly passive as she watched the same girls who spat venomous words at Nectarine on a near-daily basis break down into tears like it had been their own sister that died. None of them knew Nectarine, not the way Saccharine did. And none of them ever would. To them, Nectarine was just the poor girl who weaseled her way into a training spot that someone else rightly deserved. Her kindness was a facade. Her calloused hands were a disgrace to the nobility of One. No matter how hard she tried, she would never belong there.
And neither did Saccharine, but she never attempted to. She wisely held her classmates at an arm's length, let them believe she was hardly there at all. And all the while, she did what Nectarine never could: tear them apart, piece by piece.)
(Even though none of it will bring Nectarine back. Nothing ever will.)
"What the hell are you doing?"
Saccharine's surprise is clearly displayed on her face: slightly parted lips, brows raised, eyes wide. If Zephyr didn't have their suspicions, he would've easily bought into her innocence. But between the syringe in her hand and the open case of unknown substances, as well as the reality that no one can truly be trusted in the Hunger Games, Zephyr doesn't believe her for an instant.
"Hm?"
"What are you doing."
She holds up the syringe, its needle glimmering darkly. "He's injured – this will help with the pain while he heals."
"How'd he get hurt?"
"I'm not sure, I wasn't here. I would guess another tribute happened upon him, and I found him here. It took some time for me to gather my supplies-"
"Is that the same thing you did to Callum?"
She blinks a few times. "I beg your pardon?"
"Callum. Your District Partner. The one that died in the bloodbath, scared shitless by whoever did him in. Ring a bell?"
Saccharine sniffles and wipes at her nose, her glove coming away bloodier than before. "Of course I'm familiar with him, but I hardly knew the boy. I don't see-"
Irritation slices through them. "Cut the shit. Someone saw you, and whatever he saw made him terrified of you."
Her head cocks to the side. "Is that so? Scared enough that you came here all by yourself?"
Before they can respond, Saccharine gets to her feet. She takes her time to brush off her dress, and Zephyr's eyes linger on every bloodstain, wondering if Callum is the only one she's killed. It occurs to him for the first time that Saccharine is a Career, and they have no idea what the hell she can do. Saccharine Esculenta could very well be the most formidable foe here.
"How fascinating of you to believe a little outer district boy over one of your own allies," Saccharine muses aloud. It's as if every word she speaks is another layer of a facade stripping away. "Speaks a lot to your loyalty, doesn't it?"
"He had no reason to lie."
"Didn't he? I presume you were having a pleasant conversation over a cup of tea, then? No blade to his throat, no threat of death looming over him?"
"The only things he concerned himself with were his dying ally and the thought that you might be nearby. If that was a lie, then it was one hell of a shot in the dark."
"Ahh, poor Marri… such a shame. Was it Thessaly or Pantheon that got to her?"
"Pantheon," Zephyr breathes. He takes a step back. "So it's true, then."
The smile that seeps across her face is purely poisonous. "I think you decided it was true before you came here, Zephyr."
Maybe he did. Saccharine doesn't give him time to think about it. He blinks, and suddenly she's nothing more than a blur in front of them, moving far too fast for his mind to process. They take a step back, looking around wildly, and a chill runs up their spine. It's instinct that propels them to duck to the ground, rolling forward to land next to Ibai. When Zephyr looks up, his gaze lands on Saccharine standing where he did just a moment ago, her syringe aimed at where his heart would've been.
There's nothing kind about her face, not anymore. Blood streams from both nostrils, and her white dress is splattered with red. Her eyes are so dark they look like nothing more than bottomless voids. It's like there's nothing human about her at all.
"Clever," Saccharine says, "but Nerissa figured it out, too, and look where that got her."
The color drains from their face. "You- Nerissa, too?"
The syringe in her hand is swiftly discarded and lost in the damp grass. Saccharine instead wields a pair of knives so slender they might as well be needles. The smile still hasn't left her face, even as the sky opens up and the clouds turn a shade darker.
"I couldn't possibly let someone else take my kill. And I won't let you steal from me, either."
She doesn't give them time to breathe – Saccharine sprints towards him, her feet moving so fast that Zephyr is briefly mesmerized. This is the true power of a Career, and it's a grim reminder that despite joining their alliance, Zephyr isn't really one of them.
Trying to fight against Saccharine is like trying to perform a dance they don't know all the steps to. Zephyr's used to being light on their feet, but Saccharine's movements are so erratic that he can't keep up. Every time they attempt to evade one knife, the other lashes out to draw blood on their wrist, their shoulder, their face. Each one stings more than the last, and Zephyr knows he's losing ground quickly.
It's hard to find any sort of opening – the second Zephyr thinks they've discovered a pattern to Saccharine's movements, they change just as swiftly. It feels like she's toying with them, always darting just out of reach as soon as Zephyr feels they might be able to land a blow.
The only one he does manage is a slice along her cheek, cutting deep enough that the split skin and weeping blood exposes startlingly white bone. Saccharine's response is to hit the handle of her knife against their wrist, forcing Zephyr to drop one of his blades.
Too quickly, they retreat, but he's forgotten his surroundings. The rising river is closer than he realized, and their foot sinks into the muddy water behind him. Zephyr's instantly thrown off balance, their arms waving wildly in an attempt to steady himself. They barely catch the way Saccharine's body shifts to the left, twisting out of the way only to realize that her movement was merely a feint. Her needle strikes true, sliding between their ribs and leaving them breathless. The pain only sinks in after a few moments: a sharp, searing burn that Zephyr feels nearly reach his heart.
Zephyr musters every bit of strength they have to wrench his foot out of the mud, the sharpness between his ribs twisting deeper with every movement. They grit their teeth, determined not to fall just yet. Saccharine must have some weakness that can be exploited.
The instant he frees himself, Saccharine takes a few fluttering steps back, each one completely silent. Zephyr can't be sure if that's her own doing or simply the product of their own ragged breathing ringing in their ears.
"It's not too late to give up," Saccharine whispers, her words a falsely sweet promise. "You can't win this, and that's okay. It's not as if you threw your life away for nothing."
"You don't know anything about me," Zephyr bites out. They lunge forward with their blade, forcing Saccharine back a few steps and gaining ground on their own. If anything, this gets Zephyr farther from the water and Saccharine farther from Ibai.
Saccharine merely hums, sizing him up. "Maybe I don't, but I think Zaidra does."
Zephyr falters, the knife in their hand turning frighteningly heavy. The sound of his pulse thrums loudly in his ears. "What?"
"Zephyr and Zaidra… I have to wonder – was it just as easy for you to leave her as it was for Callum with his Rhydian?"
"His- How did you-?"
They blink, and she's gone again. Zephyr feels like he's moving in slow-motion, stumbling around like a fool in some trap he didn't realize he walked right into.
"Will she cry at your funeral? Or will she be grateful I disposed of you?"
The words come from behind, but when Zephyr whirls to face her, all he sees is an open expanse of greenery. His hesitation lasts long enough for Saccharine to land three blows on his exposed back – not hard, but enough to send them reeling. There's a well-placed jab at his ankle, and Zephyr tumbles to the ground, far more gracelessly than they did earlier. When he tries to catch himself with one arm, it crumples under them, pain shooting through their shoulder.
Behind them, Zephyr hears a noise. A quick glance reveals that Ibai is beginning to stir – at least he's not dead. Zephyr shifts directly between him and Saccharine, wondering if they even have a chance of fending her off.
"Fascinating," Saccharine whispers. "You're the one in danger, and yet you still try to protect him."
At least if they keep her talking, Zephyr can try to catch his breath. "He hasn't done anything-"
"Exactly." Saccharine's voice turns downright venomous. "Five days, and he has nothing to show for himself. What a waste. I'm doing him a favor, I'm making things right."
"What does it matter to you?"
"He doesn't deserve this, not as much as her."
There's one word that softens Saccharine's tone, just enough to be noticeable. Her. Whatever she's doing now, it's far more personal than Zephyr anticipated, and they can't fathom why. Every bit of her personality has been carefully stowed away, and Zephyr realizes that as much as she can get under his skin, they can't do the same for her.
This is a fight he can't hope to win.
Saccharine can see the moment the glimmer of hope leaves Zephyr's eyes. She always believed him to be foolish for finding Callum to be a somewhat redeemable human being, but this is a new low. Standing up for someone that doesn't have any reason to do the same in return? Standing against someone that he stands no chance against? God, it almost makes Saccharine laugh. He should lay down and do the deed himself.
"None of us deserve this," Zephyr is saying. Everything sounds tinny and faraway. "Not you, not me, not anyone. I've fucked up plenty, and I know that, and I'm trying to fix it. Sometimes it works, and… sometimes it doesn't."
"Not everything can be fixed."
"Then why are you doing this?"
(The thorn rips through her finger, shredding skin and speckling blood on Rin's freshly pressed clothes. Her first thought is about how disappointed her parents will be when they see this – the dress is new, and Rin can only get new clothes twice a year. It's only typical that she ruined something so lovely the first day she wears it.
Her eyes well with tears, and that's when the stinging sets in. Rin drops the rose she'd been trying to pick and flees into the house, crying out for her sister. Her frantic footsteps ring throughout the single-story home, and for a moment Rin convinces herself she's entirely alone. Blood continues to drip onto her dress, and the floors, and down her chin, and Rin is mortified to discover that her nose is bleeding as well. Her parents would hate to see her like this, so unkempt. She might get scolded for slacking off, for not focusing on her work or studies or anything of importance.
Then there's a comforting hand on her shoulder, and Rin absolutely melts into her sister's arms. Nectarine pats her hair, whispers reassuring words that Rin can't remember the details of now, dries her tears and stops the bleeding.
The memories of Rin's childhood all blend together into a seamless monotony, save for a few happy memories. Every one of them includes Nectarine.
Why couldn't she have seen it sooner?)
"You could kill me now and get it over with," Zephyr says softly. His hands are raised like they're trying to placate a wild animal, lull a butterfly into a false sense of security. "But you haven't. Why?"
Years of suffering weigh on Saccharine's chest, and it strangles the breath out of her. All she can see around her are thousands of crumpled wings, the life long drained from their fragile bodies. Nectarine still lays among them, that gentle smile upon her face the first Saccharine had seen in a long, long time.
Once she begins to laugh, Saccharine finds she can't stop. She laughs until she's breathless, until the tears of mirth in her eyes flow freely and sting like the grief has never left her body.
Because no amount of suffering will ever be enough. Because even if you die screaming, you're only half the person she ever was, and she never got the luxury of a break. Because if I can't save her, then I'll make sure no one forgets her.
Demurely, Saccharine sits on the ground, leaning closer to Zephyr. The knife is still clenched tightly in their hand, but they don't fight back, not yet.
Good.
"Because Callum was a coward that didn't feel remorse until I had him bleeding on the ground. Rhydian rightfully earned his place, and Callum stole that away in an instant. I showed him how wrong he was to believe he deserved to stand here among the rest of us. And Nerissa… Nerissa thought she was too good for death, all the way up until she stared it in the face. The pain was what made hers beautiful – I think she might've begged for it to end, if I'd let her. And to think she broke poor Thessaly's heart for nothing…"
Saccharine tilts her head to the side, scrutinizing Zephyr's form. Her gaze flickers over to Ibai, and then back. "And you… you asked for this, didn't you? You volunteered, left home and everything behind – why? To play hero? To find glory and power and money that you can only earn by killing? Isn't it rather pathetic that you can only find those things here?"
He sucks in a sharp breath. "Stop talking."
"Have you asked Ibai why he volunteered? Why he chose this? Do you really think that after everything, he'll choose you in return? You knew what you were walking into. He'll let you die here and simply be glad it's not him."
"You don't know-"
"Neither do you. Not really." Saccharine tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, and then smiles. "It's okay. I know it's hard to be wrong. To have your trust turned against you. But it's better to accept the truth now. Like Callum, like Nerissa."
"Nerissa?"
The voice behind her is barely more than a whisper. Saccharine gets to her feet again, sidestepping a thoughtless stab from Zephyr without even looking. She folds her hands in front of her and ducks her head.
"My apologies, Thessaly. You were not meant to see this."
"I don't- I don't understand."
The confusion in her voice is delightful. Saccharine already feels like she's won this fight as well. Thessaly's confusion will distract her, her search for the truth will cause her to fumble.
Her once-lovely face is twisted into an expression Saccharine almost recognizes. "There was an explosion- you told me there was a mutt-"
Saccharine's responding smile is so wide it hurts. "Both true. But there was also me."
"You," Thessaly repeats. Her eyes wander to Ibai's fallen form, to Zephyr still posed protectively in front of him. "And you- you knew?"
Zephyr recoils from her, one hand sinking into the muddy ground. They stare between Saccharine and Thessaly like he can't figure out who the biggest threat is. "Only just found out."
"She was fond of you," Saccharine says. "She didn't want you to get hurt. That's why she broke things off."
"What, did you two have a little chat about it?" Thessaly snaps.
"In a sense. She wanted me to believe you were nothing. I proved her to be a liar."
A throwing star flies past Saccharine's face, slicing off a lock of her hair. She titters, relishing in the way Thessaly's expression darkens. "You're losing your touch. If Nerissa knew this is what she died for, then I'm sure she'd be rather disappointed."
Thessaly snarls in response, two more throwing stars appearing in her hands. "I'll rip you to fucking shreds."
Saccharine's pulse thrums loudly in her ears. She loves the sound of a good unfulfilled promise. "Do try to keep up, then."
The screams had echoed throughout the hospital, growing louder as Thessaly reached the stairs. They were gone by the time she decided to look into them, but that's when she saw Zephyr fleeing like he was the one whose life was in danger. Despite being slowed down by her leg, it was easy enough to track where Zephyr was going, even if it meant arriving to a rather confusing scene too late to understand what was happening.
But right now… right now all Thessaly can latch onto is the fact that Nerissa's dead because Saccharine killed her. Everything else can be ignored, at least for now, because Thessaly can only imagine this kill will feel so good.
She moves first, darting forward and pretending her leg doesn't scream in protest when she puts her weight on it. Even though Thessaly is certain that this one move would've incapacitated half the kids in training, Saccharine flutters back like it's nothing. Even though the other girl holds a weapon in each hand, she doesn't so much as raise them. Her dark, piercing eyes are instead locked directly on Thessaly's, like she knows everything Thessaly is going to do before she can even think to do it.
Thessaly hasn't had the chance to get used to her new weaknesses. She thinks of home, of sparring with Nerissa, and acts before she can think. Her second lunge forward nearly makes her leg give out beneath her. When she's forced to stumble to the side to recover, Saccharine lashes out, and Thessaly can't defend herself from the quick blows that make her sway on her feet even more unsteadily than before.
She just has to wait for an opening. Saccharine's form is sloppy, and even though Thessaly can't predict what her next movement is going to be, she can at least catch her by surprise. The next time Saccharine attempts to strike, Thessaly snatches her wrist in midair, and Saccharine blinks in surprise. When she drags the other girl closer, she's relieved to find out that it's all too easy – she's light as a feather. All that speed and evasive maneuvering covers up how weak she is.
"Why?" Thessaly can't help but ask. "Why did you do it?"
With a smile, Saccharine leans close. "She was trying to find you, you know. You were next to her corpse for hours and had no clue. All that time, and you slept soundly through her screams. It's enough to kill someone, isn't it?"
She doesn't get the chance to summon a response. Saccharine's other hand swiftly moves down, and it takes Thessaly too long to catch on – her other knife rips through the stitches holding together Thessaly's thigh. The pain that lances through her entire body is enough to send Thessaly to her knees, the blue of her dress turning purple from the blood.
Thessaly rolls to the side, narrowly avoiding Saccharine's needle puncturing her lung. Breathless, she kicks out a leg, but Saccharine dances to the side easily. Stupid. An untrained child could've seen that coming. It's been years since Thessaly has had to try against an opponent, and she's certainly never fought in this condition. She spends too long fumbling for one of her throwing stars, and drops one into the grass before managing to throw a couple in Saccharine's general area, hoping to fend the other girl off long enough to regain her footing.
"You've lost your touch," Saccharine taunts. Neither star hit her. "It's too late in the Games for target practice, isn't it?"
"Fuck you," Thessaly hisses, unable to come up with anything better in response. There's an uncomfortable churning in her gut, like something's building up inside and she won't be able to take it back.
"Don't tell me losing Nerissa made you lose your manners as well."
Thessaly bares her teeth, slotting her stars between her fingers like nails. "You're the one that killed her, you-"
Saccharine leaps forward, aiming at Thessaly's right side. Her instincts kick in, and Thessaly moves to protect herself, but the needle sinks into her shoulder. Thessaly cries out, trying in vain to lurch away. All Saccharine does is press closer, her voice dripping with honeyed words.
"Does it hurt, watching everything burn around you? Does that make everything worth it? You came here, you stole from her, and look where that's left you."
Euna flashes through Thessaly's mind, and the vision is strong enough to make her falter. Saccharine's other needle drags against her collarbone, and the fresh pain makes her startle. She lashes out with one of her throwing stars, but her mind is still lingering elsewhere, on home, and Saccharine meets the blade with an open hand. Thessaly hisses as the sharp edges sting her own fingers, but Saccharine looks rather unaffected by the whole ordeal. Thessaly tries to pull back, but Saccharine won't let her – she doesn't let go, not even as the star digs deeper and deeper into her fingers, peeling flesh from bone. She acts like nothing hurts, whereas Thessaly is still drowning in agony.
"You'll never be better than her," Saccharine hisses. "She's three times anything you'll amount to – you're better off dead, where no one will ever have to remember you."
Thessaly shrieks, abandoning her star and tackling Saccharine to the ground. It's as if her years of training have abandoned her entirely: a child would be able to counter these attacks, see that Thessaly has broadcasted her every movement seconds in advance, but none of that matters. She hits wherever she can, landing blows on Saccharine's face, her chest, her stomach. When that doesn't seem to soothe the raging beast within, Thessaly digs in with her nails, catching that bit of flayed skin on Saccharine's cheek. Instinct takes over and she rips, flecks of blood spraying her face and sticking in her hair as a chunk of Saccharine's cheek swings loosely from the rest of her face.
But even as blood fills her mouth, and the seam of her lips stretches all the way to her ear, Saccharine won't stop laughing. Thessaly wants the noise out of her head, she wants to be back home, she wants-
"All you bring is ruin," Saccharine whispers. Her lips are a blood-red promise. Every inch of her is bloody and bruised, but she won't stop talking. "Isn't it better to let things end now, before you hurt anyone else?"
The noise that escapes Thessaly's mouth is too close to a sob for her own comfort. She reaches into the grass blindly until something sharp nicks her fingers, and Thessaly grabs it in her fist. It's easy to ignore the pain in her hand when the laughter echoing in her head is so much louder.
She thinks she's screaming, but it's so hard to tell anymore. Claws scrape at Thessaly's arms, her wrists, her face, but she grits her teeth and ignores it. She drives the blade into Saccharine's other cheek, jaggedly cutting through flesh until she hits bone again. But Saccharine's not screaming, not yet, and Thessaly can't stop until she does, so she haphazardly shoves the star down Saccharine's throat until the girl gags. Thessaly wants to rip her tongue out, but her fingers are too slick and she can't get the angle right, and there's enough blood that she can't see what she's doing anymore. An anguished cry lurches out of Thessaly's throat, and she rakes her nails across the delicate skin of Saccharine's neck until it smiles just like she does, and then she's fumbling for another throwing star to make the girl weep, and soon enough her mouth tastes like copper, and then-
This isn't what she would've wanted for you.
-another- ANOTHER. nothing's deep enough, nothing soothes that emptiness, that bone-deep ache that won't go away, something that was hers but isn't anymore and maybe never was-
If she's watching she'll be so disappointed.
-and the rain plasters her hair to her face and reminds her of better days with her sister, and nothing really hurts anymore because the nothingness is taking over, and isn't that scary? it should be frightening, it should mean something, but it doesn't and she doesn't understand-
Her love isn't enough to save you, not anymore.
-she's lost she's losing something where did it go why can't she find it-
You never stood a chance of saving her – that's never what she wanted.
-imsorryimsorryimsorryimsorryimso-
Boom.
Thessaly's shoulders heave as the sound of a cannon finally sinks in. She remains hunched over Saccharine's body, and Zephyr is glad for it. They don't want to see whatever is left of the girl.
(Despite all that's happened, Zephyr sort of feels sorry for her.)
Zephyr lifts a hand to their chest, trying to assess his injuries. There's blood everywhere, but most of it appears to be surface wounds. The one in his side… that one, Zephyr isn't sure what to do about.
"How did you know?"
They flinch and look up to see Thessaly standing over him, a Career to the bone. Her expression is carefully kept neutral. There's nothing left of the girl they met that first day of training.
Zephyr swallows. "I'm not-"
"Don't fuck around with me, Zeph. How did you fucking know?"
Ever so slowly, Zephyr gets to his feet. By some miracle, Thessaly lets it happen. Her hand is trembling, and Zephyr can't figure out if the cause is lingering rage or complete exhaustion. They find themself hoping it's the latter.
"I only just learned," Zephyr insists, raising their hands in surrender, in an attempt not to piss her off further. "I didn't-"
"That doesn't explain the how. How did you find out? Why were you hauling ass out of the hospital like someone was hunting you down? What managed to tip you off to the fact that Ibai was out here bleeding to death?"
Zephyr glances down. Saccharine's smile extends from ear to ear. They try not to think about what Thessaly might do to him.
"Another tribute," they confess, keeping his tone even. "One that witnessed what happened in the bloodbath – I didn't really know anything, I just had a hunch. And then I got here, and… well, the scene sort of spoke for itself."
"Right." Thessaly's words are clipped, too even, like she's trying to reign herself back in. "And this other tribute – what happened to them?"
Their palms are sweating. "Gone, I'd assume."
"You didn't kill them?"
"No-"
"Why the hell not."
"I couldn't." Zephyr lifts their chin. "Not after what he told me. It wouldn't be right-"
"So you let some Outer District rat go free, abandoned me and Theo, and ran here to confront someone that allegedly did something 'wrong.' Am I following?"
"And allegedly I was correct."
"And so you were – this time. But what about the next kid that tells you a sob story so you'll let them go? What're you gonna do then?"
"I-"
"Or what about the next tribute that tries to turn you against one of your own allies? Are you going to blindly believe them, too? Give me one good reason why I should let you live. I've already put down one rat today, I might as well snuff out the whole horde."
Zephyr steps back, wincing as pain lances through his chest. It's getting harder to breathe with every passing minute. They can't figure out what to say – what defense is there, really? Zephyr knew this outcome was a possibility, but… maybe part of him didn't actually think it would happen.
Thessaly's face twists into an ugly sneer. She digs one of her throwing stars into their chest, hard enough to make him wince, but barely enough to make them bleed. "Nothing to say for yourself now?"
He grits his teeth and remains silent. That's all Thessaly needs.
Something slams against his skull hard enough to make Zephyr see stars. They raise their knife to defend himself, but Thessaly grabs his wrist and twists it so hard that they scream and drop the blade. When she lets go, Zephyr staggers back a step, only to be met with a harsh kick to the ribs.
They're on the ground in an instant – Zephyr vomits up what little is left in his stomach, each individual rib protesting the slightest movement. He manages to drag himself one foot, then two, before their arms are too weak to do anything more.
Zephyr coughs into the grass, sucking in breaths that don't seem to fill his lungs. The pounding in their skull is reaching new heights, and even though the sun is obscured by clouds, it's too bright for him to look up.
"Thess."
Time stands still. Zephyr's head snaps up – Ibai. Alive and well enough to throw himself between Zephyr and Thessaly, injured and completely defenseless.
Thessaly lurches back a step as if she's been stabbed. Her eyes linger on Ibai's weary form, the way he's barely managing to make his body do what he wants. Her face softens, but as she takes a step towards him, Ibai takes a step back.
Zephyr blinks and their vision turns fuzzy. He shakes his head, trying to stay alert even as darkness lingers in their periphery. Every time they breathe, it feels like they're being stabbed over and over and over and over and over-
"She was going to kill me," Ibai is saying, his voice calm and quiet even as his hands are drenched in his own blood. "She-"
"We can't trust them," Thessaly says, still glaring daggers at Zephyr. "Not after this."
"Thessaly," Ibai whispers. "Please."
She doesn't say anything after that, not for a long while. Zephyr digs their fingers into the dirt in an attempt to haul himself upright, but that action only makes his vision go white. It's hard to tell how much time passes like that. The next time someone touches him, Zephyr expects the action to be swiftly followed by a blade to the heart.
Instead, he's gently guided to their feet. Zephyr blinks, and once the world stops spinning, it's Ibai who stands in front of him, Ibai whose hand lingers on their shoulder, Ibai who's still bloody and waterlogged and barely holding himself upright. There's mud under his fingernails, in his hair, dripping from his shirt. He looks like he got dragged out of an early grave.
It's not often that Zephyr finds himself speechless, but there's far too much to say and nowhere near enough time. The same dilemma is mirrored in Ibai's eyes – along with a similar level of fear.
"Run," Ibai says, letting go of their shoulder. Zephyr sways once before catching himself. "Don't look back."
And really, there's nothing else to do. Zephyr opens his mouth like he intends to say something, and then closes it silently. They nod at Ibai, and the gesture is returned in kind.
A life for a life. A one-time offer, one that can't be cashed in again. Zephyr's on their own now.
So despite the way his entire body screams in protest, Zephyr forces it to start moving, aiming to get as far away from the Cornucopia as he can, and desperately hopes that he'll find a way to disappear.
June 19, 16:57
Location Unknown
Xander can't help the sob that lurches out of his throat as he collapses to his knees several blocks away from the hospital. He can't bring himself to run any farther. His chest burns, his vision is blurry, and he feels like he could- he could-
He vomits on the ground, his stomach churning relentlessly even when it has nothing left to give. Xander's entire body shudders, and he realizes he's crying, and he's too empty to feel embarrassed. He only just realizes that the rain has started once more, and his clothes are soaking wet. He can't even make himself go inside to seek shelter somewhere. Nowhere is safe anymore, and the dark grey clouds cast shadows around every corner, and Marri…
Swiping furiously at his face, Xander hopes that his tears blend in with the raindrops. He can't be crying, not over Marri. She's- she was-
(Stupid and kind and sweet and vulnerable and too caring for her own good, and always lonely even when Xander was with her so of course that's how she died, too. And of course all Xander did was run, because that's all he's good for anyway. He's not much of a threat to anyone, especially all by himself.)
God, what does any of it matter? Xander chokes out a laugh. She's dead. Xander will find a way to join her soon. It's inevitable. He might as well just stay here and let whoever comes across him take a shot, pray it's quick, and that'll be the end. Maybe it'll be nice. Maybe it'll be better than here.
Xander tucks his knees close to his chest. There's so much he hasn't gotten the chance to do. He barely knows himself. All of his aspirations are just watered down versions of his father's desires. Everything he wants has been buried so deep Xander doesn't know how to find it anymore.
Here in the shadows, as Xander waits for someone to find and kill him, he lets his mind wander to all the impossibilities that have followed him his whole life. He'd always counted on being able to turn eighteen, go out on his own, and just… take things one day at a time. Finally be able to live and learn for himself.
He'd trade his violin in for a piano, the kind that would cost a small fortune but would be worth every bit of it. He'd hole himself away for hours fine-tuning measures at a time until a single page of a song is complete perfection. He wouldn't waste time with silly tutors telling him to just focus on the classics, he'd get to do whatever he wanted. Explore all sorts of new styles, test his limits like never before.
And after that… well, Xander doesn't know for sure. He'd like a tattoo, of course, but he hasn't let himself linger on what it would be, or even where it would go. He'd probably still pursue higher learning, but Xander would take the time to explore different routes. Maybe he'd even find multiple career paths and give himself the flexibility to go between them. Hopefully he'd meet someone in his last year, and…
Xander's cheeks burn hot, and he quickly forces the thought out of his mind. Now isn't the time or place to think about that.
Rocks skitter across pavement, and Xander presses his back further into the wall. His breathing quickens as footsteps shuffle closer. How long has someone been out there? Are they looking for him? Do they know where he is? Is now a good enough time to run?
(Is running worth it?)
Xander forces himself to his feet, but that's as far as he gets when the tribute catches sight of him, and Xander's entire body locks in place. It takes him a few seconds longer than normal to recognize who he's seeing, as bloody and battered as they are.
"Ah," Zephyr breathes, a smile tugging at their lips. "You got away."
Before Xander can fumble out a response, Zephyr's eyes roll back and he slumps to the ground lifelessly. Xander flinches and looks at the sky, expecting a cannon, but there's nothing. When he looks back at Zephyr, he sees Seven's chest rising and falling steadily.
Xander trembles in place, his gaze darting between Zephyr's fallen body and the bag of supplies they carry. Him and Marri… they were running dangerously low. Zephyr probably has something to eat, something that could ease the emptiness that has never felt more prominent. He could take it – he should take it – and run far away from here, taking care to avoid any sign of the Careers.
It's almost too easy, the way Xander can justify his actions. He can hear his father's voice ringing in the back of his mind, telling him that he has to choose himself if he wants to escape this alive. So he snags the backpack, avoids stepping in Zephyr's blood seeping into the dirt, and turns his back.
But no matter how hard he tries, Xander can't make himself step away.
Maybe it's because he swears he can feel Marri out in that falling darkness, alone and frightened. Maybe it's because Xander resents the idea of being in someone's debt, of owing Zephyr his life and never repaying it. Maybe it's… out of the goodness of his heart, or some useless shit like that.
Whatever the case, Xander finds himself on the ground beside Zephyr, assessing their wounds and staunching the bleeding. It'll be a long night ahead of them both, but Xander thinks he can pull it off. Finally make something right. No more running.
(And for a moment, Xander swears he can still feel her hand in his.)
June 19, 21:45
Somewhere to the northeast of the Cornucopia
As the sky grows dark, the last hints of pink seeping out of the sky, Aleksei finally makes himself turn away from the window.
More clouds have been gathering in the sky. Rain falls in the distance. Sooner or later, Aleksei fears he won't be able to see the sunset at all, so he's been watching each one as if it's his last. Someday it might be. For now, he can just take solace in the fact that he made it through another day. So did Sagan. They're together, just how things should be.
Aleksei's soft gaze falls on Sagan, who's sitting across the room. They've been migrating from house to house, and each one has its own treasures. This one in particular contains a vast display of books. Naturally, Aleksei has taken no interest in them, but Sagan has holed herself away for large portions of the day. Aleksei misses her when she's gone, but he also likes seeing her so… so… content.
The rain has made the ends of her hair curl, and her bangs are looking uneven again. Aleksei's pretty sure she likes them better that way. And maybe he does, too. They're very her – a little rough around the edges, but still pretty. She found a broken shard of glass earlier that she used to hack off parts of her skirt so that it now falls just below her knees. The vivid green has faded due to the number of mud puddles they've ended up splashing through. That's probably for the best, but Aleksei still misses the brightness of her old dress color.
Sagan glances up from her book absentmindedly, and then reddens when she makes eye contact with Aleksei. She quickly shoves her face back in the pages. "Quit staring at me."
"Sorry," Aleksei says, though he's not particularly sorry at all. "The sun finally disappeared."
"Mmm."
"It'll get real dark soon." Aleksei flops down on the couch and reaches a hand towards the ceiling. "Way darker than Six, and where I hang around not everyone can keep their lights on all the time. These city lights are never on. Do you think that's intentional? I can't even remember how many days we've been here. I can't see any stars right now, but I wish I could. Do you think this place has a roof we could go up on? Oh! And we could drag one of the mattresses out and jump onto it! Dexter would love that – actually, he would get mad that he didn't come up with the idea first! If he was here now…" He lets his hand flop onto his chest and makes a face. "Well, not here here, but… you know."
He looks over hopefully at Sagan, but she's still reading her book. There's no cool picture on the cover, so he can't even tell what it's about. He was sort of hoping she would at least tell him to shut up, but it looks like she's too distracted for even that much.
"Five."
Aleksei bolts upright and tries to keep his beaming smile at bay. It's nice to hear her voice. "Huh?"
"Five days. Tomorrow's day six, and after that it'll be a week. And there's… thirteen of us left."
"Whoa," Aleksei whispers. "You were listening!"
Sagan tries to hide behind her bangs again. "Well, yeah. I'm just… multitasking."
"You can do that while reading?" he asks, mystified. Her power must be limitless.
"Um… sort of." Sagan snaps the book shut. "It'll be too dark for this soon, anyway. We should eat something."
"We can turn on a lamp!" Aleksei rushes over to do exactly that. The warm glow is enough to brighten his spirits. "There! Now you don't even have to stop! I'll go see what we have left…"
"It's alright, really. I was just about done."
"Oh. Well, what was your book about?"
Sagan fiddles with the ends of her hair. "It's just, um, a book from when I was a kid. My mom read it to me sometimes."
"Oh! Like the ugly swan?"
"Ugly duckling, but… yeah kinda."
"Is it like a… a sequel?"
"No, this one is about something different. A velveteen rabbit."
Aleksei has no idea what velveteen is. "A rabbit sounds cool!"
"Velveteen is a kind of fabric. It's about a stuffed rabbit that wants to be real, but it can only become real through the love of a child."
"And does it?"
Sagan hesitates, gnawing at her lip. "Well…"
She takes so long to answer that Aleksei instantly deflates. "It's okay, you don't hafta."
"Not that, it's just…" Sagan sounds strangely unsure of herself. Aleksei hangs onto her every word. "I can read it to you. If you want."
His eyes go wide. "Whoa," Aleksei breathes. "Really? Like, really really?"
She won't look at him anymore. "I mean, yeah. Only if you want."
"Yeah! Yeah I want! I can- I can fix our food while you read, and then we can eat, and then-"
"It's alright, we can eat first. There's plenty of time."
And that's not really true, but for right now it is. Aleksei believes the sentiment because Sagan does. And he's not sure what that means, except that it makes his chest feel really warm and fuzzy and it's hard to stop smiling.
So they share a can of soup, ignoring how this was the last of their real meals and how they only got the soup lukewarm before eating it. They make a detour to the bedroom to grab blankets and transform the living room just like they did on the last night, because this is where the only light in the house resides. The lamp flickers, clearly on its last legs, but that doesn't stop Sagan. She cracks the book open and clears her throat. Aleksei sits closer and rests his head on her shoulder.
Outside, the anthem plays. The glow of faces in the sky is bright enough to seep through the blinds, but Aleksei doesn't turn to look. Instead, he stares at the words he can't read and focuses on the slow rise and fall of Sagan's chest.
It's comfortable like this. Aleksei feels warm and safe and happy. It's not often that those three things occur all at the same time. And… and he has someone here with him, someone that won't leave. That makes him feel like maybe he belongs just exactly like this.
His eyes slip shut. Sagan's voice slowly becomes nothing more than a soothing white noise. Aleksei sighs contentedly. A hand smoothes over his curls, but maybe that's just his imagination. Either way, it makes him smile.
He wishes nothing would ever change.
(He already knows that it will.)
[The cameras within the Mentor Lounge have seen many things on this day: the horror of Briar from Seven as her mentee is butchered, the stoic despair of Estelle from One as she watches all the ways she has failed, the silent breakdown of Bastian from Four as he comes close to losing everything once more… It's no question that the Games have reached some sort of peak, that the tides are finally beginning to turn – in whose direction, no one knows.
But amidst the chaos, an avox slips in and delivers a letter. The recipient already knows the general contents, but opens it anyway to ascertain the time and location of the meeting. A flower with yellow petals and a purple center is stamped in the top corner of the paper. There is no signature.]
A Mx. Luxor would like to have an audience with you regarding the continuation of their sponsorship for your tribute. Your presence is required at The Black Dog tonight at midnight. Look for a purple flower in her hair. You would do well to match.
Don't be late.
16. jasmine mccoy, killed by nolan okorie
sure seems like it. but i made sure to take you down with me
15. marri esters, killed by pantheon lexicus
take me home! take me home, take me home- dad, please-
14. saccharine esculenta, killed by thessaly akaste
all you bring is ruin. isn't it better to let things end now, before you hurt anyone else?
kills:
saccharine: 2
nolan: 2
theo: 2
thessaly: 2
svelte: 1
nerissa: 1
bourbon: 1
well unfortunately for everyone, i'm not dead. i'll be back soon with some subplot people, and then we can start act two with a real bang. get excited, party people. we're not even halfway there.
~de laney is out