Day 1, Part 2: Night
TW: Thoughts of Self-Harm in the Second POV (Clarke). DM/PM me if you'd like a summary, though a later POV should fill you in on anything you need to know.

Adair leaned back in one of the hard-backed benches in the old courtroom's gallery, where members of the public had once gathered long ago to watch court proceedings. Now, instead of watching a man on trial, he watched Nevaeh and Ilithyia scramble around the courtroom floor, playing a game of marbles. Paraffin lamps Sostonio had placed around the room at regular intervals cast everything in homely gold, while open doors and windows let the cool night breeze ripple in.

A contented sigh escaped his lips. What a life! All he lacked now was a beer, but he supposed that would have to wait till he got out of this stuffy Arena.

Back on the courtroom floor, Nevaeh suddenly burst out laughing.

Ilithyia pointed a finger at some spot on the ground. "You cheated!"

"Por favor, I did not! Sos—you tell this chica."

"Ay, Nevaeh—"

"Then I call Ven to back me up," Ilithyia protested, only for Ven to throw both his hands up. "Oh, come on. Eros? You saw that, right?"

Before Eros could speak, it all devolved into a laughing mess and it didn't matter anymore if Nevaeh had cheated at all in the first place. Looking around, Adair could almost believe he was out in some backcountry town of District Seven, safe and secure with good folks all around. Rather funny, wasn't it? Here he was, with the purported "strongest threats" from One, Two, and Ten, known for their efficiency and competitiveness—and he'd never felt safer in his life!

If anything, the outer district kids had proved themselves to be much larger threats so far. The girl from Three and her bombs? Absolute genius, and it was completely on him for not picking up on her plans until the tower came down.

But hey, things still worked out for him, the way they always did. He'd been trying to think up an explanation for killing Liat when the rubble covered up her body and solved his problem for him—though with half of the explosives still out in the Arena, he'd expected his allies to be a little more on edge.

That was fine with him. If they wanted to laugh their days away with their guards down, he wasn't about to complain. All the more freedom to do his own thing, and do his own thing he would.

"Hey," he said, hopping to his feet. He gestured to the open door. "I'll go keep watch."

When the trumpet blast sounded, announcing the Fallen broadcast, Clarke huffed from her corner of the saloon. She watched Virginia scurry to the entrance and poke her head into the street, staring up at the sky. With a sigh, Clarke clambered to her feet herself, though not without a little trouble. Who knew a crushed hand would mess so much with her? At least the pain-killers were helping; she could move now without excruciating pain.

"Who's first?" Clarke said, taking her time on her walk.

"The One girl," Virginia said. "That's… unexpected."

Clarke grinned as she joined Virginia. She always welcomed a good early Star Alliance death. "Good for her."

"Mostly for us though." Virginia's voice was absent, as if speaking on autopilot. Clarke sighed—'cause she was so concerned about the One girl's health—but she didn't comment on it.

Next appeared the Three boy and the Five girl, followed with both from Six. Clarke snarled at the Six girl, who seemed to be laughing in her photo, that dry, despising laugh she was known for. Clarke remembered the girl's terrible smile, the maniacal flash in her eyes as she'd prepared to kill Clarke—until Liat had come to her rescue.

Look who's laughing now.

Then the Sixes disappeared, and she wasn't laughing anymore. The portraits in the sky weren't in color, but she didn't need it. She hadn't even identified the next face before she saw the blonde curls, the blue eyes, the lively grin. Everything in her stomach rushed up her throat in a burning rapid of fury.

Liat. She was dead.

She stumbled back from the doorway. Her foot caught on a chair; her back hit the floor and bile filled her mouth. As she pushed herself off the ground, she vaguely heard Virginia calling in the background, but it was distant and muffled, as if she'd fallen into a deep pit of churning water and was now drowning in its cloudy depths.

Gasping for air, she lurched into the back room and slammed the door behind her. She must've been dreaming; it couldn't be Liat! She fell back against the wall. Its rough surface dug into her neck. She grabbed a fold of skin on her arm and pinched, hoping to awaken from this nightmare. As the pain intensified, she squeezed harder and harder until her arm went numb and she couldn't squeeze any harder—why couldn't she just wake up! She slammed herself against the wall as a sob sprang from her throat, gargling in bile.

Liat was dead.

As her energy drained, she leaned against the wall, about ready to collapse. She gasped for oxygen; had the air always been this thin? How could Liat be dead? The Seven girl had been so strong, so kind, so perfect, so unlike anything or anyone Clarke had ever seen before. No one deserved life more than Liat did, not even Clarke herself—but now she was dead?

The agony coursing through her blood demanded an escape. She needed the knife; she needed to open up a physical outlet on her skin for the pain to drain.

But she refused. She was stronger than that now, wasn't she? She had to win. Not even because she didn't want to die, as much as she feared the idea. No, she had to win for Liat's memory, that someone on this forsaken earth would remember the precious jewel from District Seven who deserved so much more than anything the world had ever given her.

She had to win. At any cost.

A single tear slipped down Iggy's face. Only one. Even if she tried, she couldn't squeeze out another drop out of her puffy eyes, tired from the unrelenting stream that had flowed all day. Scythe's face lingered in her vision long after the broadcast disappeared from the sky.

She'd expected Mati's; she'd seen him die! Thomas' face had brought with it a wave of sadness too. But Scythe? It'd caught her off guard. She'd spent the past week with him too. She remembered his calmness, his warnings to her, the cookie he'd slipped her on the last day of training—

And now he was dead?

She wouldn't see him ever again, even if she spent the rest of her time searching the Arena for any sign of him, even if she could see the Arena from the Gamemaker room they showed on television, even if she won and got to go home to District Eleven and Mother Tree. She shook; it was more than just the frigid evening wind.

She should be crying. Scythe deserved as much; how cold would it be for him to die and for her to not cry?

Her muscles gave out. She slumped against the wall in a dark alley and crumpled to the ground. No tears left. No energy left. She buried her head in her hands and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to make the world around her disappear, desperately hoping that Mother Tree in Her omniscience would remember her in this dark hour and send a tendril of comfort.

The wind brought no comfort.

She wrapped her hands around her knees and squeezed them close to her body, yet she shivered. Darkness pressed in all around her; the shadows down the alley in both ways promised hidden danger. She didn't dare move. It wasn't safe out here; even back in Eleven, her family didn't dare stay outside overnight due to the wild wolves that occasionally terrorized the outlying villages. But every muscle in her body screamed when she tried to move, sore all over from the non-stop walking all day. She couldn't even force herself to stand to her feet.

She silently apologized to Ramb for not following his advice to find shelter.

Right as her eyelids fluttered shut, a light beeping awoke her. The silver parachute floated down from the sky like a gorgeous moth of the night, glimmering in the moon's otherworldly radiance. She stared as it landed. Her hand reached for it but came up short; she froze, as if it'd disappear if she touched it, a mirage of her burdened mind. Who would sponsor her?

When it didn't disappear into thin air, she gingerly lifted it from the ground and opened it. Her chilled fingers fumbled with the screwed-on cap, all while dreaming of what it might hide inside. She had food and water courtesy of Ellis, but she definitely wouldn't complain for more.

The lid popped off, revealing a rubber duck.

It quacked a little when she tried to free it from the metal canister, pressing it slightly against the circular edges. She giggled.

"What are you doing here?" she said, rubbing its funny little head with its happy orange beak.

It wheezed in return. Oh well, what else did she expect from a rubber duck? She stared at the sky. Did Ramb send this? It wasn't like the reasonable old man to spend whatever few sponsor funds she had on something like this.

…But it was cute!

No complaining. If Ramb had approved of the duck, it had to have some kind of use. She lifted her face to whatever camera might be up there and gave it an ear-to-ear smile. Then, with her arms cradled around the silly yellow duck, she drifted off into the temporary relief of sleep.

The night settled in darkness around Navarro, who paced the length of a wall. He and Azolla had settled down in an old carpentry shop as the sun went down, hopefully far from anyone else. Sure, fighting would come eventually, but that time wasn't now, not with his messed-up hand and arm.

Ugh. Why did he have to get wounded on the very first day? Everyone knew that a tribute's odds of victory dropped dramatically after a severe injury, especially so early in the game. Now he couldn't leave Azolla even if he wanted to. As much as he hated to admit it, he needed her.

…Just for first-aid reasons, of course. He was hopeless with bandaging a wound on a mannequin, let alone another human being or even himself. If she hadn't been here for him, he probably would've twisted his own arm off or something.

He sighed.

Who was he kidding? He still would've followed her, wound or no wound. He'd already been running with her when the Eleven kid jumped him.

He glanced over at Azolla, who sat in the street, raking the coals of the fire they'd previously lit. She'd insisted on putting it out once the sun fully disappeared from the horizon, to hide their location. He hadn't had the energy to argue, though he cursed the frigid wind, the cloak of the night that rushed through every opening in the walls like a ghost, its icy fingers brushing his face.

He slumped behind a desk to hide his face from the wind. The wooden boards underfoot creaked, syncopated with the sound of Azolla's gentle steps. When she poked her head around the desk, he grinned sheepishly, expecting her to speak.

She didn't. She hadn't spoken since the Fallen broadcast; she barely smiled at him, though she'd been nothing but smiles back in training. He shuffled uneasily. The Azolla he knew was warm. This was silent and detached.

Would she leave him? Before their confrontation earlier in the day, he hadn't thought her capable of it. He'd expected her to cave again when he called her bluff; there was no way she would actually follow through with a threat to leave, right?

Then she had disappeared out the door, and he had panicked. In the moment, he'd known that the possibility of her leaving him was too great to risk it by being bull-headed. No amount of denying could undo that.

Azolla's footsteps stopped. A rustle, and then silence. Unnerving silence. She was never this silent. His heart began to pound; he craned his head around the desk. Azolla had settled down against the wall; she stared out the open doorway. Moonlight illuminated half of her face. Her eye glistened silver.

Navarro grunted as he pulled himself to his feet. "Hey. You okay?"

"Hmm? Oh… I'm fine, I guess."

"What's wrong."

She gave him a funny look. He'd give himself a funny look if he could; what was wrong with him? Maybe he was the one acting weird. It wasn't like him to be all concerned suddenly about some random stranger.

She wasn't some random stranger. She had been one back on the train, when she gave him that look of concern that instantly wilted him, but not anymore.

"I don't know," she said. "I'm just… thinking. About the eight dead kids."

He frowned. This was dangerous thinking here in the Hunger Games. By Snow, he was already taking a risk by allowing Azolla to become anything more than a stranger. "Why."

"To think that… they had lives… and families… and dreams, and now it's all gone. Like the Seven girl? She was a writer, you know? Not too different from me. But now she's dead, and I'm not."

He couldn't see what in Panem writing of all things had to do with anything, but he bit his tongue. If he was already on thin ice with her, he didn't want to shatter it.

She tilted her head at him. "It doesn't make you sad?"

"No." He crossed his arms. Or tried to. The bandaged arm didn't cooperate. "It's good for us. We can't waste time feeling bad when they were already dead the moment they got Reaped."

She sighed. "Of course you wouldn't get it."

Ouch. He settled down again behind the desk. Let her be all depressed over the dead! No one could say he hadn't tried.

But she was still silent. He wished she'd snap out of it; he hated the silence, the cold, the distance. It was too much like home.

This wouldn't be a peaceful night.

Ace. Electra. Scythe.

They were dead. All three of them. Even now, Ada still saw their faces, staring down at her with disappointment and betrayal—and rightfully so, for she'd let them all down. She'd been too busy with her plan to give them the time and attention they deserved, and now? Even her plan had come to naught. They were all dead.

Ace. Electra. Scythe.

Acute pain sprang up in her gut; she keeled over, clutching the invisible wound in her abdomen. How? Had the universe conspired against her? How could she have known that her small oversights could've doomed her allies? And they weren't just allies, especially Ace. He was her friend. She squeezed her eyes shut, murmuring a million I'm sorry's.

Ace. Electra. Scythe.

Her head hit the dusty wood-board floor, a complete accident. Her eyes flew open. But then she shut them and slammed her head down again, and then again. The pain reverberated in her bones, yet it felt right, like penance for the failure she could never amend for.

Ace. Electra. Scythe.

As the pain reached a tipping point, she collapsed on the floor. Tears streamed down her cheeks and dripped to the floor, where they pooled in puddles of salt and dust. Though blurry vision, she glanced at the pile of supplies she'd spent the whole day gathering in hopes that they'd be helpful to her allies when they reunited. What a waste! What use did a corpse have for potable water?

She would win for them. That was all she could do now—or join them in the afterlife. With a heaving breath, she lurched towards the box of fireworks she'd received earlier that day. She'd planned to save them until she found the other three, when she'd discuss a game plan with them. Now only she remained. No use in leaving them around for someone else to steal.

What would her family back home think? They knew her to be reclusive and methodical, content to work away in a quiet corner of a laboratory on carefully plotted chemical reactions. What she was about to do was anything but.

Well, there would be a chemical reaction, but this one was neither quiet nor careful. Rapid oxidation of any substance rarely was. Back home, she'd take extra precautions to reduce the reaction rate, making it easier to control. Here, she was about to break every rule of the laboratory environment.

Fireworks in one hand. Matches in the other.

She set off into the darkness, every shaky step filled with furious resolve. Though the dark roads whispered of unknowns, she knew exactly where she was going. Her plan for the Bloodbath had only succeeded in eliminating one of the seven original targets.

She didn't intend to leave so many alive this time.

Eros had been picking up marbles with Nevaeh when he heard the explosion. This one wasn't much of an explosion—more of a pop!—especially after the earth-shattering booms of the crumbling tower, but his gaze flew up, just in time to see a fiery crimson projectile hurtling at him.

He lunged out of the way; his shoulder hit the floor. Shouts erupted from every direction; Ilithyia screamed for him to move, right as Nevaeh cursed and it skidded under a chair.

The flaming ball exploded into a million red sparks that flew in every direction. The chair shattered with a boom, each of its fragments succumbing to small flames that sprung up all around from the scattered embers.

Sostonio lept into action. "Rapido! Smother them—before everything burns!"

He shoved an old rag into Eros' hands. Eros didn't need to be told twice. He pounced on the nearest burning scrap and put it out.

"Use water if you have to!" Sostonio yelled, tossing Ven a water bottle. He whirled around to Ilithyia, who'd instinctively grabbed her axes. "Make sure no one's outside with more!"

Eros' eyes burned. Smoke tinged every breath. The fire he was trying to smother suddenly caught on his rag; he dropped it with a yelp. His heart racing, he poured water on it, all while stomping at it to finally extinguish it. Two down—how many left? He wondered if it would've been easier just to let the whole place burn. But when he whirled around, Ven, Nevaeh, and Sostonio had put out the rest of the flames. Ilithyia barged back in through the front doors, face tense as she gripped her dual axes.

Then Adair appeared in the doorway, holding the girl from Three with her hands behind her back. Her hair fell in a disheveled mess; her puffy eyes sat above her wet cheeks.

"She had a box of fireworks," Adair said, waiting in the entrance. The girl writhed, but his firm grip held her steady. He gave a wry grin. "Case closed."

Sostonio rose slowly. "What are we gonna do with her?"

Adair shrugged. Nevaeh shot her district partner a look and grabbed her knives. Ven still stood at the periphery of the room, muscles ready yet restrained. Eros himself felt a strangeness in his stomach. This was new. During the Bloodbath, he hadn't had time to think; he'd operated on the honed instinct to kill. But here, they were given a choice.

Ilithyia stalked up to the girl. Her movements were firm, almost robotic; Eros worried. Something had flipped in Ili's head. "Wait," she said, poking the captive girl with the blunt end of her axe. "You're District Three, right?"

The girl pressed her lips into an unyielding line; her eyes burned with insubordinate silence, glaring back at Ilithyia and then the rest of the room.

"Yeah," Adair said. "District Three. Her alliance set off the bombs."

"How do you know?" Sostonio said.

Adair gave the girl a violent shake. Some kind of remote—a detonator?—dropped from her pockets. It clattered to the ground and broke open, sending its batteries flying.

Ilithyia's face contorted, suddenly red. "So it was you?" She jabbed her axe at the girl; her voice rose with every word. "You blew up the tower?"

It wasn't a question. It was an accusation. Before the girl could respond—not that she looked like she would, cowering before Ilithyia's imposing figure, who stepped ever closer—Ilithyia turned to Adair.

"Let go of her."

He frowned. "What—"

"Let go."

What had happened to her? Gone was the enthusiastic expression Eros had come to know; gone were the life and the excitement. All that remained was rage from the pit of hell, and Adair quickly complied.

Eros opened his mouth to call to her. He didn't get a chance.

"Get what you deserve!" Ilithyia released a war cry. She kicked the girl in the chest. The girl shrieked; she'd barely hit the ground right outside the courtroom when Ilithyia slammed an axe into her shoulder, and then the other, severing the Three girl's arms. The girl's screams filled the air.

But Ilithyia wasn't done. Eros couldn't see details anymore, obscured by Ilithyia's rabid figure, but Ilithyia's axe rose and fell, over and over—and still the cannon hadn't sounded.

Eros gulped. "Ili—"

"You killed her!" Ilithyia's roar drowned him out. She brought the axe down again. The girl's screaming abruptly cut off.

Boom.

When Ilithyia stepped back from the corpse—or what was left of it—Eros could barely tell it'd previously been human, let alone the District Three Female. A few mangled chunks had fallen onto the threshold; the rest lay outside in a bloody mess of bone and flesh.

"Hermana…" Nevaeh's voice trembled. She took a shaky step forward. "¿Qué pasa?"

Eros felt the remains of his dinner rising up his throat. This was Ilithyia Aella, the girl infamous around the Training Academy for beating up Athanasios Denzino so brutally he'd been instantly taken out of consideration to be the chosen volunteer. Eros had been far too lax around her.

He worried, too. If Ilithyia was going insane, what would happen to him? With her watching his back, he'd been at ease, with the knowledge that he had the highest-scoring tribute in the Arena at his side. It had been the District Twos against the world—though of course, he recognized he'd have to off her somewhere down the line.

He hoped she wasn't too unstable. For his own sake, of course. He couldn't afford to care too much about her, not genuinely.

Another thought crossed his mind, almost equally as disturbing as the previous one. If the Three girl had used fireworks, then she couldn't have been the one to take the explosives after the Bloodbath.

Who had the bombs?

As soon as he could, Sostonio excused himself from the room. He hurried down the long side hallway, trying to escape the stench of blood mixed with smoke and the horrible sight of what had previously been the District Three girl. Sour liquid filled his mouth. He pressed a hand against the wall; the other clutched his stomach.

This wasn't okay. Nothing about this was okay, from the fires to the screaming to brutal murder.

He struggled for air. His face burned hot; he pulled his hand away in shock. He needed to scream, yet he bit his lip to stifle the angry rant he could feel rising in his chest. So what if this was the Hunger Games? The Capitol's legalization of murder couldn't negate the heaven-given dignity and humanity of every tribute. If Ilithyia had been quick, he might have excused the deed as self-defense, as payback for the firework attack. But live dismemberment? Followed by ruthless torture? Nothing could possibly justify that.

He should've stopped Ilithyia. No matter what it might've cost him, he was there and he had the chance yet he stood as a passive bystander, allowing her brutality with his silence. He hoped Snot hadn't been watching, but he knew it was wishful thinking. Snot was certainly watching, along with Nini and Mama and everyone back home—and they'd seen his tacit approval. All of Panem had seen it. If only he'd been braver! Ilithyia's decisions were hers; she would have to take responsibility for them. But his silence was his choice, and that burden fell to him.

A somber voice echoed down the hall. "Sos? ¿Estás bien?"

" '¿Estás bien?' ¿Qué piensas?" What a ridiculous question! He gave Nevaeh an incredulous look as she approached. "Can anyone watch that and be okay?"

"I sure ain't." She sighed. He could see the heaviness in her eyes now, the furrows in her brow. "Piensas que… she's going… you know?"

Sostonio crossed his arms. He hated the thought; everything he'd seen up to this point had pointed to Ilithyia being a good person. "Ojalá que no. She looked sane enough when y'all were playing marbles."

Nevaeh cocked her head for a moment, and then she slowly nodded. "You'd better be right."

"C'mon." He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Todo se va a arreglar. Worst case…" He dropped his volume. "Darah will send us the signal, and we'll hightail it outta here."

"I know, I know. It's such a mess but… it's just the way the Arena works, I guess."

He bristled. This was precisely the type of thinking that allowed injustice to persist. "It's still not okay."

She snorted, rolling her eyes, which only aggravated him more. "So what? Face it. The world doesn't care if things are okay."

"And you're fine with that?" How could anyone speak so nonchalantly about something so serious? "It's so unjust—"

"Look, Sos." She looked him dead in the eye. "These are the Hunger Games—and you volunteered. Don't tell me you didn't know what you were getting into."

Behind her, the door to the courtroom opened, and Adair poked his head in. Sos raised a hand to shush her. "Nevaeh—"

She didn't care. "So don't talk about justice. It doesn't exist, not here. What are we gonna do—put the tributes on trial?"

"What's that you said?" Adair called from down the hall. "Put the tributes on trial?"

Nevaeh gave an annoyed sigh. "I was joking. Mind your own business!"

Eros appeared in the hall, right behind Adair. "Wait—that's actually a really fun idea. Hey, Ili!"

The two boys disappeared from view; Sos gulped. The idea of holding fake trials for fun made his heart plummet. As if murder wasn't bad enough! Now they wanted to pretend like the killing was justified? Nevaeh gave him a single glance but then left as well; she must've immediately identified what he was thinking.

She could think whatever she wanted. He'd forever hold his own. At least, he hoped he would. The only thought scarier than rewatching a repeat of today was perpetrating a repeat of today.

Virginia huddled before the fireplace. Though the flames welcomed her, beckoning her into their mesmerizing dance of warmth and comfort, she felt her gaze repeatedly drawn to the backroom door, where Clarke had disappeared an hour ago. She wanted to get up, seek the NIne girl out, see if she was okay, especially since it was clear as day that Clarke was not okay.

But Clarke had been so violent in her flight. She'd shoved through the sea of tables and chairs like a wrecking ball; her contorted face had been clear. She… needed time alone, to put it nicely. Virginia hadn't known of any particular history between her new ally and the Seven girl, other than that they'd been in an alliance together with the Twelves. But what did she know? Maybe she herself would be going insane if Ellis' face was in the sky. How was he doing, anyway? She hoped he was well.

Or as well as she could dare to hope, for these were still the Hunger Games. Over the past day, she'd allowed herself to forget about the stipulations of the competition she hated so much, to help a fellow tribute though it might come back to bite her later, to follow her gut instead of the Capitol-set rules of this unnatural environment.

She'd left Clarke alone, anyway, no matter how many times her attention turned back to the locked backroom door. She'd started the fire, careful to keep it low, and moved the furniture in an effort to hide its light from the street. She'd taken some dried meat and hydrated it in a splash of warm water to make it more palatable. If her mother were here to taste it, she'd surely say something about how she would need to "improve her methods" if she wanted to become a "desirable wife," but Virginia supposed she could give herself some leeway in the Hunger Games, just a bit.

She hoped Clarke would like it, at least. Water was valuable. The tiny wisp of a cloud had steadily increased in size over the course of the day, but she wasn't about to pin her hopes on some Gamemaker invention.

The creaky door snapped her out of her thoughts. Clarke appeared in the doorway, a bruise on her arm and her hands balled into fists.

"A-Are you okay?" Virginia said, trying to rapidly gauge where Clarke was at the moment, for fear that a wrong move might set the girl off. "I tried to make the jerky taste a little better; do you want some?"

Clarke stepped towards the fire in silence. As she approached, Virginia could see her puffy eyes. Her mouth was pressed in a grim, quivering line. "We'll go hunting soon."

"Hunt?"

"Can't win if they aren't dead, right?"

Virginia gulped. The very idea of hunting felt repulsive to her core—yet this was precisely what she'd signed up to do when she'd originally allied with Laforza. So what if it was with a different girl now—and why was it back to bother her now? She picked up her knife; she needed her resolve to win.

She remembered Jakob. The ugly sneer, the flippant insult, the fake affection he'd tricked her with for all those months. To think she'd been ready to give her whole life to him! The thought made her blood boil; this was why she needed to win.

So she looked Clarke in the eye and nodded, silently praying that they wouldn't find Ellis.

"Let's do it."

Zirconia huffed as she and Zeph snaked down an alleyway. Though she hated it, Zeph insisted on taking the narrowest roads around the far edges of the city. Fine, maybe they were safer than prancing 'round the main roads, but did he really have to take the most claustrophobic ones? For Snow's sake, she could barely raise both her elbows on either side without bumping into those stupid wooden walls of this derelict Old Western town.

Zeph turned around up ahead. "You wanna settle down now?"

"Here? Not a chance." She placed a hand on the walls on either side of her. "Feels like a cage. Brr."

"I don't trust the houses though."

She threw up her hands. "Then what are we gonna do? Sleep in the middle of the street?" Her right one grazed the sharp tip of a broken board. "Ow!"

Zeph shook his head and continued on. At this rate, the two of 'em might end up walking all night.

She wished she could fly. Then she'd soar above this maze, high and free, where she'd find a secure place to rest. She wondered how high up she'd be able to go before she hit the forcefield. How did those tech-y things work anyway? Was it a dome or a cylinder? Hovercraft had to get in and out of them somehow.

"Hey," Zeph whispered up ahead. He peeked out of the end of the alley, where it fed into one of the main roads. "The city ends right there."

"Really?"

She rushed to his side. Sure enough, the main road ran for about another block before the buildings abruptly ended and it faded into desert, stretching as far as the eye could see—which, admittedly, wasn't far in the dark.

"Woah," she mumbled, to no one in particular. "What's out there?"

"Do I want to know?"

"Of course you do." She paused. The open land beckoned to her. After a day in this old town, she was beginning to think she'd rather brave it out there. "We could figure it out together?"

"I don't know… It could be worth a try, though."

She grinned. " 'Course it is. Though…" It faded. No one would find them out there, but that would also go for their missing ally, who was more likely than not hidden somewhere else in the city.

"What?"

"Clarke."

He pressed his lips together. She wanted to smack him. He'd been weird about Clarke all day—how could she explain to him that they had nothing to worry about? Clarke wasn't the type to suddenly turn on them. At least, that's what her gut told her. She was usually right too. Except that incident with the Peacekeepers that brought them here… but what was one slip up among hundreds?

A cannon boomed.

She jumped. Was that Clarke? Oh, how she hoped it wasn't! She'd felt so relieved when the Fallen broadcast revealed that the Nine girl was still alive, despite the shock that came with the revelation that somehow, against all odds, Liat had died. Zirconia was ninety-nine point ninety-nine percent sure that the other Careers had turned on Liat for leaving them, but what did she know? Between the chaos and the crumbling tower, she hadn't had a chance to see.

She wished she had. Even if she wouldn't have been able to save the Seven girl, she'd at least be able to avenge her. If Clarke was now dead… that would make two. And that was definitely not allowed, so Clarke had to still be alive.

"Do you think she's okay?" she asked.

Zeph shrugged. Was he truly that cold, or was he trying to hide something? "Maybe. Maybe not. I don't think it matters."

"Forget I asked." Zirconia shot him a dirty look. She couldn't understand how he didn't care. "She's gotta be okay."

"If it helps, I think so too. She's a survivor. But that's why we have to be careful."

There it was again. Be careful. But it was oddly endearing, in a strange way, even as she rolled her eyes at him. As much as he drove her insane, he was looking out for the two of them, and she had the confidence that he'd always do so, all the way to the end. The Capitol could do whatever it wanted; she'd do the same for him.

She sighed. "So we'll set off for the desert?"

"Tomorrow." He squeezed her hand and yawned. "Pick a house; we'll stay there tonight."

Kiran huddled in the corner of the dark room, in some random house he and Ellis had stopped in for the night. He shut his eyes, but they flew open again, darting around the room at the threatening shadows all around. Not to mention the cold wind blowing in through the cracks in the walls. District Five was desert, but District Five wasn't cold.

"Everything sucks," he mumbled. "Can't they turn up the heat at night?"

"Sorry, can't help you with that one," Ellis said. "Just try to sleep. I'll wake you up if anything happens."

Kiran felt his cheeks blush red. He hadn't meant to say anything out loud. "I'm not cold, just so you know. I just… just don't want to sleep."

"Then don't sleep, I guess." Ellis clambered to his feet and re-settled, this time closer to Kiran. "Does it get cold back in Five?"

Kiran sighed. At this point, it almost felt like the boy was trying to redirect his attention all the time. Though part of him wanted to keep complaining, just to see what Ellis would do, he figured it wasn't worth the effort. After all, chatting with Ellis could be… rather nice? Was this how regular people talked?

"Almost never," Kiran said. "District Five is hot, so most other people hide indoors with air conditioning."

Ellis chuckled lightly. It rang empty in the lifeless house, sucked dry by desert winds, but it was something, and Kiran liked it. He'd noticed that Ellis laughed a lot. It wasn't jeering laughter either, the type Kiran usually heard at school. It was genuine laughter, as if the Eight boy was simply glad to be living life.

"Hey—tell me," Ellis said. "Let's say this is the setting for a story. What would you do with it?"

Not again. Kiran squirmed, even though his imagination had already flown off with grand adventures that could take place here. They pressed against the inside of his skull, trying to escape, held captive by habits long ingrained.

Even when he'd brought it up with Ellis earlier in the day, talking about his writing still felt weird. He couldn't help but wonder if others were genuine in asking about it—or was he just making a fool of himself? His stories, his characters… they were his. They were part of him. In a strange way, it was almost as if revealing them would reveal… him. And he didn't need to reveal stupid, pathetic him.

Then his hand brushed against the small water bottle he'd received earlier in the day. The thought still amazed him—someone had sponsored him? Who in their right mind would sponsor him? He couldn't help but feel like Alva was looking down at him, trying to communicate with him. Funny how she sent the water right after he talked about writing. Was it just because she was a writer herself?

Or was it because it actually looked good on television when he talked about writing? No way…

"Story?"

Ellis grinned. It seemed to glow in the moonlight. "Yeah. I love a good story."

Kiran sucked in a deep breath as his imagination begged him for release. "I… uh, well—" he sputtered. "There's this superhero. H-His name is Hahn, a-and—" He groaned in exasperation. "Ergh, this sounds so dumb; forget I said anything."

"So Hahn. Superhero. What's his cover story? His superhero name?"

"What?" Kiran narrowed his eyes. "You… mean it? Well— uh… He's a mechanic by day. Does really boring nuclear power plant stuff. But when he fights crime, he calls himself the Positron."

Ellis furrowed his brow. "Positron?"

"Y'know, the thing that's like the electron thing but has a positive charge…" He trailed off when Ellis showed no sign of recognition. Dang, the districts really were that different. "Forget it; it's some dumb physics thing we have to learn in District Five."

"I figured that much."

The Eight boy chuckled again, and this time, Kiran found himself smiling too. It hardly felt like he was still in the Hunger Games, save for his bandaged arm—and the numbing wind was making that increasingly easier to forget. He wondered what his life could've looked like if he'd dared to share his ideas earlier, though he knew he never would've done it, not in stuffy, judgmental District Five.

No regrets, at least not over the past half hour or so. He didn't expect it to last long, with this terrible weather. Unless…

"Hey, Ellis."

"Hmm?"

"You sleep first. I'll watch."

The boy's face broke into a wide smile. "Thanks."

"Thank you too."

The Fallen:

24. Mati Strye (D9M), axed by Ilithyia Aella (D2F)
I loved Mati. I absolutely adored him. I related to him on so many different levels. Though the opinions he held were rather… unpopular, they only made me love him more, as I could see why he believed what he believed and to me, he'll always be valid for them. It was the perfect contrast to temper the more rebellious opinions in the cast. I miss him so much. So, so much. Goodbye, my sweet boy.

23. Thomas Montoya (D6M), speared by Eros Worshire (D2M)
I'm so sorry, my dear boy. I felt bad for him before I received him—anyone with Laforza as his district partner deserved my sympathy, not to mention how terrible life in District Six was… He's a boy that tried to find happiness no matter how terrible his life was, a truly admirable outlook on life even if the things he turned to weren't always the best choice. Rest in peace, Thomas.

22. Laforza Wheeler (D6F), stabbed by Clarke Brioche (D9F)
Oh… Laforza, Laforza, Laforza. She was so much fun. She was terrible, yet still deeply sympathetic to me on some level, especially regarding how her terrible background shaped her into such a spiteful, obnoxious person. Towards the end, her strange yet functional relationship with Virginia almost made me replan the entire story, just to give her some kind of redemption arc. Alas, I decided against it, and she lies here.

21. Liat North (D7F), sliced by Adair Ryder (D7M)
Where do I begin with Liat? She started as a joke in the SYOT Verses Discord server; her faceclaim is literally another SYOT author on this site. Her relationship with Clarke started as a joke too; I thought it would be really funny but then realized how perfect it worked for both her and Clarke. She was such a good person and she deserves the world, far better than she got in Panem's cruelty.

20. Electra Eirisse (D5F), killed by a throwing star from Adora Noble (D1F)
Electra is adorable and deserves to be protected. I take no criticism. Her entire personality makes me want to give her a hug and tell that she deserves love, that people do care about her and that it's safe to let people in—and I'm glad she did do some of that with Ace and Ada. The way her convictions clashed with her district was also such a fascinating dynamic. It has prompted me to conceptualize possible D5 fics in my AU verse.

19. Ace Invidia (D3M), blown up by himself
Man, where do I start with Ace? From the moment I received him I knew he was special. In a district where most submitted tributes tend to lean towards extremes, Ace was so calm, so steady, so reliable. There was absolutely nothing flashy about him and that was precisely what made him such an awesome character. He was absolutely the guy you wanted as your friend for his steadfastness and stability, even if he struggled to express himself sometimes. His entire vibe was undeniably charming in an odd way. Towards the end, I seriously started to ship him with Ace (dw james, I remember that Ada had a crush on a girl. we'll say she's bisexual). I'll miss him so much. He was actually the first death I wrote and… I'm not lying when I say it broke me.

18. Adora Noble (D1F), crushed by the falling tower, credited to Ace Invidia (D3M)
I remember starting the Non-Reapings with Adora and immediately thinking that she could have a whole fic to herself and I wouldn't care. On one hand, she had several of the characteristics common to D1Fs—pretty, manipulative, sly. On the other hand, her entire character was filled to the brim with so much unresolved tension and stress, yet underlying everything was her deep desire to just have people that truly loved and supported her. At so many points, I wished I could've given her a hug. My girl, you're finally free.

17. Scythe Chandler (D11M), killed by a throwing knife from Adair Ryder (D7M)
Man, Scythe was absolute gold. He might have had a stony exterior sometimes, but he truly had a heart of gold underneath. His dynamics with Iggy left me constantly making the :pleading_face: while I wrote. In some ways, I really related to him too. I see him as this cast's only Enneagram 1w9 (my type), so although we are very different people because of our very different backgrounds, there was something about him that just hit different.

16. Ada Sparks (D3F), torn apart by Ilithyia Aella (D2F)
She technically died after the Fallen broadcast, but I'm remembering her in this chapter because it was close enough. Ada was a calm soul, one with aspirations to change her world for the better instead of sitting and waiting in the relative comfort she was born into. She knew her skillset, and she wanted to use them for good. Looking back at her journey… It just makes me sad. It makes me so sad. She tried her absolute best to play the game with the skills she had, yet it all blew up in her face and broke her—which broke me by extension. I'll dearly miss her.
Gosh, the District Threes just make me so sad.

Kill Counter:
Ilithyia Aella (D2F): II
Ace Invidia (D3M): II
Adair Ryder (D7M): II
Adora Noble (D1F): I
Eros Worshire (D2M): I
Clarke Brioche (D9F): I

A/N Woah, it's been another month. Of course, I mostly bring more pain. Sorry. It'll get worse, I promise. Hopefully, the next set of pain won't take as long to arrive, though, now that all my summer craziness has passed.

While I'm here, I might as well advertise for the fic I wrote for Anya's Victor Exchange (in the SYOT Verses Discord Server, PM if you want to join). It's about Alouette Meyer, the second-ever District Ten Victor. If you'd like to get a glimpse of District Ten's history and worldbuilding in my verse, it's the place to go!

Predictions for what comes next? Who are you most/least worried for?

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