Day 9, Part 3: Night

"Because one of us is a traitor. One of us has been working with the other tributes."

Nevaeh's heart nearly stopped. She took one look at Sos and knew that for all his lies and twisted talk, Adair was right.

The Seven boy continued. "We're down another bottle of water. And I'm pretty sure it went to the mysterious visitor that stopped by during Sostonio's watch last night."

Because of course Sostonio Caspiano—the one who'd released little Yggdrasil Kane from District Eleven, the one who mourned over having sentenced the self-proclaimed guilty Eight girl to death, the one who trusted the Twelve boy and got stabbed for it—would've been helping the other tributes.

Before Nevaeh could speak, Ilithyia had her hands on Sos' shoulders, shaking him. "Seriously? You—"

"Let go of him!" Nevaeh leapt between the two, forcing them apart. She glared back into Ilithyia's turbulent eyes. "He didn't do nothin'."

"Oh, so now you don't care about losing water," Ilithyia spat. She turned to Sos. "What else have you been doing? Telling them all our plans?"

Sostonio spoke, his shaky voice struggling to maintain composure. "If you think I'm trying to help the outliers win, then you're crazy."

"How could y'all think such a thing?" Nevaeh said. "They stabbed him!"

Ilithyia crossed her arms. "That's what he gets for working with them."

"Fine. I gave the Four boy some water, and I'm not ashamed of it," Sostonio said.

Nevaeh shot him a look. He returned it. His face was beginning to turn red as his breaths came heavy. There was no stopping him now.

"But I'm not working against y'all. Never have. And Adair's right. There's a traitor here, and he's been planning to blow us all up this whole time."

Ven inwardly cursed. He glared at Adair, who stood with his arms crossed, looking offended. The cat was out of the bag now, and there was no taking any of it back. Perhaps he'd originally suspected Eros, but if Sostonio was willing to die on this hill, Ven trusted that Sostonio was probably right.

"I'm not falling for it," Ilithyia said, though her confused eyes darted back and forth.

Ven cleared his throat. "Sos and I found a bomb during the Feast. Eros was there too."

Ilithyia looked towards Eros. He nodded. "That's what I was trying to talk to you about. But I'm not convinced it's Adair."

"Seems pretty clear," she said coldly, her eyes still locked on Sostonio. "You Tens were trying to make friends with the other tributes and kill all of us. And then Adair exposed you, so you're trying to pin it on him."

Ven's eyes widened. "Ili—"

"We're getting nowhere with this. Let's settle this in court."

With that, she disappeared into the hall and slammed the door. For once, Ven and Eros looked at each other with anxious worry in their eyes. Because as much as Ven disliked Eros (and he knew Eros disliked him), Sostonio didn't deserve to be blamed for this.

Can you talk her out of this? Ven silently asked.

I'll do my best.

Ilithyia stomped down the hall. She slammed her back to the wall; she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to stifle the scream that rumbled in her throat.

So Nevaeh had played her this whole time.

She felt sick. If Adair hadn't noticed their betrayal, perhaps she would've already been dead. She'd thought the Ten girl was her friend. It was foolish of her, she now knew, but who could blame her for trusting Nevaeh's seemingly genuine words?

"Ili!" Eros called from down the hall.

She sank to the ground, burying her head in her hands.

"We have to talk."

"There's nothing to say," she said bitterly. "The truth is out now."

"Are you sure?"

She groaned. This was too much. Too complicated. "Please don't—"

"Sostonio didn't plant the bomb," he said, "I'm sure of it, Ili. I don't know what's going on, but you have to trust me on this."

She glared at him. "You're always like, 'trust me on this, Ili; trust me on that, Ili.' I'm sick of it, you know? Why do you always have to be right, and I always have to be wrong?"

"Ili—"

"Shut up, okay? You trust me for once."

"But—"

"We're ending them. No regrets."

Nevaeh sat in the corner, trying to breathe, even as the slightest movements in the room sent her nerves into overdrive.

All Sostonio had had to do was stay out of trouble and let her handle things. All he had had to do was keep his mouth shut and his hands to himself. Was that so hard? And after all she'd done to advance their odds together—

She caught herself. Sos was family. He'd royally messed up, but she couldn't do anything about that now. It was now up to her to find their way out, and she'd do it, even for Sos and his stupidly honest big mouth.

The light in the room was dim now. Outside, the cloud that had only been a faint wisp during the Bloodbath now hung low over the street. Its foggy tendrils curled at the top edge of the windows.

They could disappear into the fog. She glanced at Sos; she caught his attention; she looked out the window. Do we go?

He looked at his leg. How?

She sighed. It'd been wishful thinking. She could disappear into the fog, but Sos' injured leg would drag a trail behind them.

Besides, Adair wasn't far. Though he paced in and out of the room, Sos wouldn't make it to the door fast enough. They wouldn't make it out of the street before Adair took advantage of this opportunity to stab them both in the back. She'd be doing his work for him. He'd tell Ilithyia that "those traitors were trying to escape," and he'd get off the hook without a scratch.

She couldn't kill him either without the Twos returning and ganging up on her. She was sure she could take on either one individually, but together? They'd overwhelm her and Sos.

Where was Darah when they needed her the most?

Nevaeh glanced at the bag of marbles, where Ilithyia had set it down by the doorstep. Ilithyia had said they'd settle it in court. And if Ilithyia was given any power, it wouldn't end well.

The next time Adair paced out of the room, Nevaeh slipped a purple marble out of the bag and into her pocket.

Even from where they were, multiple blocks away, Ellis could hear the shouting.

Two girl and Ten girl, he wagered. Though he couldn't make out the words, it sent a shiver down his spine, like the howling of wolves or the cry of a coyote. The sound of predators, fierce and wild.

"What do you think they're arguing about?" Azolla whispered, a tremor in her voice.

Clouds had covered the moon, leaving them in abject darkness, but he could imagine the terror on her face. Or maybe it was just the way his own face contorted upon thinking of the trained tributes, with their weapons and war cries.

"I don't know." He shuddered. "I don't want to know."

"Me neither."

The Arena fell silent again. No telling for sure where they were now; most likely they were still holed up in their hideout, but he couldn't dismiss the possibility of them being out and about, creeping ever closer to their hiding spot.

"How's your leg feeling?" he said. "Do you think you can run?"

"I think I could fast walk."

"How about we leave in the middle of the night? Being so close to them gives me the creeps."

"For sure. And then…" Her voice hitched.

"…And then we split up."

She sighed. "Yeah. That. I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"I really am."

He blinked. Perhaps things would've turned out differently if they'd talked back in training. It'd been less than two weeks ago, but those two weeks were irreconcilably distant.

"Me too."

Clarke crept around the brick courthouse, clothed in the foggy shadows of the night. The bits of fog that wandered downward with the wind were a relief to her dry skin.

She peered over a windowsill. In the main room, illuminated in yellow light, were the Tens, the boy from Seven, and the boy from One.

She ducked down again. This was stupid. She knew this was stupid. But Zeph was here, and if she didn't do anything about it, he'd be dead.

Enough suffering had come about because of her. She wasn't running away any longer.

She peeked over again. The Seven boy was gone, but the other three remained. She wondered where the Twos were. Perhaps they were interrogating Zeph. She'd faced enough of that at the hands of Nine's Peacekeeper force, many of whom came from Two.

Nothing in this room was of use. She backed away from the window, towards the corner of the building.

Then a hand clamped over her mouth and a strong arm forced her to the ground.

Rusk paced around his room. He remembered Darah's fearful look as the two of them had left the meeting room, after Avisa had stormed out. It'd been stupid of him to spill Acacio's name to her. Avisa was well-known for acting without thinking.

A call came in. From Darah.

"Rusk—"

Her voice was frantic.

"—are you watching the Games coverage?"

"No," he said slowly. He reached for the remote; he pulled the channel up on his wall. "Why?"

"It's Avisa."

He turned up the volume. On screen, a reporter was interviewing Avisa. And she was speaking loud and fast.

"I have it from my sources that Faridah's murderer was Acacio LeRoux."

He took a deep breath; he fell back against the couch. The truth was out. And with any luck, this would be the end for Acacio. No more secrecy. No more protecting family names. Just justice. For Faridah.

Darah was still on the line. "Are you still there?"

"Oh–Yeah. So it's over."

"Oh no, it's not. Do you realize how powerful the LeRoux family is? You have to get somewhere safe–"

He buried his face in a pillow, enough to drown out Darah's voice but not the voices in his head. What Pandora's Box had he just opened?

Navarro wrinkled his nose at the sudden humidity in the night air. He crawled towards the doorway, careful not to reopen the abdomen wound for the second time.

Where was Azolla?

She'd promised to return in twenty-four hours. There hadn't been a cannon, much to his relief—he didn't know how he would've coped if there had been one—but now night had fallen and she still hadn't returned.

Perhaps she'd gotten trapped. Perhaps she'd escaped the Star Alliance, only to end up on the far side of the Arena. Even worse, perhaps she'd been injured, and was now left for dead.

He'd had enough of sitting around.

With a pained grunt, he collected their meager supplies and set out into the night.

Clarke flailed. She threw a punch, but the shadowy figure weaved in and out of the dark. A firm grip pressed her arm to the ground. Gravel scraped her skin as she struggled to no avail.

"You make a single noise and you're dead," a harsh voice hissed.

It was the Seven boy. The one who killed Liat. She glared up at his silhouette, a black outline against the light faintly radiating from the window; she shook her head, trying to get enough wiggle room to bite at his hand.

A sharp slap across her face, and she held still. She gasped for breath.

Was this the end?

"Good," the boy said. "Now listen up if you want to live—both you and Twelve. I don't want to kill either of y'all right now."

She turned her head back up at him. She gulped—no words, not yet, not when there was still a chance at survival. She hoped he could see her glare.

"All you have to do is work with me for a few hours. That's all I'm asking. Just long enough to take out the rest of the Star Alliance, and then you can do whatever you want."

The snake—as if he was any better than the rest of them! But he had Zeph, and he had her pinned down. If she made too much noise, the rest of 'em would come out, and then she'd certainly be dead.

She pictured Zeph. She could keep it down for him.

She whispered back. "What do you want?"

Once again, Rusk found himself back at the Sponsorship Office, this time sitting in one of the waiting chairs. He glanced at his watch and then up at the live feed on the screen in the corner. It seemed like there was some kind of conversation between the Seven boy and the Nine girl happening outside the Star Alliance's hideout. Didn't matter to him. As long as the Fours were still alive, he had time.

The bell above the door chimed. Avisa entered, puffy-eyed and sniffling. But when she met his glance, a weak smile appeared. He'd done the right thing.

"Are… you okay?"

She nodded. "It's just… been a lot. Finding out the truth. Then reliving everything all over again. But at least I've got some answers." She sighed. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"The funds will go to Clarke otherwise. I'd rather Azolla have them."

She pulled him in for a hug; she pulled away just as abruptly, wiping her eyes. "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me. I'm just…"

"Overwhelmed?"

"That. And the sponsors aren't too hot on the kids right now either, with both of them almost dying. This… means a lot." She took a deep breath. "Shall we?"

The two walked up to the counter, where the young woman reviewed the forms and took their fingerprints. She pulled up the training footage.

A still-alive Mati stood briefly over a training station with Azolla, and Rusk felt himself shutting down again, the way he always did when he thought of the dead. He had to force himself to keep watching. The two exchanged a few words, smiled, and separated.

Not much, but just enough to prove that Mati had had a positive interaction with Azolla—much more than he'd ever had with Clarke. And that was that. His balance had been closed out, fully transferred into the Fours'.

"Thanks again." Avisa's voice was steady now. She'd composed herself; working through the clerical work had put her game face back on, save for the faint rise in the corner of her lips. "I should get back to my station."

He nodded. It would've been appropriate to speak; he opened his mouth, but nothing came to mind.

A sudden cut away from the Games on-screen caught his eye. A reporter stood front and center, joined by Faridah's official victor portrait.

The young woman behind the counter leaned over, grabbed the remote, and turned the sound up.

"In response to the Four victor's allegations, an official investigation had made new headway into the murder of the beloved victor, Faridah Hormuz."

Rusk frowned. New headway? What more was there to uncover?

"Forensic evidence suggests that a certain victor from District Nine may have been closely involved in the incident."

His own portrait joined hers on-screen.

"You have to stop this, Ili," Ven said, as Ili paced across the far wall of one of the small storage rooms. "You're not listening."

"With all due respect—shut up."

"You don't know what you're doing."

"Stop lecturing me!" She turned towards him, eyes glowering. "They've been playing us the whole time! Can't you see?"

"Look—"

"Sostonio himself admitted to it. What more do you need?"

Was there any hope? Ven stared into her eyes. Perhaps… there was still a way. "It's all a setup," he said. "Listen to yourself. He admitted to giving away water. This is the same guy that spared the Eleven girl. And you still think Sos would try and blow us all up?"

"I…" She blinked; she averted her eyes. "But…"

"Trust your gut on this one. He couldn't hurt a fly."

"But then… who?"

He glanced at the door. No one. No sound either. He lowered his voice. "I've narrowed it down to two," he whispered. "Because two members of this alliance have been playing manipulation games this whole time."

She frowned. "Manipulation?"

"They're targeting you, too. Adair and Eros—"

"Eros?!" she said, as if involuntarily.

"Shush!" He sighed. "I don't like it any more than you do, but those two have been sneaking around since we met. It has to be one of them."

She blinked; she stared. But then a dark cloud came over her brow again. "I think you're mostly right. You're just leaving out Nevaeh. She's been manipulating me this whole time."

He barely choked down the shout of frustration that rose up in his throat. Ili had gone over the edge.

And she was about to drag them all down with her.

"Eros?!"

That was it. Exactly what Eros had been listening for in the hall, with his ear pressed up against the wall. Of course Ven couldn't be trusted to speak to Ili alone. The guy had had it out for Eros from the start, and now he wanted to snatch away Eros' closest ally in the Arena.

Perhaps it was okay, then, that things were about to blow up soon. No more niceties. No more pretending to be friends.

The real battlelines were about to be drawn.

Adair cracked open the jail room door. He swung his lantern in, casting an eerie glow over the Twelve boy, who sat with his back against the wall in the corner of his cell.

"Not making any escape attempts this time?"

Twelve merely glowered back.

"I guess you do honor your word, huh." Adair smiled. "You ready?"

No response.

"No matter. I got some extra help in case you don't cooperate, so don't be trying any funny business."

A raised eyebrow.

"I know." Adair chuckled. "I was surprised too. I probably could've gone without making a deal with you, but a deal's a deal."

Twelve's face returned to stone.

"Just remember that if you don't hold up your end of the deal, the only one that'll hurt is you." Adair himself shuddered at the thought. "And it won't be pleasant."

Rusk gulped. The young lady behind the counter was staring at him in utter disdain. Avisa was staring at him too, her eyes narrowed. He breathed heavily. After all he'd done—was Faridah's filler about to escape unscathed again?

It took all of two seconds for him to realize that he had to get out, and fast.

Avisa's voice was low, shaky, as if she'd just been flipped upside-down. "What are you not telling me?"

"I have no idea what they're talking about."

"Don't you dare lie to me."

"I promise—I don't know. I had nothing to do with it."

"I don't know what game you're trying to play—"

"I'm not doing anything—"

"I can't believe this."

A rumbling of voices had arisen outside the room. A few were watching now. Who knew how long it'd be till the crowd boxed him in?

The last thing he saw was the betrayal in Avisa's eyes before he bolted.

Nevaeh fought the tremor in her bones as Ilithyia, Ven, and Eros filed into the courtroom from the side hall, Adair entering behind them. Sos, seated nearby, gave her a look. She couldn't tell if it was an "Is this the end?" or an "I'm sorry" or a "You'll get through this." Or maybe it was all three.

She flashed him a reassuring smile. He raised an eyebrow. She gave him a curt nod. She needed him to stay resolute. Though the outcome was still uncertain, without Ili as the judge, they still had a chance to make it out alive. Ven surely wouldn't sentence Sos; Eros had a soft spot for him. Even Adair might let them slip if they could appeal to his lucky coin.

Enough dreaming. Enough wishful thinking. Time to step up and fight. His life—and possibly hers—depended on it. For Sos. For their families. For District Ten.

"We're ready," she said. "Are y'all?"

Ilithyia frowned. "Who's guarding him?"

"Are you kidding? He's literally injured in the leg. What do you expect him to do?"

A dismissive shrug. "It's our standard procedure. How do we know you two haven't been planning something?"

Nevaeh's hands formed fists. "I am so done with your disrespect—"

"Yall!" Sos slowly forced himself to his feet. He shuffled away from his seat, away from Nevaeh, back towards the podium. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

"Sos—"

"I'm fine." He put both his hands up—just briefly, before his right hand shot down to support his balance. "And unarmed. Couldn't pull a knife out of my boot if I wanted to."

Ilithyia bit her lip. Sostonio was being entirely cooperative. And entirely calm—and not in a self-assured way, 'cause she could read the terror on his face plain as day. Was there a chance she'd been wrong about him?

No, there certainly was a chance. And the more she thought about it, the more that chance grew. She gave Ven a look, but she turned away before he could do or say anything.

Because the argument had never hinged on Sostonio, right? It was Nevaeh that was suspicious; this whole deal wasn't about Sostonio—there was just no way to get one without the other.

And maybe the good times were over. Maybe she'd been delusional about Nevaeh being her friend, and maybe it was time she took her head out of the sand and faced the truth. Nevaeh was her competitor, not her hermana, no matter what the Ten girl said.

"Fine," she said, after looking Sostonio up and down. It was all performative. She'd known that there was no way he could've posed much of any threat.

"This trial won't be fair, you know," Nevaeh said, arms crossed. "We all have conflicts of interest."

Ilithyia groaned. "Suck it up, won't you? We'll let the marbles decide, as always."

"Fine."

Just "fine"? She frowned. If Nevaeh couldn't be trusted, and she was also cooperating right now…

She picked up the leather bag. And instead of reaching in, she poured its contents out into her hand. One for Eros, one for Adair, one for Ven, and one for Nevaeh. No purple. Hers simply wasn't there.

Ven had spoken about manipulation. This was manipulation to the highest degree.

Enough was enough.

Sostonio's heart sank. Nevaeh had gone white when Ili tipped the marbles out. Now Ili's face flushed red, and everything was clear. Nevaeh had been tinkering with the odds. Ili now knew the truth.

This was the end.

"How… How dare you!" Ilithyia let out a blood-curdling shriek, eyes ablaze as she hurled the marbles towards Nevaeh. "I can't believe I ever trusted you—you, you manipulative, backstabbing—"

Eros had backed into the wall, fumbling for his spear. Ven's hand was over his sword, ready for action at a moment's notice. Nevaeh held a knife in each hand. Ilithyia was reaching for an axe.

And Adair? The one who'd caused all this? The one who'd hidden the…

Bombs.

Adair poked his head in; he must've ducked into the hallway a second before. For a moment, their eyes met, and Sostonio realized everything. He cupped his hands to his mouth and hollered.

"Y'all! It's—"

An explosion drowned him out.

Kill Counter:
Ilithyia Aella (D2F): II
Ace Invidia (D3M): II
Adair Ryder (D7M): II
Clarke Brioche (D9F): II
Adora Noble (D1F): I
Ven Piersson (D1M): I
Eros Worshire (D2M): I
Virginia Bedford (D8F): I
Nevaeh Jiminez (D10F): I