146th – Hestia Olympia, District Two
…
Lyon has never trusted Hestia, but District Two has a little thing they call honor. Killing your district partner is dishonorable. Backstabbing them is worse.
That's why, when Lyon fells Dante, the boy from Four, he thinks he and Hestia are in for one final showdown. It's a long time coming. They've been rivals for years.
Their teachers could never get them to get along. By the time they were fourteen, it was apparent that they would easily beat out all of their peers in competition for the volunteer spots. There was virtually no chance that it wasn't the two of them going head to head in the arena. So, of course, all of the trainers tried to get them to at least tolerate each other.
But Lyon hated Hestia. He stills hates Hestia. From the day they met, she was jealous of him. She knew he was taller, faster, stronger, smarter, and that drives her insane. He gets it; if he knew someone as great as himself, he would hate him too. And he hates Hestia because she's never been able to get over it.
Still, they have a deal. If it comes down to the two of them—which they always knew it would—they would have a good, clean fight. No tricks. Just the final test of who is really better. Lyon has practically been salivating over his ultimate chance to really prove his superiority (as if there was ever any doubt).
He's standing over Dante's bloodied corpse, and the chance is here. Once he destroys Hestia, no one will ever doubt him again. They will understand that Lyon Gracey deserved this.
Lyon starts to turn, preparing to fight Hestia to the death, when pain explodes in his back. It's excruciating, white hot, and it sends him to his knees. He looks up, thinking that he must have forgotten about a tribute, that there's some rat of an outlier practically cheating, but he sees nothing.
Nothing but Hestia, grinning from ear-to-ear.
"You bitch," Lyon says. There's a massive hole in his back. Blood is pouring down his side, and the knife in Hestia's hand is all of the evidence he needs. "We had a deal—"
"Oh, fuck you, Lyon," Hestia says. "This is the Hunger Games. There's no honor here."
He tries to crawl forward, because this isn't over yet, it isn't over yet—he's still got a weapon, he can still get Hestia, can still prove that he's better than her—
With a shaking hand, he reaches out to try and grab Hestia's ankle. She kicks his hand away, still grinning with glee.
"Oh, this is beautiful," Hestia says. "Perfect little Lyon, finally brought to his knees. How does it feel? Please, tell me how it feels to lose to someone so below you."
"Fuck you," Lyon grounds out. Fuck, it hurts so bad. There has to be something he can do. He reaches for Hestia's ankle again. She kicks his hand away again. "Fuck you."
"That's all you can come up with?" Hestia says. "I thought you were perfect!"
She leans over her knees like she's talking to a child. "Okay, so here's what I'm gonna do. If I leave you like this, it's gonna take a while for you to die, huh? As much fun as it would be to watch you bleed out, I want to get out of here. So I'm just gonna go ahead and slit your throat."
"No—" Lyon shouts, throwing himself backward. His back makes contact with Dante's corpse and he screams, writhing on the ground. When his vision clears, Hestia is above him, wielding the knife that's still tipped with his blood. Before he can stop her, she slides it across his neck.
It only takes a minute after that. He lies there, choking, still reaching out for her, and she just watches. She was right about one thing; there's no honor in the Hunger Games—not so long as Hestia Olympia is participating.