Hello all! This is another crosspost from my AO3 account, and also a rewrite and continuation of a fic I wrote on here a long time ago on my old account! The original fic is called "The Lonely Girl of 3" by emberfire012 (FFN isn't allowing me to link to it so you'll have to find it yourself)

Updates will be every Wednesday until caught up to the AO3 version. I hope you enjoy!

Maze Donahue had calculated her odds of being Reaped. And they were nothing to worry about.

It was impossible to calculate her exact odds. Only those in charge of the Reaping knew the exact number of children eligible for the Reaping, as well as the exact number of computer chips in District 3's Reaping orbs. Maze has used an estimate of eligible people, as well as an estimated average rate of those who took tesserae, for her calculations.

The calculations were simple enough. Just a bunch of multiplying and dividing her way through the numbers, with a little bit of addition, until she got an estimate of how many chips there were total in the orbs. She then put the number of times she had her name in, two times, as she was thirteen and didn't need to take tesserae, and put it over the total amount, then multiplied by 100 to get her odds.

.00238%. She had a .00238% chance of being Reaped from the girls' orb. Overall, she had a .00119% chance.

Absolutely astronomical odds. There was no way she'd get Reaped.

At least that's what she thought.

The morning of the Reaping was gray and dull.

Then again, when wasn't it gray and dull? A perpetual, thick cloud of smog hung over District 3, especially Central City. Maze couldn't remember the last time she saw the sun. This lack of sun gave everything, including the citizens of District 3, an ashy, washed-out tone.

The community home (at least that's what it was officially called, everyone knew it was just a nice, fancy term for an orphanage) was especially washed-out. Everything there was old, except the residents themselves, and smelled musty and mildewed. All the furniture creaked and groaned upon use, and any comfort that things like couches and mattresses once held was long gone.

Maze shared a room with five other girls, each girl having their own cot, wardrobe, and storage chest. It was in this room where the six of them slumbered before the community home director, Mrs. Tapp, stuck her head in and bellowed, waking the girls up.

"Get up, girls! It's Reaping Day!"

Most of the girls rose immediately, either starting to dress or heading to the bathroom. Maze just laid in her cot, staring at the cracked plaster ceiling for a few minutes. Finally, she felt like getting up, so she rose, heading over to her wooden wardrobe. The doors creaked as Maze opened them.

Everyone always dressed their best for the Reaping. Maze saw no purpose for it. Her odds (and everyone else's odds) of getting Reaped were so low that it wasn't like it mattered what they wore.

She pushed her assigned Reaping clothes aside, a hideous, scratchy, second-hand pink jacket and skirt combination that Mrs. Tapp gave her yesterday. She decided to instead wear a short-sleeved purple plaid shirt underneath her favorite denim overalls, which were worn but clean.

Once she had changed clothes, she completed the outfit with her trusty combat boots. She squeezed them onto her feet, ignoring the cramping of her toes as they were crammed into the boots, before lacing them up, grabbing her toiletry kit, and heading to the bathroom.

To her displeasure, Cortana Hillstead was in the bathroom next to the only unoccupied sink. Cortana, for whatever reason, had had it out for Maze ever since the two of them were little girls. Maze never understood why. She never did anything to her.

Sometimes, though, Cortana was nice to her. Maze could never figure out the pattern to her treatment.

Cortana currently held the curling iron that Maze had made for her. Cortana had an obsession with looks, and she had taken to curling her hair as often as possible. She used to steal Mrs. Tapp's curling iron until she got caught and caned one day for it. That day, Cortana had approached Maze and offered to trade her dessert privileges for a month in exchange for Maze making a curling iron for her. Maze, having a sweet tooth, accepted the offer. Something like a curling iron was easy to make. After Cortana got her curling iron, though, she went back to her usual behavior towards Maze.

Maze went to the sink, ignoring Cortana, and brushed her teeth. After she was done, she started to walk off, but Cortana interrupted.

"Maze! Your hair looks like a tornado went through it!"

Maze shrugged. "So?"

"Brush it!"

"I lost my brush." Not a lie. Maze had used her brush for one of her hijinks, but unfortunately, it had been lost in the process.

Cortana just huffed and handed Maze her own brush. "Here."

Maze took it, glancing in the mirror at the state of her hair. Her hair, which was blonde and choppy, stuck up in a few directions. She ran Cortana's brush through it a few times, then wordlessly handed the brush back to Cortana and scampered off to breakfast.

Her hair wouldn't stay neat long with what she was doing next.

After breakfast, Maze headed outside to the play yard behind the community home. Like most green spaces in District 3, it wasn't actually green, but brownish due to the lack of sun. A chain link fence with holes aplenty surrounded the yard, and a few children played on the playground equipment.

A trio of boys were playing Hunger Games. One boy hit another boy with a stick.

"Owwww!"

"Haha, I killed you! You're dead!"

The boy who was hit pretended to die a dramatic death, screaming and flopping onto the ground.

The third boy imitated a trumpet. "Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the Victor of the 57thHunger Games, Sparkle Shinypants from District 1!"

The boy with the stick posed for imaginary cameras, while the other boy applauded him.

"Can I be the Victor next round?" The boy on the ground asked, standing up.

"You can't be the Victor, you're from District 3," the boy with the stick replied.

"District 3 has Victors! Sometimes!" The other boy retorted.

"Not as much as District 1 or District 2."

"Fine! Then I'll change Districts!" The boy crossed his arms. "I'll be from District 2 next round!"

"You can't change Districts! That's impossible!"

"Says who?"

"Says me!"

"You're no fun to play with."

The two boys continued bickering among themselves, the third boy occasionally chiming in. Maze chuckled to herself, before walking over to a drainage pipe in the yard.

She pulled out various materials, including wire, and strangest of all, a ketchup bottle stolen from the community home's dining hall. She smirked as she pulled out the materials, rubbing her thumb along the wire and going through her plan in her head.

Maze was known for doing what she called her hijinks. She didn't know why exactly she did them. They provided entertainment for her (and sometimes, their victims), livening up her dull existence. They also challenged her creative faculties and offered her mental stimulation that school couldn't provide.

They were harmless pranks. Entirely harmless. Like a catapult that flung ink-filled sacs at passerbys. Or when Maze tested out Cortana's curling iron by using it on unsuspecting metro passengers with long hair. Never meant to cause any pain or trauma. That's what she always told the Peacekeepers on the few occasions they caught her and dragged her to their office. She always got off with a warning to never do them again. A warning she never heeded.

Today's hijink was a simple wire trap: when someone tripped the wire, they would be squirted with ketchup. Totally hilarious. The rest of the day would be somber enough, with the Reaping happening and the district mourning the two teens who would most likely die. District 3 hadn't had a Victor since Wiress Jones, who won the Games thirteen years prior.

Maze left the yard, walking several streets over to a less-busy street, where she would be inconspicuous, before setting up the trap. Once she was finished, she hid in the shadows of a nearby alleyway and waited for her trap to claim a victim.

It took fifteen minutes for someone to finally walk into the trap. The mechanism clinked and a squirting sound was heard, along with someone's surprised gasp.

Maze couldn't help but laugh. It burst right out of her, and she could do nothing to suppress it but try to hide it behind her hands. The unfortunately ketchup-stained victim turned in Maze's direction, letting her get a good view of his face.

And it was none other than Beetee Latier, Victor of the 37thHunger Games.

The two stared at each other for a moment, unblinking. Maze's laughter died.

Aw, crap. He's gonna turn me in to the Peacekeepers, isn't he? Or electrocute me or something.

When Maze was a child, someone at the community home had spread the rumor that Beetee had an electric trap at Victor's Village for any naughty child that tried to trespass, like the one he had used during his Games to kill six Careers with. Naturally, the younger children, including Maze, believed it. Looking back, she wondered if the rumor was intentionally spread by the older kids or the community home volunteers to dissuade them from venturing near Victor's Village, which was not far from the community home itself. Both of them were located near the center of Central City, in the downtown portion.

Beetee opened his mouth to speak. Maze took that moment to flee, turning on her heel and running down the alleyway. She didn't dare stop until she was safe and sound inside the doors of the community home.

Once she was inside the community home, the absurdity of the situation hit her, and she began to cackle.

She had really gotten a Victor, of all people, with her hijinks! And it was hilarious!

"Do I even want to know where you've been?"

Maze turned and saw no other than Cortana staring her down with crossed arms. Her brown hair was coiled into glossy curls, and she wore a nice blue dress.

"I—" Maze cut off, still trying to catch her breath from her mad dash away from Beetee. "I tricked—a, a Victor!"

She burst out into fresh giggles, bending over from the effort.

"Whatever. I don't care." Cortana stalked away. "I'm telling Mrs. Tapp you left, though."

Maze stopped laughing. "Tattletale," she hissed between her teeth.

A few moments later, Cortana returned with Mrs. Tapp. Cortana had a smug grin on her face.

"So, Cortana told me you left the community home to go do another one of your little pranks," Mrs. Tapp said, glaring down at Maze. Her double chins trembled. "And so close to Reaping time, too? When we get back from the Reaping, you're getting a smack on the behind or two for your behavior this morning."

"What if I don't come back from the Reaping?" Maze asked, feeling snarky. She had no love for Mrs. Tapp, and she obviously returned the sentiment.

"Then I hope you die. It would serve you right."

Ouch. That stung more than any smacks on the behind. Maze bit her lip.

Mrs. Tapp glanced at her up and down. "Ugh, and you're all gross and sweaty, too, and you don't have time to shower before we leave for the Reaping. We leave in ten."

Mrs. Tapp thundered off, beginning the process of rounding up all the orphans so they could all go to the Reaping together. Cortana gave Maze one last smug look before sauntering off somewhere.

Thirty minutes later, Maze was in line for the Reaping, sandwiched in between an older girl who was chatting with her friend, and a twelve-year-old who looked terrified. Cortana was several people behind her.

District 3 held its Reapings in the Soldier's Stadium (known colloquially as just the Stadium), a building used once a year for the sole purpose of hosting the Reaping. Once upon a time, it had been used for team sports, and it was one of the only buildings in District 3 still standing from before the Dark Days. It was the only space large enough to host the thirty thousand eligible teens and their families. Those who were eligible stood on the Stadium's rectangular field, where the stage was, while all the families sat in the stands. Those in Central City who didn't have anyone in their household eligible for the Reaping were forced to watch the Reaping in the large square outside the Justice Building. Maze imagined it was similar in the other three cities and in the smaller towns.

The line to get into the Reaping moved surprisingly quick for the amount of people in it. Maze reached the front of the line within ten minutes of getting in it. A Peacekeeper used a machine to prick her finger, drawing blood to confirm that she was Maze Donahue and that she was present for the Reaping.

The Peacekeeper directed her to the thirteen-year-old female section. She filed in, and just her luck, Cortana filed in next to her a minute later, along with Dell, another one of the orphan girls that shared their room. Cortana and Dell nervously chattered, paying Maze no mind.

Maze looked around. The Stadium was filling up quickly, in both the field and the stands. The air was thick and warm from the heat generated from all the bodies in such a small space, combined with the usual summer heat. It was a good thing Maze chose to forgo her jacket and skirt set, otherwise she would surely be sweltering. Although perhaps the skirt would have provided more breeze on her legs, since her own legs were beginning to feel warm in their denim prison.

The stage in front of them was already occupied. District 3's three Victors, Beetee, Wiress, and Troy, all sat in folding chairs on the left side of the stage. Beetee still had faint ketchup stains on his shirt. Maze smirked to herself as she saw that, remembering his surprised gasp as he had walked right into her trap.

The mayor of District 3 sat on the right side of the stage, twiddling his thumbs, and an empty chair beside him was obviously reserved for the Capitol escort, who had not yet shown up.

Two massive, rotating glass orbs dominated the stage. Inside the orbs, tiny computer chips tumbled in an undulating metallic slurry.

Due to the sheer number of eligible teenagers for the Reaping, using paper slips with each person's name on it, like most Districts did, was impractical. Instead, each person's name, age, and a headshot of them was encoded into a computer chip and placed in the orb. The escort would then draw a single computer chip from the orbs and place it onto a machine between the orbs that would display the information on the chip on the giant screens in the Stadium.

Speaking of the escort, she had appeared on the stage, sashaying towards the podium, heels clicking against the wooden flooring. Upon her appearance, the entire Stadium fell silent.

"Is everybody here?" She spoke into the microphone in a distinct Capitol accent.

A Peacekeeper situated on the side of the stage nodded his head, and she smiled.

"Great! Let us get started, then! My name is Philomena Bell, and I am pleased to be hosting the 57thannual Reaping!"

Compared to some of the other escorts in other districts that Maze had seen, Philomena looked rather plain. She had long, pastel-pink hair that she had shaped into pigtails complete with heart-shaped buns, and she wore a floral bodysuit. She also wasn't as perky and upbeat as the other escorts, but nonetheless, she had a calm charisma to her that captured everyone's attention.

Philomena spoke in a voice that could only be described as low and sultry. "And now, for the national anthem and then a brief video from our president, Coriolanus Snow. Everyone, please stand."

The giant screens around the Stadium and on the stage lit up with the official seal of Panem, and the national anthem played, piped into the Stadium on speakers. Everyone sitting in the stands stood up. Once the anthem concluded, they sat down again. The same video they showed every year about the history and founding of Panem and the Hunger Games then played on the screens, narrated by President Snow. Contrary to what Philomena had said, the video was not brief and stretched out for nearly ten minutes.

Maze zoned out, immediately bored. The only thing that changed about it from year to year was the Victor of the last year's Hunger Games, showcased at the end of the video. Last year, it was some guy from District 1 whose name might as well have been Sparkle Shinypants.

Finally, the video ended, and Philomena started talking again.

"Of all the brave young men and women District 3 has sent to the Hunger Games, only four have managed to return victoriously. Atto Erlang, Victor of the 13th Hunger Games, deceased."

Her attention moved to the three living Victors. "Troy Ellingford, Victor of the 26th Hunger Games."

Troy, sitting on the far left, just grunted in acknowledgment. Of all the District 3 Victors, he was the only one to win the traditional way: through brute force. He was abnormally bloodthirsty for a District 3 tribute, killing eight people during his Games, including three Careers. Now, he was a hulking 49-year-old man with a buzz cut and anger issues. Rumor had it that he could be physically abusive to the tributes he mentored, although no one knew how true these rumors were.

"Beetee Latier, Victor of the 37th Hunger Games."

Beetee gave a nod of acknowledgement to Philomena, and she sweetly smiled in return. Maze fought snickers as she remembered the ketchup incident.

"And District 3's most recent Victor, Wiress Jones, Victor of the 44th Hunger Games."

Wiress gave a little wave. She was the youngest of the two Victors, and the only girl to have won from District 3 so far. During her Games, the Gamemakers has decided to switch it up a bit and made the arena a series of vaults and puzzles. Wiress was the only one able to thrive in such an arena, but the Games were not as fun to watch for the Capitol citizens, due to the cannibalism the arena design sparked. The Gamemakers went right back to their usual arena setup the next year.

"And now, for the Reaping of this year's tributes. I think this year, we shall start with the gentlemen, since last year, we started with the ladies."

Philomena smiled at the crowd, before making her way towards the glass orbs and the machine. She picked up a pair of what looked like tweezers from the side of the machine, before walking over to the orb that contained the boys' names.

A nervous aura fell over the boys' side of the field. Their faces turned grave, gazes transfixed to the stage.

Philomena hit a button that stopped the orb's spinning and opened a circular door in the orb. She stuck her hand with the tweezers in, shifting through the chips for a few seconds, before pinching a chip in the tweezers and withdrawing it.

She inserted the chip into the machine. An image of a boy with curly, light brown hair and acne-ravaged skin popped up on the screens around the Stadium, as well as a name.

ALT KINGSTON. AGE: 16.

"Alt Kingston," Philomena read, before turning her head towards the section of the field that held the sixteen-year-old boys. The cameras followed her gaze.

Alt walked slowly through the crowd, heading towards the stage. His eyes bulged, and he almost looked as though he might get sick. A Peacekeeper trailed him.

He climbed the stairs onto the stage, where Philomena greeted him with a sunny smile. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Kingston! Your mentor will be Mr. Ellingford!"

Troy simply gave another grunt of acknowledgment. Alt gulped.

"And now for the ladies!"

It was the girls' turn to be nervous. A deadly hush fell over the girls' section, pierced by the sobs of a few of the twelve-year-olds.

A pit formed in Maze's stomach. She twisted the ring that she wore on her middle finger.

Remember, .00238% chance.

.00238% chance.

.00238% chance.

Philomena went over to the girls' orb and repeated the process, drawing out a single chip and placing it in the machine.

A familiar face appeared on the screen. A far too familiar face.

The one Maze saw in the mirror every morning.

MAZE DONAHUE. AGE: 13.

"Maze Donahue!"

.00238% chance…

The pit in Maze's stomach turned into concrete. Her entire body tensed, her fists balling up at her sides. She looked down at the ground, making sure her hair fell in a way that concealed her face.

Maybe if she stood very still, like a statue, the cameras wouldn't find her. Maybe they would assume she disappeared somehow and Reap someone else. Maybe if she stayed very still, she actually would disappear.

Around her, girls began to murmur and shift as they looked around for her. Beside her, Maze could feel the piercing gazes of both Cortana and Dell.

"Maze Donahue?" Philomena asked. "Where are you, dear?"

Maze could barely hear her over the hammering of her heart.

Cortana nudged her with her arm. "What are you doing?" She hissed. "They called your name. Go up!"

Maze didn't reply. She couldn't reply. Her mouth was bone-dry. She kept her gaze fixed to the dirt between her boots. The dirt she wished would swallow her up.

"Miss Donahue?"

Out of the corner of her eye, Maze saw Cortana point to her. "She's right here! Right here!"

Cortana's shrill voice drew everyone's attention. The girls surrounding her parted, revealing Maze's location to everyone.

The sound of boots marching reached Maze's ears, and before she could look up, a Peacekeeper grabbed her upper arm and started dragging her to the stage.

Maze stumbled, and as she did, she caught Cortana's eye. Cortana had her usual smug expression on her face, although there was an emotion Maze couldn't identify in her eyes.

Sudden rage burst through Maze's fear.

"Fuck you, Cortana!" She yelled as the Peacekeeper dragged her to the stage. "I hope your curling iron breaks!"

Philomena tutted. "That's not a very polite thing to say, Miss Donahue."

The Peacekeeper dragged her up the stairs, fingers digging into Maze's skin, and deposited her right next to Philomena and Alt, who stared at her with a bewildered expression on his face.

"Nonetheless, it's very nice to meet you, Maze," Philomena said, smiling. "Your mentor will be Mr. Latier."

Maze looked in Beetee's direction. He gave her a small smile and nod.

Why him, of all people? The universe was playing its own hijinks on Maze today. Her cheeks burned with something like embarrassment.

"Shake hands, now," Philomena instructed Maze and Alt. They followed her instructions. Alt's hand was bony, like hers, and slick with sweat. As soon as he let go, Maze wiped her hand on her overalls.

Philomena took both Maze and Alt's hands, raising them up with a smile. "District 3, your tributes!"

The Stadium applauded. Maze caught a glimpse of herself on the screens. Her eyes were wide and bewildered, and her hair was woefully out of place, falling every which way. The quality of the video on the screens blanched her skin so that it appeared much paler and ashier than usual.

If Maze had to describe her appearance in one word, it would looked feral.

She felt feral, too. Like a caged animal. And from that moment on, she would be a caged animal. A pet at the Capitol's mercy, being toyed with and then abandoned to die in the wild.

As the Peacekeepers led them away to somewhere in the depths of the Stadium, Maze heard Alt finally get sick somewhere behind her.

She didn't blame him one bit for doing so.

The Peacekeepers led Maze to a windowless room somewhere in the Stadium. The walls and floor were made of concrete, like a prison cell or something, but the furniture in it was nice, almost luxurious. The juxtaposition was strange to see.

When the Peacekeepers deposited Maze there, they told her she had one hour for loved ones or friends to come say goodbye to her. She nearly laughed in their faces.

She had no loved ones or friends.

She tried to make friends. She really tried. She did everything that people told her that would make her friends: smiling, saying hello to people, introducing herself to people, offering people food, jumping into conversations, you name it. But other than a few people who were nice to her out of pity, no one wanted to be her friend. Eventually, she gave up on making friends and determined she would be alone for the rest of her life. It made her a little sad sometimes, having no friends, but for the most part, she accepted it.

Living in the community home, she obviously didn't have any family. From what she'd been told, Maze was deposited one night at the community home's doorstep as a two-month-old infant, with only a blanket and a card with her name, birthday, and a request for the community home to take good care of her on it. She still had that blanket and card. They were somewhere in the depths of her storage chest. She would probably never see them again.

A while back, Maze had gone searching in the public records for any potential family members. She searched for people with her last name, Donahue. The only recent records she was able to find of anyone with this last name were of Gauss and Iris Donahue, who were apparently executed by the Peacekeepers a few months after she was born for treason. According to the records, the couple had two adult daughters, but their records were expunged for some odd reason. Due to her lack of friends and connections, it wasn't like Maze could ask anyone what had happened to Gauss and Iris Donahue and their daughters. Based on the timing of the Donahues' execution, not long after Maze was brought to the community home, she wondered if somehow, she was connected to them or their daughters.

Maze reclined on the plush velvet couch, staring at a stain on the ceiling and twisting her ring again.

Despite everything, Maze could not get herself to cry or show any emotion other than a deep, gnawing anxiety in her stomach. It was frustrating. Now would be the perfect time to cry, before all the cameras were shoved in her face for the next week and then however many days before she died.

Perhaps if she was lucky, she'd survive to her fourteenth birthday, on July 16th. Her birthday always fell during the Hunger Games. No one ever celebrated her birthday due to the grim atmosphere. That, and the fact that she didn't have friends or family to celebrate with.

Maze continued to lay on the couch, fidgeting with her ring and staring off into space and feeling sorry for herself for forty-five minutes, until the door to the room opened prematurely.

To her utter surprise, Beetee strolled into the room.

"May I sit?" He asked, gesturing to the couch. Maze nodded, sitting up, and he sat beside her on the couch.

He studied her face, brown eyes narrowed behind his glasses. Maze purposely did not make eye contact, staring to his left at the wall. She felt scrutinized, like she was some fascinating specimen beneath a magnifying glass.

"Were you the one I saw this morning?" He asked, pointing to the ketchup stain on his starched blue shirt.

Maze's head nodded, like an invisible string was manipulating it. "Yeah."

In a normal situation, she would lie, but this was no normal situation. Might as well tell the truth. She had nothing left to lose.

To her surprise, Beetee nodded back. "Your little trap was impressive. Simple, but effective. I took the liberty of studying it after you ran away. Do you make a lot of things like that?"

Maze's cheeks heated up. She wasn't used to being praised like that, nonetheless from the victims of her hijinks.

She looked down. "Yeah. I do. It's my hobby. I call them my hijinks."

Beetee nodded again. "Your hijinks could be useful in the arena. You're also good at hiding and a fast runner, from what I've seen. If your laughter hadn't given you away, I wouldn't have known you were there."

Maze shrugged. "I guess."

The two fell silent. Maze started twisting her ring again.

She had made the ring for herself a while ago, as a way to subtly soothe some of her physical energy. The ring itself was simple, just a piece of circular copper wire with three metal ball bearings attached that she could move back and forth with her thumb. She also tended to twist the ring itself around her finger as a way of fidgeting. Other than to bathe, she never took it off. It grounded her.

Beetee noticed the ring. "Will that be your token for the arena?"

A token. Maze had nearly forgotten that tributes were allowed a token. In the chaos of everything, it had slipped her mind.

She nodded, running her thumb along the ring. She couldn't imagine facing something like the arena without it. And it wasn't like she had anything else on her person to be her token.

"I'll need it before we reach the Capitol to give to your stylist."

Maze nodded again to show she understood, continuing to twist the ring. It helped take the edge off the anxiety that festered in her stomach.

She decided to ask a question that was on her mind since Beetee stepped foot into the room.

"Why did you come in here?"

Beetee blinked, not expecting the question. It took him a moment to respond.

"You weren't getting any visitors. So, I decided to change that."

He gave her another scrutinizing look, although this one seemed gentler than the previous. "You aren't very popular, are you?"

What Mrs. Tapp said to Maze earlier echoed in her head.

What if I don't come back from the Reaping?

Then I hope you die. It would serve you right.

Finally, tears appeared into Maze's eyes.

She closed them so Beetee wouldn't see the tears, shaking her head.

"Neither was I." Beetee paused, then corrected himself. "Neither am I. But if District 3 doesn't like you, then perhaps the Capitol might. Sometimes, they latch onto the underdogs."

Maze opened her eyes again, shrugging. "Maybe. I don't know. I don't know if I'm likable enough or not."

"We can figure that out later." Beetee gave her a kind smile. "I just wanted to make sure you had at least one visitor. No one deserves to be alone during times like this."

A strange warmth blossomed in Maze's chest at that remark.

Beetee stood up, heading to the door. Before he could reach it, Maze spoke.

"Thank you."

She said the words quietly, focusing her gaze down on the floor and twisting her ring again.

Beetee froze, then smiled again at her. "You're welcome. See you in ten minutes or so."

He exited the room, leaving Maze alone once more to wallow in her own thoughts