Even the slightest sound makes alarm bells ring in Sagan's ears. She flinches and her entire body curls in on itself, trying to make herself appear as small as possible. If she thinks about it too long, Sagan realizes that she can't even see how effective her attempts are, and then she wants to laugh until she cries. It's a good thing that Aleksei is there, at least for a while, because Sagan is only mostly too self-conscious to cry in front of him.

She wouldn't be able to see his reaction, but that doesn't matter. Sagan knows, deep in her heart, that he'd realize it really is best to leave her behind. He'd stand a much better chance all on his own.

Something brushes against Sagan's cheek, and she flinches away, startled. She reaches an arm out for whatever – whoever – touched her, and she's surprised by a pleasant laugh. Her fingers meet soft skin, and after a moment of exploring, Sagan can pick out nose, lips, curly hair. It takes a little too much effort to draw her hand back from that warmth.

"Sorry if I scared you," Aleksei chirps. His voice is the brightest thing in Sagan's world right now. "But I think we need to, um, move."

"Move where?"

"That's… what I'm not quite sure about. It's hard to see much around this area, so I wanted to go… climb a hill or something? A tree?"

Her chest tightens. "What for?"

Aleksei shuffles through the grass in front of her, and his hand encircles her wrist. He lowers her hand to the ground, and Sagan scrunches her brows in confusion. It takes her a minute to realize what he's trying to point out: the ground is damp, and when Sagan pulls her hand back, she feels some dirt sticking to her fingers stubbornly. When she wipes her hands off on the grass, dew makes her fingers slick and cool. She curls her hand into a fist in the hopes of warming it back up.

"There's water," Aleksei says softly, unsure. "It's… all over. I can't tell how deep it is, or where it stops, or where it's coming from, and… that seems pretty bad. I, um, know you won't know how to get out of here, so that means I gotta… I gotta find a way out of here."

"Okay," Sagan whispers. She draws her fist close to her chest, feels her heart beating as fast as the wings of a bird, flighty and nervous. "So you're…?"

She can't finish her thoughts. You're leaving? Just like all the others? Are you going to promise you'll come back? Am I going to have to learn that you're just as much of a liar as the rest?

"I won't be gone long," Aleksei promises. His voice trembles. "I just have to find a place for us to go. And you should stay here, where it's safe. You'll have all the supplies, everything you'll need."

"Do you not want me to go with you?"

"I do! I do, it's just…"

"I'll drag you down, won't I?"

"No! Well, sort of, but I just mean that I'll worry about you too much if you come with me. And what if I lead us the wrong way and I can't figure out how to get us out? Or what if we run into someone because we're distracted and unprepared?"

"You won't worry about me here?" Sagan's voice has been getting progressively smaller. She hates how useless it makes her feel, but there's not much she can do about that right now.

"I'll worry about you everywhere," Aleksei says, so earnestly that Sagan feels something strange in her stomach. "But I'll be faster like this. And we can get out of here, get somewhere safe. Together. Okay?"

"I'm sorry," Sagan whispers. "You shouldn't have to do this alone."

"Maybe I'll find someone! A friend! I don't remember who's left, but maybe there's someone-"

"No," Sagan says fiercely. "If you find anyone, you turn the other way. You can't trust them. You can never trust them!"

"Okay, okay. I just… wanna give us the best chance."

Sagan doesn't know what to say to that. She pushes herself on the ground, and then wavers. It takes another moment for Sagan to gather the courage to throw her arms around Aleksei.

He must be surprised – Aleksei lurches backwards as her body weight hits him, and even though Sagan is certain that they almost tumble to the ground together, Aleksei somehow manages to stabilize them. His arms wrap tentatively around Sagan's waist, and one of his hands rubs her back.

"I'm coming back," Aleksei says determinedly. "We'll get out of here in no time. I promise."

She shoves her face into the crook of Aleksei's neck and shivers. "Okay."

And for the first time in a long time, Sagan finds that she actually believes one of the promises someone makes her.

For the first time in days, when Kodo wakes up, he's completely alone.

It's cold. He's cold. Everything aches, from the tips of his fingers to his toes, which are soaked to the bone.

Kodo pushes himself upright, hands landing in puddled water. He wrinkles his nose at the sensation just as a raindrop splatters against his forehead. Kodo frowns and wipes it away, but only succeeds in smearing muddy water across his face. The sensation, which would normally make Kodo shriek in disgust, just makes him feel… empty.

He turns his head to the side, expecting to still see Bourbon's body there. Instead, there's not even a bloody print left behind. Kodo is left with nothing besides his own shaking hands and the haunting sense that he's just lost something that he'll never get back.

She was going to do the same to him – right? That's why she lured him in with a kiss, a barely-concealed please lingering on her tongue. Her desperation turned to outrage within the span of a second, like she couldn't believe that Kodo had the audacity to act first. She just kept talking, even when he wasn't listening anymore, couldn't listen, and then one stab turned into two, and then…

It was so quiet. Everything just… stopped. The knife fell out of her hand first, and the next thing to come out of her mouth was blood, and then her whole body crumpled to the ground, and Kodo couldn't even move until the cannon went off. He had half a mind to run as far away from there as he could, but the rest of him could only think about how he wasn't sure what sort of narrative to spin this into. He'd just killed his… Bourbon, and what did that make Kodo?

She was going to do the same thing to him. They both heard the announcement about sponsors, both knew that numbers were dwindling and it was the strategic choice to move now instead of later. Bourbon's the one that was more heavily wounded – it was only fair for Kodo to be the one who outlasted her. He didn't deserve to die first when she's the one who was only going to hold them back.

Yeah, that's it. Kodo was just doing her a favor. He… loved her so much that he spared her from continual suffering.

Kodo pulls his knees to his chest. Overhead, leaves tremble on their branches as a gust of wind sweeps through the Arena. This is probably the part where he should cry, isn't it? Kodo was always pretty good at that part of theatre – he would stare up into the blinding lights, see shadows walking along the catwalk, and summon a strong enough mimicry of sorrow that his vision blurred and everyone in the audience would be captivated by the show he puts on. Kodo has never understood where the feelings come from – true theatre is based on some level of reality, after all – but it fails him now, when he needs it most.

Maybe it's for the best that Bourbon's corpse is gone, so her empty eyes can't bore into his, continuing the tirade he cut short with a blade. Kodo already knows how it would've ended. Her words still ring in his ears, unspoken yet still so loud that he fears he'll never escape them.

You're just as bad as your father.

…is it true? Is this what Kodo has been destined to turn into all along?

He pushes himself to his feet. Kodo sniffles, sure that his soggy state makes for a less-than-impressive sight right now. He tries to convince himself that he doesn't have to worry about getting the audience's attention as much now that sponsorships are dead in the water, but that thought falls painfully flat when grabbing attention is the only thing Kodo is good at.

How can they possibly find him interesting, now that he's all on his own? The setpieces around him are frustratingly empty, and without a fellow actor to play against, Kodo is just… himself. Stupidly, painfully himself.

Isn't that pathetic?

The rain is picking up now, an ill omen. He squints up at the sky, blinking away raindrops as he tries to discern what time it is. But the sun is completely hidden behind a curtain of dark grey clouds, so Kodo gives up his endeavor after only a moment.

He sighs and looks back at the gnarled tree, whose limbs brush the ground and seem so… inviting. Kodo wishes he could curl up against those, let them cradle him to sleep…

But then he remembers the dried blood on his knuckles. And Kodo can't get away from there fast enough.

He feels hopelessly lost. There, in the distance, Kodo can see the shattered remains of buildings that once scratched the sky. Much nearer, he can see the white columns of the amphitheatre, and it takes a great deal of strength not to gravitate towards it.

That's right. Kodo doubles back, just for a moment. His stomach growls as he picks up the bag he'd gotten while Bourbon was- occupied. He's not really sure who needed this many rolls of bread, but Kodo tears a hunk off with his teeth and finds that he doesn't have much room to complain.

He sets off rather aimlessly, the ground squishing under his feet with every step he takes. The jacket he's wearing is enough to keep his torso from being chilled to the core, but his feet are beginning to ache. Kodo could've sworn it was still summer, even in this engineered city, but the rain that bites his face feels more like an incoming winter.

He has to keep moving. He has to find a way out. Kodo keeps repeating this mantra to himself, even when it loses all meaning.

He's an actor, after all. Kodo knows how to pretend when it counts.

Sagan has no idea how much time has passed – if any has, really. Each second suspends in front of her, mocking her for being so helplessly stuck that she can't even tell how long Aleksei has been gone. It could've been five minutes, for all she knows, and here she is spiraling like he's abandoned her for days.

Maybe this is exactly how her mother feels.

It's not fair. Sagan didn't choose to leave her mother behind. She was ripped away from home, forced to abandon the one person that's always been there for her. And… now what? If she gets back, will her mother even remember her? Will she remember that Sagan left her behind? Will she be able to understand why?

She squeezes her eyes shut. The tears that prick at her eyes burn, and Sagan can't even try to wipe them away without irritating her injury more. She's never felt more humiliated in her life.

Sagan leans against the crumbling wall, trying to keep the rain off her skin. She gnaws on her lower lip, tasting copper within moments. The rain is probably making the water rise even faster – has Aleksei managed to find a way out yet? Has he gotten stuck somehow, and is struggling to find his way back? Did he just give up entirely?

Each hypothetical makes her throat close tighter. Sagan needs to snap herself out of it, but she can't. It's hard enough when she can see what's plainly in front of her, but now that she can't even do that-

She hears footsteps.

Sagan freezes. Panic claws at her chest, and any attempts to smother it go unheard. She knows it's more than likely Aleksei – but what if it's not? According to what he saw at the feast, there are still three Careers wandering around, and any one of them would be perfectly happy to chop her into a million tiny pieces.

So instead, she makes herself smaller. She bites her tongue. She wishes she wasn't quite so useless that she could at least properly greet her friend – if it's really him.

"Hey- I recognize you."

Sagan doesn't know that voice. She squints in its the direction, and discerns that it's male, young, and evidently not a Career, since she's not dead yet. She has no idea who is left in this Arena at all, so it's impossible to tell what sort of threat he poses. All Sagan can tell for sure is that he's not Aleksei, so she shrinks back into the wall and feels around for something, anything to use to protect herself.

"You had an ally, didn't you?" the boy says, his voice… strange. He's getting closer, and Sagan imagines his hands are raised like he's trying to calm a wild creature. She supposes she fits the bill at that moment. "A boy? Did he leave?"

Her lips flatten into a thin line. Something sharp presses into Sagan's fingers, hard enough to make her bite back a hiss, and then she clutches it tightly in her hands. It cuts into her tender flesh, but Sagan doesn't let up. As soon as she gets even the slightest inclination that this boy will make a move towards her, she'll do what she has to.

(She prays Aleksei won't have to see her like this.)

"It's okay," the boy in front of her whispers. He can't be much more than a foot away. "I lost my ally, too. She was… god, she was so much more than that, but I know what it's like to be alone. I could… help you? If you'll let me."

Sagan doesn't miss the hesitation. She doesn't trust this boy, not at all. These are the sorts of pretty words that hide bad intentions, and Sagan isn't foolish enough to get caught up in them.

She stays silent. Hides whatever broken, jagged weapon she's found within her hand. Hopes that the boy gets close enough to bare his throat to her. Wonders if, by some stroke of luck, her blindness will actually protect her from having to see the devastation her hands can bring about.

(The attempt at making herself feel better falls flat when Sagan admits to herself that she'd do anything to get her sight back, just to see Aleksei's smile again.)

The boy is still talking to her. Sagan isn't listening to what he's saying anymore. She just lets him approach, slow and steady, until she's sure she has the proper opening.

She lashes out. Slams her weapon down on the first thing she can reach. The boy lets out a howl, and Sagan feels the faintest glimmer of hope. She staggers to her feet, feeling her way along the wall and praying that she'll find freedom.

Her head slams into something, hard. Sagan cries out and crumples to the ground, her head spinning and throwing off every sense of orientation she'd managed to put together since she'd lost her vision in the first place. The only thing that's real is the grass beneath her, and Sagan fumbles to find the wall again, arms outstretched, searching desperately.

"Aleksei!" she shrieks, tripping over some unidentifiable object on the ground. "Aleksei, where are you?"

Something slick with blood presses down against Sagan's shoulder, and she lashes out again with the shard, but all she hits is air. Sagan swears she's crying again, or maybe it's the rain, or maybe she's covered in blood. She doesn't know – she can't see-

"Stop!" the boy pleads. "Stop- struggling, I just want to-"

Sagan only screams louder. At this point, she'd be grateful if the entire Arena could hear her. Then there's something against her mouth to muffle her cries, and Sagan gags on the taste of copper. She bites down, hard, and is only mildly vindicated when the boy yelps and tears his hand back. She lifts her weapon again, glad to finally have some inkling of where the boy is, but then his hand is around hers and prying away her only sense of security, and all Sagan can do is scream and lash out with every bit of energy she has.

"Aleksei, help! Aleksei! Please, you have to-"

Boom.

Aleksei is high up in a tree when he hears something.

His brow pinches, the wind whipping around him. The rain blurs his vision, but he's finally found what he's looking for – a way out. A path that won't lead to their watery graves.

The first time he hears the noise, Aleksei barely registers it, too exhilarated by his discovery. The second time, it makes him pause. By the time Aleksei realizes that he recognizes that noise, he hears it a third time and nearly falls out of the tree. The branches are slick under his fingers, and even though he earns himself several nasty cuts for his mistake, he's scrambling down the tree within moments.

"Sagan?" Aleksei calls, splashing through puddles without care. He stumbles through more than a few that are deeper than they seem, but no matter how muddy and drenched his clothes get, Aleksei keeps pushing onward. He's never run so fast in his life, and there's the sinking feeling nagging at him that it still won't be enough.

Aleksei arrives where he left Sagan, and his heart is beating out of his chest. Out of breath, he tries to call out for her, but his cry gets lost in the wind.

She's not yelling anymore. Aleksei hopes that's a good sign, somehow, but it's hard to convince himself that's the case. Not when the sound of a cannon rings in his ears, making Aleksei stagger. He rounds a corner and finds himself facing a stranger.

The boy in front of him is only a few inches taller, and he has dark hair. There's something about him that seems familiar, but Aleksei can't figure out why. Maybe it's the newly somber look on the boy's face, or maybe it's the way Aleksei is much more distracted by the way the boy's hand is mangled beyond repair. Something has torn through it, nearly cleaving it in two. Nausea claws at his insides, and Aleksei squirms at the sight, but he still can't tear his eyes away.

Not when there's something peeking around the corner, a shape that looks far too familiar and far too still. There's blood everywhere, so much more than Aleksei could ever comprehend. He can't bring himself to look at Sagan, not like this, but-

Aleksei sniffles. His eyes are wet. He wipes at them, just once, and that's all it takes for the tears to continue pouring.

"Did you…?" Aleksei asks. He can't make himself finish.

The boy stares down at his own hand, as if trying to put it back together out of sheer will. He swallows hard and looks up at Aleksei. "I just- found her. Like this. She was… she was screaming."

His ears are ringing. "I heard."

"I'm sorry," he offers. "I lost someone, too."

That's right – this boy had a girl of his own. They kissed all through training, made a big show out of proposing at the party. Aleksei feels something flutter in his stomach, and he tries hard not to think about what that means.

"What happened to your hand?"

"A Career. One of the Fours. Nasty curved blade. Got my fiance, and then tried to get me. I don't… I don't have anything to wrap it up with."

Aleksei is so still that he's almost forgotten how to breathe. There's something about the boy that he can't trust – maybe it's the look in his eyes, like someone from back home – but Aleksei also knows that it would be easier to let him think he's gotten away with it.

… whatever "it" is.

The boy smiles at him, and Aleksei's heart lurches with a foreign emotion. Dread, fear… something similar, but nothing Aleksei can put his finger on just yet. Despite all that, Aleksei shakily smiles back.

(It would be so much easier if Aleksei was anyone different. If he could take a look at this stranger in front of him and see him as nothing more than a threat, then maybe… well, Aleksei doesn't know.

The sight of Sagan's fallen body is enough to make his mouth dry out, to make Aleksei wonder if there really is any good in the world. He wants to curl up to her until the sun goes down and the stars come out and he can pretend they're reading together again. It doesn't seem fair for everything to be over so soon.)

"I can help," Aleksei says quietly.

The boy simply looks relieved. He steps past Sagan like she's not even there, and presents a hand to Aleksei – the intact one. "Glad to hear it. I'm Kodo."

After a beat, Aleksei accepts his hand. His eyes never leave Sagan's. Anything else that Kodo says becomes white noise in his ears.

Scarlet isn't alone anymore.

Gwen should've expected this. She should've known that even here, she wouldn't be able to do anything right. All she's earned is another body on her hands, another bad thing that everyone can blame on her.

At least this time they'd be right to assign blame to Gwen. It was her hands that stabbed Akira, that unknowingly betrayed them for days. She's a plague to everyone around her, always has been. It hurts knowing that everyone else was right, that Gwen should've kept believing them. She was so careful when she was young, but now Akira is dead and it's all her fault.

She should've stopped trying forever ago. Gwen should've just been content with Shay and Jericho and made peace with the fact that they're the only people she's never been able to hurt. Instead, Gwen has only found herself drifting closer and closer to Scarlet.

God, Scarlet looks so much like her. Gwen swears it's her own face in the mirror, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Akira. Their fingers are brushing together one moment, and the next they're both reaching out for Gwen. It's such a warm, welcoming sight that Gwen reaches back until her fingers hit glass.

She lets out a shuddering breath, and then rests her forehead against Akira's. Splintered glass threatens to dig into her skin, but Gwen likes the hint of pain – it makes her feel alive. She certainly needs a reminder of that right now.

(Gwen just wishes she could finally do some good in her life. Is it so bad to want someone to remember her positively? To leave behind something she can be proud of? The only thing Gwen has going for her is her relationships with Shay and Jericho.

Everything else is just the makings of a fraud.)

Desperate to distract herself, Gwen sifts through the bags she got from the feast again. One includes enough food and water to last the two of them about a day, and the other has… a bottle of pills? If Gwen squints at the label long enough, she's pretty sure it's some brand of antibiotic. A little strange, considering the quantity of food suggests the Games won't last much longer, and Gwen has to assume not even the Capitol's medicine can cure an infection in less than a day.

Still, she shoves the bottle in her pocket. It's worth a shot, if nothing else. If this is somehow the edge they need to outlast the Careers, Gwen would be a fool to throw it away so casually.

"Hey, Svelte?" Gwen calls quietly, getting to her feet. "I think I've got something for you."

No answer.

Gwen frowns. She knows he's not exactly talkative, but a sudden lack of any response in these circumstances is concerning. Panic claws at her chest, and Gwen revolts against the idea of being all alone again.

"Svelte?" Gwen calls, a little louder. The ground is soft under her shoes as she pokes her head around trees, surveying the grounds. "Are you still there?"

It takes a couple minutes for Gwen to stumble across him, though by the looks of it, Svelte didn't want to be found. The look on his face sours as soon as he makes eye contact with Gwen. There's a knife clenched tightly in one of his hands, but Svelte doesn't raise it. Not yet.

"Hey," Gwen pauses a few steps away, "is something the matter?"

He holds her gaze. "I don't understand you."

"Okay," Gwen says slowly.

"Why'd you lie to her?"

"I- what?"

"To Akira." Svelte lifts his chin, severs eye contact with her. "Right before she threw that bomb."

Ah. Gwen didn't know he was awake for that. She only managed to find him in the aftermath, bruised and slightly bloodied but no worse for wear. She'd been relieved that Akira had thrown the bomb instead of just dropping it, that Gwen hadn't doomed them all to die on top of that building.

Svelte hadn't thanked her as she tore a knife through his bindings. Gwen hadn't necessarily expected him to, but he spent up until now looking at her like she was going to try and kill him any moment. Gwen felt like some sort of monstrous creature in his eyes, and she didn't even know how to defend herself.

Weakly, she smiles. "What makes you so certain it was a lie?"

"Because we're alive, and they aren't. Because you said something that saved your own skin."

"And yours."

Svelte's shoulders are tense, like his hackles are raised. In warning, in preparation… Gwen isn't sure. "It was cruel."

The thought that Gwen might've hurt more than helped stings. She still doesn't understand why she did that, but it felt… right. She wanted to give Akira something that no one could take away from them. "To give her hope, right on the cusp of death? It was cruel to tell them something lovely?"

"Yes. You'll lie to get anything you want, no matter the cost. How am I supposed to-?"

"It's strange," Guinevere whispers. "It wasn't all a lie, but I don't feel like I was telling the whole truth, either. Love exists in shades of grey, you know."

Svelte's eyes shutter. "You do or you don't. There's no in between."

Gwen's expression grows wistful. "Maybe for you. But I think I love lots of things, and not all to the same extent. My love for a warm cup of tea is not the same as my love for my wife, my brother. I suspect my affection for Akira falls somewhere in between there."

Silence lingers between them, the sort that makes Gwen remember that Akira is gone. They would normally find a way to fill the void, even if that was just them making sound effects in the background.

"I don't understand you."

"I'm not asking you to."

"But you're…" Svelte hesitates. "You're still trying to be my ally, aren't you?"

"Your friend, ideally. But I'll settle for ally if that's what you want."

"Why?"

"Well, statistically it's the smarter choice. But I… I don't want to die here alone. And you could've left, if you really wanted to. But you're still here. So I don't think you want to die alone, either."

Somehow, the look in his eyes grows more wary. "What do you want out of this?"

"This?"

"The Games."

Gwen's lips part in surprise. "Oh. You mean…?"

"Did Ariadne talk to you?"

"Of course."

"What did you tell her? About survival, or winning?"

"That I wanted to survive. And I mean that literally – I want myself to survive these Games. I don't care much about winning if I've sacrificed everything I am to get there. Maybe it's unrealistic, but…"

Gwen wraps her arms around herself, suddenly cold. She's lasted this far, and while she's not keen to lose her life at any moment, she's also determined to return home as herself, even if that places her in a casket. She doesn't know how she would face Shay otherwise.

Shay…

The ring on her finger is a comforting weight, a reminder of the happy late nights that Gwen had gotten used to. There's no piece of paper or written record of Gwen's marriage to Shay, but that doesn't make it any less real. That's Gwen's wife, in every way that counts. She's never belonged to someone like that before, and she never will again. Shay's it for her. And Gwen wants to preserve as much of herself for them as possible.

"You understand, don't you?" Gwen whispers.

Svelte takes a beat too long to answer. "I can't."

"Ah." Gwen turns to look at him, and her eyes instinctively fall on the knife in his hands. His knuckles are white from how tightly he's holding on, but he looks at her with enough determination that Gwen knows what's about to happen. "I knew this would happen sooner or later."

She doesn't fight back. Gwen lets Svelte pin her to the ground, all the breath rushing out of her lungs. There's a blade at her throat, and one of her hands is pinned down by her head. Her other is left free, but Gwen just clenches it tightly into a fist, letting herself give off the impression of being completely disarmed.

And… she's not afraid. Maybe Gwen should be, but she just feels this strange sense of relief. Her chest aches with the thought of everything she'd be leaving behind, but… maybe when she's gone, everything can just stop. She wouldn't be able to hurt people anymore.

Svelte sees it, the way her face changes. Overpowering Guinevere was far easier than it should've been.

"I'm sorry," Guinevere says. Her eyes shine with unshed tears. "I wish it didn't happen like this."

Svelte pauses, considers. Shouldn't that be his line? "I… don't understand."

"I'm tired of hurting people," she whispers. "I'm tired of bringing ruin to everyone who makes the mistake of caring about me. I thought… I thought Akira would be different, because we're so similar. But in the end, all I could do was make them smile before they died. Do you know what that's like?"

His hand trembles. Svelte doesn't know why this is so hard now. The tiniest of movements would send blood cascading down her throat, and she'd futilely gasp for air, and Svelte would be fucking free. He'd be all alone once again, just like he's always wanted.

Right?

Still, his hands move the way he wants them to. Why is he trapped like this, listening to her? Why won't she fight back? Why won't she do anything but talk?

Why is Svelte letting her?

"It's years of looking over your shoulder, of seeking out companionship wherever you can find it despite knowing it could be ripped away from you any moment. It's becoming close with someone, only to see them suffer fates sometimes worse than death. It's becoming an outcast wherever you go, and believing that you deserve this. It's spending years being beaten down by someone who claims to love you, smothered by their expectations of who you should be because at least this way you're worth something.

"I may not know your hardships, but you're not the only one in this fucked up world that's suffered. I understood, and Akira understood, and even if that didn't last, the world was a little brighter for it."

"Stop doing this," Svelte whispers.

"You can kill me," Guinevere replies, her eyes full of resignation. "I'm not stopping you."

"But you should. Don't you care? Don't you have someone to go back to?"

"My Shay." Her eyes flutter shut. She smiles, just barely, as if recalling a fond memory. "They'll… they'll understand."

Will they? Svelte wants to ask. He still doesn't know why his body won't move, why he's so helplessly frozen. There's a million questions swirling in the back of his mind, and he fears that if even a single one manages to slip out…

"What about you?"

Svelte startles. His knife scrapes against the skin of Guinevere's neck, and a thin line of crimson blooms. "Huh?"

"Who are you fighting to get back to?" Guinevere's looking at him again, her dark eyes suddenly… soft. Inviting. Desperate, but not for her own life. "They must be important."

Svelte's hesitation must say enough. Guinevere's expression cracks, but she holds his gaze determinedly. Svelte hasn't been this eager to run away since the second day of training.

"I want to live my life," Svelte says tightly. "On my own terms."

Slowly, Guinevere raises her hand to wrap around Svelte's wrist. He feels like he can't breathe. "Is this how you want to do it?"

"What?"

"I've helped you, time and time again, and still you put a blade to my throat. Is this how you want to make it to the finale? Is this how you want to win? By killing someone that only wants to be your friend?"

"How do I know this isn't another lie?"

"You can never know for sure. And that's what scares you, isn't it? That the only way to believe me is to trust me?"

(Svelte thinks back to his days on the streets of Eight, when he was dirty and starving and hadn't seen a friendly face since his parents died. He could entertain a crowd long enough to earn some coin for his efforts, but no one stayed long. No one except Vaurien.

He was so kind, back then. He gave Svelte everything. Lured Svelte in with the promise of food and comfort, only to lock him in a cage and keep the key just out of reach.

That can't happen to him. Not again.)

"I can't," Svelte grits out. "You don't- you don't understand."

She laughs, tears streaming down her face. "You still don't get it, do you? I told you – I don't know what you went through, and our lives aren't the same, but I understand you anyway. Logically, only one of us can make it to the end. I could've turned my back and let Four kill you twice now, but I didn't. I put my own life on the line to get you out safely. So did Akira."

"Then they tried to kill me."

"They were scared, just like you."

"I'm not-"

"I'm frightened all the time," Guinevere admits. "I think it's why I'm still alive. It's not always a bad thing."

"Are you afraid right now, then?" Svelte's hand wavers. "Are you afraid of dying?"

"I'm not sure. About the first part, I mean. But dying… there are things I'm more afraid of that have already come to pass. I don't want to die, but… I wonder if it would be like meeting an old friend."

"That's rather optimistic."

"I know it hurts," Guinevere says, "to get your hopes crushed. It never stops hurting. But if you let that hope die for good, then there's no reason to get back up. To keep fighting. And you're fighting for something, aren't you? Something you have hope still exists?"

"I…"

"I don't want you to tell me. Not if you don't want to. I just want you to trust that I'm not going to turn on you, not unless we're the only ones left."

The dwindling number of tributes feels like a chokehold around Svelte's throat. He swallows, trying to discern any hint of dishonesty in Guinevere's expression.

She looks as she always does. Like she sees something that Svelte himself barely knows is there. He still wants to fight back against her gaze, prove that she's somehow wrong about him, but…

Svelte lowers the knife. Surprise flickers across Guinevere's features, and Svelte suspects that his own face mirrors that response. He slowly raises himself up, retreats a couple feet. Svelte feels acutely like a prey animal that hasn't decided whether fight or flight is the appropriate response. He stands still as stone while Guinevere gets to her feet and attempts to brush off her skirts.

"Our goals aren't that different," Guinevere says, voice low. "No matter what Ariadne implied. I want to live, same as you. And we don't have to be enemies in pursuit of that goal. Not until we're the only ones left."

Cautiously, Guinevere takes a step closer. She's seemingly reassured by the way Svelte doesn't immediately run from her, nor does he threaten her again. She sidles up within arms reach, and then…

"To the end," Guinevere says. She presents a hand for Svelte to shake. "We're in this together until then."

Svelte sizes her up, taking in the set of her jaw and the determination in her eyes. The thin cut on her neck has stopped bleeding, but Svelte's eyes linger there for a little too long anyway. He should've finished the job. He shouldn't have done it at all.

Tentatively, Svelte accepts Guinevere's outstretched hand. Her responding smile could light up the whole sky. "Okay," he whispers. "We'll finish this together."

[In the Mentor Lounge, the Eight mentors sit in silence. Their tributes seemingly banding together for the finale would typically be seen as a good thing, but something has been unearthed, something that makes Eirian regard Ariadne with a mixture of distrust and disgust. The rest of the room pretends they aren't watching.]

You-

Get out.

…I'm sorry?

You heard me.

You have a lot of nerve, Ariadne. I've been doing this for years. You can't just-

We're not both needed, not without sponsors. And besides, it's daytime. You've overstayed your welcome. You look exhausted.

[Neither of them move. Eirian peers at Ariadne like he's trying to determine what's happening in her mind. Whatever he sees, it's not enough to ease his concerns.]

You're trying to get rid of me.

This has always been our deal. If they live long enough to see nightfall, I'll see you tonight.

You wanted them to turn on each other. [A beat.] Didn't you?

[A smile stretches across her face, a predator whose prey is caught in her maw.] What would I gain from doing that?

I've never pretended to understand you.

I wanted to see who was willing to do whatever it takes to win.

Just because they're not like you doesn't mean they're incapable of winning.

[Ariadne stills. Her spine remains unnaturally straight, as if she's trying desperately to control herself. She refuses to look at her old mentor.]

Not everyone gets to stay as naive as you.

And not everyone has to become as callous as you.

Get out, before I show you how callous I can be.

8. Sagan Pomare, killed by Kodo Hotakim.

Aleksei, help! Aleksei! Please, you have to-

ha ha ha

i'll catch u next time from my new lappy toppy! time to christen this bad boy with tears

~de laney is out