Valentina Gammon, 16

District 7, She/Her

June 15th, 97 ADD

11:21 AM

Aescelin had lost his goddamn mind.

Babbling on and on about the Spirit of the Forest? Thinking the parachutes were gifts from the Spirit? Sourcing murder plots from his dreams? He was completely, utterly ensconced in his faith in the deity. But the Spirit of the Forest was not real.

Hadn't she told him back on the train? If Valentina Gammon was gonna believe in anything, it would be herself. That hadn't changed. And if there was some higher power out there, it definitely wasn't a bunch of rival tributes in a costume playing with smoke and mirrors.

At this point, though, Valentina wasn't sure there was any chance of convincing Aescelin otherwise. He spent all of his free time praying, and most of their conversations waxing on about the Spirit. Any attempts Tina made at changing the subject were either completely missed or lasted a measly few minutes. She'd even caught him praying to the ghost of the Two boy for strength, which she found absolutely ridiculous. When she commented on it, he'd rambled something about how the ghost was a manifestation of the Spirit's power.

Did Aescelin even know they were in the Games anymore? Valentina wasn't certain. This kid was more off the rails than that mine cart.

So she started thinking.

If Aescelin wasn't sane, then there was no guarantee of her safety. And what little sanity he had left was waning by the hour. If Valentina wanted to survive this alliance, she needed to do something about it.

She also doubted he could be broken out of his- his fanaticism. Maybe a week ago, it would've been possible, but not now. She wouldn't be able to curb his enthusiasm that way. And for now, playing the part of the devoted follower seemed to be working well enough. So if the only thing keeping her alive was "believing" in the Spirit, and Aescelin was too deep into his religion to be convinced it was a sham…

…maybe the only way out was in.

(Maybe she could turn his obsession back on him while using it as a shield at the same time.)

She waited until Aescelin finished his morning prayers. Just as he mumbled the last few words, Valentina gasped loudly.

His head snapped toward her. "Sacrifices approaching?"

She ignored him. "Spirit? Is that you?"

"...What? What are you talking about?"

"I can feel Them," she breathed, letting her eyes dart along the horizon as though she was looking at something. "Spirit! Come back!"

Aescelin seized her shoulders. "They spoke to you?" he demanded.

She nodded frantically, his fingers digging into her shoulders uncomfortably. At least that distracted her from how ridiculous she felt. "I saw Them," she said, keeping her voice breathy.

He shook her a little. "What did They say?"

"I…" she trailed, as if recalling the visit. "That- that They recognized me as a true believer."

Aescelin's eyes shone. "Brilliant."

Here came the tricky part. "They said I was the truest believer They have," she told him.

He recoiled. "What? Not-"

"But," she interrupted, "I'm too unlearned. I need to keep studying the ways of the wisest leader in Their flock. That's you, Aescelin."

Aescelin released her shoulders, turning away as he parsed this over. "How can this be possible?" he murmured. "I thought- I thought that-"

She interrupted his train of thought again. "You have to show me the ways of the Spirit of the Forest," she told him. "We have to enact the vision from your dream, so I can see the way. Otherwise, I'll never be able to spread Their teachings."

Aescelin stared at her. "They want you to spread Their teachings?"

Valentina shrugged as though helpless. (Her favorite act.) "I don't know. All They said was that I was the truest believer, and to keep studying you while you prepare your next sacrifice."

Aescelin kept staring at her, his eyes roving her face. Valentina broke his gaze to stare off at the horizon, in the direction "the Spirit had gone."

"So," he said at last, "we will continue, then. As the Spirit desires."

"As the Spirit desires," Valentina echoed.

Aescelin seemed to like that. Valentina made a mental note to repeat after him more often. It wouldn't surprise her to find out his preachings had an audience participation element.

"Today we need to focus on gathering firewood," he instructed. "Dead wood is best where we can get it- to avoid harming the Spirit's domain."

That sounded tedious. "If you think about it," she replied, "none of these trees are Theirs- they're constructions the Gamemakers made. False icons."

His eyes widened. "You have made contact with Them," he said. "I can always tell."

Right. Valentina had to resist rolling her eyes- a skill she'd become very good at over the last few days.

"We'll collect wood," he continued. "We still have rope recovered from the mining tunnels. See if you can ask the Spirit for the remaining needs."

He was referring to the parachutes from Acadia. Valentina restrained a sigh and nodded.

Suddenly, Aescelin closed the distance between them, reaching a dirty hand toward Valentina's face. It took all of Valentina's willpower not to flinch both at the movement and at the finger he dragged along the ridge of her jaw. She forced herself to look at him instead of the dirt that festered beneath his nails.

"The truest believer," he muttered. His black eyes were all too close, and Valentina didn't like what she saw in them. "Indeed."

His finger reached her chin, and he whirled away, turning from her and walking deeper into the arena, away from the tunnel entrance they'd emerged from. Valentina let him put several paces between them before she followed.

(She'd become indispensable. She'd draw the "Spirit's" protection around her the way she tied her apron around her neck before a barbecue competition. She'd become such a devout, spineless follower that Aescelin would forget she was ever a threat at all.)

(It wouldn't be fun. Valentina hated bowing to this boy. She hated being subservient to his whims, his madness. But Tina came here to win. She'd craved sweet victory for far too long to give up her chance now. She'd take this boy and dress him up real nice with her smoky homemade glaze, marinate him in all the nonsense he wanted to hear, and then she'd chuck him on the grill and claim her crown.)

(Valentina Gammon was going to win, dammit.

And she didn't need a Spirit's help to do it.)

Chevre Kanaf-Kaziol, 16

District 10, She/Her

1:31 PM

Her head hurt.

She could feel the lump forming on top of her head, dull and throbbing. Her arms were tied behind her back, and as far as she could tell without moving, her ankles were tied, too. When she first woke up, it was dark, and no one was looking her way, so she tried to get free of her bondings- no luck. She needed another plan.

So, ever since, she'd been stalling by pretending to be asleep.

(Maybe if someone came close with a weapon, she could throw her bonds against it and get free that way. Or she could persuade someone to let her go free? There was also the possibility her allies came after her, but she wasn't willing to rely on that.)

(It did… sting, more than she expected, to disregard that possibility.)

(To go back to relying purely on herself again.)

"Fuck, Bastet, how hard did you hit her?"

Someone snorted. Chevre guessed it was Bastet. "Hard enough."

A third voice chimed in, this one raspy and worried. Interesting. "What if she doesn't wake up? What if her brain is bleeding or something-"

"Then she dies, and I get a kill," Bastet interrupted.

"And we go take another one?" the first voice asked. "After all that work?"

"Let's burn that bridge when we get to it," Bastet replied.

"That's a new one," the first voice said. "Look, Tiss, if her brain's bleeding, at least she's sleeping through it. Bet she doesn't feel a thing."

There was a pause. Chevre had a hard time reading into it without being able to see their faces.

"You call her Tiss now?" Bastet asked. "Since when?"

"Don't be possessive," the first voice dismissed.

(Which, Chevre noticed, did not answer the question.)

(Good to know there was tension here. Maybe she could exploit that somehow.)

"I'm not-"

"You are, and it's getting old," the first voice- definitely the One tribute, Invincible- interrupted.

"Guys," the third voice interrupted. Tisiphone- or, as they apparently called her, Tiss. "It's fine. Stop fighting."

Chevre tried to think back through what she knew of them. Bastet, Invincible, Tisiphone: the three remaining Careers. The first two had been described by Mercury as "nasty pieces of work," or something along those lines. They were among those tied for the highest training score. Bastet was the most unpredictable of the group, Tisiphone the least, and Invincible somewhere in between. Physically, Tisiphone was the most wounded, and Bastet had taken a few hits, but as far as Chevre knew, Invincible was fine.

And, apparently, Bastet was "possessive" of Tisiphone, which should've made Invincible the odd one out. But that didn't match how Invincible was acting. She'd need to keep an eye on that, try to figure that out. Maybe if she could widen the issues between these three, she could buy herself some time.

Meanwhile, the bickering continued. "What, do you feel left out?" Invincible asked. "Want me to start calling you Bas?"

"Absolutely not," Bastet said, getting a bit louder.

"Fine. Government name it is."

"Guys!" Tisiphone pleaded. "Stop."

"Fine," Bastet snapped. "You wanna get to work now? Let's get to work."

"That's not-"

Chevre could hear footsteps approaching her, solid and quick. The next thing she knew, something struck her across the face. Unable to help it, she gasped, her eyes popping open.

"Rise and shine," Bastet said. "How's your brain? Bleeding? I hope so."

Chevre's cheek ached as she squinted up from where she was tied up on the floor. The girl from Two, Bastet, towered over her, crossing their arms. The other two- Invincible and Tisiphone- had also approached to flank Bastet on both sides, Invincible with their lips pursed and Tisiphone with her brows pushed together.

(Chevre had to hope they disapproved of this. She needed them to crack. She needed a way out.)

"God, Bastet, you can't just ask someone if their brain is bleeding," Invincible remarked. "Also, lighten up."

They regarded Chevre then, looking her up and down; Chevre did the same to them. She'd been right that they were the most unharmed of the group; there was barely a scratch on them.

That was when she noticed the small ghost following in their footsteps. Despite the heat in this stuffy building, her entire body went cold.

Oh, god, they got Jude…

Then, to her surprise, One tipped their hat at her. "Call me Vince. They/them," they said. Their tone was so at odds with the short ghost behind them that it took her a moment to realize what they were saying. "And you?"

Chevre eyed them. "...Chevre. She/her."

Vince turned to Bastet. "See? Was that so hard?"

"Are you seriously lecturing me about pronouns right now?" Bastet asked, looking dumbfounded.

"No," Vince said lightly. "I'm reminding you of the importance of hospitality."

Bastet snorted. "Why the fuck would I care about-"

Tisiphone quietly drew closer, breaking their little formation. "How are you feeling?" she asked. "I have some water. If you want it."

Chevre gave her a small nod. Her mouth was almost painfully dry, and tasted like sleep.

(And if the Four girl was willing to pity her, that could be useful later.)

"Hold on," Bastet said. "If you want water, you're going to earn it. We have some questions."

This explained some things. Frankly, she'd been wondering why they hadn't just killed her at the Cornucopia.

Wait, were they stealing her strategies?

"Oh, yeah," Vince said. "Tell us about Nine."

"And Six, and Five," Bastet said. "But let's start with Nine."

"Jem," Chevre said. She wanted them to know their names. "His name is Jem."

"That sounds right," Vince said.

"It is right," Chevre said. "Six is Tomo, and Five is Jest."

"Oh, I remember Tomo," Bastet said. "The one who kept following Mercury like a lost puppy. Or was it the other way around?"

(It was probably both, if Chevre remembered correctly.)

"But Nine," Vince said. "Jem. He's in charge?"

Chevre shrugged. If she saw no issue in cooperating- if the questions gave useless answers- she would cooperate. "He organized the alliance, if that's what you mean."

"But he calls the shots?" Vince pressed.

"It's, ah, more of a team effort," Chevre answered.

"Interesting," Bastet said. "So if he put the group together, why'd he pick you?"

Chevre kept her face still. "I don't know. You'd have to ask him."

"I didn't ask him. I asked you," Bastet said. "Why'd he keep you around so long, huh?"

Vince tilted their head. "I remember your Reapings," they said. "Because Rumi Volunteered, and you just looked so tiny next to him, and I was like… wow. The Volunteer will go far, but his partner won't last three seconds." They regarded her. "But Rumi died so quickly, and you're still here. That's interesting, isn't it?"

Behind them, Tisiphone shifted from foot to foot.

"Must've gotten lucky," Chevre replied.

"Or," Vince continued, "there's something we don't know."

(She knew perfectly well why she was still here. It was part luck, part strategy, and part Career incompetence.)

(She was not going to tell them that.)

"I was friends with Jest. Jem wanted Jest in the alliance, and Jest made sure I got in too," Chevre told them.

"So Five was protecting you," Vince said.

"Until now."

Bastet grinned. It didn't quite reach their eyes.

(When Bastet fought her and Jest yesterday, she had the same look on her face.)

"So we need to watch out for him," Vince said.

Bastet smirked. "If he can still stand."

Chevre changed the subject as panic bubbled up in her stomach. "If I answer the questions, will you let me go?" she asked.

"Now why would we do that?" Bastet replied.

"We let Mercury go," Chevre said.

She glanced at Tisiphone again. The Four girl was avoiding eye contact.

Chevre kept going. "We didn't kill him. Something more dangerous is out there-"

"Mercury could've died from any number of things," Bastet said. "You should've killed him, though. Would've been smarter."

Chevre didn't like that answer.

Vince waved a hand. "We'll consider it," they said, though their tone didn't make Chevre particularly hopeful. "Tiss, let her have some water, will you?"

Tiss obliged. The water was warm, but Chevre was too dehydrated to care. Besides, warm water was more hydrating, especially in this weather. That was what the trainers had said back in the Capitol.

The questioning went on and on after that. Chevre deflected over and over again, trying to look foolish. Like she'd joined this alliance as a walking liability, one who had no control over any planning or decisions, one who had few insights about her allies.

(This was just like home. Once again, Chevre Kanaf-Kaziol was caught in the middle: between her moms' hovering and the reality of her medical condition, between the Jackals gang and the Skinners. She'd spent her whole life navigating the in-between, and she could feel those old instincts rising.)

(So why was she shielding her alliance from the Careers? Her instincts screamed at her to trade her knowledge for her chance at freedom, to stop concealing her talents. The smart move was to try to save herself. She still had cards left to play. She might still have a way out of this.)

(But if she didn't?)

(Did she really want to go down abandoned and traitorous? The way Mercury had?)

(Why couldn't she convince herself she was fine with that if it meant she had a chance?)

(Chevre Kanaf-Kaziol had always thrived in the in-between. She'd prided herself on it. Maybe somehow, after the last few weeks… that was no longer true.)

(So she ignored her old instincts. She could only pray it was the right choice.)

Bastet Avarne, 18

District 2, She/They

1:54 PM

They were getting nowhere. Every answer was vague and led in circles, and Bastet could feel herself losing their temper.

(She hated this girl. She hated her nonresponses and refusal to be useful. They hated her smug little face and her blonde braids and her eyes that darted away to scan for exits every time Bastet turned around. Bastet had hated her ever since they first met on- on that day. It was this girl's fault, really, this girl who had come flying out of nowhere to defend that fucking Nine boy all those days ago. The girl who gave Nine the opening to find a target.)

(The target that should've been them.)

"This is your last chance," Bastet said. "Give us something real, something valuable, or we Will. Have. Problems."

Ten kept herself maddeningly composed. "I've already told you-"

Bastet brought their hand back and struck her square across the face.

"Woah there," Vince said, sounding cautious.

"No," Bastet snapped. "We've gotten nowhere. I'm sick of this stupid game. Go get the whiskey."

Vince raised an eyebrow. "The good whiskey?"

"Of course not."

Vince exhaled and walked off toward the bar, electing not to make a scene for once.

Bastet turned back to Ten. "Information. Now."

Ten winced. "I don't-"

Bastet slammed the butt of her palm into Ten's ear. Ten's head snapped to the side, her eyes squeezing shut.

"Now," Bastet repeated, their palm warm from the strike. They found that she didn't mind the sensation.

"There's nothing else-"

Bastet crouched before her, reaching around to where Ten's hands were bound and closing their fist around one of her fingers. Bastet gave a sharp yank, making a shriek burst from Ten's lips.

Bastet drew back, unable to repress a smile. It was just so easy. Ten's finger was like a twig in her grasp. "Let's try this again," she said.

Ten's eyes were glossy. "I-"

"Bastet," someone interrupted. Tisiphone. "Maybe you could take a break-"

Bastet didn't bother turning around to look at her. "Not when we're finally getting somewhere," they replied. "C'mon, Ten. Tell us about your stupid little boyfriend. You saved his life, didn't you? You care about him?"

Ten stared at her blankly.

Bastet leaned in closer. "Don't tell me he only wanted you in that alliance because of that bruiser you were with," they said. "I'll break another finger."

Ten's eyes widened. "I-"

"Why'd the bruiser wanna ally with you?" Bastet pressed. She kept her voice hushed. "Why would anyone wanna ally with you? You're so… fragile. You're sentimental, too, I can tell. Why would anyone ally with a girl who breaks so fast?"

They could see something new in Ten's blue eyes now. Not despair, though they would've enjoyed that too. Not disgust, or bravado.

It was simpler than that. It was fear.

Finally, something she could work with.

(She liked the way Ten looked at her now. If Ten was afraid, then Bastet was in control.

And Bastet had not been in control for far too long now.)

"Ran out of answers?" Bastet murmured. "Or do you just not wanna admit it?"

Very slowly, she began to reach around Ten's bindings again. As their hand brushed another of Ten's fingers, the girl finally spoke. "I don't know," she blurted out. "I-"

Bastet didn't wait for the rest. She yanked again, enjoying the screech Ten made. The finger broke quicker than Bastet thought it would, which gave them the urge to break another, to see how fragile Ten really was.

Bastet pulled back. A few tears slipped down Ten's cheeks now. "I don't know," she said, her voice trembling. "I- I- said I wanted to ally with them, and they let me in-"

They couldn't resist. With vicious glee, Bastet cracked another finger.

Ten cried out. "Stop," she begged, more tears falling now. "Stop."

But Bastet didn't care what Ten said anymore. She was too drunk on control, too thrilled with the rediscovery of joy. This was even better than killing Three. This was even better than killing Nyx.

(For a few moments, she'd forgotten about-

about-)

"I wanted you to stop," Bastet reminded her. "Remember when you attacked us? Remember when you killed- one of us?"

"We had to," Ten pleaded.

Bastet smiled. "Then I have to do this," they replied, grasping three fingers in their fist and yanking far harder than they needed to. Ten screamed, tucking her chin toward her chest as she cried. Bastet took her chin in their hand and yanked her face up, unwilling to let her hide.

"That's enough!" Tisiphone said. Bastet barely heard her.

(If Ten wasn't going to be useful, then Bastet was going to show her exactly how it felt when she and Nine- when they-)

Bastet dropped her chin and stood up, eyeing Ten's leg. What were the odds the rest of her was as fragile? It seemed likely. She lifted the toe of her boot, rocking their heel back and forth as she picked her target. Then they brought her boot up and around, slamming the heel straight into Ten's kneecap. A crack rang through the saloon, and Ten screamed even louder this time.

"Bastet!" Tisiphone shouted. "That's enough! Stop it!"

Bastet tuned her out. A familiar scarlet glee had filled her vision, and she didn't want it to go away. They turned to the side and found Vince watching, still holding the old whiskey. They took it from them. She pulled a knife from her belt and began to twirl it around her fingers, taking a moment to enjoy Ten's sobs. They took another step toward Ten, and Ten writhed, trying to get away from them.

Unfortunately for Ten, there was nowhere to go.

(Bastet had spent the last year living in their own personal hell. She left Bastet alone. Nyx tortured them with training while her memory relegated Bastet to a permanent second place. And when they finally accomplished their dream, their happiness was immediately robbed from them again. She showed up to shove Bastet out of the spotlight, and then Bastet had to watch… had to see…)

(She thought they'd made their peace with being alone forever. She hadn't. And now they would be, because she was truly gone now.

Bastet would never escape that shadow. Bastet would never be loved again. Bastet would never see her anywhere but their own twisted, bitter memories.)

(They needed someone else to know that pain. They needed Ten to know exactly what she'd done to them. All this bitterness had to go somewhere, and now Bastet had somewhere to put it.)

Really, it was no surprise what happened next.

Invincible Gaultier, 18

District 1, They/Them

2:14 PM

As the interrogation escalated, Vince hustled Tisiphone outside.

"We- we have to stop her," Tisiphone stammered.

"You want to get in between that?" Vince pointed out. "They're a loose cannon, Tiss. There's no telling if she'll turn on you instead, and I don't want you to get hurt."

"But why-" Tisiphone twisted toward the swinging doors, where they could still hear Ten's cries.

"There's no need for this-"

(This was their chance. Time to make good use of it.)

Vince grimaced. "Tiss."

Tisiphone looked back at them. "What?"

"She… she does have a reason, I think," Vince told her. "It's not a good one. I'm not endorsing this. But you're not gonna like it."

Tisiphone's eyes narrowed. They had her full attention. "Did they tell you?"

"Not exactly," Vince replied. "It was… oh, god, are you sure you want to hear this?"

Tisiphone frowned. "I'm tired of people hiding things from me," she stated. "Please, Vince. I- I can't deal with any more lying and… and messing with me. Just tell me."

Vince exhaled as if this was paining them to say. "Okay then," they said. "Back in training, I was talking to Bastet. I was always closer with Aveline, you know? District partners and all that. I noticed things were… off, with the three of you. So I asked Bastet about it."

Tisiphone didn't even blink. "What did you say?"

"I asked them what their intentions with you were," Vince said. Which was sort of true. "I was trying to look out for Aveline, since the poor girl was so head over heels. So I needed to know if she was serious about you."

"...And?"

Vince winced. "I think…" they trailed. "It's never been about you, you know? It's been about Aveline."

They could see Tisiphone struggling to hold a straight face. "What do you mean?"

"That's what Bastet's problem is," they told her. "It's always about Aveline. Everything is and always has been about Aveline. She started going after you where Aveline could see it, and how long did that last? When was the last time they said something nice to you?"

Tisiphone looked away.

(It wasn't even lying, really. Straight lies never worked. Plausibility, though, that always worked. An audience was much more willing to go along with a story when there was truth in it.)

(And Vince wasn't stupid. They'd spent a lot of time with Aveline, and they'd spent time with Bastet. They saw how those two acted. They made an educated guess.

From the way Tisiphone was reacting, there was something here. Perhaps it was even more truthful than Vince had intended.)

"It was before we lost the Cornucopia, wasn't it?" Vince said. "And if I'm remembering this right, wasn't Chevre there when Aveline died? Wasn't she one of the tributes attacking them?"

"I think so," Tisiphone muttered. "Yeah."

"And look at how they've been acting ever since," Vince continued. "The way she talks to you is out of pocket, even for me. And now-" they gestured toward the saloon- "this is too far."

Tisiphone lurched unsteadily from leg to leg. "I'm gonna sit down," she said.

As she lowered herself to the ground, Vince sat next to her, their accumulated ghosts flocking around them. A handful more wandered the streets- Vince had noticed that there were always more ghosts in the town than out in the wilderness. One, a red-haired girl, had a blade protruding from her forehead that made the slashes on the rest of her body look tame. Like many of the ghosts, she looked vaguely familiar. They'd probably studied her Games at some point.

They turned their attention back to Tisiphone. Her head rested against the wall of the saloon, and her eyes were closed. "I'm so tired," she murmured.

That… yeah. Vince could relate to that. They resolved to break into that unopened whiskey tonight.

"I don't know why I keep trusting people," she said. "I… I trusted Brizo, and then… well, you saw that. And now Bastet."

"It's not wrong to want to trust people," Vince said gently.

"I knew better," Tisiphone insisted. "I knew it was a bad idea with Bastet, and I saw that there was something with her and Aveline. I'm not stupid. I saw what happened with the pool, and the "love letter" someone faked, and how they disappeared together at your party… and I let her talk me out of it. I thought- I don't know what I thought." She opened her eyes, gazing straight at Vince. "I keep making the wrong decision."

"Well, it can't be too wrong," Vince said. "Almost half the tributes are gone and you're still here."

"Brizo nearly killed me. You had to save me."

"That's what allies are for," Vince replied.

Tisiphone sighed. "I guess. I just want to stop messing up." She hesitated. "I want my sisters to be wrong about me."

Vince's eyebrows shot up, though they quickly forced them back down. They had to capitalize on this. "Yeah," they said. "I get that."

"You do?"

They chose their words carefully. "My… father. He's not the most… understanding."

"That's awful," she said. "I'm sorry."

Vince waved a hand. "It's fine," they replied. "Your sisters. Older?"

"Younger," Tisiphone admitted. "Even worse."

"I wouldn't know. Only child."

Tisiphone snorted. "Yeah, I know."

Vince put a hand on their chest, mock offended. "Excuse me?"

"I can tell," Tisiphone said, half-smiling.

Maybe Tisiphone was slightly more observant than they'd given her credit for. They dropped their hand. "Fine. You're right."

Another scream interrupted them. Tisiphone's half-smile dropped.

"Look, Tiss," they said, "I'm just glad we're on the same page about this."

Tisiphone frowned. "Is there something we should… do…?"

"I think we bide our time for now," Vince said. "Let's retake the Cornucopia first. After that… well, here's the thing about loose cannons, Tisiphone. They explode eventually." They considered that. "At least, that's what I've been told. I suppose you'd know more about that than me. You've probably been on more boats."

"I don't like going out on the water," Tisiphone said evenly.

"Let's go with that metaphor, then," Vince replied. "Let's just keep an eye out for opportunities. Between the other tributes and the Gamemakers, I think they'll pick the wrong fight eventually. I just hope it won't be with us."

Tisiphone shifted. "And if it is?"

Vince gave her a look. "Then we defend each other," they said. "You and me, Tiss. We've got this."

Tisiphone slowly nodded. "Alright."

"You're okay with that plan?" they asked.

She exhaled. "I think I heard what I need to hear," she replied. "You're right. About all of it."

They reached out and gave her shoulder a tentative pat. "I'm sorry I had to say it," they told her.

She gave them a strained smile. "Could you give me a few minutes? I… I just need to think."

"For sure," they said. "I'll check in on the others."

"Probably good," she mumbled.

Vince stood, dusting off their pants. Tisiphone looked away as they turned their back to her and walked back into the saloon.

(They had to work to keep the smile off their face. They'd done it- Tisiphone had flipped. Vince was no longer the third wheel. When the chance to get rid of Bastet arrived, Tisiphone would stand with them.

Not too shabby for an afternoon's work.)

Patrek Torres, 15

District 11, He/Him

4:09 PM

Patrek couldn't shake the dread overtaking him.

(Mendi killed Tiernan. Mendi had done that to Tiernan. What weapon had she used, to make his throat look like that? As far as he knew, she'd never had one. She'd have used it against Tiernan, and Three, right? Surely she would've said something by now if she had a weapon. But this was Mendi, so maybe she would've said nothing. She killed Tiernan and said nothing of it for a week. That was ridiculous, right? That was a crazy thing to hide from someone you'd spent a straight week with? Was that how Mendi treated all her allies- she hid things from them and then went for the throat?

He wondered what else she was hiding from him. She barely spoke; it would be easy to hide things from him by simply not talking. There had to be details she wasn't mentioning, like what "helping" Bryony meant, and why Tiernan would've been so confused. Maybe she wasn't helping Bryony at all; maybe Tiernan was right all along. He was always calmer, more reasonable, while Mendi was constantly on the brink of an outburst or a tantrum. Why wouldn't Patrek trust Tiernan's words over Mendi's? Tiernan had always been so harmless. There was no world where Patrek could see Tiernan attacking first. And if Tiernan attacked first, where was the wound? The only mark on Mendi that even came close to rivaling Tiernan's throat was the stab wound in her shoulder, which came from Three, not Tiernan. Otherwise, Mendi was barely hurt. So how could that make sense? How could Tiernan have done that? He could see Mendi lashing out, absolutely- he'd seen her do so multiple times by now- but Tiernan starting a fight? No. Tiernan doing anything to make Mendi feel the need to do that to him? No. It didn't make sense. It didn't make sense.)

He'd been both avoiding her and trying not to stare at her all day. He thought he did an okay job at staying calm last night, when she confessed about Tiernan, but he could never be sure how she'd interpret things. Patrek just had to hope she wasn't catching on to what he was thinking.

(Because he couldn't stop thinking. Every time he tried to reassure himself that everything was fine, he remembered where he was. He was Reaped for the Hunger Games, and now he was sitting in an arena. The tributes were dwindling by the day- they were almost halfway now, if he was counting right. There was no telling when they'd see another tribute like Three; there was no telling how much longer this alliance would last. Every alliance had to dissolve eventually, right? They always turned on each other in the end. Mendi had already shown she was willing to turn on her allies- how long until she did it again? Patrek couldn't let that happen. He couldn't let himself be another ghost on Mendi's trail.)

A flash of movement caught his eye- Mendi, sitting in their camp in the brush by the river. He turned his head toward Mendi, but she wasn't looking at him. Instead, she was frowning, looking down at her shoulder. The movement had been her lifting her hand to scratch the wound.

"Don't touch it," Patrek said.

Mendi's eyes flicked up toward him. She hesitated.

"It'll get infected," he said.

"It's fine," she muttered.

"Maybe we should clean it again," Patrek said, reaching for the bottle of disinfectant they'd been sponsored.

Mendi shook her head, then returned to frowning at her shoulder.

(What was she looking at? She hadn't let Patrek see. It had been days now since she'd been struck by Three, and she still wouldn't let him see the wound. She'd barely let him clean it, either- they had so much disinfectant left. He eyed the dirt on her cheek, beneath her nails. If she was touching the wound with that, and not letting it be cleaned, how could they be sure it wasn't infected already?)

(It had to be. Patrek, of all people, knew how quickly sickness spread. He'd seen disease overtake his father, leaving him so bedridden he couldn't even say goodbye before Patrek was shipped to the Capitol. He'd seen disease wither his grandfather into nothing. He'd seen his sister Lucia cave in on herself, eight years old, her eyes unseeing and her cheeks flushed with fever.)

(Was it hotter today? Was the sun beating down harder than normal? It felt warmer.)

(It was only a matter of time. Disease would take Mendi. Disease took everyone in the end. That was why he had to win. He had to make it back to his dad before it was too late. He had to get the winnings and buy his medicine. He would do good. He would do what he had to do, like he did with Three, and he wouldn't become a monster.)

(Not like her. Not like what she'd done to Tiernan.)

"Mendi," he said, his voice quiet. Firm. "Let me see it."

"It's fine," she mumbled again.

"If you have nothing to hide," he said, "let me see it."

She looked back at him again, her brows starting to furrow. "What?"

"If you want me to believe you, you can't hide it from me," Patrek said.

There was a long pause. Mendi stiffened, and Patrek knew that she knew he wasn't just talking about the wound now.

"I'm not hiding it," she eventually replied.

"Just show me," he said evenly.

She narrowed her eyes.

(He could see it now. The infection would overtake her just like Lucia. Then it would do what diseases did and spread, and overtake Patrek, too, leaving him to fade away until some mutt or tribute came to finish him off.

If she didn't show him the wound, it was infected. She was as good as dead already. And he had to get home in the end; if he did this now, he was sparing her the suffering he'd seen his family members go through. He was doing the right thing. For everyone.)

Her response came in a whisper. "You don't believe me."

No. He didn't.

(Maybe he never had.)

He jerked his hand toward Three's shortsword.

Mendi's posture straightened. "What are you doing?"

(What he had to do.)

His hand closed around the handle. Mendi started to back away, kicking against the dirt to push herself away from him. As he pulled the sword out, she rose into a crouch, her dark eyes wide.

"Don't," she said.

(He had no other choice.)

He lunged toward her just as she threw herself to the side, narrowly avoiding the blade. He swung it at her twice more in quick succession, the second swing slashing into her arm.

Mendi screeched as blood poured down her arm. Meanwhile, Patrek brought the sword back, trying to figure out where to strike next- he needed a clear shot at her torso- but Mendi was faster. She threw herself toward him in a move so reckless Patrek hadn't even begun to expect it. Caught off guard, he yanked his sword up, nicking her cheek.

Mendi screamed again. She went for his hands, grabbing at his fingers and pulling them back. When that didn't work, she lowered her head and bit him. Patrek cried out as her teeth broke skin, kicking at her shins. A few kicks managed to dislodge her from his hand, but she was too close to hit with the sword. He kicked her again, trying to get her back within the sword's reach, but instead she dove toward him, hands outstretched.

They hit the ground. He dropped the sword as he tried to shove Mendi off him, but every time he seemed to make progress she started fighting back harder. He punched her wounded shoulder, making her scream. She retaliated with a swipe at his face, her nails tearing into his nose.

His eyes started to water at the sting. And then she slashed at those, too. He cried out as her nails dug into his eyelids and began swinging at her blindly, trying anything to get her off. His fists, his nails, his elbows, his knees- none of it worked.

Then her nails started to rip into his throat.

He screamed, visions of Tiernan's torn throat plaguing him. That couldn't be him. He couldn't join Tiernan, he couldn't die here, he had to live survive go home do the right thing save his father save himself- no, please-

It was getting harder to breathe as Mendi's fingers dug into his throat. He punched at her as hard as he could, but each punch only bought him a few seconds, and he needed all of those seconds to breathe. She slashed at his neck again, and he tried to hit her too, but he couldn't see her, the world was so blurry and he couldn't breathe and he was panicking, no, no, not like this, please-

(He couldn't see Lucia yet- he couldn't let his mom lose another child-)

He started to choke on something metallic and hot. He couldn't get enough air in. He couldn't feel Mendi's body against his fists; only sticky warmth on his throat.

(N-no- he had t-to go h-home-)

Static crept in at the edges of the flashes of vision he had left. A glimpse of dark, wild curls. A flash of a gleaming eye.

His lungs burned. His head ached. He couldn't feel his throat anymore.

(He didn't want to die. He didn't want to wither and decay, to rot until there was nothing left of him but bones and dust.)

(But Patrek Torres had no other choice.)

13th: patrek torres, d11 (killed by mendi navar)

kills:

aveline: 1
invincible: 1
bastet: 1
mercury: 1
tisiphone: 2
brizo: 1
aescelin: 1
jem: 1
patrek: 1
mendi: 2

alliances:

invincible, bastet, tisiphone (& chevre)
jest, tomo, jem
chase & fleur
valentina & aescelin
mendi

featured ghosts:

mercury vidovic, d2, fool's gold (killed by aescelin ibbara-ixtal)
jude finnegan, d8, fool's gold (killed by invincible gaultier)
sadie wilson, d2, eyeing the throne (killed by caligula van zandt)

thank you to arctos for submitting patrek! he was so fun and silly and i enjoyed destroying his mental. his quiet paranoia was a fun contrast to some of the bigger crazier presences in this group and i really enjoyed having a quiet lil descent into chaos. i will miss him lots

hope u guys enjoyed this chap! i sure felt insane writing it. thank u goldie for betaing aaaaaand i will see you guys next time for day 9! an extra fun chapter!

rb