Author's Note

I do not own the Hunger Games.

Ares Gilmore, 15

Iridescence hadn't slept.

She should, after yesterday. Even now she looked woozy, which was probably just as much exhaustion as it was lingering effects of the seizure.

But she wouldn't. Every time Ares saw her relax, she would jolt back up again, her eyes snapping open. Her hair fluttered and tangled around her face.

"You should rest," Ares told her, resting his hand over hers.

"I can't," she replied.

"I'll keep watch. You don't need to force yourself through this."

"What if something happens?"

"Then I'll wake you up, like I did in the arena. You need to sleep."

She glanced around the room. "Where's Phoenix?"

"In her room, with Vivaldi, remember?"

She frowned. "With Vivaldi?"

"He's sleeping on the floor, like last time," Ares said.

Iridescence relaxed. "Oh." She sat up again. "But there could be mutts–"

"There aren't. Get some sleep. I'll keep an eye on them too."

"Don't wander too far," Iridescence mumbled as she lay back.

"I'll try not to." Ares waited until she closed her eyes to open his comm and check the online chatter. Yesterday there had been plenty about the hospital, much of it missing their involvement but discussing the shooting and the issues with the electronics. Today, all of that was gone, replaced by recordings from the ongoing Hunger Games. Ares sighed, flicking through the posts, but there was almost nothing of the hospital attack. He rolled his eyes and shut the comm off.

Iridescence shifted, her eyes fluttering, but she seemed to be asleep. Ares waited until she stilled before sliding to his feet.

He tiptoed through to Phoenix's door and nudged it open, peering through the crack. Vivaldi was curled up on a heap of cushions, while Phoenix was twisted into her sheets, her hair fanned out around her face.

Ares nodded and closed the door again, returning to Iridescence in the main room.

She should still be in hospital. As should he. His arm was still burning with pain, sending sparks through him with every move he made. He pressed his hand over it, hoping the pressure might relieve some of the pain, but it did little.

It wouldn't be safe to go back to the hospital, nor to Snow's Side Hospital. The doctor had already tried to kill them, and who knew if any others there were working with him?

Ares groaned and flexed the fingers of his injured arm. Even that was painful. He rolled his shoulder and clutched his arm to his chest, rocking on the spot.

It felt strange, having so much on them. When he was young, he just followed the twins around and parroted whatever they believed. Now he was partially repainted for keeping their little group alive through all this and it felt like a rock on his shoulders.

Ares flopped back into his chair and prepared for a long morning keeping watch.

Outside, splatters of rain pattered against the glass.

Vivaldi Perlman, 16

He was getting used to sleeping on Phoenix's bedroom floor, though he might still have preferred sleeping in Thorin's arms. Still, it was warm and comfortable enough on her rug, and she'd dug out a blanket and pillow for him.

Vivaldi felt safe here.

Somehow, he never felt safe at his own house. He was always sleeping with his eyes and ears open, waiting for the door to fly open or the window to break. Every noise outside made him jump, and the sight of his instruments just made him sad, given his parents' insistence that he write music inspired by his experience in the arena to sell. He could find some comfort in his art when he was outside, but in his home he never felt comfortable enough to relax and invent.

It was different when he was with Phoenix.

Phoenix somehow always knew what to do in an emergency. She understood what he'd been through; she knew how to survive.

Vivaldi knew how to garden. He'd been teaching himself since the Games. It was something calming and useful that he could work on. So far, he had many young vegetable plants slowly growing in his new little greenhouse at home.

But at the end of the day, gardening wouldn't protect him. It wouldn't tell him how to escape a runaway train, or navigate woodland, nor how to handle monsters trying to hunt them down in the dark.

All it would do was keep him calm and happy.

Phoenix stirred above him, rising from the bed. Her hair was a mess around her, and her eyes red-rimmed, as though she'd been crying all night.

"You good?" asked Vivaldi.

She shook her head. "Bad dreams." She rubbed her eyes. "He's right, isn't he?"

"Who?"

"Zephyr."

Chills ran up his spine. He'd never known what to think of Zephyr and his strange abilities, nor the odd things he said. In many ways he trusted the boy, but sometimes his words were terrifying.

"Something's out there, waiting." Phoenix tugged her curtain aside and peered out. "It's been waiting for a long time, I think. And now it's been fed enough blood to wake up."

"You sound terrifyingly like Zephyr."

She shook her head. "I had a… weird dream." She swung her legs from the bed. "It's probably nothing. Just… stress. Come on, you want breakfast?"

Vivaldi's stomach rumbled at the thought. "Oh, yes. If you would."

Phoenix grabbed her dressing gown and pulled it on before heading from her room. Vivaldi trailed behind. She walked with confidence, even after the nightmare she must have had, and was three years younger than him.

Sometimes he felt so uncomfortable in his own skin. He could have confidence when he made his art, but then he needed to display it and talk about it and everyone would be looking at him. He wanted to throw up every time.

He bet Phoenix could stand and talk about things.

Iridescence and Ares were asleep in the main room, curled into each other, their arms and hands intertwined. Phoenix pressed a finger to her lips as she began to dig bread from the container.

Outside, there was still rain falling.

Vivaldi pulled the curtains closed again.