The rain finally stopped on the fifth day. It didn't taper off gradually—it just ended, as suddenly as it had started. One moment the steady, relentless downpour was drumming against the rocks, and the next, the world was quiet except for the occasional drip of water sliding from the cave's overhang.

Rye stared out at the soggy forest, watching the last remnants of rain slither down the leaves. The ground was thick with mud, and water still pooled in the shallow dips of the forest floor. Everything was damp and grey, but the air smelled sharp and clean.

The relief he should have felt didn't come. Instead, a slow, gnawing dread crept into his chest.

Because Sadie was sick. Really sick.

It had started the morning before—the faint rasp in her breathing, the slight hitch in her chest whenever she inhaled too sharply. She had been pale and tired all day, but she smiled at him when he asked, too reassuring, too quick to brush it off. But by the time the rain stopped, she wasn't fooling him anymore.

She was burning up. Her cheeks were flushed with fever, and there was a constant dampness at her temples. The heat in her skin didn't go away, no matter how often he pressed a damp scrap of cloth to her forehead. Her cough was shallow at first, but as the day stretched on, it grew deeper, harsher, rattling low in her chest.

She kept trying to hide it. She would turn her face away when she coughed, her shoulders trembling faintly as she stifled the sound. But every time she failed to hold it in, it tore out of her throat in a violent, scraping fit that left her gasping.

"Hey," Rye murmured softly, his voice still hoarse from his own fever. His hand found her face, gently cupping her cheek. "Stop doing that."

Her bloodshot eyes fluttered open slightly, and she gave him a faint, confused look. "Doing what?" she rasped.

"Trying to be all tough and sneaky about it," he muttered, his thumb brushing lightly over the fevered skin of her cheekbone. "You're not fooling me."

Her lips twitched into a weak smirk. "I'm not sneaky?"

"Not even a little," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She tried to smile again, but the moment she inhaled, she coughed sharply into her hand. Rye's arms tightened around her, pulling her closer as her whole body shook with the force of it. She clung weakly to his shirt, her fingers trembling faintly. He rubbed slow, steady circles into her back, pressing his lips to her temple.

"Just breathe," he murmured softly against her hair. "I've got you."

The fit eased after a long moment, but when she finally sagged against him, she was trembling faintly, her breath wheezing shallowly against his chest.

She was getting worse. And so was he.

The streaks of red infection had climbed further up his leg, hot and angry. The swelling was worse, and he could barely put any weight on it anymore. His whole body felt heavy with fever, and he was constantly shivering with chills.

The cave had become too quiet by the time night fell. The rain was gone, and with it, the steady, dull noise they had clung to. Without it, the silence was suffocating.

That night, they stayed wrapped together in the sleeping bag, pressed so close that he could feel the shallow flutter of her breathing against his chest. Every now and then, she would let out a faint cough in her sleep, and his arms would tighten slightly around her.

They didn't say anything when the anthem started playing, but both of their eyes flickered toward the mouth of the cave, watching the Capitol seal shimmer in the sky.

Then Thresh's face appeared.

Sadie let out a small, strangled gasp, her fingers tightening slightly against his chest. Rye felt his stomach twist painfully as he stared at the image of the boy from District 11.

Neither of them spoke. They just watched as Thresh's face slowly faded into the dark, his features dissolving into nothing but a memory.

When the anthem ended, the sky went black again. No more faces. No more deaths that night.

Only three of them left now. Cato, Clove, The Girl from 5.

And then it would be over.

Sadie's fingers clutched at Rye's shirt, and he pressed a lingering kiss to the crown of her head. Neither of them said it out loud, but they were both thinking the same thing.

Three left.

And then, maybe, they could finally go home.

Rye had lost track of how long they had been in the cave. Days blurred together, broken only by brief spells of fitful sleep and the painful moments they spent awake. Fever and exhaustion clung to them both, dragging them down until even keeping their eyes open felt like too much effort.

The cave, once a place of safety, had started to feel like a tomb. Stale and suffocating. Rye couldn't remember the last time they had seen the sun, the last time either of them had even left the shelter of the rocks. He kept trying to stay awake—to watch over her, to keep her safe—but his body was heavy, his head fogged with fever. His limbs ached and shook, and his infected leg throbbed with a deep, gnawing pain that never let up.

And Sadie... she was barely moving now.

She lay curled against his chest, shivering violently despite the heat pouring off her skin. Her breathing was shallow, rasping faintly, every inhale a struggle. The faint coughs she had tried to stifle before were now deep and wracking, shaking her frail body. Every time one tore through her chest, Rye could feel it against him, the way her slender frame trembled with the force of it.

He pressed his lips to her temple, barely breathing himself.

We're going to die in here.

He didn't want to think it, but he did. For the first time since the Games had started, he truly believed it. They had stayed hidden for too long, grown too weak, too sick. No matter how hard he held her, he couldn't keep her warm. No matter how much he whispered reassurances into her hair, he couldn't steady her breathing. And he sure as hell couldn't fight for them both like this.

But then, as if Haymitch had heard his silent plea, the faint sound of a silver parachute floated down from the sky, the metallic clink of its landing barely audible against the damp ground.

At first, Rye thought he was imagining it. Hallucinating. The fever had made him lightheaded enough that he wasn't entirely sure if it was real.

But Sadie stirred weakly against him. She heard it too.

For a moment, she didn't move. Her head was heavy against his chest, her breath labored and slow. Then, without a word, she sluggishly shifted, pushing herself up with shaking arms.

"Wait—" Rye rasped, but she was already crawling toward the mouth of the cave, her movements clumsy and sluggish, her arms trembling with the effort.

She was barely strong enough to pull herself forward, but somehow, she made it. She dragged the parachute into the cave and collapsed heavily onto her side, breathing hard.

Rye forced himself up, his hands trembling slightly as he reached for the silver bundle. His heart clenched at the sight of the contents.

A small bottle of antibiotics. A roll of bandages. And two rolls of bread.

Relief hit him so hard he almost laughed.

But before he could reach for anything, Sadie was already fumbling with the bottle, her hands shaking violently as she tried to twist the cap off to give to him.

"Stop," Rye croaked weakly, catching her wrist.

Her fevered eyes flashed with confusion, narrowing slightly. "You need these," she rasped, her voice barely a whisper.

"No," he shot back, his fingers tightening slightly around her wrist. "You're taking them."

She stared at him for a moment, blinking sluggishly, not comprehending. "You're worse," she slurred faintly, tugging her hand free and trying to unscrew the bottle again.

"Sadie—"

"You're—worse," she repeated more firmly, though her voice was strained and raw. She finally managed to pop the cap off and tried to shake a pill into his palm, but Rye grabbed her wrist again, his grip weak but insistent.

"Stop," he rasped, his voice breaking slightly. "You need it."

Her eyes snapped up to his, feverish and furious. "You can barely move."

"Antibiotics won't fix my leg," he shot back, his voice raw. "It's too far gone. They're not gonna make me walk again." His voice cracked slightly, and he shook his head. "But they will fix your lungs."

Her face crumpled slightly, her fever-bright eyes glistening with weak, angry tears.

"Please," he whispered, his voice barely audible. His trembling fingers brushed the hair from her face, his palm cupping her flushed cheek. "Please, Sadie."

Her breath caught sharply in her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut, her fingers trembling against the pill bottle.

For a moment, she didn't move. She just stayed there, breathing raggedly, her chest rising and falling in shallow, wheezing gasps.

Then, finally, she gave in.

Her hand shook violently as she fumbled a pill into her palm and brought it to her lips. She downed it with a trembling hand, forcing herself to swallow.

Rye sagged slightly with relief, his forehead falling against hers. He exhaled softly, his breath warm and shaky against her skin.

But when she pulled back, she shoved one of the bread rolls into his chest, her eyes still burning with annoyance.

"Eat it," she croaked, glaring weakly at him.

He blinked at the roll, confused, but she gave him a faint shove.

"You're not getting better," she rasped, her voice shaking slightly with exhaustion. "You can't fight like this, you can't—" Her voice caught slightly, her throat raw. "You have to be strong enough for us. So you're eating it."

Rye stared at her for a moment, his heart clenching sharply at the look in her eyes.

Her face was pale and slick with sweat, her eyes bloodshot and fevered, but they were steady. Fierce. Defiant.

And then she shoved the extra roll into his chest with a shaky hand.

"Both of them," she muttered, her voice rasping but firm.

He let out a weak, breathless laugh, but he didn't argue. His throat tightened slightly as he tore into the first roll, swallowing hungrily despite the lump of emotion lodged in his throat. He ate quickly, finishing one, then the other, just to satisfy her.

She watched him with narrowed, stubborn eyes the whole time.

When he finished, she slumped against him again, too tired to hold herself up. He pressed his lips to the crown of her head, closing his eyes and feeling her warm breath ghost weakly against his chest.

They were still broken. Still weak and bleeding and barely alive.

But she had taken the antibiotics.

And maybe, just maybe, they still had a chance.

The sun was warm on Rye's face, the first real warmth he had felt in weeks. His eyes were closed, head tilted back slightly, trying to savor the rare moment of comfort. The sunlight wasn't much—barely more than a weak, late-summer glow—but it was enough to ease the constant chill that had settled into his bones from his fever that still lingered.

He could still feel the ache in his leg, a dull throb beneath the hastily wrapped bandages, but he tried to push it to the back of his mind. Don't think about it. Instead, he focused on the way the sun warmed his skin, the way the light breeze brushed through his hair. It was the closest thing to peace he had felt in days.

Sadie had all but dragged him out here.

He could still hear her voice, bossy and stubborn, as she knelt beside him that morning, hands braced on her hips, her eyes narrowed with determination. She was still thin, still too pale, but there was color in her cheeks again, and her eyes were sharp with the familiar glint of defiance.

"You need some sun," she had announced with a huff, already reaching for his arm. "I swear you're going to waste away into some cave goblin if you stay in there."

He had grumbled weakly, more out of habit than actual protest, but she was already half-hauling him outside, ignoring his mumbled complaints.

"Sit here," she had ordered, easing him down just by the cave entrance. "I'll be back soon. And don't move." She had jabbed her finger at him in warning, eyes flashing. "I mean it, Rye."

He had only managed a faint, teasing smirk in response. "You gonna yell at me to stay, then leave me unsupervised?"

Her narrowed eyes had softened slightly, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She leaned down and kissed him softly before turning and disappearing into the woods.

That had been nearly an hour ago.

Now, Rye sat in the sun, his back resting against the rough rock of the cave wall, the warmth lulling him into a sleepy daze. For a brief moment, it almost felt safe. Like they were back home, sprawled out in the field behind the bakery. For the first time since the Games started, he allowed himself to imagine the feeling of home—fresh bread cooling on the windowsill, the distant laughter of kids playing near the square, the sound of Sadie's voice humming softly while she worked.

His eyelids grew heavier, and for just a moment, he let them fall shut.

Then the cannon fired.

Rye's eyes snapped open.

His heart lurched violently in his chest, his blood going cold.

Sadie.

His stomach twisted so hard he thought he might be sick. He lurched forward, the pain in his leg tearing through him instantly, but he shoved it aside, barely registering it. His hands braced against the rocky wall of the cave as he dragged himself upward, biting back a broken gasp as his weight shifted onto his injured ankle.

The world tilted slightly, the edges blurring with pain and fever, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself up.

His breath caught, and he stared out into the trees, eyes wide and frantic, searching.

"Sadie!" he rasped, his voice hoarse and raw from disuse.

He didn't know if he should call out her name—if it would give him away. But he didn't care. His voice cracked with desperation, and he limped a few steps forward, swaying slightly with the effort.

Then he saw her.

She came tearing through the underbrush, her hair loose and wild around her face, eyes wide with terror. She was running full-speed, reckless and panicked, not even bothering to keep low or quiet. Her eyes were locked on him, chest heaving, face pale with fear.

Rye barely had time to process the look on her face before she slammed into him.

Her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, nearly knocking him off balance. Her body shook violently against him, her hands clutching at his back, knuckles white with the force of it.

"Oh god," she choked out against his chest, her voice breaking. "I thought it was you—I thought—" Her voice hitched on a broken sob. "I thought you were gone."

Rye exhaled sharply, wrapping his arms around her trembling frame. His hand slid into her hair, cradling the back of her head as he pressed her against him. His own body sagged slightly with relief, legs shaking from the exertion, but he didn't care.

"Hey, hey," he rasped weakly, his voice still rough with panic, his chest tight. "I'm okay. I'm right here."

Her hands fisted in the back of his shirt, clinging to him, her whole body trembling violently against his.

For a long moment, he just held her, burying his face in her hair, breathing in the familiar, faint scent of her. His arms tightened around her, as if the sheer force of holding her close could somehow keep her safe.

Her breath hitched sharply, her fingers clenching tighter into the fabric of his shirt.

Finally, her grip loosened slightly, and she pulled back just enough to look up at him. Her eyes were wet, red-rimmed with tears, her face pale and drawn.

"I thought it was you," she whispered again, her voice small and broken.

He shook his head faintly, brushing his thumb softly over her cheek, trying to soothe her.

"I'm okay," he murmured again, leaning down to press his forehead against hers. "I'm right here."

But then, over her shoulder, he saw it.

Beyond the trees, The girl from district five's body was being lifted from the ground, her slender limbs dangling limply as the hovercraft carried her away.

Rye's stomach plummeted.

His arms tightened slightly around Sadie, holding her closer.

The girl from five had been clever. Quiet. Careful. Her death meant only one thing: Cato and Clove had to be nearby.

Rye's eyes stayed locked on the trees, scanning for any flicker of movement, any shadow or flash of steel.

"Sadie," he murmured quietly, tightening his hold on her, trying to keep his voice steady. "We have to get back inside. Now."

She must have heard the sudden tension in his voice, because she instantly went rigid in his arms. She slowly turned her head, following his gaze toward the trees.

Her body tensed sharply.

Without another word, she grabbed his hand, fingers tightening around his, and they quickly, quietly, slipped back toward the cave, moving as fast as Rye could manage.

As they reached the entrance, Sadie slipped behind him slightly, eyes wide and watchful, covering him instinctively.

They didn't speak, didn't breathe until they were back inside. Only once they were safely tucked into the shadows did they let out their shaky, uneven breaths.

Sadie turned toward him, her fingers still gripping his shirt tightly. Her breath was fast and uneven, her eyes still wide with fear.

Rye brushed the damp hair back from her face, leaning his forehead against hers. His hands were trembling slightly as he held her, but he didn't let go.

"Still here," he whispered, voice hoarse. "I'm still here."

Sadie closed her eyes and clung to him, and neither of them dared to let go.