Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

✩ ➵ ✩

"𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟔𝟖𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬."

ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʀᴇɴᴀ

terrain: swamp

[flooded arena with tall trees and constant mist/fog. running is extremely difficult due to having to wade through the water, so high ground is your friend. the cornucopia lies at the bottom of a large sinkhole that is only accessible by a single staircase or by sliding down the sides. the walls of the pit are extremely steep and have been lined with sharp rocks so even slipping could be fatal.]

ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀɪʙᴜᴛᴇꜱ

DISTRICT 1:

LUXURY

adoration clearstone and jasper underwood

DISTRICT 2:

MASONRY

carmel st. james and pluto cromwell

DISTRICT 3:

TECHNOLOGY

mackenzie ledger and acer sterling

DISTRICT 4:

FISHING

freyr beckett and caspian hayes 

DISTRICT 5:

POWER

lavender meadows and tripp windward

DISTRICT 6:

TRANSPORTATION

amalie october and bentley maddens

DISTRICT 7: 

LUMBER

ebony silver and cooper yarrow

DISTRICT 8:

TEXTILES

elara rosewood and tanner crawford

DISTRICT 9:

GRAIN

jasmine finch and reuben singh

DISTRICT 10:

LIVESTOCK

wren lennox and colby whitlock

DISTRICT 11:

AGRICULTURE

evangeline aetos and thistle beaumont

DISTRICT 12:

MINING

raven d'angelo and jackson remington

ᴛʜᴇ ᴠɪᴄᴛᴏʀ

𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐚 s̶n̶o̶w̶ 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐝

ᴛʜᴇ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ

𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐬

ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀʀᴇʀ

𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐚 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐝

ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇɴᴛᴏʀ

𝐰𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐬

ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛʏʟɪꜱᴛ

𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐚

ᴛʜᴇ ᴇꜱᴄᴏʀᴛ

𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐨

may the odds be ever in your favour.

Chapter Text

RUN. DON'T STOP RUNNING.  If you stop, they will catch you.

Elara sprinted through the labyrinth she called home at speeds she knew she'd be scolded for. Every pristine white wall glared at her antics as she slid across the hardwood floors in her matching white socks. She quite enjoyed those socks. They were the kind with the frills adorning the tops, stopping half way up her shin. Excellent choice. She didn't pick out the outfit. Her clothes were simply ready for her when she awoke, folded neatly atop her dresser. Every day without fail.

Compared to the rest of the Capitol, or as much as she could see from her window and on the large television set in the front room, her outfits were boring. The Front Room. What a funny name for the room that was most definitely at the back of the house. The front door felt a lifetime away from the couch. Why would they call it that?

Sliding a little too far, Elara reached out a hand to stop herself, catching her balance before she committed the worst of sins and put her fingers on the walls. The walls were off limits, especially since they were so sterile and she had a very unnatural knack for getting her hands dirty. Everyone scolded her for it. Gramps and her tutors and the few employees who were actually aware of her existence. She was almost positive she would be a great surprise to some of them, people like the extra cooks and cleaners who would suddenly appear.

Typically, Gramps hired people who were really good at keeping secrets. Some of them wouldn't even speak to her. For the twelve years she'd been on the Earth, Elara hadn't been exposed to the entirety of Panem or even every person within the vast walls of her house. If Gramps didn't like the worker anymore, they'd be gone the next day. She never saw the same face twice, not after they'd been fired.

What had she been thinking about?

Right! Her boring outfits. Dressed in the simplest of frocks, usually white, but she was lucky enough to have some pretty colors mixed within the bunch. Today, she'd been excited to awake to a pink dress, soft and flowy but very mature. And not a silly outlandish pink, like raspberry – Gramps didn't like that one – but a pale gentle pink. Lighter than the roses in the garden, more of a cherry blossom.

He was funny about colors. The ones she wore, specifically. He didn't think the darker colors were fitting, something she didn't mind so much. She was much better fitted in the pastels. He approved of white, to no one's surprise, sage green and lavender. Under no circumstances, however, was she to wear gray. He said it wasn't right, not pure enough, downright unmemorable and absolutely not fit for a girl like her. Oh, well, she'd always thought. There are plenty of other colors, much nicer ones. One's that people wouldn't forget.

Skidding past her Gramps' room, she slid to a halt, her silent steps backtracking and moving her to peek her head through the door. He wasn't there. He didn't spend his time in his room. Not like she so often did. Due to this fact, his room was much tidier than hers. The floor was empty, not a stray shoe or loose sock in sight, though she'd suspect her room was identical, since the maid would have collected the laundry by that point.

His large bed remained grand and spick and span, positioned in the center of the wall like some kind of statement piece. His room was rather boring too. There was a disappointing lack of Capitol rainbow all over the house. Everything he'd picked out, long before Elara was born, had been very responsible. He hadn't changed it much since she'd been around.

Though his house lacked the excitement of the Capitol, the flash of an out of place color caught her attention through the mirror's reflection. On the opposite side of the room, Gramps had a suit, freshly pressed and hanging from a rack, ready for him to change into for whatever plans he had in a matter of hours. The plans she would be, inevitably, left out of. It was a deep navy blue, similar to the color of the sky when the sun sets but it's not exactly nighttime yet. She wanted to move closer, to inspect the tiny beautiful patterns weaved into the fabric that she knew would be there, but she was 'being chased'. She had to keep moving.

Skipping from the room, honey blonde braids swinging with each jump, Elara moved further, turning the corner and faltering outside the shut door. Throughout the house, there were a few doors Elara was forbidden from entering. Some were off limits for health reasons – Gramps had told her all about the security he had to keep in place to ensure they were safe. Some were off limits for work reasons. Like the meeting room. The tall, stupid, spruce plank of wood before her was another example. It taunted her every time she passed.

It wasn't that she wanted to upset him; she admired him. She wanted to do what he did one day. Holding power was no easy feat, but she was a Snow. Snow always lands on top, he'd always said.

But the door had been shut every time she'd passed. Gramps entered it without her near and exited just the same. She'd never even gotten a chance to see what it looked like. Surely, if she was a Snow, who would one day take his place, if she ever became an actual Capitol citizen, she could take a look. Just one.

Her little hand closed round the brass doorknob and turned, pushing it forward very slowly. The room, underwhelmingly, was empty. Not only of people but of secrets and excitement. The walls, parallel to each other, were covered in books. All kinds. If she hadn't been in a rush, she'd have stopped to browse, maybe even take one to read in her free time... which was all the time outside of her tutoring hours. In the center of the room, excessively organized and large in size, was a desk. There was a place for everything on its surface and every object had its place. Perfect, just how he needed it.

Elara crept a little further into the room, climbing onto the large armchair he had positioned at it and rested her elbows on the table. She mimicked a dramatic wave of her hand, dismissing an invisible worker before, with as much defiance as she could muster, she flicked the pen out of place beside the rather scary looking letter opener. Her brief giggle died as she realized what a ridiculous act it was, how it would benefit no one, and her hands fumbled to return it to its original position.

Even though the room was bare, it was nice being somewhere different. She typically had a continuous cycle between four rooms of the mansion, so sitting with her back to the two matching windows that she'd never once felt the sun through was a gift in and of itself. She'd spent far too much time in The Front Room with Gramps after the annual Hunger Games... Her stomach turned at the thought of them.

The Victor that year was a blonde girl from District 1. A career, she recalled. She was beautiful, Elara had pointed out as such when Gramps had ordered she join his side and watch. She knew it was no use protesting. She'd tried. Told him about her bellyache and the way her eyes stung but he shook his head with a good natured sigh. "You'll grow to love it." A repetitive rotation of the same argument was a pointless battle. They both had much bigger things to worry about, so, without anything more than a resigned sigh, she'd taken her place on the couch on Reaping Day, and watched as name after name was called to face whatever horrors they had awaiting for them.

That year, the pretty blonde girl had raised a hand, calmer than anyone else ever looked when they were chosen, and said very steadily, "I volunteer as tribute."

"She's pretty." She commented, watching the screen as the girl climbed the steps to the stage, a calm smile on her face.

"Being pretty won't help her in the arena, Little Lark." Gramps told her, matter-of-factly. "Beautiful can only take you so far."

Little Lark. She wasn't sure when he'd first given her the name. It seemed silly for a long while. A lark was a songbird. As far as she was aware, Gramps didn't like songbirds. Did it mean he didn't like her? She wasn't entirely sure until he'd noted the furrow of her brow at the name's use one day at dinner.

"Something on your mind, my dear?" He'd asked, delicately placing a small piece of steak in his mouth.

Elara rolled a potato away with her fork, chewing on her lip in contemplation. She gathered her thoughts, just as she'd been taught to, before sitting a little taller. "Why 'Little Lark'?"

She braced herself for a comment. A disheartening verbal punch to the gut that confirmed that, no, he didn't like his granddaughter.

But it never came.

Instead, he smiled fondly. "Elara. Lara. Lark. Larks are a symbol."

"For what?"

"Lots of silly things." He offered. "Dawn. Hope. Light. I like that it symbolizes joy." He did not place his cutlery down, continuing to slice up the meat on his plate even if he wasn't taking a bite. "I'd say you bring me joy, no?"

He didn't use the name all the time. Just when it really mattered, when he really wanted her to listen. He used it often during the Hunger Games, assuming she'd stayed ignorant to what the tradition was all about with her hatred of the things. Elara knew what the Games consisted of. They were horrifying. Sometimes, she had nightmares of being thrust into unfamiliar environments just like the District kids, forced to fight for her life all in the name of compliance. What she didn't know was what on earth possessed Cashmere of District 1 to volunteer.

Until she discovered Gloss, the winner of last year's games, would be her mentor. That's where the burst of confidence came from. The advantage of having your Victor brother as a mentor.

Of course she volunteered.

Allowing her curiosity to get the best of her, she pulled open one of his drawers. If anyone asked, she'd tell them she was hunting for treasure. Definitely not trying to understand Gramps better without having to face his stern look when she asked a question she shouldn't have. Like anything about her parents. He didn't enjoy talking about them, always finding an excuse to avoid the question if she asked something too prying. She assumed that was the grief's fault, or perhaps he just didn't want to upset her. Though that wouldn't make much sense. She'd never even met them. They had died when she was no more than an infant, so it'd been her and Gramps her whole life. He was her favorite teacher.

When they died, Gramps didn't think it right to announce a child to the Capitol, and so Elara became nothing but a secret within the confines of the one building. She went outside often, in the gardens and she interacted with countless tutors and staff over the years, until they were fired and she never saw them again, but still, though she was clueless to the two that gave her life, she ached.

Sometimes, her stomach churned with the absence of a mom and a dad. She wished she could've known them. Seen them and known who she looked most like, though she could probably guess the answer to that one. From the few photos Gramps had of himself, the ones from years and years ago when his face was smooth and free of the creases caused by time, he'd had very, very light hair. A bright blonde that was sure to shine beneath the sun. Elara's wasn't quite as pure. Honey toned and a little murky, it seemed to get darker over time. She'd shared that same brilliant blonde as a toddler, though it quickly darkened as she grew.

If she was to guess, she'd have said her mother was a brunette. Her funny mix of hair would make much more sense if it was the result of a brown haired mother and a blonde father.

She was rather good at guessing. She did it all the time during her tutoring sessions, making her lack of knowledge sound incredibly professional as she listed off the correct answer. They called her gifted. And Miss Applecomb, her last tutor, said her reading was excellent. That made Gramps smile. He said she was 'destined for great things', something that sent a zip of excitement down her spine. She'd made him proud!

In the top drawer of his desk, were countless files, alphabetized and neatly slotted into the small space. These wouldn't be all of the ones he had, there'd be far more but she suspected these were some of the important ones. The ones dedicated to those closest to him, or the ones he had to watch out for.

She squinted, reading the tiny printed names and running her finger over the tops of them. She wasn't even sure what she was looking for. She pushed an 'Abernathy' file forward, her eyes popping open at the 'Applecomb' staring up at her, practically begging her to read it. She wouldn't. That would be unfair. Gramps would be upset.

Her eyes followed the names once more. They were rather funny, some of them.

Names like 'Baird' which she thought sounded like 'bird', and 'Heavensbee'. That was that jovial man she often saw trailing after Gramps on his particularly busy days. Plutarch was probably the person who'd known of her existence the longest without getting fired. He was a little annoying. There were quite ordinary names mixed in too. 'Ellis' and 'Crane' and 'Gaul' which should have been a funny one but she remembered hearing it before for some reason.

Finding nothing to satisfy her interest she quietly pushed it closed, moving to the draw below. She wondered if she'd have searched her father's office in another world. Would she be much different to who she was now?

She rooted through the files, passing a 'Latier' and a 'Plinth' and a 'Meadows' which she particularly liked. A very pretty name, she decided. She stopped short at the bold printed 'Snow' on one of the ivory folders. He wouldn't have a file on himself, she was sure, but maybe...

Could it be for her? Did that mean she could read it?

She did it anyway.

Tugging it carefully from its slot, Elara settled into the armchair and began to read. She was confident Gramps wouldn't be back any time soon. He'd said he would need to change in the evening, meaning he'd be back much later to dress again before shooting off elsewhere. Great news for her nosy antics.

"Name: Aurelius Snow,

Relations: Stiorra Snow (wife), Elara Snow (daughter)"

Her throat clogged, but she swallowed past it, letting a small smile lift her lips. He'd never actually told her their names before. She liked them.

"Aurelius Snow:" It read, beside the picture of a sophisticated blonde man. Her heart hammered in her chest. She didn't bear a striking resemblance to him but she did see herself there. In the little things. Her eyes misted over slightly as she took in the gentle slope of his nose and the way his eyes crinkled at the corner when he smiled. Just like her. She continued reading, her gaze running over his early childhood, almost choking on the air as her eyes froze on a word. Just one word it had taken for her smile to flatten out and all traces of joy to disappear. "Traitor."

She furrowed her brows, focusing on the words she could see jumbling together on the page. "Aurelius failed to acknowledge the importance of keeping Panem in line, even this long after the Dark Days. Rebellious behavior included: questioning my own authority and the Capitol itself, publicly criticizing the tradition of the Hunger Games, claiming my protection from rebellion was 'sick and twisted'. With plans of protest and threats of fleeing with both Stiorra and Elara, Aurelius Snow was sentenced to a public execution. [Detailed: Hanging.]"

Something broke inside of her. Perhaps it was a splintered rib, finally giving way from her heart's constant assault on its side, or maybe it was the organ itself, cracking in two. She knew he'd died. Never had she been told how. Never had she been made aware that it was her Gramps who– She swallowed. No. He couldn't possibly have– But, he did. Even when she rubbed her eyes and cleared her face of tears, the words remained. He wrote this. He made the call.

Below his death description, a tiny passage was etched, as if written in as an afterthought.

"Strict orders in place to keep Stiorra Snow from the execution. Essential to avoid uprising."

Hot tears tracked down her cheeks despite her hatred of them. She never did like crying. It made her too hot and stuffy and it made her nose run and her eyes sting. Gramps had said it made her look messy, so she point-blank refused to do it for a while. Unfortunately, she couldn't will them away.

"Stiorra Snow: Under the assumption her husband had fled the Capitol, the woman approached me, explaining the numerous times they had planned to run. She apologized profusely, informing me of their previous plans as if I was entirely unaware. She told me she would head eastward first before returning with news after a week's time. After careful consideration, I ordered her to allow my grandchild to stay with me while she searched. She agreed."

Elara shut the file with a snap and chewed on her lip. She never came back. That wasn't so bad, though. Not when that meant she was out there, hopelessly searching for Aurelius, with no one to inform her of his passing. I'm going to find her, Elara decided. I can do it. I'm an explorer. And quick.

Perhaps it was ridiculous to attempt such a thing, but Elara couldn't bear the idea of abandoning her mother for so long. Even if the worst had happened, and she was gone already, at least she'd know.

Footsteps sounded in the hall, swift and cautious – definitely the staff, but she shoved the file back in the drawer anyway before pressing her ear to the door. The steps dwindled away, quieting until they'd faded completely and she rushed outside. It occurred to her that she'd ignored the other pages of the file but it was no use going back now. She just had to grab a bag, maybe a few clothes and she'd be fine. On her merry way.

And so she did.

Shoving a few dresses from her closet into the bag, she frowned when she tugged on them, the hangers making her life so much harder. She needed to be quick, she didn't have the time to wait for the maid to leave her outfits on the dresser in the morning this time.

With her small bag, not at all right for such a trip, slung over her shoulder, she crept through the house, reaching the kitchens and pulling out a water bottle. She wasn't quite sure how long she'd be out for but it was best to be prepared. Gramps was going to be so angry when he realized she was gone. And when she returned with Stiorra? He'd be furious!

Elara shook her head of the thought and crept out the back door, sneaking through the lush grand gardens with a great speed and glancing back at the house once more. This was the right choice. She needed her mom. Gramps deserved the anger.

She crawled beneath the fence.

✩➵✩

As it turned out, Panem was a much bigger place than its name convinced her. She'd lost track of how long it'd been. She hadn't felt comfortable changing outside, so the dress she'd had on for the last few days was dirtied and torn in places. Gramps would be appalled by the state of her but in her travels her anger had burned brighter. She hoped he was angry by the sight of her. She was devastated.

He'd killed her father.

The water had been okay for a while. On day four – or maybe it was five – she'd finished off the last drop, but luckily there were grand lakes through Panem. She'd scooped some up one day and repulsed at the sight of the dark green liquid in the bottle. Gramps hadn't pleased her when he'd forced her to watch the Games but it was thanks to them that she was able to recall the filter a tribute made one year. He'd fashioned it out of a strip of his shirt, but she felt better using one of the clean socks she'd had stuffed in her bag.

It took a long time for the water to come out clear but when it did, she took a sip, sighing in relief as the cold water soothed her throat. She was half a bottle down when she recalled the step she'd missed.

During the games, the boy had started a small fire, boiling the water over it to rid it of diseases. That's what Gramps had explained. Elara hadn't even known how to make a fire, so when her stomach twisted painfully, bringing her to her knees, she couldn't even curse the vomit climbing her throat. She'd heaved, nothing but liquid covering the ground as she collapsed at the side of it. She hadn't eaten in longer. Of course, her preparation was nowhere near as perfected as it should've been. What kind of person didn't bring food?

The berries on the bush a few feet away were extremely tempting, a deep purple and shimmering in the light. She was reckless to crawl toward them, to pluck them into her hand and throw them into her mouth without thinking of the consequences, but when the sweet taste coated her tongue, she'd managed a smile. Something good. Every cloud had a silver lining.

Nothing could've prepared her for how lonely the trip had been. She hadn't seen Stiorra at all, just fields and streams and rocky land that was entirely unfamiliar. It was beautiful, she'd admit that, but it was scary too. What if she was hurt? What if she couldn't move and no one could rescue her? She'd gotten close enough after the water, she didn't need that too.

Her legs ached. They weren't made for such exercise and she was getting skinnier, she was sure of it. Her dress felt looser than it did a couple of weeks ago. Her bag felt heavier. She was so weak. Where on earth was she supposed to stop and call it a failure?

Her stomach rumbled as she walked, her legs trembling with each step. For a moment, she imagined Gramps, worried and pacing his room, knowing she was out there all alone. She wished she'd taken some crackers. She liked crackers.

But if Gramps was truly worried, wouldn't a Peacekeeper have found her already? She was short and quick, sure, but they were professionals. Why hadn't she seen them?

When a large chained fence came into view, the first she'd seen in her entire trip which just didn't make much sense if she thought too hard, Elara considered her options. She was only twelve. She needed somewhere to get some food; a nice warm meal and a good night's sleep to do her some good. Maybe, if she told someone about her mother, they would see the resemblance she had to their dear President and help her out.

The foul smoke billowing from the tops of the buildings within stained the sky and infected her senses, wrinkling her nose in the process. CAUTION, a small sign read. LARGE MACHINERY IN OPERATION. A tiny engraving below the message answered the largest question she harbored. Where on earth was she? District 8.

Atop the fence, barbed wire twirled around its edge, threatening and razor sharp. Scrambling up was a no go then, not that she would have been able to. She couldn't even climb the trees in the garden at home. At the bottom, however, the fence curled upwards, warping inward over time and allowing Elara a glimpse of that silver lining she begged for. The gap beneath it was a little small, much smaller than her, but with some determined digging, she was able to shimmy her small body beneath it, though not without nicking her shin a little in the process. They should really get that fixed, she thought, a little obnoxiously.

The first thing Elara noted about this unfamiliar place was the overwhelmingly dull surroundings. Her eyes followed the trail of gray factories, brown buildings with boring wooden signs that she'd assumed were shops. In the distance, she could see a village. The houses it held were much grander than any of the rundown ones she was standing beside and, though they weren't anywhere near as grand as her own house, they were nice. Something good, she decided. Find the good.

There wasn't a blade of grass in sight, at least not in her eye-line. Just concrete and so much gray. Maybe Gramps had a point in his hatred for the color. It really was dull.

Choosing to stick beside the fence, should she have to make a run for it, Elara wandered. She kept herself quiet, ducking behind the wall when a large group of what she assumed were factory workers paraded from a building somewhere behind her. They were a loud bunch, arguing about the winnings they were owed. From what she could hear, a man had bet on Cashmere's win. He should've been tucking in to a "delightful meal of squirrel and boiled potato" but he still hadn't received the meat of his meal. Elara couldn't understand why he'd want to eat squirrels in the first place.

She stopped short behind a home when a quiet sniffling caught her attention. A choked sob and a distressed sigh had the young girl pressing her back to a wall, poking her head out to observe the woman from a distance. Long dark hair, and her face shoved into her palms. For a brief moment, a surge of hope shot through Elara's chest. Was this her? Had her travels been worth it? Then, the woman blew her nose into a handkerchief she had stuffed in the front of her paint covered apron, and Elara knew that wasn't her. The handkerchief was very basic, though that was not unlike Gramps' own collection. He carried them everywhere.

Every so often, Gramps got extremely sick, unable to see Elara should she catch whatever he carried but she'd seen the dirty hankies sometimes. They'd be covered in a crimson stain that never failed to freeze her with fear. He was bleeding, maybe from his nose or maybe it was from the painful coughs she could hear him suffering with from the other side of the house. Whatever it was, it was terrifying. She thought he was going to die, and then who would she have left?

The woman lifted her head, eyes popping open as they landed on Elara before she could retreat back to the wall.

"Hey there." The woman said. Elara thought it peculiar to address her that way. She was told formality was essential when meeting new people. She proved as such.

"Hello."

"Are you okay?" She asked, her voice cracking on the last word. She flinched at the sound, screwing her eyes shut and giving her head a shake, as if inwardly cursing at her emotions.

Peeking out once again, Elara nodded. "Are you?" Her words were quiet, careful. She didn't want to upset her further. It was bad enough dealing with her own tears, never mind someone else's.

"I'm okay."

The young girl drew her brows together. "That's a lie. You were crying." This silly woman isn't making a very good first impression, she concluded. Gramps would've keeled over if he'd seen Elara act the way the lady did.

A surprised chuckle burst from the stranger, making Elara's lips twitch. "I suppose you're right."

Stepping out from behind the wall, Elara approached with caution. She glanced around for a seat, somewhere to keep a little bit of dignity since shoving herself on the staircase would've been far too intrusive. Though, as expected, there was nothing, and her dress was already ruined, so she lowered to the floor in front of her, smiling up shyly with her legs crisscross. "Can I help?"

"No, not particularly, sweetheart. I'm crying because it can't be helped." The woman explained vaguely. Do not pry. Do not pry. Do not–

"Well, what happened?" She asked.

"My... my daughter. Nysa. She–" The woman shook her head. "No. No, I shouldn't trouble you."

Elara almost huffed. Why start the conversation if she wasn't planning on talking about it? Still, she kept her frustration at bay and shuffled forward. "I am more than capable of handling it. I promise."

"Nysa passed away a couple weeks ago. She was a little older than you, I'm guessing. I just miss her is all." She swiped her fingers, stained with dried paint: blue and red and pink, beneath her eyes as she shrugged.

Elara frowned. Well, now I feel mean. "I'm really sorry."

"That's okay, sweetie." She shook her head, sniffling as she cocked a brow in question. "What's your name? Where are your parents?"

"I'm Elara. What's your name?" She smiled brightly.

"Beatrissia. Just Bea is fine though."

"That's a nice name." She nodded.

Bea chuckled and watched as the girl stood up and brushed the dirt off her skirt. She joined her on her feet. "So what are you doing, Elara? Won't your parents be waiting for you?"

"Oh, no." Elara dismissed. "I'm on an adventure. I'm going to find my mom now. I'm just unfamiliar with this place."

Bea's brows furrowed, the girl's speech pattern the first inch of a realization climbing in her mind. Though her clothing was wrecked and tattered, the original style of the dress was far from what was common around their parts. She narrowed her eyes. "District 8... What's your mom's name again? Maybe we've crossed paths?"

"Stiorra." She beamed proudly. "My mother is Stiorra Snow."

She didn't need the fact to dawn on her, it hit her hard in the face with a force she hadn't quite expected, almost knocking her entirely off-balance. Bea's wide smile faltered at the name as she looked the girl over, panicked. There wasn't much she could pinpoint about her physically that made it clear she was a Snow. Was she confused? Maybe she was giving a fake name to get a little help? If she took the girl to the Peacekeeper now, though, maybe they wouldn't discipline her too harshly. "President Snow has a grandbaby?"

"I am not a baby." Elara said with a huff, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Of course not." Bea corrected herself, the other part of such a horrifying kind of visitor creeping up on her. She had no reason not to believe the girl, no point as to why she'd lie about such a thing, so she lowered herself to the floor, taking Elara's hands in her own. "I'm going to tell you something now, and it might make you feel very sad, El. But I'm here if you need me, okay?"

El. She'd never been called that before. She thought she liked it. Confused though, Elara nodded.

"Your mom... she's not here anymore, honey."

Another frustrated huff slipped from her lips. "So she was here. Where did she go? Did she tell you? Do you know her?"

Bea shook her head quickly. "No. El. I meant... Your Ma passed away many years ago, sweetheart."

"What?" The small girl's stomach catapulted to the ground. No. No way. She hadn't come all the way to the middle of 'Stone Nowhere' to hear it was entirely for nothing. She couldn't just crawl back to Gramps now either. She'd be punished something rotten! He'd never punished her before, not once. Perhaps that was due to her never having the chance to do anything that deserved worse than a scolding but this? She dreaded the thought. "How?!"

Though the question was rhetorical, Bea squeezed her hand. "It happened naturally some time after you were born, if I remember correctly. That's what they told us. Right after your dad... I'm so sorry."

Elara didn't even know when she started to cry, but hot tears tracked her cheeks regardless. She didn't even try to hide them. She also probably shouldn't be listening to this unfamiliar woman. This stranger. She was from a district, not the Capitol which Gramps would've told her to be wary of. And yet, there was something about Bea, the way she cradled her hand or the soft brown eyes she kept on the girl's face at all times, that was unbearably trustworthy.

"Maybe..." Elara started, sniffling. "Maybe she's looking after Nysa now."

Bea offered her a watery smile and nodded. "I think that's exactly what she's doing."

Cupping the young girl's face, Bea moved those paint stained thumbs to Elara's cheeks. Again, the girl should have pulled away, avoiding such a mess from spreading to herself, but she was already entirely ruined by the elements beyond the fence. What was some measly paint going to do? And so Bea caught the tears on her thumbs, swiping them away and smiling softly. "You're very far from home, Elara. Shall we go find you a Peacekeeper? I'm sure they'll get you back to your grandfather." She told her, a barely hidden hint of fear lining her words.

"No!" She blurted, though she'd not even considered it. Perhaps that was instinct, but there was no way she could go back now. After Aurelius– She wanted to confront him with her mother. Not alone. If she went back now, she'd be in danger. He killed his own son... What was he planning for her? "I don't think I want to go back there, Bea. My Gramps... No. Do you think... maybe... if it's not too much trouble... Could I stay with you? Just for a little while."

Bea considered carefully, her eyes flickering across the street. This was incredibly reckless. It may be the first she was hearing about a grandchild but who knew who was on the way? She could be signing her own death sentence by agreeing to such a thing and yet, she nodded gently. Quickly. Before she could change her mind. "Of course you can. While your Ma takes care of my Nysa, I'll look after you."

"Promise?"

"I promise." She linked her pinky with Elara's, smiling softly.

Chapter Text

I WANT TO WATCH THIS MAN BLEED.

The thought was enough to freeze Elara's limbs into stiff additions on her machine-like body, unmoving from the rickety dining chair in her home. The man, dressed in his ridiculous looking Peacekeeper uniform, poked his ghostly pale, sharp angled face around the corner of the door. It's always this guy. Every year.

"Where's your Old Gal?" He asked, his voice hoarse like he'd smoked a cigar every other minute for the past twenty years. If he was closer, Elara was sure she'd be able to smell them on him.

Keeping her lips pressed shut, Elara stared back blankly. Unsightly smirk and uneven brows really tied the whole look together. That is if he was trying to look like an ugly little toy soldier. Her inner monologue almost broke her own exterior, chortling at the sight of him, but with her strong self-control, the laughter was suppressed deep, deep in her stomach, hidden away on a day like that.

Reaping Day. What a miserable time of year.

Within the next hour, two of the kids from District 8 would be plucked from the giant fish bowls they dragged out for the awful event and whisked off by the Capitol to take part in the annual Hunger Games. She couldn't believe they were still going. How did the people of Panem still watch on with excitement in their eyes as children slaughtered one another? It infuriated her.

It occurred to her, as the Peacekeeper shifted and the gun on his hip was much more visible, that she wouldn't dare say what she thought to his face. They may have been annoying, but they had far more power than she did. Her comment wouldn't just be putting herself in danger, either, but the people she cared most for. They'd shot people for far less.

"What? You deaf or something?" He asked, taking a step toward her. She wouldn't bite. That's what he was waiting for. Give him a reason. She was already on her last warning with the Troll. She'd tried to tell him to leave his uniform with them one time a year or two back; they could ensure it actually fit his frail body instead of him looking more like it belonged to someone else. If remembered correctly, she'd stated, "Your wife should warn you when you look ridiculous."

That comment didn't go over well. How was she supposed to know his wife had left him the day before?

She couldn't stand being around any of the Capitol lackeys. Every second she remained in silent fear, awaiting the moment one of them narrowed their beady eyes at her face, shadowed by her brown hair fallen in front of it as an extra precaution, and uttered something along the lines of, "Hey... You look a little like–"

"Old? I'll try not to be offended, shall I?" Bea joked, waltzing into the room as if the man was nothing but her dear cousin visiting for a week.

The man offered a grunt but nothing more as he glanced down at his checklist, though not before shooting Elara one more glare.

"Beatrissia Rosewood." He stated. "How many residents live within this household?" He spoke in a way like he knew something they didn't. He most certainly did not, not unless there'd been a squatter somewhere under their roof for the last year.

"Two." Bea nodded, a polite smile in place. She was far too kind for her own good. It was both a blessing and a curse, El always said. She couldn't point it out too much though, not unless she wanted her to flip her switch and kick her out on the streets.

"Name the other resident."

It was a good job his eyes were downcast, El thought, catching the discrete eyeroll the woman released before she straightened her spine, a delicate hand brushing Elara's back. "Elara Rosewood."

She never got tired of the delighted zip of emotion that shot through her chest at hearing that. Rosewood.

"Do you consent to a sweep of the premises to ensure no concealed individuals? Denying entry may have consequences regardless."

Bea almost rolled her eyes again. Almost. Thankfully, she caught the man's eyes lifting to her own before she could even avert her gaze. "Well, you are already here, sweetheart. Do have a look around."

To anyone else, she might've sounded genuinely kind. A friendly face, eternally. Not to Elara, though. She knew, with the infliction of the last syllable, how fraudulent it was. She was losing it.

The Troll nodded, wandering through their tiny home, as Elara frowned. Did she really want to see him bleed? Was it just on her mind due to the day? What happened to her hatred of violence?

But there the feeling glowed, deep in her chest as her eyes tracked the Troll poke his nose in her things and touch Bea's belongings like he just could. His foul hands touched Bea's canvases like he had the right and she could feel the rage bubbling like the porter over a fire. Yeah. She wanted him to bleed.

Bea's hand encompassed her own, squeezing it tightly, dulling all the unnatural horrors swimming in her brain as the Troll grunted, seemingly satisfied.

"Get your asses to the square. Don't be late."

Bea followed him to the exit, smiling kindly until she'd shut the door on him, her face dropping with the most dramatic eye roll Elara had ever seen.

"Right. Now that he's gone, I'll finish up, shall I?" She announced, clapping her hands together and sweeping out the room.

Elara nodded, remaining in her seat for a little longer. She was too afraid of standing right now; her legs might buckle beneath her. God, she hated the reaping. Every part of it. Standing in the crowd of members of her district, stood within the large group of kids her own age and holding her breath as Celiea Montero's hand dipped into the Reaping Bowl ready to send two kids, maybe even one of her classmates, to their deaths.

She knew, with the sheer population size of her own district, the five slips of paper with her name carefully scrawled across were like needles in a haystack, especially compared to some of the others in District 8, but five slips of paper were still a chance. And a small chance did not mean impossible.

Despite her fear, she'd have been more than happy to enter her name a couple more times for the tesserae they offered, but Beatrissia Rosewood would've starved to death before that was ever an actual option. The young girl had adapted to her new circumstances easily enough even though she hadn't ever expected to. When they'd had a particularly bad Autumn, not as many customers and nowhere near enough profit to live, twelve year old Elara had brought up the idea during dinner – if you could even call it that. She'd pulled apart her bread roll with patience, unwilling to rush her meal, taking consistent glances at the woman before Bea started chuckling.

"You got something to say, honey?" She asked. "Or are you just gonna dismember the bread and leave it?"

"You can't dismember bread." Elara said with a smile. "But no, I just... I was thinking."

"About what?"

"What if I go add my name a couple more times to–"

"No."

Elara snapped her mouth shut, her brows drawing together in frustration. How was she supposed to protect them both if she wasn't going to listen? "I think it's better than starving to death."

"No, actually. It's not. I can't watch another child die, Elara. I won't do it."

She had half a mind to protest. To alert her that actually she'd be seeing children die every year anyway, no matter what happened, but she thought better of it. She was right, of course. After Nysa, she'd been lost and suddenly a child showed up on her doorstep without a home to turn to. She'd grown to care about her in a matter of months, so watching her get slaughtered on a screen? Probably not ideal.

Pushing up from her seat, Elara straightened out the very simple, very boring gray dress she'd picked out that morning. Bea had ironed it but, in typical Elara fashion, she'd caused small crinkles to form in the skirt since she was sat down for so long.

Now or never, she thought, pleading with her lungs to calm the hell down.

"Bea! Are you ready?" Elara called out to the town seamstress, who hadn't rushed a day in her life. She kept her voice calm, not thinking too hard about whatever fate awaited her, and pulling her long hair over her shoulders. When she did appear, she dawdled her way out the back room and gave her daughter a once over.

She raised a brow, her eyes flicking between El's face and her side. "Are you?"

"Of course I am."

Bea tutted and turned away, finding a needle and thread. "If you were ready you'd have stitched this hole up again." Placing her hand on Elara's shoulders, she turned her, threading the needle through the gap on her hip. She hadn't even noticed it. Maybe that's why Troll was looking at her so funny. "You'd forget your head if it wasn't attached to your neck."

El snorted. "Gory."

"I'm on theme." Tying off the thread with a practiced ease, she stepped back and gave an approving nod. "Now we're ready."

As Bea tried to march past, Elara took in the sight of her outfit for the first time and huffed a laugh. They were just as bad as each other. "Are you sure about that?"

"What have you forgotten this time?"

"You forgot the belt for the dress." She told her, wiggling the black ribbon in front of her face. It was a trivial kind of addition but Bea was a very specific woman. If her outfit demanded a belt, she was going to have to wear a belt.

Snatching it out of her hand, Bea worked quickly, averting her eyes and focusing on the loops she created as she tied it around her waist. Her slow deep breaths almost slipped past Elara, but with the sudden visible tremor in her hand, appearing as she reached for the door handle, her stomach dropped. Snatching her hand out of mid air, she pulled it towards her, effectively turning Bea to face her.

"I'm not going to be picked."

Bea shook her head. "You don't know that."

Elara swallowed around the lump in her throat. She was right. She didn't know that. It was the only thing she could think of to say to provide comfort, however, even if she never really believed it herself. Nothing made her exempt from it. Well... One thing probably could've but she'd die before admitting it to anyone.

"You're right. But if we believe it hard enough, maybe we can force it into the universe's plan." She joked, desperate to cheer her up.

Once again, Bea's signature eye roll made its appearance, though she still cupped her girl's cheek lovingly. "Let's go."

Walking side by side, Elara clutched her trembling fingers into fists, tucking them into the pockets of her dress like that would make her appear any less nervous. Out of sight, out of mind, right? There were others walking with them. Well, less with them and more around them, the small crowd of townsfolk making their way to the square. They weren't the richest in town, that title belonged to their three Victors, living in luxury all the way across the District. She wasn't bitter. What they'd done to earn such a life... She dreaded to think. The Capitol was not kind for that trade.

No amount of money could buy their veneration.

For the start of July, the sky was a miserably dull gray. The same color as her dress. She wasn't sure if that was the weather, though, or down to the constant flow of smoke billowing from one or two or all of the factories within their home. The ugliest part of home, Bea always said. She was right. Elara knew well the beauty that lay beyond the electric fences around the District. Emerald green fields sparkling in the early morning sun and the glittery perfection of rivers and lakes and streams, ones she still dreamt of some nights. District 8 didn't have any of that. Not a single blade of grass or a natural body of water in sight. They had trees, protected by short fences as a sort of necessity, but nothing of great importance. No beautiful oak tree bigger than the rest and no stunning flowerbed for the town to tend to. She missed it, if she was honest, though she couldn't ever admit that aloud. Not if she wanted a million questions from strangers on how on earth she'd have seen it all in person.

No one had ever really questioned her appearance. In a District like theirs, on the bigger side in terms of population, it was easy to slip into the background. With Bea, the town's seamstress, hardly anyone had ever paid her much attention. She'd made a couple friends over the years, some loyal customers, but none that would really care about the new girl in her home. As for Elara, she was just another one of the kids from Care that had been taken into a home. None of their business.

Heading into the square, Elara frowned at the mob of people beginning to congregate. Faces she recognized, some she didn't. She'd never really got to the point of making friends, that'd never been natural for her. Perhaps it was the idea of lying so easily to them. Off putting and almost nauseating. Her eyes flicked ahead, where other groups of people were pushing the younger ones in front of them. They loved the order in that place. One year, they almost tried to alphabetize the kids but it proved to take far too long and they scrapped the idea entirely. Elara thought they were idiots.

Her eyes reverted back to the youngest, the kids of twelve years, no less, walking single file over to their designated area. Some of them didn't even look their age. Their clothes were too large, faces too hollow and eyes too empty. Bea used to call them 'ghost children'. Everything resembled a child but without the right amount of food, they were well on their way to death. They weren't kids anymore. The word stopped at appearance.

She couldn't think about it too much. Not if she wanted to sleep soundly at night.

Approaching the registration table, Elara's heart pounded painfully in her chest. Call her paranoid, what did she care? Better safe than sorry, right? Wasn't it better to be ready to make a run for it if they caught wind of her secret? She wasn't sure but she was ready. She'd worried about the same situation for the previous four years. Lowering her guard then was just dangerous.

She held out her index finger to the Peacekeeper. With her eyes on the crowd, she'd almost missed his sharp features, angled edges turning downward at her appearance. The Troll placed her finger in the peculiar machine. It looked vaguely similar to a stapler like the one she remembered from–

A quick inhale slipped through her lips at the sharp sting. Troll yanked her forward, smearing the prick of blood across the sheet with an unnecessary amount of force. She had half a mind to clock him in the jaw, but once again her self-control held strong, allowing her to pull her hand pack, wandering off to her section.

She moved to the other sixteen year olds, taking her place beside Nancy Corduroy, a girl from her English class, and offering her a small smile. Nancy reciprocated the action but it wasn't real. She could probably tell Elara's wasn't either. Two girls forced to wear smiles before their fates were revealed. Would they get another year? Or would they be sentenced to death?

Elara turned, seeking out Bea in the sea of faces. When they landed on her, her auburn locks tied back into a very sensible low bun, she was already staring straight back. She waved her finger in a small circle, a smile almost creeping up the corners of her lips. With a roll of her eyes – clearly she learnt from the best – Elara spun.

The temporary stage was an eyesore. She hated the way they arranged it and the way they stood over the District. Like they were better than them all. They weren't better, just snobbier. More advantaged. Richer.

Aside from the microphone positioned directly in the center, the main portion of the stage was bare. There was a row of chairs, five to be exact, at the back by the stairs. The best seat in the house, surely. Each one had been claimed already, starting with the District's escort: Ms. Celiea Montero. She was a tall, slim kind of woman. Unlike so many of the other districts, their escort didn't wear wigs, keeping her hair the same style for the last however many years. Elara wasn't sure. Blonde waves chopped just past her shoulders, framing the sharp angle of her jaw. Her silk dress shirt, the most putrid shade of yellow, was buttoned three quarters of the way up her chest, leaving enough room for the many necklaces and chains she'd layered to be shown off in front of everyone. Flaunting her wealth. She sat forward, her elbows on her knees and her eyes intense as they scanned the courtyard. Even her makeup was intense. Smoky and a rather magical shade of black angled up in what Elara believed they called a cat eye shape.

Beside her was the mayor, who looked anything but pleased to be there. A plump man always wearing a scowl, his suit was creased all over. Giving a sideways look to the man on his left, he scowled, inching closer to Celiea, who in turn shifted her entire chair away from him.

The man he leaned away from was the first ever District 8 Victor. Tobin Mackerin was old, plain and simple. The victor of the 12th annual Hunger Games, he'd seen more of those events than anyone else in the entire District. He also had stopped caring. With his head dropped forward, Tobin snored, not so loud that he'd interrupt the ceremony but loud enough that the majority of the courtyard could hear him clear as day. His hair, or the little he had left, was a soft dove gray, growing out in unruly wisps, unable to be contained.

Beside him was the victor of the 15th Hunger Games, Loom. Elara didn't know much about him, other than his name being a little on the nose for District 8 and the fact he was a complete anomaly. It was unnatural for District 8 of all places to win two years so close together but alas, Loom had achieved the impossible through a wonder of a tactic. Hiding. He'd hidden so well apparently, until it was him and one more tribute left. The tribute had searched high and low for him, slowly descending into madness from his surroundings that he gave himself up to a Mutt. It sounded quite tragic in all honesty.

Now, Loom sat, uncomfortable and itching at his skin. Almost twitching, wrapping string around his finger and letting it unravel whilst he watched before starting again. She wondered if time had been unkind to him. If his past haunted him as much as her family history seemed to haunt her.

Though of all the victors District 8 had managed to acquire, none had bewildered Elara more than Weston Ellis. When describing his games to El, Bea had begun with much more care. Her lips had tipped downwards as she thought carefully for a minute. Then two. When she finally spoke again, she had to clear her throat to get her voice working again.

"Something happened to that man. That boy in the arena wasn't like him at all, I don't think. I don't enjoy thinking about it." She'd said.

What was she supposed to do with that? She didn't want to talk about it? Elara hadn't even been alive for his games and Bea wasn't going to let her watch the reruns they sometimes aired on tv. She didn't really like the tv at all. In turn, neither did Elara.

Visually, he was much more put together than the other two... In a sense. He was dressed in a more casual kind of suit, nothing like the fancy things the older two had paraded around in. No. Weston sat comfortably in black. All black. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows, arms folded across his chest and his steady gaze moving across the crowd with something specific in his eyes. Elara wracked her brain for the correct word, but it had vanished, buried somewhere whilst the one memory she had of the man moved right to the forefront of her mind.

When Elara had made her big move, staying with Bea, she'd gotten through the rest of the year rather easily. She was registered for public school, an entirely new experience, and since it was close enough to home, Bea allowed her to walk to and from alone.

She turned thirteen, and life was no different, save for the new job as seamstress apprentice that she worked alongside Bea.

Walking home one day in the start of fall, she'd smiled as she listened to the soft chirp of crickets as the sky darkened much faster. It didn't help that her entire home was cloaked by a large cloud but still, the wildlife were still kicking in the place that couldn't have been further from a home for them.

A little distance away, sat cross-legged by the electric fence, Weston Ellis remained very still. She couldn't understand why he was there; he lived on the opposite side of town. He held out his hand, small pieces of chopped carrot in his palm as he gently clicked his tongue, a desperate attempt to entice the animal over. It was working too. The rabbit, its fur a soft light brown, sniffed the air, hopping his way cautiously. Elara moved to get closer, taking a gentle step. Then, another. The rabbit was right in front of him by that point, sniffing his hand with increased curiosity. Elara took another step, oblivious to the twig and snapping it in two.

The animal zipped past her so fast she stumbled, collapsing to the ground and lifting her gaze just in time to see it scurry somewhere between the houses. She heard Weston's frustrated grunt behind her, but she was much too bothered about the funny pain shooting through her ankle.

It was almost throbbing, the pain pulsing loudly beneath her hand that had closed around the joint. She tried to stand, whimpering and holding back those stupid tears threatening her eyes with their familiar burn. Do not cry. Do not cry. Do not cry.

Two scuffed leather boots appeared before her, paused and waiting. Elara thought maybe, if she shut her eyes, he'd go away. He wouldn't see her so ridiculous and he'd just walk away. Maybe he could chase after the rabbit.

But when her eyes flicked upwards, Weston stood, his brows furrowed and his hand outstretched towards her.

She folded her arms across her chest, a very childish act but her temper was getting the better of her. She didn't like that he could see her tears. She hadn't willed them way hard enough because they managed to escape, and her hand hadn't swiped at them quick enough because he was still looking at her.

"'S wrong with you?" He asked bluntly, shaking his hand in front of her to encourage her to take it.

She didn't.

"Nothing. None of your business quite frankly." She snapped. His brows drew together even closer, if that was even possible. Oops. That sort of talk wasn't very 'District' of her.

Though instead of pointing out her formal way of talking, he grunted. Or maybe it was a laugh. She wasn't sure. "Rude, ain't you?" He said.

"Don't like crying."

"No one likes crying– Look, you gonna let me help you up or am I wasting my time here?" He huffed.

Elara frowned, raising a shaky hand up and placing it in his warm palm. His hands were rough, calloused, but not unkind. He pulled her to her feet, though she kept all her weight on the one foot that wasn't screaming out in discomfort. She tried not to point out the rip of the seams in his sleeve, right by his elbow. Force of habit.

"Which way's home?" Weston asked, allowing her to cling to his arm without making a fuss.

Elara pointed in the general direction of the outskirts of town and didn't protest when he started up the journey with her, remaining at the same pace of her slow limp. He didn't seem like he was going to talk any more, not until Elara started up again.

"Why were you trying to catch that rabbit?"

"So you're nosy too." His voice was flat, no hint of a smile, yet somehow Elara took it as a joke.

"Sure am. Why were you?" She said, wincing as she put a little too much on her ankle.

Weston shrugged, bending to let her adjust her grip on his arm. "This place is a shithole. No place for a rabbit. Should be in the wild."

Elara's eyes widened at his language, pausing her movements altogether. "I'm thirteen." She said, expecting the apology to come without hesitation.

She was a fool. "Congratulations." He deadpanned. "Now hurry your ass up, your mom's gonna get worried."

"I don't have a mom." She said. Technically, she wasn't lying but she had only said it to see his face.

Weston softened, his cheeks reddening the tiniest bit beneath his scruff of facial hair. "I'm sorry. I didn't think–"

"I'm kidding." Elara said,

He remained motionless. Elara narrowed her eyes. "She's waiting for me. Come on. Hurry your ass up." She imitated his voice, deepening her own and furrowing her brows the same way he had.

Weston huffed but Elara swore she saw a smile. Just a tiny one, the corners of his lips curling up at the edges, gone before she could point it out.

He helped her hobble up the hill, finally coming to a stop outside their little shop. They lived upstairs, a small space with one bedroom – that they'd split with a curtain – and a cramped living room plus kitchen in one. The bathroom looked more like a closet but even with all of those facts in mind, Elara called it home. It was miles smaller than the mansion she'd left and yet she didn't regret her decision. Not for a second.

"The tailors?" He tilted his head.

"Yup." She shuffled to face him, looking up at him with a sudden concern in her glossy eyes. "What do I do? What if it's broken?"

"'S not broken." He shook his head. "You got all the way here without another tear, didn't you? I think it's sprained so rest. Get some ice on it. Take it easy for a couple days okay?"

She nodded, shuffling over to the door, though she seemed to be hopping like the rabbit did. Her hand closed around the handle and she turned, hearing Weston's retreating steps. "Hey. Wait. Aren't you gonna come in? Bea would wanna thank you. Maybe fix that hole in your coat, free of charge."

Weston did smile then, or as close to a smile as he could manage. His lips curled ever so slightly upwards, his eyes creasing at the corners. "You be good for your mom, kid," was the last thing he said, shoving his hands in his pockets and disappearing down the hill. Things got easier after that. Weston must've been a good luck charm because even though they never crossed paths again, her and Bea got by with a little more ease. Meals were decent, work was steady and life was simply average. Enjoyable, almost.

She hadn't noticed it at first, but, just behind him, resting over the back of his chair, was that old coat. He hadn't outgrown it in three whole years. He hadn't ripped it to shreds in three whole years, more like. Elara tilted her head.

Once everyone stood in their assigned groups, Celiea headed for the microphone, smiling widely at the District's residents. Her smile wasn't very real. Elara could tell. Though with Celiea Montero, she was sure anyone could find the faux joy in her expression. "Welcome District 8." She said, her voice smooth and a little deep. She cleared her throat, like something was stuck halfway down it. "Happy Hunger Games. Now first—"

The guard to her left interrupted, clearing his throat expectantly. She rolled her eyes and shot him a look before waving her hand. "May the odds be ever in your favor." She muttered, begrudgingly. This woman hated her job. Or maybe it was District 8 that she hated. Elara wouldn't have been surprised. They were rather useless in the grand scheme of things. "Now, first you're going to enjoy this new and improved film, straight from the Capitol." She placed a hand over the mic and clicked her fingers. "Mikey. Get the film on." She yelled.

She didn't need a microphone in the first place then.

"War. Terrible war." Now it was Elara's turn to roll her eyes. This stupid fucking film. They played it every year and always acted like it was the greatest gift they, as people of Panem, would ever receive. They all knew the history of the Dark Days. The rebellion and the outcome it provided. The Hunger Games were a reminder. They bore the consequences of the people from before. What a joke. And that damn droning voice. It made her skin itch.

The film shut off as soon as the last word had been spoken and Celiea clapped once. "Great. Let's get started." She grinned, though she looked like she was in pain. "I'm sure you all know the drill, however, for our newcomers, I am going to select the names of one brave young man and woman to represent District 8 in the most popular event in Panem. The 68th annual Hunger Games." She straightened up and pushed back her shoulders. "Ladies first."

Her red-gloved hand dipped into the glass bowl and mixed around. She kept her head up, eyes to the sky, to avoid the pleading eyes of the District. To avoid the guilt. Elara's stomach churned. She hated this part more and more every year: the waiting, the lump in her throat, the misery that fell across whichever unlucky familiar face was chosen. Yanking out one of the small ivory squares, she shook it at the crowd a little before heading back to the microphone. Celiea was a very strange woman. She ripped open the paper and cleared her throat.

"Elara Rosewood."

A beat.

Another.

A distant jittery gasp.

No.

This wasn't real.

No fucking way.

Her stomach dropped and suddenly her heart was in her throat. The people around her fidgeted, staring straight at her, their gazes searing her skin. They knew her. Most of them. What were they thinking, whilst Elara was squeezing her nails into her skin so tightly? Did they even care? Or was it quiet relief that it was her and not them?

"Elara Rosewood?" At her name, Elara shuffled out, avoiding Nancy's gaze even when the girl's hand reached for her own, and escaped the crowd, beginning the walk to her death. Oh God, she felt sick. "Come on up, honey. Don't be shy."

"No." It came from behind her somewhere. Where Bea stood.

Maybe she should have made friends. Maybe people would've been willing to volunteer for her– No. That wasn't fair. This was her fate. Her death sentence.

She climbed the steps, somehow; a task that should've been easy but felt impossible. Her legs trembled with each one, worse than any sprained ankle ever felt, but she managed and joined Celiea's side. She had to pass the Victors and Mayor to reach her but it was only Weston she noticed. He'd sat up, his hands balled in fists atop his knees. Was he angry at her? The escort offered her a discrete sympathetic smile and leaned over to the mic. "Congratulations, kid." A frustrating tear slipped down Elara's beige cheek, paler than its usual shade, but she swiped it away quickly. That fucker would be watching. There was no way she was going to break down. Not in front of him.

"Now, the boys." Celiea continued. Elara hoped it was one of the big muscly guys from the factories. Maybe he could take mercy on her and kill her quickly. It'd save everyone trouble. Celiea dipped her hand in the other bowl and grabbed on to a slip of paper. "Tanner Crawford."

Elara's first thought was that she'd never heard that name before. Evidently, she'd never crossed paths with her partner. That was a good thing. It'd make things easier in the arena.

The crowd moved back, parting almost magically, and revealed a mousy looking pale boy, skittering to the front. He couldn't have been older than twelve, not by the Games' restrictions, but he barely seemed that. Unlike herself, his tears started instantly, racing down his face, his skin turning red and blotchy. No one cried. No one begged for it to be fake. The crowd was sickeningly silent.

"And congratulations to you, young man." Celiea gritted out through her smile, stepping backwards. "Shake hands, tributes."

Tanner had barely even arrived in front of her before he was thrusting out his hand to the older girl, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his shirt. Her heart cracked directly down the middle, she was sure of it, because as his soft, sad eyes met her own, Elara caught sight of the fading bruise on what should've been his pale cheekbone. Instead, it was a faint green, something that must've happened weeks ago, but the angry red marks around his wrist were very much fresh. She crouched carefully in front of him and took his hand, shaking it once, before her emotions got the better of her and she cautiously pulled him to her chest. She hugged him quickly, muttering a quick "don't cry, little guy," before standing again. It wasn't supposed to look like a show, but she was sure that the Capitol, watching what the cameras displayed across their screens, was more than entertained.

"Isn't that lovely?" Celiea smiled, though it seemed to be a little more genuine than before. She swallowed thickly. "Happy Hunger Games." She turned to walk away but a Peacekeeper intercepted with a hand to the center of her chest. Glancing down at it and glaring at him, something only the ones on the stage noticed, she turned back. "May the odds be ever in your favor." She uttered calmly, before storming through the doors of the Justice Building, the two terrified tributes following close behind.

Chapter Text

AN HOUR. ONE MEASLY HOUR. That was all the time Elara was given to say goodbye to the most important person in her life, before hurtling towards her forthcoming death.

"Remember that time we saved up to buy ingredients, so we could bake cookies? We didn't even have everything in the recipe and then the power went out so we ended up eating terrible raw cookie dough in your room until we fell asleep." Elara smiled softly as she picked at her thumbnail.

She'd been doing it for the last forty minutes. Her skin was raw by now, thrumming in pain but never quite letting up. Never quite drawing blood.

"Mm." Bea hummed.

"Oh and the time we didn't have any heat for a week? We must've had at least six blankets each."

"It was so cold."

"The coldest week of the year. Do you remember that customer? The one that yelled at me for one of the stitches in the skirt? You came into the main shop and went toe-to-toe in a screaming match just because she called my work sloppy."

"I remember. I remember all of it, El." Bea nodded, her voice wobbling from her barely restrained tears.

Elara flinched. She hated it. She hated this. She shouldn't have even bothered saying goodbye. It hurt too much. The feeling of her own pain brought Tanner's face into her mind. Did he have anyone to say goodbye to? Her round brown eyes flicked to where her mother was sitting across from her, her knee bouncing frantically. "Bea..."

"You have to fight."

She froze. All her life, Bea had been the most gentle of souls, never even enjoying the death of bugs in the home. Did she imagine those words? "What?"

Bea sniffled, raising a shaky hand to brush away a stray tear before meeting her gaze. "You're the kindest young girl I have ever had the pleasure of knowing." She said, her words managing to tug Elara's lips upward slightly. "I need to keep knowing you. I can't lose you. You have to fight. Win. You can do it. I know you can."

El's mouth opened. Shut again. She did that a few more times before words were finally tip-toeing on her tongue. "Bea I don't... I'm scared."

"I know, baby." She didn't hesitate. Arms outstretched, Bea swept the girl into a tight hug, holding her head to her shoulder. She cradled it there, the same way she would when she was younger, her touch as gentle as her tone. There was a finality in her touch. She'd just told her to fight but Elara could feel her resignation seeping through her pores. She knew it was hopeless.

"Not just... of the games." She mumbled, ashamed, into the crook of her neck. "What if it changes me? What if..." She gulped, squeezing her eyes shut tightly, as if to hide from the thought entirely. "What if I end up like him?"

Bea reared back, placing her palms on her child's cheeks. "You listen to me well and good now. I don't care what runs through your veins, you are not him. You are a Rosewood. Through and through. Nothing that happens in that arena is going to change that."

Mist clouded El's vision as she nodded, savoring the embrace her mother wrapped her up in. Because that's what Bea was. She was her mom. Stiorra had a special and very permanent place in Elara's heart but due to the world's cruel intentions, she never even got to know her. It was Bea who gave the girl a place to call home, a safe haven, despite her heritage. It didn't matter that there was a lingering danger at being the one to take care of Snow's missing grandchild. All she cared about was the young girl on her doorstep left with nothing. That wasn't right.

She deserved something.

She deserved so much more than that.

Pressing her lips to Elara's forehead, Bea let her thumb stroke the apple of her cheek, just briefly, before the door swung open. "Time's up." The balding man in the white uniform declared. She was glad it wasn't the Troll. He'd have infuriated her.

"That's it? But I haven't– What about–" El scrambled, looting her brain for an excuse and coming up empty.

Bea nodded quickly and squeezed Elara's hands tightly in her own once again, her tears finally flowing. "Keep fighting, my strong girl." She muttered, before she was "escorted" out of the room, leaving a devastated teenage girl in her wake. Escorted. More like dragged straight from her grip without a care for her wellbeing. Bullshit.

She wasn't sure who else she was expecting: Nancy maybe. She didn't really have any other friends. Not because they didn't like her; people seemed perfectly happy with her. It was the lying, Elara couldn't handle. She couldn't do that to them. So her room remained empty, just a little longer though it felt like another five hours alone. When she'd just about collected herself, the door swung open once more, another Peacekeeper appearing and demanding she follow them.

✩➵✩

The air inside the travel car was thick with tension and an uncomfortable sticky warmth that had her fidgeting in her seat. She didn't watch the District pass her by, too afraid of realizing how attached she'd become to home and focusing on some kind of plan for the arena. Despite how much she hated him, Gramps had always told her to think ahead. Stay one step ahead always.

That sentiment flew straight out the cab window, however, when Tanner's soft sniffles filled the silence, his finger drawing patterns in the condensation he created on the window panes with his breath. It faded fast, but he figured out if he kept his finger right above the spot he warmed, he could create something before it faded from sight. Two dots. One upturned line like a smile. He wiped that image away.

In the middle, just as restless as the both of them, Celiea huffed and puffed, fiddling with her fancy cufflinks and rolling up her sleeves, not bothering to make conversation. Elara couldn't understand what she had to be complaining about. She wasn't the one set up for death here.

Celiea practically shoved Elara from the car when it finally slowed outside the station, inhaling heavy breaths of the smoke-polluted air because anything was better than breathing the same confined air as some District kids, she was sure. What a stuck-up little–

Ushering the two kids to the train was like wrestling animals into a cage. The sheer size of the thing was unbearably daunting, freezing her limbs and squeezing her hands into tight unmoving fists. Never had she witnessed such a technologically advanced invention in her entire life. It was like a spaceship; sleek gray metal walls with pristinely clear windows and god knows what sort of things were keeping it running. It made her brain hurt to think about.

"Well?" Celiea said, expectantly. "You gonna get on or what?" She was quite rude actually. Elara didn't like her.

She turned back to the open hole in the wall, the door evidently, and moved to take a step, before a small finger prodded her back. She spun, a little too aggressively if the way he flinched away was anything to tell her, and sought out the younger boy's gaze. Purposefully softening a little, she smiled apologetically. She didn't mean to scare him.

Tanner chewed on his lip a little, glancing around her body at the train before holding out a hand without a single word uttered. At first, she didn't understand. What did he want from her really? She was navigating all this stuff for the first time too, didn't he realize that? But then, he met her gaze once more, sad soft eyes welling with tears and she slipped her palm into his without a second thought. Funnily enough, holding Tanner's hand calmed her just as much as it must've eased him, and she squeezed it gently as he made the small jump over the gap between the platform and the train, right over the track.

They moved through the corridor, gray doors automatically shifting at their presence and giving them access without needing any kind of identification. She felt special. Well– maybe not special. It was a little macabre really, being the important ones in a vehicle because they were going to die but still, it was much easier to pretend they were important guests for their status and not their fates. Gramps used to call her special. The thought appeared in her mind before she could will it away. His 'special Little Lark'. Something painful twisted in her stomach.

"This is the one we want." Celiea alerted them from behind, and Elara suddenly lost that feeling of importance she'd been clutching. It faded quickly, like the way her blood ran down the sink when she was too careless with her sewing needle. She approached the door on unsteady feet, the singular square window allowing her some kind of viewing into a room she already hated without ever having stepped foot in there. She just had an inkling. Tanner wasn't even tall enough to peek through it, so Elara spotted the people in there long before he did.

With a whoosh of air, the door slid aside, allowing the group to step into the confines of a beautiful sitting room, complete with makeshift bar. The walls were covered in intricate patterned wallpaper, gold trimmings just because they could and emerald green armchairs around a mahogany coffee table.

Two of the chairs were occupied, side by side, by two men who looked like polar opposites. On one chair, Tobin Mackerin slept soundly, his snoring seeming so much louder in the smaller room. His sounds seemed to echo off the walls, disrupting the peace and setting Elara on edge.

To his right, the familiar dark haired man sat staring at his crystal glass on the table in front of him, his arms folded across his chest. Weston didn't even look up at them. He just stared silently, looking like he hadn't slept a wink for the last five years.

"Well, go on. Sit down – for crying out loud," Celiea emphasized, adding the last part as more of a frustrated breath. Weston didn't quite smile, but he shook his head at her words. It was sort of amusement. Maybe? Elara couldn't even tell. He was a hard guy to read.

Elara lowered into her chair with class, thank you very much, whereas Tanner bounced on the cushion, his entire presentation making El flinch. She wished he'd been taught a little more decorum. It was hard enough being viewed as nothing more than factory rats.

She'd be lying though if she said she wasn't jealous when his legs swung, his toes not quite reaching the floor with him sat all the way back. He slouched forward, something that El felt she needed to do something about. If no one else had taught him, she could. Waving a hand, she caught his attention and lifted her hands gently upward, palms facing the ceiling and straightening out her own spine as she did so. He got the hint, sitting upright with wide, fearful eyes. A cough slipped past his lips, too quick for him to catch in his hand though he tried, and even that sounded young. He was too damn young.

Weston stiffened at the sound, his gaze darting up at the boy and running down: right from the very top of his messy loose curls all the way down to the gap from sleek wooden floor to scuffed and falling apart shoe. Being a boy in care, Tanner likely had to deal with a lot of hand-me-downs, not nearly as many chances to have his clothing repaired or freshly made for him. That'd explain the way his shirt looked about two sizes too big for him and why his pants had to be rolled up at the bottom. With just his brief analysis, Weston's eyes squeezed shut quickly, almost painfully, before he turned his sights to Elara.

She wondered if he recognized her. If he did, he didn't show it. He barely gave her any kind of a reaction, just a once over and that was all. No pity like he had for Tanner. Understandable. She wasn't twelve years old.

"Drinking on the job?" Elara broke the silence, her eyes on his drink pointedly. "Doesn't put a lot of confidence in our rates of survival." She stated, though really she didn't expect much, if anything at all, from him.

She shouldn't have underestimated his ability to surprise her.

"Am I drinking?" His gruff voice asked back. Elara furrowed her brows in utter confusion. He had liquor right in front of him. "It's been on the table since you came in. Haven't even picked it up."

She shrugged. "You have it though. I'm assuming your intentions are there."

"You'd assume wrong." He met her gaze head on, brows furrowed in a glare that would've scared her if she wasn't literally on her way to the slaughterhouse. "You don't know me. I don't drink."

"Why's it on the table then?" Elara questioned.

"Oh my god, kid." He rubbed his eyes with a sigh. "We ain't playing twenty questions right now."

"Fine."

"Excuse me. Mister... Sir." Tanner cut in, fidgeting with the sleeve of his white creased button-up shirt. "Are you going to help us?"

Weston may have been unreadable when it came to her but with his eyes on Tanner, he was an open book. She observed the movement of his throat as he swallowed, the softening of his gaze and the clench of his jaw. "I'll do my best, kiddo." He nodded, and Tanner was kind enough not to point out the tremor in his voice. Or maybe he just didn't quite catch it.

Elara frowned at the seat beside him. "And he's gonna... What exactly?"

Weston shook his head, reaching out for his glass and freezing a few feet away. He stilled there for a moment, flexing his fingers, before abandoning the act entirely. "He's old."

"You're old."

"Not that old. Let him sleep."

She did as she was told, letting the old man mutter in his blissful sleeping state, whilst she helped herself to the dinner they provided them with. She knew realistically she should have showered beforehand, but the idea of showering, cleaning herself to perfection and then digging into a meal like the animal they saw her as was just not the correct order. No. She'd eat. Then, clean and change.

Tanner seemed happy enough to follow in her footsteps, no matter the plan, mimicking the way she flattened out a napkin over her thighs. He watched her serve herself a generous portion of carrot soup, before ordering out her cutlery beside the plate. Tanner, much more clumsy than she was, grabbed the ladle, turning his whole arm to pour it into his bowl and causing a few drops to splatter across the table. The two stared at one another in horror, glancing up at where their escort should be, but she'd thrown herself down half over the bar, too lazy to head back to her chambers.

They moved their gazes to Weston, who unfortunately had seen the incident. He coughed, wiping at his mouth with his hand. If Elara didn't know any better, she'd think he was laughing.

Tanner took the lack of yelling as a 'go ahead' of sorts, and he loaded up a second plate of lamb chops and warm bread rolls and an array of steamed vegetables. In District 8, they didn't really have places to grow crops, so fresh vegetables were a rarity, unless they were given some by the Capitol. That happened maybe once a year and even then they were rationed. So for the most part, it was bread and maybe a rasher of bacon if they were really lucky. Or that's how it was for El. She wasn't sure what it was like for other people in town.

After filling up their stomachs to the point she thought she might burst, she let herself settle into the armchair, watching the land zip by through the window. Tanner sniffled beside her, fighting back tears when he realized he'd eaten so much he felt sick. She wanted to chastise him. Tell him off for not pacing himself but then her eyes flicked right back to the mottled fading bruise beside his eye and she realized he'd had enough of that in his life already.

"Rest. Maybe if you sit nice and still, it might go away." She tried, offering him the softest smile she could manage.

With the station residing in the Eastern side of District 8, there was a little less than a day to waste away. So when Tanner laid down, his head on the arm of the chair and his legs curled up to his chest, Elara sighed softly. He was so young. She hated that, after twelve years of what was surely Hell at wherever he called home, he was being whisked away to an even worse situation. After all, what was worse than death?

Tobin awoke with a start, snorting an ugly sound as he stood to grab a bread roll from across the table. In his movements, however, the end of his tie dipped into the small puddle of cold soup Tanner had abandoned on the table. He noticed, grunting as he tugged at the thing.

"Oh you're fucking–" He huffed, undoing and tossing the tie somewhere on the ground. "Was that the little runt's fault?" He asked Weston, who furrowed his brows slowly. "Ah well, what does it matter? He'll be dead come Day 1."

Something fierce burned behind her ribs. "Excuse you." She said, eyeing him up and down. He really was old.

"Problem?" Tobin asked, lowering back into his seat and ripping apart his bread roll.

She knew his question was rhetorical. She just didn't care. "A few actually. First of all, with all that money you have you should really find out how to fix your snoring problem. You sound like the factory engines."

"What did you–"

"Second of all, he's twelve years old. Leave him alone or I'll start practicing for the games right here. With you."

"You? I don't think you've ever successfully killed a fly." He snorted, though the hand holding his bread shook a little uneasily. That could've been an age thing.

"Wanna test that theory?"

"Alright." Weston cut in, standing abruptly. "Both of you cut that shit out."

He rounded the table, approaching Tanner, she realized, and without a single hesitation, she shot to her feet. Shoving her own frail body in front of him, she glared, brows furrowed as he froze in front of her.

Something in her eyes, in her fierce stature, must have cleared plenty up in his mind because he paused, raising his hands in slow defense. "Just gonna put him to bed, kid." He said, his voice soft for the first time.

Cautiously, Elara moved aside. He scooped the small boy into his arms, swallowing past something lodged in his throat as he led the way to his room. Tanner stirred, jolting fearfully in his arms, his breath panicked before Weston froze.

"Hey. Hey. It's okay," He said quietly, turning so Tanner could see Elara. "You're safe."

Tanner frowned, his eyes on hers. "Elara. Please don't make me fall asleep on my own." He pleaded.

There was no world in which she'd have turned him away at that moment. Not one. Not when his voice was so fragile, verging on tears like it was the last time they'd see each other. Like they even cared about one another to begin with. She nodded, her stomach twisting at his words as she followed them.

Elara drew back the blankets, allowing Weston to lay him on the sheet covered mattress. He practically sunk into the comfort, the pillows swallowing so much of his head that his ears disappeared from view. Weston remained a moment longer, his eyes flickering between the two before nodding and trudging out the room. She wished she could see all his thoughts. It'd be quite nice to understand what he was thinking, she decided.

Tanner chuckled, breaking her away from the mystery of their mentor, and drawing the smallest of smiles from her. She hadn't realized it would've been possible to smile in such a scenario but Tanner summoned one somehow.

She had never had any siblings of her own. The closest she ever had was a chicken that had wandered too far from home. She looked after her for a while before the owner realized she was missing, even becoming quite fond of its little beak and its less-than-fun pecking at her legs. She named her DeeDee after Bea's silly reaction to the thing. DeeDee never took very kindly to Bea, chasing her around the house with a ferocity no one could understand. "Dumb and dangerous, that beast is." Bea had commented, brows furrowed in such a way Elara couldn't stifle her laughter no matter how hard she tried. Understandably, when the chicken was taken away, the baker wasn't the biggest fan of El after that. DeeDee died soon after she returned home too. District 8 was no place for a chicken.

Pulling the blankets right up over his shoulders, she tucked Tanner in tightly, trapping his arms and tickling his sides a little to hear him laugh.

"I'm twelve, you know. I'm not a baby." He told her, his smile still etched across his lips. Even that, that smile full of actual joy, held a tinge of sadness that soured her stomach. He would benefit greatly from the winnings.

"You're the size of a baby."

"Am not!"

She chuckled and ruffled his dirty dark curls. He could shower when he woke. "Go to sleep, bug."

That made him smile again. "What kind of bug?"

"Well, what's your favorite?" She asked him.

"Hm..." He screwed up his face, little features contorting and wrinkling, as he thought to himself. "Maybe a Luna Moth."

"What's that?"

"It's this super big moth! They can be as big as your hand." He stated, matter-of-factly, freeing his arm from his comforter and spreading his hand as wide as he could.

Elara pulled a face. "Gross." She remarked, though the offended look on his face had her snatching the comment right back out of the air. "In a cool way. Now sleep. I'll wait with you."

Tanner nodded, turning onto his side, disappearing within the thick sheets. Right before he slipped away, his breath evening out, he muttered. She hadn't figured out his words at first, too distracted by everything else going on in their lives, until it came together in her head.

"You're real nice, Elara. I hope you win."

Just like that, her mind settled, the war coming to a stop and the guns falling to the floor of the battlefield.

Elara was going to fight in that arena, but she was absolutely not going to fight for herself. Tanner deserved it. Tanner deserved so much more than he'd received thus far. She was going to give it to him.

Walking back through the automatic doors, eerily calm, she took in Tobin's sleeping form, rolling her eyes, and hesitating in the entrance. Weston was gripping the counter of the bar, his knuckles a sickly white, as he swirled the amber liquid in the glass with barely restrained frustration. She thought he might shatter it in his hand, or maybe he'd break off some of the marble counter. Hard to guess.

"You're getting closer." She stated, not cruelly but unnecessarily.

Weston shook his head, spitting out a response through gritted teeth. "I can control myself."

"Who even are you?" She asked. She knew who he was on the surface level, of course, but introductions were important and neither had had a chance to do so yet.

He seemed to take that for a life line, an opportunity to place the glass back down and turn, resting his back against the edge of the counter and waving a hand for Elara to sit nearby.

"Weston Ellis." He stated, reciting his information like it was part of a script. He shoved a hand through his hair. "Lucky winner of the 48th Hunger Games. And your mentor."

She ignored the mocking tone he used for that last line, perching on a stool and folding her hands into her lap. He furrowed his brows at that but ultimately said nothing. "How old were you?" She asked, curiously.

"Same as you now I'm assuming. Sixteen." She nodded in confirmation.

"Lucky age, huh?" She asked, balling her hands into fists. Crossing her arms over her chest, a defensive gesture she felt was necessary for reasons unbeknownst to her, she nodded her chin at him. "So, 'Oh, Wise One', how do we stay alive out there?"

Weston snorted but it was insincere. Mocking, almost. Again. "We?"

She swallowed. "He's twelve years old."

"There's never been anyone younger than fourteen."

"Then, we set records. We. Until the end at least, right?"

"Elara, is it?" Weston turned his body, facing her fully now, and resting his elbow on the bar. "You know what you're implying here?"

Bea's pleading came to mind but she pushed it away. Away. She'd understand. "That he deserves to live more than me." No falter. No break in her voice. She said it simply, calmly.

That seemed to confuse him. Good, he wasn't the only one with secrets. "I know he's younger, but you're only sixteen. Why would you think that?" He asked, though not in a way to change her mind; he was imploring to understand her motives. He seemed to agree that Tanner deserved to live much more than her.

"There are other factors." She shrugged. Weston waited patiently for her to continue, but she remained silent. He didn't need to know about her heritage. No one did. No one else.

Despite her rude refusal, he nodded, just once. Understanding, maybe, she wasn't sure. Weston bit at the skin on his lower lip as he contemplated his next words, giving a few looks over his shoulder at the sleeping Tobin in the chair. They shared a silent understanding that that man was going to be of no help to any of them. "You stick to that boy like glue. When it starts at least. You need to find somewhere to keep him safe. Shelter. If you can get up high somewhere, it's a good idea. That being said, we have no idea what the arena's gonna look like this year so take all this with a pinch of salt." He explained.

Prying more than she should've, Elara chewed on the inside of her cheek. "What did yours look like?"

A flicker of surprise appeared within the depths of Weston's earnest brown eyes. Disbelief too, maybe. She hadn't seen his games. She didn't know of his games. Geez, how obnoxious was this guy? "Miles of fucking desert."

Yikes. Hot climates, lack of water and barely anywhere to hide? How the hell did this guy survive?

"The dehydration killed off most of the tributes so it saved me a job." He shrugged, as if he was trying to read her thoughts. Clearly he wasn't very good at it because Elara saw his words for exactly what they were.

A bold faced lie.

Bea would not have fretted over Elara seeing them if that was the case. She would not have winced at their mention or avoided talking about them at all costs.

He could keep his secrets. She would keep hers.

"What else can I do?"

"Make friends." He stated bluntly.

Elara raised a suspicious brow. "Friends?"

"That an alien concept for you?" He asked flatly. She rolled her eyes. "Yes. Friends. You wanna get the public to like you, feel close to you. To feel like a friend. That's how you get sponsors. More importantly, you make friends with other tributes? You're in danger from one less person."

"So I make allies just to betray them? That's unjust."

"Better hope someone else takes them out then. Because you're not the only one in that arena with this idea. Whatever you plan? Someone else is planning at the exact same time. You're not special. The sooner you realize that, the better." He warned her.

With a firm nod, Weston sent her off to catch some sleep, warning of the long draining few days to come. Throughout every second of the warm, heavenly shower and the process of redressing and the moments she slipped between the sheets of her cloud of a bed, Elara thought of Tanner. She thought of his gentle nature and the bruises staining his skin and the clothes hanging off his limbs and his innocence. She hadn't known him a day yet and she was considering giving her life for him. Was it reckless? Kind of. She knew Bea would be angry, that alone killed her, but she knew she'd understand. Bea understood Elara better than anyone. She knew she wouldn't be able to leave him to fend for himself. In the long run, she'd be proud.

Right?

Early the next morning, when the light was still a neon tangerine glow cutting through the horizon, Elara practically dashed out to breakfast. She was growing closer to her imminent death, she might as well have eaten a good meal beforehand.

She headed into the spacious train car, catching Tanner's laugh before she saw him. He was seated beside Weston at a table, positioned in front of a large screen. At the table, Weston pointed to the empty wall behind the young boy, "distracting him" before stealing a bit of pancake from his plate. Tanner chuckled loudly at it every time, drawing a small smile from El before she smothered it.

Elara awkwardly entered further into the room, and Weston cleared his throat, his grumpy demeanor falling back into place, every trace of a smile long gone. It wasn't a personal thing, she knew that. He just had a side to him he didn't want to show off. Elara understood that all too well.

Throwing out her desire to be well-mannered and proper, Elara loaded up her plate with pancakes and fruit and toast, all the things she decided looked the best on the table. She washed it down with a large glass of orange juice, downing it and reaching out for the jug once more.

"Christ, kid, we ain't gonna take it away." Weston muttered, earning a half-hearted glare from the girl as she continued to stuff her face. They were going to take it away. They were going to force her into prissy outfits and flaunt her around like a peacock and then shove her into Death's cold arms. She was going to drink her orange juice.

The door swished open, later than it should've and Celiea Montero sauntered into the room, buttoning her cufflinks. She was in blue today, a sky sort of blue that, begrudgingly, Elara admitted to herself was very beautiful. She was still rude. "Oh good, you're all here– Where's Tobin?"

Weston scoffed. "Where do you think?"

"Sleeping. Bastard. How much rest does the fossil need, dammit? Anyway," She offered them some sort of smile. "You're here."

"We weren't gonna be anywhere else, Montero." Weston grumbled, laying his head back against the top of his chair.

"You know what, I've only just entered the room, Weston, and I'm already tired of you." She said, flicking through files on her device. Electronic parchment. Strange.

"Aren't you always?"

Celiea suppressed the smile begging to be revealed with a roll of her lips, before connecting her device to the screen. "Do you want to check out your opponents?" She asked Elara. Not Tanner, since he was too busy loading up his plate with more pancakes and smothering them in syrup.

"Not particularly. I can't size them up through a screen." Elara explained.

"Fair enough." She shut it off instantly. Tanner lifted his head from his plate, chewing and analyzing the room silently.

"What? That's it? No telling me I have to watch it?"

"Honey, no part of me cares enough about this shit to make you watch twelve reapings and analyze them when I could be doing much better things with my time." Maybe she wasn't so bad. "I get paid either way." Never mind.

"I'm gonna be honest, I thought you guys would be Capitol worshippers. Your... attitude to your work is surprising."

Celiea chuckled to herself as she pushed her tie up to her collar. "Thanks, kid."

Elara hummed and watched as the woman busied herself with completing her extravagant outfit while the rest of them sat around doing... Well, nothing. Tanner scooted off of his seat and wandered over to the window, observing the Capitol as it rushed into view. If she could've, Elara would've shut her eyes and refused to open them, had it not been entirely too obvious there was something wrong.

"We're here!"

✩➵✩

If Elara thought she was jumpy before, it had multiplied by a million now she was back in the Capitol. It had always been the lingering looks that put her on edge, so here, where all anyone did was stare, she was in Hell.

She didn't get much time to settle in before meeting her stylist. Sweeping her away to a room with far too many people, she was considered and judged and studied, all by strangers seeing her entirely exposed. They "perfected" her look, softening sharp edges and tweezing every stray hair until her skin hurt. Then, to both her dismay and her relief, they were wheeling her away to a room.

She'd been worried for a while about what kind of stylist she'd receive. They gave the tributes the looks people were supposed to remember them by, but what were they to do with Elara? She came from the district specializing in textiles but the entirety of home was grey. There weren't beautiful oceans like District 4 or gold and treasures like District 1. Factories and misery. She was going to be made a fool of by a fool.

Though, when the woman stepped inside, she didn't look foolish.

Well... She did. Though somehow it looked right. Like if she removed the bright orange hairstyles and the (in her eyes) unconventional makeup and the outfits, she'd look incorrect. The woman curled a finger, beckoning her to stand.

"Well, aren't you a beauty?"

"Uh– Thanks." Elara shuffled awkwardly as the woman circled her like a predator rounding its prey.

"Beautiful skin, dear. Very clear. And your hair," She twirled a piece around her finger, like that was normal to do to strangers. "Just lovely."

Invading the room, the door swung open carelessly. "Elara, make sure— Valeria." Celiea smirked. A new expression, Elara noted.

"Montero." The woman, Valeria, replied, bluntly. She didn't pay her much attention, her eyes never moving from Elara although they struggled. She had to shut them numerous times, as if they might stray without her knowledge.

"I thought we were past that last name only crap." Celiea said, leaning a strong shoulder against the door frame.

"She's going to be ready in time for the Tribute Parade. Now, let me work." Valeria snapped, tugging Elara to the side with an unnecessary amount of force.

Running her tongue over her teeth, Celiea nodded, something peculiar in her eyes as she spun and left, shutting the door behind her.

"Okay, Team." Valeria clapped her hands together, causing the other members of the prep team to shoot forward. Elara wasn't sure of their names. No one was introducing themselves around here. "You know what to do."

She was shown a hundred devices and brushes and colors, so many she felt dizzy. They spun her and wiped at her face and prodded her in the eye with makeup wands she'd never seen before. They twirled locks of her hair into spirals and revealed the outfit she'd be shoved into. In all honesty, Elara felt like a doll, prepped and primed for the Capitol's viewing. It was a very new experience. Even when she did live in the Capitol, she wasn't treated this way. There was something restraining about the dismissal of her own style, her outfits controlled by someone else. That experience though was at least familiar.

"That woman." Valeria muttered bitterly as she worked, adding extra stitches to the waistline of her dress. "Always causing issues." She shook her head. Taking a cautious step back, not wanting to tumble over in her heels, a gentle smile spread across her lips. "Oh, Elara. You look wonderful."

Holding her breath, Elara turned to face the mirror, assessing the girl– No, the woman looking back at her. Her soft brown hair was tied up, the artificial curls piled atop her head with just a few strands hanging loose, imitating some kind of nonchalance. Like they hadn't taken hours to perfect the style. They'd strategically weaved rose petals within the updo, the exact shade matching the gown. A deep burgundy with a long train. She'd fall over it at some point, she was sure of it. The beauty of the dress had her balance wavering just slightly, uncovering the slit directly up the skirt, revealing a little more skin than she was expecting. She wasn't uncomfortable by it so to speak but there was more revealed than she'd have decided. Across the corset and climbing the skirt from the hem, a masterpiece of detailing, swirls and soft lines made of gold. Actual gold if the weight of the dress said anything. It was beautiful.

"Valeria..." Her voice was hoarse.

"Val, my dear." She encouraged gently.

"Val. This is incredible."

She shrugged as if she wasn't even bothered, just another day, but the wide grin and faint pink on her cheeks explained a hundred other feelings.

"Rosewood," Val said as an explanation. "Roses symbolize a number of things. Love, passion, beauty and respect. All traits you possess, my dear. You're a rose, Elara. Bloom for them." She said, twirling a curl around her finger.

Elara nodded, understandingly, and stretched a careful hand to the woman. She took it, placing a soft kiss on her newly manicured nails.

"There are some things I want you to remember." Valeria told her, her tone becoming much more serious, receiving an obedient nod in response. "This is not a costume. This is a statement. You shouldn't feel fraudulent when wearing it. You are their flower, Elara. Act like it." She told her seriously. "Do not compare my work with another District's. I do what I see fit for the person. I do not care if someone else's outfit is nicer than yours. Not my problem."

Elara swallowed thickly. Maybe Val was kind but that mindset... Did she see her as just another District animal?

"If you find an issue in your outfit, do not tell me about it. I'm still getting paid at the end of this. I don't want to know what you or anyone else doesn't like about my work. I achieved this position for a reason. Are we clear?"

Elara nodded, biting her tongue to keep from lashing out. She might not have liked Celiea but they sure had similar minds. Maybe that was it. They were too similar, too prone to bashing heads. "Crystal."

"You've got five minutes to pull yourself together, my dear."

Five minutes. In five minutes she'd be thrust in front of a hundred different cameras on a silly chariot whilst people on a screen commented on her outfit and how she looked and people would decide if she seemed worthy enough to root for in the Hunger Games. They wouldn't. She knew they wouldn't because no one cared about District 8. They'd realize though. Tanner was going to win and they'd realize. Bea would be watching from home. Was she proud? Was she upset? Elara wasn't sure she'd want to know. No one else would take that much interest in her. They'd just–

Her stomach dropped and churned and suddenly her pancakes from the morning were threatening to make a reappearance.

He would be watching her. For the first time in four years, Elara was going to see her grandfather again.

Would he recognize her? She sure hoped not. The last thing she needed was the entirety of Panem knowing President Snow had a grandchild and she had run off to live in the Districts. She could practically hear their disapproval there: "Poor President, losing all his family and being betrayed by his own granddaughter."

Though if, by some miracle, he recognized the soft brown of her eyes that had matured over the years, she hoped he'd feel sick at the sight of her.

In no time at all, five minutes were up and she was being ushered through the halls. She had to lug the dress around with extreme effort, the weight of the skirt being entirely unpractical. When Celiea caught sight of her, she grinned. "She's outdone herself."

"Are you making fun of me?" Elara asked, furrowing her brows.

"Not at all, sweetheart." Leaning to see past her, she nodded affirmatively. "I see the dress is already cooperating."

Cooperating? Confused, Elara spared a glance over her shoulder. Rose petals, red and white, followed her path like a trail, as if someone had sprinkled them behind her as she walked.

"Where are they–" She tugged the train of the dress forward, leaving more petals in its wake. They were coming from the dress. She knew, technically, roses were not the right choice for a District 8 tribute. They couldn't even grow out there. Val had chosen them for her. Elara Rosewood. "Why the white?" She asked abruptly, fearful of the idea of reaching out to Snow. That was the least of her worries.

Celiea snorted. "What? You don't like the President's favorite?"

"Not really." She shrugged.

Beaming at her answer, Celiea nodded. "Together they symbolize unity. So you and Tanner," She held up her crossed fingers.

Elara nodded and fidgeted with the rings that had been shoved on her fingers. They were all ordering her about and telling her things she already knew. It was exhausting.

"Do you understand who we need you to be, Elara?" Celiea asked.

She shrugged. "Val didn't really explain much. The Capitol's flower."

"Exactly. Delicate. Soft. Give off a whole 'spread peace not war' vibe. The audience might connect with you that way, offer you their support because they underestimate you."

"Might?" Her skin was hot. She couldn't be riding on might.

"I don't know what you want from me. The point is to be nice. This then changes at training. The moment you're face to face with the other tributes, you do not act fragile. Do not appear as weak. You do whatever is necessary to portray yourself as someone they want on their team. Do you understand?"

"They want to kill me."

"Yeah and if you don't do this then they will. You befriend them and you can get that little boy out of there." She said, hitting Elara's Achilles heel. She hadn't even realized Tanner had become such a weakness for her but with the way her heart was racing in her chest, her skin stinging with protectiveness, he'd grown on her rather quickly.

So, she nodded. Just once. Just enough to show she understood. She'd be lying. Again. Being someone she wasn't. Again.

The chariot's were all out, positioned arbitrarily for each tribute to board. They'd find an order once they started to move but, for now, she was left to trail after Celiea, more flower petals presenting her path.

"We're just up here," Celiea called back. "I'm gonna find your asshole mentor."

With the other tributes roaming the area, Elara took her time to walk, sizing up the worst of them and frowning at the smaller ones. The blonde boy from two leaned against the chariot closest to her, dressed in armor that clearly offered much more mobility than her own did, if his smug smirk was anything to go off of. He waved his hand, as if to tell her to speed it up, and she rolled her eyes, irritated.

Hiking up one side of the ridiculous skirt, Elara moved to take a step, only to feel something keeping her in place. For a moment she thought someone was dragging her back, until she took one glance over her shoulder.

"Do you mind?" She asked, brows furrowed at the boy stood on the end of her skirt.

"Shit! Sorry!" He scrambled back, scooping up the fabric and trying to hand it to her.

She huffed, letting him pile the train into a messy bundle in her own arms, and narrowed her eyes at his oddly familiar face.

He couldn't have been much older than herself, seventeen maybe, and yet he exuded maturity like he was someone else entirely. She knew the Capitol had ways to make you appear younger – or they thought they did; usually it just made their skin look like leather – but Elara had never seen it work to this sort of extent. He looked young, sure, but he was beautiful. That was undeniable. She couldn't place him. She knew he wasn't a tribute, he wasn't dressed fancy enough for it, but if that wasn't it, who the hell was he?

Bright green eyes, sea green: like the ocean, flicked to the bottom of her dress, drifting up and back to her eyes all the while something moved across his face, a mask falling into place. One side of his mouth tilted upward, his smirk appearing almost natural. Almost. He'd perfected it over however many years he'd had, something he'd practiced over and over again.

"You, uh, dropped something." He said, nodding his head towards the petals. Elara stared blankly. "Or... a lot of things?"

"Well, aren't you observant?" She deadpanned, turning away from him.

"Woah, hey, hold on," He chuckled, reaching out before she glared his way. Something about his reaction said that wasn't one he was used to. He retracted, keeping his hands to himself. "What's your name?"

"Elara." She said hesitantly. "Rosewood."

"Rosewood." He said, a flicker of recognition in his eyes, and her name had never sounded better coming out of his mouth. He nodded. "Are you excited?"

Her brows tugged downward. Is he serious? That was the problem with Capitol peacocks. They could flaunt around with as much beauty as could be attained but at the center of it all they were ugly, self-centered narcissists. She'd know. "Am I excited? For what, my death?"

That made him smile. Actually smile, not that unsettling faux expression he was wearing prior. "Good point." He said, offering out a hand.

Elara stared at it, the smoothness of his skin and his clean, manicured nails. Then, cautiously, she slipped her palm in his. She didn't want to back down.

"I'm Finnick." He told her, his genuine smile making her limbs freeze up. The name was familiar, recognition teasing her tongue, but for some reason she still couldn't figure it out.

"Elara."

He chuckled and the sound sent vibrations down her spine. He was good at this. "Yeah. You said that already."

"Oh. Um– I–"

"Elara!" Celiea's voice broke through her thoughts. "C'mon, they're waiting!"

She spun back to Finnick, her palm still in his, the warmth of his skin heating up her cheeks as she snatched herself away, ducking her head and scrambling away without a goodbye.

Tanner was already waiting for her when she arrived. He was on a small step, helping him appear taller beside her slender frame, and dressed in a suit the same shade as her dress. The same gold detailing ran up from the bottom of his blazer and across his waistcoat, shimmering in the lights surrounding them. Living in the District that specialized in textiles, she supposed she couldn't critique their outfits too much. Fabric and details were everything, right? She stepped onto the chariot, letting Weston and Celiea fidget with the stupid train, perfecting its positioning as she focused on Tanner. Tanner, whose hand was clutching her own so tightly. Tanner, whose fading bruise was no longer visible under the layer of makeup they'd applied to his face. Tanner, who deserved better.

When the signature anthem from the Capitol blared through the speakers, Elara swore her heart dropped. The chatter of the crowd rushed through the air, reaching them even before they'd left the area.

The horses started to trot and the wood beneath them felt unsafe and the crowd were deafening Elara to the point she was sure she was about to pass out. Or cry. Both of which she'd rather avoid. Each car held the two tributes from each District, each outfit different and resonating with their specialties. No one else wore red, weirdly enough. Val did a damn good job at bringing them attention, even if El could've done without.

Chancing a discreet peek over her shoulder, Elara watched the petals dropping from beneath her train off the back of the chariot, creating a trail the remaining districts had no choice but to follow.

She wondered what the actual Capitol's sweetheart would be saying about their outfits. Caesar Flickerman was a master at his trade, after all, so to get his genuine approval would gain them popularity from audiences just as well. Probably better he say something then her.

Their carts slowed to a stop beneath the huge daunting stage. At the very top, looming over her just like her impending doom, President Snow stood proudly, giving a speech to his subjects like some kind of twisted king. Flaunting his riches in their face like they were somehow equal. He never really spared a glance at the tributes, not until he congratulated them.

"Happy Hunger Games!" He spoke. His eyes flicked between each of the carts, lingering a little too long on the District 8 chariot. Or maybe she'd imagined that. She was a little paranoid. "May the odds be ever in your favor." He said. She was almost positive that his voice dropped lower, more personal. It was the same voice he once used when she had told him how well her reading was coming along. "I'm so proud of you, Little Lark." He had said. Her stomach clenched.

When the chariots turned, returning them back the way they came and into the arms of their superiors, Elara spared a glance over her shoulder. Just one. Something to ease the mind.

Snow's eyes, cold and possibly unforgiving, were unmoving from hers.

She turned, focusing her attention on the audience, but his stare burned into the back of her skull until she was long out of view. Even then, he remained, a ghost at her side until the very end.

Chapter Text

TRAINING | DAY ONE

THE WOMAN IN the training room spoke like a robot. It was all Elara could focus on. She droned on and on about the statistics of dying without the proper survival skills as the girl let her eyes drift over the others residing around the gym. She should've been listening, she was to keep another person alive after all, but when the lady remained in the same monotonous tone, she couldn't help herself.

The pair from District 2 stood menacingly beside each other, their hands folded comfortably behind their backs as they listened. Carmel and Pluto, if she remembered correctly. He was tall, she was short, but what she lacked in height she matched in muscle. Thick arms and biceps maybe even bigger than his, she glared at anyone staring too long. Elara got the brunt of it when the girl noticed her unmoving brown eyes locked on her. Very swiftly, Elara looked away. Not too far away, Adoration and Jasper, from District 1, mimicked their stances. They weren't as physically intimidating as the District 2 tributes, but they were no less menacing. It made sense really. They'd been training for this day for years. District 4 too, but they didn't seem to be grouping together with them as she'd expected.

The boy from 4 stood with his arms folded, the girl practically glued to his side. She wasn't clinging to him, so much as keeping his arm pressed against hers, as if she needed him there to keep her grounded. She understood that; Tanner was squeezing her hand so hard she thought her fingers might pop off.

Another girl, the one from District 10, cowered behind her partner like everything was out to get her. She was so small. So innocent. Elara felt sick.

The robot lady set them off, waving her hands to dismiss them, and Elara did nothing but wander. Tanner shot away from her, confident in his own abilities to match the poisonous bugs and identify which fruits were safe to eat. He was mighty quick for such a small kid, so much so that a wave of guilt washed over her. She hadn't given him the credit he so clearly deserved.

For her first few long, tiresome hours, Elara focused entirely on the survival aspects of the room. She learnt in great detail what was worth scavenging, from Tanner of all people, in return of her teaching him how to sew up a wound. Neither of the two had any idea how to make a fire so they followed the instructor closely, unwilling to mess up and risk being ridiculed in front of everyone.

At some point, the girl from 10, Wren, she said her name was, had joined their side. She watched intently as Tanner created sparks, the flames suddenly bursting to life. She tried to copy, mimicking his actions without the success before Tanner jumped in to help. When her own fire burst to life, she beamed, hugging him tightly before darting off somewhere.

His cheeks turned pink and Elara snickered under her breath.

"Shut up, loser." Was all he said as she ruffled his nest-like hair.

Pretty quickly, however, Elara realized a new issue at hand. If she didn't pick up a weapon sooner or later, she'd be at a complete loss when it came to defending herself. To defending Tanner. She'd have much bigger issues to deal with than being ridiculed, most that came in the form of pointed metal, sharp enough to puncture flesh.

Choosing a place to try was difficult. She hadn't wanted something too big like a spear, or too fidgety like a bow. She wanted something quick. Sly. She hadn't realized she'd decided on daggers until she stood right in front of them.

Testing out the weight of one of the knives in her hand, she eyed the human-shaped target in front of her. As the assistant of a seamstress, precision was a skill she had taken a long time to master. She wasn't flawless, not by a long shot but Bea had praised her for her attention to detail often. That and a steady hand. Bea was a 'no-nonsense' kind of lady. Carefully, with a sweaty hand, Elara lifted the blade by its point between her finger and thumb, aiming with her other hand before flinging the knife at the bullseye. It wedged itself a few inches left of the head, the result drawing quiet curses from her lips.

"That was pretty good." Tanner nodded, unphased by Elara's ignorant nature. She shook her head, reaching for another and flicking it forward once more, her head spinning with frustration.

"You've got to plant your feet." A voice cleared up at her side.

Her head quickly jerked in their direction, dark brows furrowed and smothering the natural softness of her eyes. They landed inquiringly on the boy from 4 again. Now able to take in his appearance, Elara assessed him entirely. He was taller than her, with muscular brown arms permanently folded across his wide chest, or so she had assumed, and a smile printed on his lips like it was carved there. Taking a few steps forward, raising his hands in defense when Elara flinched back, he picked up a blade, checking that she was watching.

Then, in a very dramatic manner, she watched him plant his feet, right before he flicked the blade at his own target, hitting it right in the center of its bullseye.

"That was luck," She said, planting her feet in the completely wrong position. When the boy snickered, Elara swiveled, losing her patience and huffing at the sight of his grin. "What now?"

He shuffled forward, pointing at her legs and trying to demonstrate again. Once more, Elara moved incorrectly. "Can I?" He asked, pointing to her shoulders. Hesitantly, she nodded, letting him move her body into the necessary form before taking a step back. "Give it another go." He encouraged her. "You got the throw down."

Taking a deep breath, she flung the knife at the board. For a second, she didn't even wanna look, but Tanner's quick gasp was enough to turn her head. "I did it." She mumbled. The knife was a few centimeters left of a bullseye. He heard her.

"Told you." He stretched out a hand with a smug grin. Elara raised a brow, unwilling to fall into whatever trap he was planting. A pretty smile only went so far. "Caspian. District 4."

"Elara." She replied, grabbing his hand firmly and shaking it. "District 8."

"And your biggest fan's name?" He nodded his chin at the young boy sat on the sidelines, of his own accord, watching her work. His hair was so messy, she almost chuckled at the sight of him.

"Tanner." She said, bluntly. Get your eyes off of him, she wanted to say instead.

But Caspian made no other remark. He nodded, glancing around the room for his partner. "Nice to meet you both. Good luck out there." He shrugged, pointing a finger at them as he walked backwards towards the bow and arrows. She watched him consider it for a second, before he turned and headed for the spears instead. Good to know.

"One more weapon before climbing?" She asked Tanner.

He nodded eagerly and followed her to the bow that she picked up carefully. She examined it, testing the weight in her hand just the same, before holding it out to Tanner.

His eyes lit up. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, he scurried forward, accepting the weapon and clumsily trying to arm it. Elara gently covered his hand, helping him get into position. It felt wrong. Tanner was so young. So juvenile. Arming him with a deadly weapon felt irresponsible. But it was necessary.

Planting his feet in a similar way that Caspian taught her, he drew back the arrow, aiming it at the middle. It flew through the air hitting it slightly off center and tugging a smile free from her lips. Tanner cheered, drawing far too much unnecessary attention, though with a sharp look, he quieted. Her eyes darted around the room, seeking out the boy and when they found him, they blinked a few times. He was holding the spear that he should have been practicing with in his hand while his eyes stayed glued to her, a soft smile on his face. Elara didn't quite smile back, but she gave him a nod, turning away and placing the bow back in its spot.

"Oooh!" Tanner mocked. "I know what's going on." He said, his tone almost song-like.

Scoffing, Elara lightly shoved him. Not to hurt him, just to knock him slightly. He laughed loudly, jumping and poking at her warm cheeks. She messed up his hair in retaliation.

"Enough from you, bug." She said, ushering him forward. The climbing area was thankfully empty. "Let's give this a go."

✩➵✩

At the end of the table, Tobin scooped food into his mouth, annoyed. He didn't like spending time with them. Too many years of mentoring tributes to their deaths, she assumed. She couldn't blame him for hating that. She could, however, blame him for being an ass to Tanner at every chance he had. Miserable old–

"Today went well?" Weston asked the two as they shoveled food into their mouths like they were going to run out. In some ways, they were. They'd be left fending for themselves in a matter of days.

Shrugging casually, Elara nodded, trying to swallow the mouthful of lamb she was chewing to recount her use of the knives. Weston picked up his glass, raising a brow as he sipped his water.

Before she could open her mouth to speak, Tanner practically jumped in his seat. "El flirted with the guy from 4!" He yelled.

"Dude!" Elara shouted back as water shot out of Weston's nose. Tobin wiped his mouth with his napkin, placing it on the plate and muttering something about a nap. She could feel the heat shooting to her cheeks no matter how hard she struggled against it. "How do you even know what that word means?!"

"Because I'm not stupid." He quipped.

"Oh, I beg to differ." She argued, ducking her head and focusing on her food to hide her blush.

Weston tried to control his chuckles but ultimately gave up as he waved away the help, an Avox, she recalled, and mopped at the table with a rag. "That's one way to make friends, I guess."

"He was being nice to me. All I did was nod at the guy."

"I don't know." Celiea swirled her wine glass. If there was anything Elara knew about that woman, it was that she lived for drama. Capitol assholes. "Sounds pretty flirty to me."

Elara huffed, flicking a potato with her fork. "You guys are insufferable."

"Oh, come on. No one's making fun." Weston shrugged, tossing a piece of bread in his mouth. "We're just appreciating your methods."

She glared across the table. "Hey, has anyone ever killed their mentor before?"

It didn't take long for Tanner to finish his food, declaring himself exhausted and wandering off to his room. Leaving Elara with the adults. She wasn't uncomfortable, if anything she enjoyed their presence, even if they were annoying.

"It's nice to see him smiling. He doesn't seem all that worried about this whole thing." Celiea pointed out, rubbing at her teeth with her finger. "Fucking red wine." She cursed quietly.

Elara nodded. She was right. Tanner was entirely calm about it. She hoped he wasn't ignoring that it was going to happen. He needed to take it seriously. Even if he did have her to defend him, at some point she wasn't going to be there. Hopefully it'd be the last moment but who knew what was going to happen? He had to be prepared. "It's making me nervous." Elara admitted.

"He's a good kid." Celiea said, offering no other comfort. Or advice.

"Ignoring that issue... this Caspian Hayes–" Weston began, sitting upright, all humor leaving his eyes.

"Don't start." Elara said.

Raising his hands in surrender, he shook his head. "I was only gonna ask... Do you think he could be an ally?"

Elara thought to herself for a moment. "I think he could kill me as soon as we enter that arena. And yet, he helped me use a weapon today. Doesn't bode well for him if I'm well trained when he's hunting me down, right?"

"Unless he likes a fight." He commented, his words a warning.

Every part of this process was exhausting. She had to act delicate but not too delicate, and trust tributes to make allies but don't trust them. She had to focus on keeping Tanner alive at all times but make sure she lived so that Tanner would be safe. Her heart was constantly pounding and it felt like there was something wrapped loosely around her throat, tightening more each day until she was suffocating.

It was all bullshit.

✩➵✩

TRAINING | DAY TWO

Training continued the next day. 10 AM on the dot. She paid no one but Tanner any mind, until Caspian strolled casually up to her side, asking how she was doing with the knives.

Weston had agreed to spend some time the night before, helping her master each technique in a day. Sure he'd yelled at her multiple times, far too many shouts of "Focus up, Elara! You wanna watch that boy die?!" He was cruel, but it was necessary. She needed that kind of help. With her determination and Weston's unyielding training, she'd got it all down. Long hours and many blades in very close proximity with Weston's ears, she'd even managed to figure out hitting moving targets square in the chest.

The more she learned, however, the more that ever present sick feeling stewed in her stomach. She didn't want to kill. At all. And yet, here she was training to achieve that very objective. When she was younger, she used to think about how brutal the games were. All that murder between children, a forced tradition. She never wanted to be a murderer. Well... The Troll didn't count. But it was suddenly clear that if herself or Tanner were in danger, she'd do it, no questions asked.

"You mastered a whole skill in a day. No one's competing with that." Caspian remarked, his eyes full of a strange childish wonder that Elara wasn't sure belonged there.

"They probably can." She pointed at the group of Careers that were training together. Carmel was lifting the huge weights they had for general training, a sight so intimidating she was ready to forfeit the games there and then. She was a little worried about Pluto; from what they'd seen he tended to fly off the handle a little. There had been an instance that day when a young tribute from five had taken an axe to train with. Pluto hadn't appreciated that and had to be tased in order to stop him from killing the boy with his bare hands. Adoration, or Adora as she had corrected multiple times, was extremely gifted with the swords.

With them working together, we might be fucked, she thought to herself.

"Nah, they've got nothing on you, killer," He said, elbowing her gently.

"Are you trying to piss them off and get me killed, Caspian?"

"I would never." He shut his mouth quickly.

She shook her head with a soft chuckle and he smiled at her profile. "What are you staring at, Hayes?"

"Nothing!" He denied. "I'm just making sure I know who I'm avoiding in that Arena."

"You're an idiot." She beamed.

"Yeah."

Heading out of the training room, Tanner walked between them. She appreciated that. He was protecting him, even if he wouldn't admit it. Quick as a shot, he took off running to the man waiting for them outside the doors.

Though she'd never tell him, she liked that about Weston. She liked having someone waiting on her, like they cared. He didn't, not about them, but it was nice to pretend.

Weston stood in the exit amongst the other mentors. Their ages ranged from forty plus to her own and the sight of the younger ones was odd to say the least. Knowing they were victors. They won when they were younger than she was, in districts much better off than hers. What hope did she have?

"I'll see you both tomorrow." Caspian high-fived Tanner and shot Elara a wink as he turned to head over to his mentor. Elara stopped him with a hand on his forearm.

"What's his deal?" She asked, her brows furrowed at the man – boy? Across the hall, Finnick, the attractive blonde boy, watched the two interact. His bright green eyes, paired with a smirk that should've been illegal, remained glued to her, no matter how harsh her glare in return was. He leaned against the wall, his ankles crossed over and his arms folded over his chest. With a tilt of his head, she noticed the smirk slip into something softer, raising his hand at her in a wave.

"My mentor. Finnick Odair." Caspian muttered, wanting to explain but not be overheard by the man in question. Finnick Odair. She knew she recognized him! "Won the 65th Games at fourteen. One of the youngest winners in history." He sighed dramatically. He was her age. Thank God. "The guy's a nightmare."

Elara tore her gaze away with a struggle. The way the boy's eyes burned into her... It was like he knew all of her secrets just by the sight of her. "What? Why?"

Caspian grinned. "He thinks he's got more game than me." He lifted their intertwined fingers in front of her face. When the hell did that happen? She broke the hold and rolled her eyes as her cheeks warmed. Was he making fun of her? Was he trying to make her a target? "I'll see you later, Rosewood." He said, the smile still evident in his voice as he left. When she reached Weston, she stormed past him without a word.

Well, nothing more than "Tanner needs your help with training."

✩➵✩

TRAINING | DAY THREE

"Elara?" Celiea poked her head through the door. "You ready? They're prepping the room. Wanted to know if you're set on knives." She said, her voice softer than it had been any other time. Maybe she wasn't all that intolerable. Not really.

"Just tell them to put it all out." Elara sighed, sitting up and raking her fingers through her hair. "I'll figure it out when I get there."

Celiea nodded, shutting the door behind her and leaving Elara in her own company. That wasn't a good idea but who was she to complain? She didn't have anyone else around. Might as well enjoy her own solitude. Big day ahead. Today was the day they were supposed to showcase their "special skills" or in Elara's words: "the day she had to dance around like a performing monkey for the dirtbags in the Capitol."

There was something about the concept of succumbing to them that was sickening. The idea of playing their game. She didn't want it. Not by a long shot. But she had to. There was no alternative.

So later, when she was sat with the tributes, her knee bouncing repeatedly like the ticking of the clock, Elara clung to Tanner's small hand, keeping her breathing in check as much as she could.

Of course, watching like a hawk, Caspian noticed early on all the way from the other side of the room. He asked people to shuffle over, reorganizing their order entirely just to reach her side.

"You okay?" He asked, poking her knee that was unwilling to still.

"Sure."

"Okay, well, no you're not." He said, smiling softly and placing his palm over where he'd just jabbed. "I've seen you work, El. There's nothing to worry about. Show them the talent that I got to witness. Show them your worth."

His words were kind, an anchor for her to clutch, but he was soothing the least of her worries. When most of her tribulations stemmed from the idea of becoming agreeable to the Capitol, she felt her throat close up.

His name was yelled and suddenly the warmth of his hand had vanished. The sickening realization that she didn't want him to go very briefly crossed her mind until she stubbornly shoved it away. Down, down into a dark pit of regret.

"Good luck." She told him quickly as he stood.

A smile lifted his lips. "Knock 'em dead." He winked back.

When Caspian had left, time seemed to move so slowly as she listened out for her own name. She'd have to go before Tanner. She'd have to leave him alone. That was just cruel.

The games loomed over her like a ticking timer, taunting her every breath. This was step one of protecting him. If she put a target on her back, she'd ruin everything. Because Tanner would be by her side. If she got herself killed, Tanner would soon follow.

That was a concept Elara couldn't bring herself to imagine.

"Elara Rosewood." The monotonous voice called to her and she stood, giving Tanner's hand one last squeeze. He sniffled as she did so and she was suddenly thankful that she chose not to look at him.

The dimly lit room smelt of disinfectant. That's all she could locate. As if, between each tribute, they'd shot in with every cleaning supply on hand and wiped the place down until it shined again, not a fingerprint out of place. Gray sleek metal surrounded her, each surface as neutral as the next. The array of weapons was set exactly as she'd asked. Above her, the skybox held each entitled individual chatting amicably like she wasn't about to put on some stupid show for them. At the center of them all was Marillion Braxus. Head Game-maker.

Lead Asshole.

Marillion was a spindly sort of man. Sharp hooked nose and lean dangling limbs. He didn't seem to smile, not even when one of his peers cracked a joke that the rest of the damn animals seemed to squawk at. Instead, he perched in his armchair, one leg draped over the other as he stared down at her. No words. Just the heavy uncomfortable heat of his stare.

Dragging her eyes from them and focusing on her surroundings, El glanced at the multiple person-shaped targets on the back wall, the dummies and the selection of weapons on the tables closest to her. There was something almost beautiful about the glimmer they held under the too bright light. She stepped forward, oblivious to Marillion snapping his fingers before the man closest to him to pay her attention.

"Elara Rosewood." She apprehensively announced. "District 8."

Her hand hovered over the knives, questioning. Would it be enough? Just launching the knife and calling it a day? And which was she supposed to use? There were so many, all different sizes and the handles had different shapes and materials. They'd all do the same thing, surely. All twenty plus of them.

"If you were going to waste our time, Miss Rosewood, you shouldn't have shown up." One of the older voices spoke up. When she followed the noise with her gaze, she saw him. Boastful and relaxed in his chair by the food, popping fruits and other strange tiny dishes into his mouth.

"I'm not wasting time. Just choosing which you'd like to watch more." She explained, angry at the shake in her voice.

"There are other tributes to see. We want to be entertained, not bored." He told her. "You should know, this sort of hesitancy will get you killed in the Arena. You'll be done before the first nightfall."

Something hot and, unless she was imagining it, embarrassed simmered beneath her skin. They were the ones forcing her to take part in their barbaric traditions. She never asked to be there. To be another piece being played on the grand old chess board. And yet, there she stood, being demeaned into her own insecurities without so much as holding what they provided. They wanted to watch her fail. Were they hoping for Tanner's death? Was that what they would consider "entertaining?"

They were going to be severely disappointed.

Letting her frustration take over, Elara ignored every other weapon presented as beautifully as the next; the hatchets on the rack and the spears standing tall. She didn't so much as look at the bow and its quiver of arrows. No swords. None of it. Only the knives. Her hand moved over the table, steady now, not a shake in sight. Testing the weight of two of the smallest blades, she flung them, one after the other, directly into the first test dummy's "eyes." They hit her targets precisely. The next movements were like muscle memory. One after the other she flung the blades at each dummy, hitting various points of the bodies but not sporadically. There was accuracy with each hit. The forehead, the neck, the mouth, the heart, the belly button. Picking up the largest knife, she stormed over to the foam figures.

She'd be dead by nightfall with her hesitancy. Would she be dead by nightfall with the anger in her veins then? The one that possessed her to push the final figure forward, turning to face the spectators and staring blankly as she ripped into its throat?

Tossing the blade onto the floor, she folded her hands in front of her lap, her childhood teachings haunting her even then. Decorum, always.

"Entertaining enough for you?" She panted, heavily, turning stiffly like a soldier, and marching out of the room without so much as a glance back.

✩➵✩

When she entered the living space again, after hiding in her room for hours, and Weston asked both her and Tanner how their training tests had gone, Elara hadn't so much as twitched. Tanner burst into an elaborate explanation of his time in the room, where he sounded like he treated the entire thing like a game. According to him, he'd scaled the rope walls in seconds, diving onto the mats before firing his bow at the dummy and hitting it in the chest. Not half bad, in all honesty. At least he was impressive and composed.

"What about you, Elara?" He grunted, shoving Tobin's arm of deadweight onto the other side of the sofa. All he did was sleep. It was extremely disheartening on their chances.

"It was okay." She nodded, avoiding their gaze and staring at the screen.

"Okay?" Celiea asked after a beat. "That's all you're giving us?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Were you hoping for a good story?" She asked, her voice dripping in venom. "Did you want to be entertained?"

"Alright." She huffed, throwing her hands up. "Cool yourself, kid."

"Capitol asshole." She mumbled.

"You wanna say that a little louder, princess? Didn't catch that," She asked, her tone morphing with her anger.

"All that shit in your cheeks closing up your ear canals?"

Celiea jumped to her feet in an instant. She wasn't sure exactly what she was planning but Weston didn't hesitate to meet her up there, a hand on her shoulder.

"She's a kid." He muttered quietly. "Back down."

Beside their escort, Val twiddled her thumbs, one leg resting elegantly over the other. It wasn't as stiff and intimidating as Marillion Braxus. She held a gentleness that reminded her so violently of her mother. That and her entrancing tone of her voice that people seemed to pause for.

"You tell her to fix that damn attitude before someone does it for her." Celiea muttered back. Their faces were close, so close any stranger might think they were on the verge of kissing, but the reality was hushed words, lethal tones and warnings. There was nothing romantic about them.

"I'm not gonna do that. You know why." He said, pointing her back to her seat. He didn't have to say the words. Elara knew them anyway. They all did, though maybe not Tanner, who sat as nervous as Val and Dante, his own stylist, did.

When she first met Dante, she thought they were related. They looked close enough; same bright eyes and pale skin, blonde hair always in its perfected place and lips forever holding an unnaturally red sheen. After she'd asked, however, they had laughed in her face. Serves her right for thinking the obvious, it seemed.

"Adora Clearstone from District 1." Caesar Flickerman's voice broke through their silent tension to announce the first rating.

"Oh, look." Val sighed. "We missed that lovely introduction."

Caesar beamed. "Given a grand score of 9."

He listed each tribute and their numbers in the order they had gone in, a ranking of how dangerous each of them had proven to be. And El didn't listen to a single word of it. Not until 'Caspian Hayes' was announced with an extra rhythm in his voice. He came out with a 10. Typical career. High numbers were expected for him. He was always presented as dangerous. A ruthless killer.

She thought of the way he had winked as he departed and the way he high-fived Tanner, lowering his hand to his height. The feel of his gentle palm on her knee, and in her hand. How far from the truth, Elara decided.

"Elara Rosewood from District 8." The charismatic man announced, silencing the room once more. She was pretty sure they were all holding their breath. She knew she was. The girl's heart stumbled slightly at the sound of her own name, vulnerability slithering up her spine. If they scored her low, she might as well paint a bright red circle on her back before she was shoved into the arena. She'd be doomed from the first step. Dead before nightfall. "Our very own Capitol flower was given a score of... well, I never. Another 10!"

The room didn't move. Not until Weston sighed a sweet sound of relief. "Holy shit." He said simply.

"Good job, El!" Val and Dante rushed to her side, smacking their lips on her cheek and patting her back excitedly.

Tobin, of course, snorted slightly in his sleep, nothing new from that department. Tanner bounced in his chair, his grin proud and bright.

"Tanner Crawford from District 8." The noise dimmed in an instant. "With a score of... 8! Our tributes are defying the audience's expectations, this year!" The host laughed jovially, moving on but Elara tuned him out.

An 8.

"Good job, kids." Weston nodded, crossing his arms across his chest and relaxing into the plump sofa.

"This calls for champagne!" Dante declared, rushing across the room as Val clapped her hands excitedly.

Celiea ruffled Tanner's hair as she passed to grab a glass. "Nice one, kiddo." She winked at him, before turning and letting her glass be filled. When it was, she rotated carefully back to the tributes, her eyes on Elara. Her voice was low when she spoke. Low, but El could hear it well. Perfectly, even. "I don't give a shit what you did in that room, princess." She said, that condescending name grating on her every nerve. It was like she knew. "But whatever it was, you did good."

She nodded, just once, and the two didn't look back at the other for the rest of the night. Whilst Val and Celiea chatted avidly , clinking their flutes together every two minutes, and Weston declined Dante's offers for alcohol every time – she assumed Dante had a low tolerance, he was forgetting he'd offered in minutes – Elara turned to Tanner, her smile careful and controlled.

"I'm so proud of you, bug."

"Shut up," He chuckled, ducking his head. He stayed that way for a moment, a second even, before throwing his arms around her. "Thank you for helping me."

"Thank you for helping me," She corrected.

"How'd I do that?"

Elara smiled. "By being a friend."

Chapter Text

"YOU'RE BORING ME." Celiea commented from her spot by the window, legs crossed over and arms folded firmly across her chest.

"Well, excuse me if I don't know how to charm thousands of people." Elara snapped with a roll of her eyes. Every time she thought they'd make progress, Celiea kicked her back to the ground with the sole of her foot in an instant.

"Just be interesting. I do it." The woman shrugged. Elara brushed her hair back with her fingers, meeting Celiea's gaze expectantly.

She shook her head. "Well? How do I do that?"

Celiea raised a brow, as if her next useless answer was going to be obvious. "I can't tell you that. You've just got to understand how."

"I give up." Elara sighed, throwing her hands up and slumping back into the cushions. She shot a glare at Tobin as he muttered something indiscernible under his breath.

He was actually awake for once, but with his useless comments and uncomforting stare, she wished he'd just take a nap again. Anything to shut him up.

Weston exhaled a brief breath, something like a laugh, and unscrewed the top of the whiskey. For some reason, despite his insistence, the sight made her stomach turn. "You're a likeable person, Elara. As long as you push the peace agenda, you should be fine."

She watched the liquid fill the glass, rocks in her stomach. "You guys are supposed to guide me. I hope you gave Tanner better advice than this." She huffed.

"He didn't need it." Weston said, simply.

"What?"

"Kid's adorable. He's got an instant advantage."

"And you piss everyone off." Tobin chimed in.

"Go back to sleep." Elara snapped.

"There's not really much we can tell you about this part." Weston shrugged, swirling the liquid in his glass. "We tried the training, we have who you're supposed to be to them. Ever protective and peaceful. You'll be fine. I promise."

Slumping back in her seat with an irritated sigh, she picked at her thumbnail. "I just don't wanna disappoint you guys." She muttered under her breath. "Don't wanna ruin this for Tanner."

Her quiet honesty was unexpected but not out of character. They, Weston especially, knew this was the case. He could read her well, maybe it was her lack of face control, her expression revealing everything she felt about anything, but he'd figured out her fears long before anyone else had.

Freezing his movements and swallowing thickly, despite never taking a drink, Weston frowned. Tobin averted his gaze to the ground and, over by the window, Celiea's usually-sharp gaze softened. No one seemed to want to speak.

To fill the silence, Celiea shook her head. "You won't, kid."

✩➵✩

They were lying. She was sure of it. Absolutely positive as her heart thudded violently in her throat, watching the third Career of the night take their place on the stage. Carmel, in a dress that appeared to be tight enough to be a second skin. She was wrapped in layers of sheer golden fabric, just enough to appear modest but suggestive.

Elara frowned at the screen. She looked so uncomfortable. Suddenly, she was entirely grateful for Valeria, who took her role far too seriously but asked for El's input too. Tonight she was in a dark gray dress that moved like smoke, 'representative of the factory work,' Val had said. This outfit was much lighter than the last. She'd dreaded the idea of lugging another fifty pound outfit around again, but thankfully, she'd been saved. A flicker of excitement shot through her at wearing the forbidden color in front of him. Beside her, Tanner sat in an outfit that, for once, wasn't a match to her own. Dressed in a small patchwork suit, he beamed brightly. Each section was a different shade of green, different material too, by the looks of it. Textiles and its limited options.

She spent most of the time in her own head, not truly tuned in to the interviews as she was supposed to and not exactly thinking about her own as much as she should. Instead, she thought of home. She thought of home when Caspian took to the stage, his smile bright and his skin coated in something shiny, that made him look metallic. She thought of Bea as he waved them away and the other tributes took his place. She thought of Nancy when she reached the front of the line, holding her breath, awaiting the moment her name was called.

Tanner's hand circled her own, squeezing it so tightly that she felt her heart clench painfully. "You got this, El." He whispered, just loud enough for her.

"Please give a very warm welcome to Miss Elara Rosewood!" Caesar Flickerman announced, stretching an arm out as she stepped onto the stage. She could feel the heat of Tanner's palm on her own, spreading across her arm to provide her the only comfort she could think to cling to. Caesar smiled widely at her, his too-white teeth glimmering beneath the multitude of lights, offering a hand to help her up the steps to the small platform with the grand armchairs placed accordingly.

Greeting him with as much kindness as she could muster, Elara took her seat. From what she'd seen, Caesar was very good at keeping the tributes afloat. If something was going wrong, he was swift to correct it. She'd be needing that.

"So Elara, the first thing I have to mention is what a beautiful entrance you made the other day. Do we agree, folks?" He said, turning to the audience. They cheered in response and Elara wanted to vanish.

"Thank you." She shrugged. "It was just something I had lying around."

"Oh, you did, did you?" Caesar chuckled. "The rose petals were a gorgeous display. Did they mean anything in particular?"

"Uh, unity." She said bluntly. When Caesar nodded, eagerly sitting forward, she wracked her brain for something more. "I like being part of a team. Me, Tanner..." She hesitated. "You and anyone who might think I have a chance out there." Including the audience was something Weston had briefly said was essential. Apparently, they liked thinking they were important. She'd never have guessed.

"Oh that is beautiful, don't you agree?" He asked the audience. A synchronized cheer arose from the crowds of people and, despite the nausea twisting her stomach, Elara smiled softly. It wasn't real, but they didn't have to know that.

"Now, you are a very caring individual, we see that now, but that score you received was no joke! Sounds like you've got a ruthless streak in there?"

She nodded. "I don't enjoy violence but I'm unafraid to use it." She stated. Somewhere, his beady eyes on a screen, she knew he was watching. She wondered if he looked at her with recognition. If he still saw the little girl he used to know or if he saw a stranger. A stranger with an odd familiarity about her, one with hatred burned deep in the very core of her soul.

"I would kick myself in the shin if I let you leave without talking a little bit about Tanner. Did you know him back home?" Caesar asked.

She wasn't particularly sure why it happened, but at his prying into Tanner, Elara felt a sudden burst of rage in her chest. She wanted to yell. To push him and demand he never utter the boy's name again. They were trying to watch him die. They didn't deserve to know anything about how wonderful he was.

She could not do any of that. Instead, Elara pressed her lips together, sealing anymore words from slipping by, and shook her head.

"You seem to care greatly for him, though. Is that because he's your partner?" He pressed further.

Again, Elara kept her mouth shut, nodding her head simply to provide him the singular answer. Nothing else. Not another word that he could use to boost the crowd a little more. It didn't matter, anyway, because she wanted off. The lights were too bright and the people were too loud and she wasn't sure if she was even breathing anymore. He was watching and he was seeing this and watching her unravel, losing her composure.

"Well, we are very excited to see what you're capable of, Miss Rosewood. Round of applause for Elara!" Caesar grinned, a little nervously, to the crowd as she didn't even raise a hand in goodbye, scurrying off the stage.

Stood off to the side, Weston and Tobin stood side by side. Celiea stood a few feet away, her back against the wall, whilst Val and Dante stood beside one another, a little distance away. She felt nauseous as she approached, their faces nothing but polite.

"That was pretty good," Weston nodded.

"Yeah until you choked–" Tobin didn't get to finish his sentence, barely even got the word out before he'd been yanked back by the scruff of the neck. It was insane for Weston to yank on an old man's collar that way, but she didn't have pity for him. Someone needed to set the guy on his ass.

"I'm gonna," She gestured behind them, "head to bed. Big day tomorrow and all."

Val nodded politely as Weston stared at her. Celiea was staring blankly too but Weston was looking, like, for once, he wasn't able to figure out what was going on in her mind. He kept his eyes trained on her, his expression laced in concern. "See you tomorrow, kid."

"Tell Tanner I said 'good job.' Please." She said.

Weston nodded. Turning and storming forward, Elara headed back to her temporary home. She wasn't going to be able to handle hearing all of Tanner's praise whilst she had done nothing but let them down. If that was how miserably she failed at a simple interview, she dreaded Tanner's fate. She couldn't fail in the arena. He had to live; that was the only option.

She glanced around. Each item in there was an item of intense luxury. Something she'd never own in a million years back in the District, not on a seamstress' assistant paycheck – which went back to Bea anyway. And yet, here, she knew if she shattered the beautiful navy vase on the side table, another one would have taken its place when she returned downstairs the next morning.

It wasn't fair.

She had seen first hand how bad it could get. And here they just wasted because they could. They'd waste materials. Food. People. The capitol won every game just by existing whilst the Districts barely had the pieces to play.

And, despite her efforts to take control, to be the one playing, she was becoming just another figure on the board.

✩➵✩

It was so dark. She couldn't be sure that she was out at night when she very may well have been in a void of nothing. Darting through the abyss.

She was running. Her lungs and her thighs and her eyes were burning. The wind whipped across her face, stinging her cheeks and swiping the air from her chest.

She wasn't entirely sure where she was supposed to be going but she could hear the fast approaching footsteps and that was enough to relight the fire under her ass.

Keep running.

Through the fear-striking silence, a boy's scream cracked and froze her feet to the ground. She attempted to assess her pitch black surroundings but it was no use. "Tanner?" She called out. Her voice didn't sound right.

"Tan—" Before she could even finish his name, a blade, sharp and swift, protruded from her sternum, pain beginning at her back and smothering her entire body. White flashes of light shot across her eyes and she almost sighed in relief at something other than violent darkness but then, she was screaming. She was screaming so loud her throat was raw and her breath was running low.

So loud.

"Elara?" A voice said. Who?

"Elara?!"

Shooting upright and inhaling frantically, Elara looked around, her palm clutching her chest, as cries and wails still slipped past her lips.

Hands covered her shoulders, large and warm, keeping her in place and offering her an anchor. Weston, she realized when she found his rounded brown gaze.

"Weston..?" She asked, though it was jagged and shaky with her lack of breath, tears rolling in rivers down her face. She hated it. She could feel the burning resentment for her own emotions in her gut, unable to lie dormant.

"Hey. Hey. It was just a dream, okay?" He comforted, letting his hand move to run over her head. "You're okay."

"I died." She rambled, as if it'd make perfect sense. "They killed me. And Tanner was gone. I failed."

"Just a dream, El." He shook his head, gently turning her to keep their gazes together. "You're here and I'm here."

Failing to halt her tears, she clung onto his arm. As if she needed to know he was real. "I don't think I can do this, Weston." She whispered, her voice holding an honesty he'd never heard before. "Tanner deserves better. I deserve this. But he doesn't. He needs to live."

"Look at me." Weston ordered when her gaze moved to the room. He drew her eyes back to him. "Listen to me, kid, you are a good person. I don't know what made you think you deserve this, but you don't."

"You don't get it–" She hiccupped. "You don't–"

"So, tell me. I'm here, kid."

"Why is he doing this?" She sobbed, childishly.

Somehow, he knew. He knew that 'he' was Snow. There was no addressing of him, no clear sign he was correct in his own thoughts, just raw honesty. "It's bullshit. I wish we could stop this. I really do."

"I'm so sorry. For— For making your job so much more difficult than it had to be. I'll keep him safe. I'll get Tanner back to you." She promised, her hand clutching his arm so tightly that her nails were digging into his skin, all the while his other hand wiped away the tears that just kept on falling.

He didn't speak then, simply letting his hand find hers to squeeze it once. He didn't even move until she settled back into her pillows, and even then, his only movement was to stroke her hair down.

When her eyes were fluttering closed, and her breath started to even back out, she heard him. "You don't like crying." He said quietly. It wasn't a question. A recitation of a fact. She wanted to agree. To tell him he was correct and how strange that he remembered something she couldn't remember telling him but her eyelids were far too heavy and the world was disappearing.

When the light streamed through the gaps in the curtains, fluttering across her eyelids, it was Valeria who came to collect Elara. Tanner had already left with Dante, apparently, and she was to board a hovercraft that was sure to fly her to her final resting place.

It felt like entering a spaceship, metal surfaces and small lights that she wasn't even sure had a purpose, except, instead of aliens, she was greeted with Game-makers and trackers.

The tributes entered randomly, each one entering and receiving the harsh stab of the injection. The tracker was small, tiny even, but she was so aware of it her mouth started to fill with bile. In a desperate attempt to distract her mind, she looked for someone, anyone, to cling to. It was Celiea's face that she found, leaning uncomfortably against the wall apart from some of the other escorts.

Elara assumed the ride to the arena would be much longer than it was. She thought she'd have a chance to get her emotions in check on the ride over, and yet there she was on the verge of a panic attack in front of Val and Celiea.

"Elara." Her voice called to the girl, sounding far away and wrong. Slightly muffled. "Remember who you are." She straightened out the light jacket Elara wore and stepped back. She had dressed the girl in a waterproof shirt, thin enough to keep her cool but paired with the jacket she was able to preserve heat. A belt that doubled as a holster threaded through the belt loops of her thin cargos, also somehow waterproof. Clearly whatever she was going to be greeted with would have water.

"Thank you Val." She mustered up the strongest smile she could, though after so long without sincerity she was sure it just appeared as a grimace. "You're incredible."

"That's all you, my dear." She cupped her cheeks. "Let them see you bloom, Miss Rosewood."

Elara nodded and stepped over to the tube. She glanced over her shoulder at Celiea once more. She wished Weston was there. At least he'd been through this before. "I'll see you later." She said shakily.

Celiea nodded, smiling uncomfortably as the glass closed down around the young girl and she inhaled a shaky breath. She was back to no tears. No more breakdowns, especially not for the Capitol.

A whirring reached her ears and twisted her stomach. Her heartrate raced and fell over itself. Then, the floor began to rise.

Chapter Text

ELARA WAS STOOD ON a ledge.

Upon adjusting to the bright, searing light of the sun, she saw the Cornucopia sitting comfortably at the bottom of a deep pit, waiting, perfected and primped with its supplies scattered around its edges. Sleek, golden sides dulled by its reflection: the muddy, dirt walls surrounding it. She peered down over the edge of her podium, steep walls of solid soil, complete with jagged rocks protruding in inconvenient positions. They were evidently placed there; no natural structure was as perfected for death, she was sure of it. Down one side of the ditch, off to her far left, was a singular staircase – a direct path. There were tunnels too. Four, she predicted, doorways at the base of the pit, metal and solid and entirely out of place. With the other tributes reeling from their own disorientation, Elara surveyed her surroundings.

The tributes stood on their personal podiums in a sort of semi-circle around the pit, all facing the only staircase to head down. They could fight over it, much to the audience's delight, or they could slide down the sides but that too had its fair share of dangers. She quickly decided running was her best option, even if it was just for the beginning. Grab Tanner's hand and go. Away and far. Sparing a swift glance over her shoulder as the timer hit twenty, her stomach dropped. Solid ground was rare out there. Instead, murky green water coated the arena's surface, holding up the thick cloud of mist fogging the distance. The only thing peeking through being the silhouettes of the tall trees looming over them.

Swamp Arena. Wonderful.

She analyzed everything she could; the other tributes the expressions they kept – ranging from raging determination to paralyzed fear – and the outfits they wore. They were all similar to her own, maybe slightly altered to fit their own styles, she wasn't exactly sure when she was trying to focus on a hundred things a minute.

Her main focus, however, the one thing she considered the most important was Tanner. Finding him. There were so many people. How was she supposed to locate him in–

He was much shorter than everyone else. The fact hadn't ever been so obvious. Not until they were all displayed on their podiums and Tanner stuck out like a sore, very short, thumb. She was just glad his bruises had cleared up. They would've made him an even bigger target.

She couldn't help but notice how far he was from her. She'd assumed they'd be put in the same order as the interviews but Tanner was on the other side of the pit. It'd take a ridiculous amount of time to get to him before someone stabbed them. Fuck.

They weren't in any order. On her left, Pluto Cromwell from District 2. On her right, Evangeline Aetos: District 11. They'd shuffled them in order to add more disorientation to their struggles. Those assholes.

"10," A woman's voice cut through her thoughts, freezing her with fear.

Her eyes found Tanner, his own filled with unshed tears glistening in the morning light. She gave him a nod.

"9."

She glanced at the sleek, horn-shaped Cornucopia, assessing the grand selection of weapons. God, she hoped there'd still be some left when she got a chance to explore.

"8."

She noticed the thick roots interwoven in the dirt of the ledge they were positioned on.

"7."

Birds were singing so ignorantly, as if these people weren't experiencing their last day on earth.

"6."

Through the deadly silence between the counts, she realized someone was crying. She was just thankful it wasn't her.

"5."

Crickets chirped like an alarm clock repeatedly behind them all. She wondered if they were just that: crickets, or if they were one of the altered Muttations.

"4."

Evangeline, beside her, wrung her hands together nervously, her head swinging each way she looked. She was panicking; Elara could hear her breath.

"3."

Pluto clenched his fists at his sides, breathing steady and his eyes never abandoning the gold mine beneath them.

"2."

Despite not nearly having the time, she let her head fall back, admiring the sky in all its endless beauty one more time. She was sure the next time she saw it, would be when she was laid to rest.

"1."

Because she just couldn't help torturing herself, her eyes made their way directly back to Tanner. Maybe it was a futile attempt to calm her nerves. It didn't work. She was torturing herself. How was she supposed to reach him before anyone else did?

"0."

As soon as the words left her mouth – "Let the 68th annual Hunger Games begin," – Pluto jumped. Others did too but he was closest, therefore, the person she found herself watching with undivided attention. He slid fast, avoiding the rocks with a desperate struggle but achieving it nonetheless. Because he was trained for this. Across the pit, she watched Cooper Yarrow from District 7 follow suit, copying Pluto's exact move, but hitting one of the sharp, jagged rocks on the way down. His body crumpled like he was boneless, slumping to the bottom and Elara's stomach turned. There was blood on the rock he'd hit. A cannon went off.

Cooper Yarrow was dead.

Shaking herself back to the present, Elara lifted her narrowed sight, scanning the surroundings and ignoring the group of tributes shoving and grasping at one another by the staircase. She found Tanner quickly. He hadn't moved, not even attempting to reach the Cornucopia. Smart boy.

"TANNER!" She yelled as loud as her voice would allow, her throat drying and scratching like she hadn't had a sip of water in weeks. "STAY THERE!" She told him, holding out a hand to emphasize her point.

He seemed to nod as she jumped from her platform backward, into the swamp water and wading as fast as she could. It didn't take long, however, for tributes to realize who was an easy target. She noticed Jasper Underwood, District 1, before Tanner did. He was sprinting, fast up the open staircase, shoving certain tributes who lingered down the set and letting them reach their fates one way or another.

And he was running right to Tanner.

He noticed then, teary eyes popping open in fear as he turned to the water with silent trepidation. He jumped off his podium, into the water. She couldn't understand why he was taking so long as she ran, her breath harming her lungs as he finally began to move, ducking through the trees and out of his sight. Not only his though... Her own.

"Fuck." She cursed, trying to pick up speed but the water was slowing her down and suddenly her neck was tingling with awareness. As if she was the target. But they were all so far down so surely she was okay. Surely she'd have the time to–

An arrow zipped past her leg, skimming it just slightly and slicing the fabric there. She stumbled, slipping on whatever sludge was beneath the surface of the water, and falling too close to the edge. Her body slid before she could stop it, and she had to grab and cling to one of the roots woven in the dirt. It was so fucking hot in there, the humidity making her sweat like crazy, her grip slipping so swiftly.

"That boy's gonna die, you know?"

Elara looked up, sweat pouring from her forehead. Above her, Bentley Maddens, the boy from 6, stood waiting, an axe clutched tightly in hand. "Hope is a futile thing, 8. You should have spent more time training instead of wishing on stars." He said, frowning almost apologetically as he lifted the axe high above his head, lining it up with her wrist.

No. Not already. I can't have failed this badly.

Right as Bentley tried to move, his features seemed to freeze. His mouth, slightly parted, poured with overflowing blood, dripping down onto her forehead and making her grimace. She hadn't even noticed the spear head protruding through his sternum, enough to pass the flesh, but not to puncture the shirt. Acting quickly, she dragged her entire body flat against the wall as he began to tilt. He fell, his limp form smacking against the ground so far beneath her. The sound made her wince. The cannon had gone off five times already. She was not going to be six.

As she pulled back to look for Bentley's killer, the next threat to her, a familiar hand stuck out in front of her face.

"We don't have all day, Elara!" Caspian yelled, nodding his head behind him like he hadn't just killed a man.

Hesitating, she considered her options all in the space of five seconds. She needed to find Tanner. She couldn't do that if she fell and died here. He killed her attacker. He could kill her right now. But he didn't. He shook his hand out, eyes wide as she remained motionless for a second longer. Then, she was smacking her palm into his, allowing him to tug her back to safer, solid ground. The axe that Bentley had wielded was discarded on the ground and, in desperation, she grabbed it right before they ran, deep into the forest.

They needed to clear the area anyway. The Game-makers couldn't collect the bodies if they all remained in one place. She'd never actually seen how they did it before. The cameras that displayed the games on the TV, always focused on the fights or who was living. Not the dead bodies. Bea had theorized it'd be hovercraft, their usual, but with the design of her own arena, she couldn't understand how they'd even fit when the trees were so tightly packed together.

"Tanner?!" She yelled through the fog.

Caspian whacked her arm. "Are you trying to get us killed?"

Her brows drew together. "I need to find him."

"We will. We need to be alive to do that though. You shouting like a maniac is the quickest way to death." He scolded, and she felt like a naive child. He was right. She was reckless.

Nodding and wading through the water, still a dark mossy green, she tried to expel the panic filling her lungs. What if they couldn't find him? Worse, what if Jasper found him first?

"This fog is gonna make living so much harder," Caspian remarked bitterly.

"You're telling me. I can't see shit." She agreed, huffing when her squint didn't aid in the slightest.

"Stop."

She froze, obedient and trusting for some ridiculous reason. She didn't know what he was doing at first, his spine stiff and his eyes so focused. He turned, glancing over his shoulder without moving a muscle in his lower half. Then, she heard it. The sound of water splashing. Increasing in volume. Approaching them.

"Elara, DOWN!" Caspian yelled, tugging her into a crouch just as a small bladed star wedged into the tree trunk beside them.

Lifting her head from where she'd ducked and helplessly covered it with her arms, she narrowed her eyes in the direction it had flown from and cursed under her breath at her lack of vision. She couldn't see anyone. Not until the fog seemed to morph slightly, the silhouette of a person raising their arm again. This time, however, they weren't aiming for her. They were marching. Straight towards Caspian. Without second guessing, she flung her hatchet forward toward the body, watching in utter horror as it wedged itself in their chest perfectly and they collapsed to the ground.

Her eyes were wide when she managed to struggle out, "You okay?" Absentmindedly offering him her arm.

"Fine." He said. His hand rested on her bicep. "Get your weapon back."

The sickening boom of the cannon made her flinch harshly as she flipped over the body.

Grabbing the handle, she really did try to avoid looking at his face. She didn't want to know. Yet, still, her eyes ran their way over his chest and met his dead gaze.

His dark, soulless eyes. The cold, terrified eyes of the boy from 11, Thistle was his name, stared wide open at her. She'd taken his life. She was a murderer.

His blood still dripped from the metal of the axe head, onto his torso, where pools of the stuff still seeped from the wound like the river of guilt she could feel coursing through her.

"Elara." Caspian's hand found hers, gently covering it. "We have to go." He told her, his gaze and words as soft as one another.

"I was just–" She shook her head. Her heart was racing. "I was repaying the favor," She said, but a frown tugged on her lips as the words escaped them. Was that all she thought about taking a human life? It was a favor? And Thistle's life meant nothing to her?

Carefully, with deliberate but trembling hands, Caspian took the weapon from her grasp, using his jacket to wipe away the blood like a rag. And she let him. She let him disarm her entirely, and trusted him enough to leave her alive. Even though she'd just evened the score. Even though neither of them were in debt anymore. "Let's go." He beckoned, placing the handle right back in her open hand.

And so, she followed. She followed him wherever he chose to go, because she trusted him. How could she trust him? She didn't even know him! She could hear her little voice, the critical one in her head, screaming at her for being so stupid. Still, she seemed to know. Maybe it was the confident demand of her gut, or maybe it was just the steady patter of her heart, but she knew. Aside from Tanner, he was the only person she could trust in this personal hell on earth.

Twenty-three other tributes and she could only trust two of them? They weren't great odds.

As they walked, Elara cringed at each splash the dirty water made. It was so loud. There wasn't really a way to dull the sound unless they could shimmy their way into the treetops, but that alone would be a ridiculous task. The trees were tall, with not a lot of low branches to grasp onto. The patches of land, scattered around the landscape, were rare. It wouldn't be possible to hop between them.

"Does the air feel a little thin to you?" She asked, suddenly aware of her panting. Loud. Wrong.

"I think it's the fog." He said, pressing his hand to his chest as if to slow his own racing breaths. "Not deadly. Just an inconvenience."

Nodding, Elara let her eyes flick past the maze they were surrounded by, delving deeper into the swamp in the general direction Tanner had run. She almost thought she'd imagined it when a tuft of brown curls darted around a tree trunk. Her hand shot out, gripping Caspian's of its own accord. "Did you see that?"

"See what?" He asked, but Elara was already trying to break into a run. It only took him a finger, linked under her belt, to still her movements. "Wait. Move around. Careful and quiet." He explained firmly.

He rerouted them entirely, circling around back through the trees and getting them close enough to peer through the mist. He wouldn't notice them. They could ensure it was safe first.

In front of them, the most peaceful thing they'd seen in the arena so far, though that wasn't exactly a difficult competition to win, Tanner sat sharpening a branch with a rock. The small patch of land was only big enough for the tree and the boy. It looked like a desert island in an ocean, stranded and alone. He'd claimed it, safe and sound and far, far away from any threats.

Elara moved, splashing a little water in his direction. Perfectly alert, his head flew up, eyes wide and fearful until they landed on her.

He beamed. A smile so wide and beautiful, she was positive it did not belong in a place like that. He jumped to his feet and sprinted towards them, throwing his little arms around her waist. "El!" He smiled, his voice muffled by her jacket. It was a little shaky. He must've been crying.

"You're okay?" She asked, crouching in front of him. She cupped his cheeks and checked him over with darting eyes. "No cuts or scratches?"

"All clear." He smiled. But he wasn't. On his forehead, raising slightly and burning a furious pink, his skin was harmed. He'd been hit with something.

Her thumb gently smoothed over the lump. "What about this?"

He winced at her touch. "I'm okay. One of them threw this at me," He said, lifting the rock with a small frown. "But I stole it and they were super slow."

Though her worry never faded, Elara tapped a gentle finger on the branch. He was sharpening it into a spear. "This is good." She told him.

"It's what I learnt in training. See?" He brandished the weapon like it was actual gold, his unmoving smile huge and proud. It seemed to light up their surroundings.

"Good job, kiddo." She said, seriously. He was twelve and crafting weapons to kill. What sort of nightmare was he living?

She'd actually forgotten Caspian was even there. Forgotten until he reached out, his hand nearing Tanner's messy head of curls. She didn't think. Didn't wait to risk whatever he was planning. In an instant, Caspian had been shoved into a nearby tree, her axe blade at his neck.

"Easy, killer." He said, his voice raspy and breathy and honest-to-God scared of her. Which was stupid because he let her push him. He could have easily stood his place.

"I just said he fucking hurt his head. What were you thinking? Find his weak point?" She asked, voice low and frantic and now, she sounded crazy.

"Just stroking his hair." He told her, dropping his weapon to the ground. "You can take that, Tanner. If you want it." He offered, though his eyes never left hers.

She heard Tanner's rustle, the splash of the water and the droplets falling back into the swamp as it trailed off the weapon's surface. "You were gonna hurt him." She said, her voice nothing short of an accusation.

He didn't seem deterred. Gently shaking his head, he reached up a shaky hand. She flinched as it neared her own head, and he paused to give her a moment to trust him again. "Just stroking his hair," He reiterated, his fingers slipping across the hair that had escaped her tie, brushing it gently behind her ear.

"Don't touch him," She tried to sound menacing, to warn him of what she'd do to him, but her voice broke and wobbled like an unsteady bridge, her intentions on the other side practically unreachable.

Caspian didn't mention it. With a simple nod of his head, he let his hands fall back to his sides, resting his head flat against the bark. He shut his eyes, remaining calm with the axe to his neck and waiting so patiently for her to come to her senses. To remember her enemies.

And when she did, she marched away without telling him how soft his hands were against her skin.

✩➵✩

The trio found a slightly larger patch of ground between two trees not far from where they had discovered Tanner. They had to jump to get to the middle as the Caspian warned them the off-color dirt around its edge was quick sand. And, in the Hunger Games, quick sand was never just ordinary quick sand.

When Tanner had started yawning, Elara had backed up against a tree and let him lay on her lap, covering him with her jacket. It wasn't big enough to completely coat him, but he curled up into a ball and let the oversized clothing cloak him as best as it could. Her arm curled over his shoulders, keeping him close enough that she could feel his steady heartbeat, his gentle breaths.

Tilting her head upward, Elara watched the sky. She'd made it. She wasn't laid to rest just yet. She noticed that the stars were so much clearer out there. Back home, the District was filled with so many factories and chimneys constantly puffing out thick clouds of black toxic smoke. It would darken the skies and never allow such a sight. Such a beauty. She supposed she could appreciate something in that shithole.

As she smiled up in awe at the stars filling the sky, Caspian mirrored that exact expression with his eyes on her. He sat opposite, unbothered by being caught. Which he did. Moments later. She scowled when she noticed him, something that made his smile stretch wider.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" She asked, her voice quiet. She hoped he didn't think she sounded afraid. Because she wasn't. Not even a little bit.

"Like what?" He asked, expression unchanged.

"That."

He shrugged, like it was the most obvious answer in the world. "Your smile."

"What about it?" She almost snapped.

He tilted his head, a brow lifting ever so slightly. "I like to look at it."

Despite herself, Elara snorted a laugh. She snorted. "Shut up."

"I'm serious." He grinned. She didn't respond, merely shaking her head with a smile and looking down at Tanner. His face was so pure as he slept. So full of innocence. She let her fingers run through his hair that curled around his face like a halo, the care she felt for the boy momentarily smothering the fear in her heart. He was going to live. No matter what.

When the music started, she was transported right back to her seat beside Bea, watching the games as a mandatory. Right back to the room with her grandfather, curled up on the couch clutching a pillow and stuffing her face into it to hide from the violence, whilst his voice tried to coax her out, whispering promises to his "Little Lark." To hide from the haunting faces of the dead. But she wasn't going to hide today. She needed to see. To know.

Lavender Meadows, District 5. She was fourteen years old.

Tripp Windward, District 5. Sixteen.

Bentley Maddens, District 6. Eighteen.

Cooper Yarrow, District 7. Seventeen.

Jasmine Finch, District 9. Fifteen.

Wren Lennox, District 10. Twelve.

Thistle Beaumont, District 11. Eighteen. She gulped at that one.

Raven D'Angelo, District 12. Seventeen.

Jackson Remington, District 12. Sixteen.

The broadcast shut off abruptly. Nine tributes. All dead on the first day. She shut her eyes tightly, swallowing past the lump in her throat. Guilt overflowed in her chest. They made it through the first day. That had to count for something.

But Thistle didn't, she reminded herself. He could've if he wasn't brutally murdered.

"Fifteen tributes left." Caspian reminded her, his words cutting through her downward spiral of thoughts.

"Fifteen." She nodded.

"Get some sleep. I'll keep watch."

She shook her head defiantly. If she was being honest, she still didn't trust anyone enough to protect Tanner but herself. She thought she did. She knew she trusted Caspian with her own life. But if her previous actions were anything to go off, she wasn't ready to trust him with Tanner's. "I'm not tired. I'll stay up."

"I don't mind, El. Really, I'll—"

"Cas." She said softly, and the name felt right on her tongue. She met his soft gaze. "Go to sleep."

He watched her for a moment, judging how much more he could argue, before thinking better of it and nodding as he lay onto his back. Elara waited for him to drift off, before cupping the back of Tanner's head and placing it on the ground carefully, removing any twigs and pebbles that were in the way before she did so. She stood, brushing off the back of her thighs before gripping her axe.

She leaned her body weight against the tree closest to the smaller boy, her eyes on the surroundings. The mist cleared more in the evenings. That was good for their breathing. She'd tell Cas in the morning. Above her, a small box attached to a parachute glided towards her, swaying slightly. She would've missed it had the fog remained thick. She waited patiently, reaching out her hands when it was close enough and bringing it close to her chest before tearing into it. Inside, a medium-sized flask (which she realized was already full of water) sat, with a small card and rope strap attached to it.

"For you, your boy and your man. - W"

Elara rolled her eyes at Weston's wording. Oh, now he has jokes. At least it wasn't from Tobin. She'd have thrown it across the arena.

She took a brief sip of the water, sighing in relief as it soothed the rough interior of her throat, before attaching the clasp to her belt. They'd both be thirsty tomorrow. Hungry, too. They were gonna have to find food fast.

One problem at a time, Elara.

One at a time.

Chapter Text

JOLTING UPRIGHT, BREATH RAGGED AND ERRATIC, Elara's eyes frantically darted around her surroundings. For a brief moment, she couldn't understand what she was doing outside. Why wasn't she in her bed in District 8, listening to Bea's early bird ways of life as she clanged around in the kitchen? Why wasn't she in a bed in the Capitol, the ones that were too much: too hard, too soft, too lumpy, too flimsy all at once? There was a fleeting second that she considered the possibility of these things being a dream. That she was actually still twelve years old, making her way through Panem all on her lonesome.

Scanning the small clearing, she scavenged for information, answers to her questions. She was laid beside a thin tree trunk, not too far from the water, scattered tiny rocks digging into her cheek and small twigs sticking into her hair. They tangled within the knots and morphed what used to be a sleek ponytail into some kind of bird's nest.

Oh.

Oh no, no, no.

She had fallen asleep.

She searched for Tanner first, her heart speeding in her chest and only settling when she found him. She didn't have to look far. He was curled up a few feet away, just as he had been hours before, his chest rising and falling with his steady breaths. He was okay. He was alive. She inhaled slightly, trying to calm herself. Swinging her gaze to the other tree, she looked for Caspian. He was there last night. His jacket was still there. Had he moved?

Standing on shaky legs, she gripped her hatchet and moved forward, quietly. Cautiously. She circled the trees, keeping Tanner in sight, and swept the area for any sign of him until the truth was bubbling the bile in her stomach. Caspian was gone.

Fear threatened to drown her, filling her lungs and weighing down her limbs. Had he been killed through the night and she hadn't realized? Recklessly falling asleep and blocking out the boom of the cannon in her slumber? What if he just left? Maybe he'd had enough of them, deeming them another shackle he had to cut loose before he was dragged down with them. Or maybe even–

Somewhere behind her, water splashed loudly, as if the person didn't care about running into them, or maybe just unaware of how loud their steps were. She spun, her heart lodged in her throat, cutting off her airways. Raising the hatchet, her mind screamed for them to just turn around. Don't make me do this.

When Caspian wandered into view, entirely oblivious with his spear lodged under his arm pit and his hands cupped in front of him, he looked so innocent. So pure, like he hadn't killed a man the day prior. He hadn't noticed her yet, his eyes on the untrustworthy waters, so she took a second. Just one. A moment to admire him.

He hadn't run. He was alive. He was coming back to them.

When Elara entered his peripheral, her axe clutched tightly in her hand, he didn't even look alarmed. His smile spread across his cheeks, bright and practically glowing in the early morning sunlight. "Hey," He said, walking past her and moving toward his jacket. "You're up."

"I thought you..." She faltered, her expression solemn. She turned slowly, unwilling to remove her gaze away. "I thought something happened."

Caspian crouched and poured a handful of pale blue berries onto his jacket that he'd left behind. "You fell asleep so I was on watch." He explained, standing and facing her as he wiped his hands down his shirt. "I just noticed the berries over there. I thought, between the three of us, someone had to know if they're safe for breakfast. Hey, have you noticed there's like no animals around here?" He shrugged sheepishly.

Elara watched him for a moment: the way he shuffled under her gaze, the way his hand scratched at the nape of his neck and how the muscles in his arms flexed as he did so. Did he know how beautiful he looked? Did she? Or was it just because he was alive, something she was thankful for? Her brows furrowed as he tilted his head, one eyebrow raised.

"I got something on my face?" He asked, and her weapon clattered to the floor.

She flew forward, her arms looping around his neck. Caspian barely had time to react but he caught her still, his arms securely sliding around her waist as she shut her eyes tightly, burrowing her nose into that funny part of skin above the collar bone. She felt him chuckle lightly against her body, and the movement of his chest on hers was oddly comforting.

"It's alright, killer," He mumbled over her head. "Can't get rid of me that easily."

As she pulled away, her hands slipped to his shoulders, resting there and holding him as if she still couldn't quite believe he was there. When she looked up at him, his mouth was curved up into a smug smile, dark eyes glittering in the neon orange cascading through the gaps of the trees, breaking through the incoming fog, and she despised the way her stomach flipped momentarily.

"Are you guys flirting again?" A small sleepy voice broke through their bubble, drawing a breathy laugh from somewhere in her chest.

"You bet," Caspian grinned over her shoulder.

Smacking his chest gently, though he rubbed at the patch she'd connected with anyway, she turned and smiled at the small boy rubbing his eyes with his fists. "Hey."

"Hi." He beamed, and suddenly every negative feeling she'd ever had was worth it.

"Are you hungry?"

"I'm starving." He told her, his hand on his stomach.

"Well, you know anything about plants, bug?" She asked, beckoning him over with the nod of her head. "Are these berries good to eat?"

He crouched, inspecting one between his fingers before holding it up to the light. She wasn't sure what he was doing, she hadn't realized this was something he was good at, not to this extent, and waited patiently as he watched the sun stream through. He nodded once and held it out in his palm. "They're good." He confirmed.

"How do you know?" Caspian asked, skeptical, his arms folded over his chest.

"Look," Tanner stood, holding the berry up to the sun again and letting the older two watch the light ripple inside. "These are Lilydrop berries. You can always tell because when you hold them up to the light, they're see-through. Like a glass of water though, not a window. See?" Sure enough, the small sphere between his fingers resembled a small glass marble, the light streaming and distorting their view through them. "They're good to eat. They're also a good water source so we won't dehydrate with these." He grinned at the two, who watched him proudly.

Well... Elara watched him proudly. Caspian watched Elara.

"Oh!" She exclaimed, the memory of the package resurfacing in her mind. "I got something from Weston last night." She unbuckled the bottle and offered it to the two. "This is the only water we have but we've got the berries now too so we should be good for a little while."

"Weston's cool." Tanner said, taking a sip before offering it to Cas.

"He's okay." She said.

"I don't really like Tobin though. He was kind of mean. Just don't tell him I said that." Tanner said. She chose not to point out that Tobin, if he managed to keep his eyes open for two goddamn seconds, would've heard exactly what he said. They were happier when they weren't thinking about being watched.

✩➵✩

"I spy with my little eye something beginning with... T." Tanner said. She was trying to be positive, she really was, but it had been two days. Two days of strange silence, shuffling along the edge of death, anticipating the day His hand took theirs. The day before, no one died. Not a single soul. Somehow, that was more unnerving. It made Elara suspicious. They wouldn't let them settle for that long. The audience must be entertained.

"Is it 'tree'?" Elara asked, with a sigh.

"Yeah! How'd you know?" He chuckled, splashing the back of her legs.

"Last time you said 'water'. There's not really anything else out here."

"There's the sky." Caspian pointed out. Elara rolled her eyes.

"Your turn, Cas." Tanner prompted.

"I spy something beginning with 'S'."

She huffed. "Is it 'Sky'?"

"Yup." They crossed a clearing, the only sound in the open space the crash of water beneath their own feet. They wandered for so long, Elara zoned out any other noise. Thankfully, Caspian remained alert. He darted to the front, throwing his arm in front of them. "You hear that?" He asked, his voice no louder than a whisper.

Elara shook her head, though she remained silent to be safe. Cas wouldn't put himself in danger. She had to trust him.

With the area so clouded and open, any noise seemed to echo. That was why, when the rustling emerged from all around them, El's heart sank. Picking Tanner up despite his quiet protest, Caspian darted around a thick tree, trusting Elara enough to find her own spot. She did, a tree closer to the approaching sound but she was sure, if she was still enough, they wouldn't realise. It was a plan they'd discussed the previous night. Avoid contact, Caspian had said. The crash of their feet in the water passed just slightly, enough for her to poke her head. Enough to catch a vague glimpse of the Career group, or what seemed to be most of them, passing by. The two from District 1 were eager, marching forward together, but the other figure, blonde head of hair and heavy hands tossing his sword between them. Pluto walked past much more leisurely.

"We haven't seen another person for a while." He pointed out, his steps slowing even more. Go away, she begged internally.

"They're all hiding. It's only been a couple days." Jasper, the boy from 1, said. "Why? You scared, Pretty Boy?" He taunted.

Chuckling almost disbelievingly, Pluto paused completely, glancing around at his surroundings. Elara threw her head back, pressed securely against the tree. With the speed of her movement, the water by her shins rippled slightly, lapping at her legs and putting her in his direct sight line. She could hear his silence, feel his eyes burning through the wood of the trunk straight into the back of her skull. He moved, approaching her and she felt like she might burst.

Elara flattened herself as much as she could against the trunk, her heart pounding so hard in her chest, she could only pray he didn't hear it. Holding her breath desperately, she waited. Waited for her death. The only thing she could do. He was ready. There was no catching him off guard.

She heard his steps getting louder, slow and careful, as she spared a glance at the other tree. She hoped Tanner was still held tightly, his back to Caspian's chest and his firm hand planted over his mouth. Stay quiet. Please.

"I'm pretty sure the girl from 4 just ran that way," Adora called out.

By the sound and lasting ripples of the water, Pluto spun and ran right after them, desperate to never miss his chance of getting a kill. She didn't dare move. It could've been a trick. He could be waiting for her.

Though the area fell deadly silent, and her axe handle was clamming up in her palm, Tanner and Caspian had left their spot, staring at her worriedly. When no one appeared, slicing their necks in front of her eyes, her breath rushed out of her lungs. She'd been drowning in the open air, suffocating by choice. Her back scraped against the bark of the tree as she slumped to the floor, the water reaching her sternum, soaking her to the bone whilst she pressed her eyes into the balls of her palms frustratedly.

Approaching similarly to the way Weston had once approached a rabbit, Cas lowered himself to a crouch in front of her. Tanner stood behind him, brows furrowed as he fidgeted with his fingers. "You're okay, killer." He whispered, his hands circling her wrists to gently tug her palms from her face. She watched him, his eyes so focused, so attentive, flicking across her face carefully – like he didn't want to miss a thing. "Hey bug–"

"No." Elara cut in. That was what she called him. It didn't sound right in his mouth. Not yet.

"Sorry." He shook his head. "Buddy, are you okay grabbing us some more Lilydrop's? Just on that bush over there." He pointed. "So we can still see you."

Hesitantly, Tanner nodded, gripping his makeshift spear as he stepped only a few feet away. Elara didn't want to drag her gaze from him, fear still zipping through her veins at the premise of Jasper or Pluto, or even Adora, appearing again. Of taking him away from her.

"Elara." Caspian said, his voice almost a demand of her to look at him. She didn't though, unable to move or turn or do anything. "Hey," His hand found her chin, turning her in his hands and somehow, it worked. She bent at his will like clay he could mold. Her stomach churned. "You're okay, Elara." He said, his fingers sliding millimeters each way, a soothing touch to her jaw. "You're here."

"For how much longer?" She hissed. Hostility was built into her very soul, despite how much she wished that was not the case. She'd love to be gentle and flower-like. Bea.

Cas sunk his teeth into his lower lip, taking her frustration like a slap to the face because she needed to let it out. He'd take it all; bear the weight of it on his shoulders should she need it. He cared. A damn lot.

Elara wouldn't confess that she'd followed his action, analyzing in great detail the way his lip sunk under their wrath. Noting each curve in the indentation. Sometimes, he was very nice to look at.

"I'm sorry, okay? I just—" She gulped, shutting her eyes to take a steadying breath. "I'm so scared."

"I know." He said, eyes unmoving from her own.

Tanner hurried back over, bursting whatever bubble they'd been trapped in, his hands full of berries before he poured them into Caspian's pocket. "You guys know not to eat Nightlock, right?"

"What's that?" Elara asked, suppressing her lingering terror.

"A purple kind of berry. They're super unsafe. Don't eat any berries unless I tell you it's okay." He ordered them, his assertiveness tugging a smile onto their faces.

"You got it, dude." Cas nodded. He pushed himself to his feet, holding out a steady hand for Elara. She stared at it for a second, before slipping her hand into his. His skin was warm, smooth too despite their situation. She offered a grateful, slight smile. "Let's get moving. It won't be safe to stay in one place too long."

She nodded affirmatively and followed behind in silence as Tanner jumped around, causing huge splashes onto their legs. She didn't want to stop him, not when he was able to be a kid, a normal kid, without fear of whoever was in charge back home. Without having to worry if they'd storm over, dragging him away with a cruel hand on his wrist and harming him in some way. It was Cas who reminded him they should be quiet.

There was still so much that could go wrong. They hadn't actually fought anyone yet. Not today at least. And they had managed to find a temporary food source. But being in the water too much could possibly make them sick, right? Wasn't that what one of the instructors had said? Damn it, why hadn't she focused more intently? Fighting was all well and good but near to useless if you couldn't handle your environment.

Maybe they should start finding better shelter. Work together and climb a tree.

Tanner rambled excitedly to Caspian, who seemed extremely interested in everything the boy had to say, as they progressed and Elara watched her steps. She counted them, keeping her mind busy. One. Two. Three. She thought of the tributes still alive. Where was everyone? Four. Five. Six. The air was still thin. At least death would clear her of any lingering respiratory problems. Seven. Eight– What was that?

Maybe it was the lack of food, or real food, something other than the god forsaken berries, that had her imagining things. That or... She paused, waiting patiently for a sign of movement. Whatever it was.

As expected, somewhere to her left, bubbles flew to the surface of the water, just briefly before they burst instantly. Ahead of her, Caspian slowed, searching for her and stilling Tanner in the process with a gentle hand on his shoulder. He opened his mouth to speak before the bubbles appeared again, right ahead of their path. He furrowed his brows, turning to her like she'd have an answer. She didn't.

Faster now, more prevalent and common, the bubbles appeared, the ground trembling beneath their feet as the tiny pockets of air burst and neared their legs. It couldn't be an animal. Or a Mutt... Could it?

Elara cried out, jolting away and finding no peace. The water was scalding. The swamp was literally trying to boil them to death.

Caspian yelled out at the same time as Tanner. "Go!" Elara screamed, no longer afraid of her volume.

Stumbling to their sides, she gritted her teeth as the water had her flesh screaming. Caspian stopped, all but throwing the younger boy onto his back as he waded through the water, crying out with each step. "Find land." Caspian gritted out. Didn't he know she was trying?

There was no peace, no relief. The water was too high for them to lift their feet all the way out and still have pace, leaving them with no choice but to leave their lower halves submerged. She could feel her eyes prickling with tears, useless helpless tears that were unavoidable. The first mound of dirt was barely large enough for the three of them but it had to do. They had to get out. What the fuck? She knew something was going to happen. She knew it. Slumping onto dry land, she sobbed into the dirt as the pain throbbed throughout the entirety of her legs below the knee. Tears streamed down her face, but as she caught sight of Caspian, she felt guilty for even having the audacity to pity herself.

He collapsed onto the solid ground, Tanner dropping and rolling a little away, his own soft brown eyes puffy as he sobbed at the sight.

"Cas." She whimpered, falling beside him. His face was contorted in pain, each beautiful curve clenched tight. She furrowed her brows as his trembling fingers reached for his spear that had clattered beside him. Was he going to kill her now? In a final attempt before he gave up completely?

But Caspian's movements were quick as he cut open her pant leg, snatching the flask attached to her hip and flicking it open. He tilted the bottle, pouring a splash of cold water onto her burns.

Relief and agony seized her body entirely but still she caught his hand before he could go too far. "What are you doing? Are you crazy?" She asked, her voice trembling.

"Maybe a little." He sobbed back. His voice was so raw, the thought occurred so suddenly, so out of place: she wanted to hold him.

Copying his actions, she sliced through the fabric over his legs, though not nearly as precise and perfect as he did, ripping open the seams. When he protested, she threatened his arms back to his sides with her axe. "You need this more than me." She told him, leaving no room for arguments. He really did. Though she hadn't seen her own skin, the layers on his legs were wearing away, bright burns coating the flesh. In some places misshapen blisters began to form. She swallowed back her nausea.

She moved to tilt the bottle, pausing suddenly as she considered their situation. She reached for her thick belt, unbuckling it and pulling it up to his face. His eyes burst open in surprise and confusion but she thrust it forward. "Bite down." She demanded.

Fear was the most prominent emotion in his eyes. His brows turned down and his eyes glistened with new unshed tears. He winced at her words but obliged, and as his strong jaw clamped down on the leather, she poured the cold water over his burns. His muffled scream turned her stomach as he hyperventilated through the unimaginable pain, his fist desperately clutching at handfuls of dirt. He almost reached for her but somehow restrained his movements, curling into the mud instead. His upper body jolted once, twice, right before he fell over, emptying his stomach contents into the swamp beside them. Elara guided him back to the tree, leaning him against it.

"I've got to do it again." She said regretfully. Cas shook his head, his eyes pleading with her when she pushed his desperate arms away. "I have to. I have to soothe the burns."

He picked the belt up off his lap where it had dropped before, and shoved it back into his mouth. He didn't wait for her this time, stiffening his entire body and gripping the ground right before she poured again. It was no better the second time. They had a whole lot of water in the flask since they'd been living off the berries, but the container was getting lighter in her hand and she hadn't even considered the fact she'd need some too. She still wasn't planning on it.

"One more." She told him and this time he didn't even fight, too exhausted to push her away. So she poured. She poured the water until it had stopped dripping from the container and apologized over and over again through his cries.

Tanner had vanished momentarily without her notice but returned soon enough with large leaves she'd seen blooming from some of the tree roots. "They'll work as a bandage replacement," He had informed her. She wasn't going to question him.

Sweat poured from Cas' forehead, his breathing uneven whilst as he wiped the remnants of vomit from his mouth with his sleeve. He was practically green. Elara reached out, cupping his cheek and searching his eyes for a sign. Anything. Just to tell her that he's okay. That he can go on.

Nothing.

"Just..." He choked out, delirious. "Let me rest...for a second." He shut his eyes tightly.

✩➵✩

Caspian had passed out. He'd remained that way for hours.

As he rested, Elara cared for Tanner, ensuring he had no wounds and, as she promised, staying with him to fall asleep before the concept of dealing with the furious agony in her own limbs was too prominent to ignore. They didn't have any more fresh water. They'd need the berries too desperately to crush. She turned, nearing the edge of the land with a lump in her throat. Testing the swamp water with her pinky, she confirmed it was cold again so she followed her own steps. Jaw clamped down on the leather belt, she ignored the fact her teeth were filling the same marks Caspian had created, and tugged up her pants. She lifted them up, heart pounding wildly before submerging them entirely in the water.

Holy fuck.

She cried out, her scream piercing the silence but muffled enough to not wake the other two. She punched at the ground, her fist hitting a particularly sharp rock but she couldn't find it in herself to care. Not about the blood on her knuckles or the infection she'd surely given herself from the water. Not about the stupid fucking Games or her asshole grandfather watching her suffer. All she could do was beg. Begging the world for the pain to subside. Beg whatever otherworldly being was out there to keep them safe if this bullshit killed her.

Allowing herself to hunch over, she inhaled slowly through her nose, measured and careful. She really didn't wanna vomit but the fucking pain. It was one of the worst things she'd ever felt in her entire life. The sting coursed through her legs, the most intense kind of sensation. She couldn't look too closely at the marred skin. God, even the thought of it was turning her stomach.

Finally giving in, she let it out, all the water she'd consumed coming back up through her throat. She'd never been so thankful to have not eaten any food of substance. Her body wracked with heavy sobs as she tugged her pant leg back down, unable to locate another large leaf, and resting her back against a large uncomfortable rock.

It prodded at her spine and she jolted every time it poked her center.

She'd been so swept up by it, so focused on the discomfort, she almost missed the small box parachuting through the trees. Another sponsor? She hadn't even realized that would be possible so early in the Games. It was only day three after all. These things could take weeks and by the looks of their situation, the lack of tribute run-ins, it very well could be one of those times.

Shuffling across the floor, she grabbed it as it neared, tugging it close to her chest. She tore into it, unsure what Weston could be offering at this point. Maybe good food. God, she hoped it was food.

The card was over the top of the object. She didn't read it at first, brushing it aside to find the needle, the syringe and its small canister, sitting carefully on the plush, purple velvet cushion. She read the card.

"DON'T BE STUPID NEXT TIME. YOU KEEP LIVING, GIRL. – T"

It was from Tobin? Of all people, the man that seemed to despise the both of them? She wasn't even sure how she was supposed to use the damn thing. Where did it go? This was no stitch. Those kinds of needles, she knew.

Acting quickly, she filled the syringe, stabbing it straight into the side of her shin and filling her body with the medicine. Her body screamed with what felt like liquid fire beneath her flesh but she ignored it, dropping the objects and falling onto her back.

Her sleep was restless. She tossed and turned well into the night, eyes popping open every hour or so. The anthem was yet to play but she'd noted the four cannon bursts, relatively close together, as the sun began to descend. She wondered if the girl from four got away. Caspian's District partner. Though, with that thought, came the spiral. Why wasn't he with her? Why wasn't he staying safe with the other Careers like every other pack before them? Why was he wasting his time with the useless kids from District 8?

She tried to rest. She tried to let herself sleep peacefully. She really did but it was futile. Sleep was a useless want in the arena.

Especially when a twig snapped a few feet away.

Chapter Text

THE HILT OF THE HATCHET was squeezed precariously in her hand. She could feel the sweat from her palms making the handle slippery but she just squeezed tighter. The medicine Tobin had sent worked wonders. Her pain had dimmed, though she still felt a little jittery. She was just glad she wasn't in unrelenting anguish anymore.

She was stronger now and no one would be taking out Caspian and Tanner while they were sleeping defenseless.

Nobody.

She rolled over, using the boulder to push herself into a standing position. Her limbs wobbled weakly but she ignored it, pushing past it. She limped over to hide behind the tree, watching as a figure crept through the woods in the dark.

As always, the fog had vanished in the night so she was able to see their face. Dark hair. Smaller frame but still lean. Strong. Too skinny. He wasn't a Career. They tended to be better fed than the rest of them, though she didn't think they had easy lives. No. Only the Capitol got those.

She held her breath, creating complete silence to track their movements until the anthem kicked in. The figure looked upward and Elara followed their gaze watching the two names roll in.

The girl from 7. Ebony Silver. Fifteen.

The boy from 10. Colby Whitlock. Fourteen.

The girl from 4, Freyr, she remembered, had escaped. For some reason, that soothed her. Maybe it was for Caspian, she wasn't sure, but the peace it gave her was nice. Kind. She swallowed past the dryness in her throat and glanced around from her hiding spot.

They were gone.

They couldn't have gone far, she knew that, so with a deep inhale, she walked out into the deeper water, her teeth sinking into her lips to stop herself from screaming again. The pain wasn't so bad this time, more of a dull hum, but the wounds were still a little raw so she silently prayed the medicine in her bloodstream would work overtime to avoid that damn infection. She moved to the next tree that was thick enough to hide her, letting the figure move out from their own spot in their own time.

And they did. Within seconds, their slow movements continued to approach the two sleeping. The water lapped around their waistline as they pulled out one of the two daggers they had wedged in their belt. They crept through the water, and all of a sudden it was like Elara could only envision the two boys bleeding, their hearts silent. The vision haunted her, almost knocking her to her knees. She had to stop them. Any means necessary.

Walking would've been far too loud, she knew that, so she inhaled a large amount of air and held it as she sank beneath the water. It burned her eyes as she swam forward, her legs throbbing slightly in pain with each push. Once their own legs were in view, still moving cautiously forward, she stood, alerting him of her presence. She ripped the second knife from his belt and ducked as his arm swung at her, narrowly missing his blade, before darting forward and pushing her own straight into his neck.

His eyes widened as his mouth tried to form words, blood filling his mouth, and she watched in horror as his body collapsed to the ground, water splashing across her body at the impact.

The cannon burst.

She reached forward, her hands trembling as she pushed past what she had done. Again. Her hands ruthlessly found the two daggers and she shoved them into the belt she'd put back on, teeth marks still prominent, on either side of her hips. She was weak as she wandered back over to land, watching his body. They'd have to remove it, she remembered. In all honesty, her curiosity at how they'd complete such a task had long since diminished, right along with her fight. She was protecting them, she tried to tell herself. It was defense.

No ship arrived over her head. No huge machine appeared and scooped him up. Instead, the ground on a particularly large patch of land fell in. She gripped her knife, just in case, but two older men, both in pristine white uniforms, clambered out. They were afraid of her, she could tell, and so she let go of her weapon. She didn't care. They needed to move him, so they could. Take away the evidence of her murder and leave no remnants.

They approached a little warily, eyeing each other as if silently communicating. It was obvious she was not supposed to see them. They lingered, just a second, before she snapped.

"Please just take him." She said, and her voice came out so hollow she hardly recognized it.

They crouched, picking up the body of Acer Sterling from District 3, and carrying him away. They weren't careful. When they reached their exit, there was no care with the way they dropped his body down the hole. The harrowing thud he made clogged her throat and it took everything she harbored not to sprint after them, a knife in each of their chests.

Her eyes remained on the spot of his death long into the early morning. She couldn't quieten her mind. It occurred to her when the light hit her cheek and the fog began to roll in, that she'd made a grave mistake. District 8 did not have pools or lakes or rivers. There was hardly even a hint of nature. No one there knew how to swim.

But she did.

She'd given it away. If he didn't know before he sure did now because she shouldn't know that. She had learnt how to do so when she was ten years old, and her instructor had only spoken in short clipped sentences. He had successfully taught her the methods, then disappeared off the face of the earth. She wondered if he was just another blood stain on her grandfather's hands.

When Caspian finally stirred, the sun had just climbed the horizon. She inhaled sharply at the sound of his quiet groans and the sound of his readjustment. She couldn't even look at him. Not yet.

"Elara?" Caspian's soft voice broke through the silence. "What happened?"

Her eyes remained on the spot. "No 'killer' this time?" She asked bitterly. Not toward him. Toward herself. Who'd have thought his sarcasm would've been so on point?

He ignored her. "Whose blood is that?"

She hadn't even realized it was all over her hands. A small gasp escaped at the sight and she scrambled to the water edge, submerging her hands and scrubbing them violently. It had been okay when there was no more proof. How didn't she notice? Why didn't the assholes who took him tell her?

"El, talk to me." She heard him try to stand.

"Rest your legs, Cas."

"They're all better." They weren't. The skin was still a flaming red and the raw sting was surely ever present. He hadn't got whatever Tobin sent. She was so selfish, she didn't even share it. He maneuvered his way over, slumping beside her as she scrubbed. "What happened?"

She shook her head. Her mouth couldn't quite form the words 'I killed him.' It was too real. Too painful. Dragging her gaze up to his, she sighed instead. "Twelve tributes left." She whispered.

Tugging her knees to her chest, her breath quickened, though something told her that was not the fault of the thick fog. He probably had a family. One that just watched it happen. She wasn't going to cry, she told herself. Her clothing was sticking to the raw flesh of her wound but she only held it tighter. She deserved the pain. Let it hurt.

"I'm unafraid to use violence," She'd said at the interview. What a fucking lie.

Caspian remained silent as he cupped the back of her head and gently pulled her to his chest, holding her close as he waited for tears. He was right to do so, anyone else would have cried in that situation, but not Elara. Not cold, evil Elara Snow. She didn't deserve the kindness of 'Rosewood' anymore. Still, she clung to his shirt. No words he could come up with were going to fix any of this but the feeling of his arms so tight around her felt good, no matter how undeserving of it she was.

He rested his chin on top of her head, giving her the time she so clearly needed. His arms were so heavy and his body was so warm, she didn't ever want to leave his hold, but still, when she was sure she wouldn't break in the slightest, she moved away and stood again, holding herself up. The sooner they reached the end, the sooner her pain would end. Maybe she could eat some of those bad berries Tanner had mentioned. Alternatively... Her fingers brushed her blades.

He was going to win.

✩➵✩

"What if we hide together? Do you think maybe we can all win?" Tanner asked, naively. Elara wanted to scream.

When she didn't respond, Caspian answered for her, always cleaning up her messes. She wanted to yell at him. "Maybe, buddy."

"Then, let's go! We have to find a good spot."

Caspian remained silent, the splash of the water the only thing filling the quiet of the limited area they could see. Their burns were now nothing but a very quiet hum of a sting. An inconvenience at most. He ducked his head, unable to meet the poor boy's hopeful gaze.

"Guys. Come on. We have to—"

"Tanner. Cut it out." Elara snapped.

He frowned, a sure pang of hurt unfurling in his chest at her harsh words.

Similarly, guilt clogged her throat. She knew she shouldn't take it out on Tanner. He was trying to be optimistic but he needed to understand they were not all making it out of there. She was his guide, his protector, and that was all. Just a means to an end. Her words were just an outburst directed at the wrong person. Evidently, she was forgetting the real enemy.

They trekked across the arena until Caspian worried they were too close to the edge and demanded they turn back. Elara didn't have it in her to argue so she obliged, following him where he went even though they'd barely wandered in that direction the whole time. It'd been six days of the same shit, she was getting to the point of wanting to hunt the others herself.

As soon as the thought had occurred she realized what they were doing. The Game-makers. If they drove them crazy, made them so unbearably bored, they'd get a real gory fight at the end of it.

She was not going to satisfy them.

She ignored Caspian's frequent glances and focused on staying alert, no matter how monotonous their surroundings were.

They didn't stop their movements until thick layers of sweat coated their skin and they were moving at more of an uncomfortable shuffle than a determined walk. Caspian found land, and ordered them down, like his personal soldiers.

"Rest here for an hour or so. Then, we keep moving. It's not safe to stay in one spot too long." He said, keeping himself on his feet. "Especially not this far in."

"I'm hungry, Cas." Tanner whispered, his voice so afraid. She wondered if he was afraid of their situation or of them. God, she hoped it wasn't the latter.

"Me too."

Minutes had passed before they heard it. So unnatural when there wasn't a single sighting of the things for almost a week. Caspian jolted upright, eyes searching the treetops until he found it. A bird. A small, brown bird, but a bird nonetheless. Tanner shut his eyes and let out a yelp as Caspian threw his spear with ease, finding his target. Although suspicious, Elara did not flinch.

When the poor thing thudded against the ground, and Elara got a good look at it, her heart sped in her chest. It slammed violently against her ribs and her head swam with sickening realizations. He knew. Oh god, he knew. He must. There was no way that it was a coincidence. The first bird they see? The odds must've been ridiculous!

On the ground, stationary, its eyes still wide and alert and Caspian's spear protruding right through the small thing's body, was a beautiful, very dead Lark.

Lark. Little Lark.

She moved away slowly, careful not to appear too obvious, and sat before she collapsed. It was a lot different when you knew. She felt so brave thinking about the possibilities but knowing, having possible confirmation that he really did know it was her... She felt sick.

When Caspian offered a small scrap of cooked bird meat, she shook her head frantically. He raised a suspicious brow, but let it go when she pointed, "Give it to Tanner."

They weren't phased when Elara focused on her weapons, sharpening them until her fingers hurt. Anything to avoid the image they were providing her with; the two of them feasting on her– it's flesh until it was nothing but bones. She didn't even want the berries Caspian offered out. Frustrated at the rock's uselessness, not sharpening her blades in the slightest, she tossed it into the water with a grunt.

"You need a bigger rock than that." Cas pointed out.

"Yeah, I got it." She pushed herself up and headed off their patch of land, into the water, to the next tiny island, Tanner following in tow. He just wanted to be involved, she wouldn't deny him that. Especially not after the look on his face when she'd snapped before. She picked up a larger rock with a flat side, one that fit in her fist, barely acknowledging the boy copying her movements. At least when she didn't look his way there was no risk of yelling and sounding like those that came before.

Wandering back leisurely, Elara returned to her spot, scraping the flat side of the rock against the edge of the blade. Tanner joined her side, dragging his own rock down the edge of his spear just like her, though not nearly as firm as it should've been. She watched him for a second, the crease forming between his eyebrows and his tongue sticking out in concentration. And for the first time in the last few days, she smiled. Not a forced smile, like the ones she gave to Caspian when he stared too closely, as if he was trying to see right into her mind. A real, honest and very exhausting smile.

"Hold on, you're–" She reached out, covering his hand with hers. "You need to do it a little harder," She explained, demonstrating and showing him as a layer of the wood pulled away. "See? You try."

Caspian couldn't take his eyes away. It was so funny, the differences between them. One radiating pure hope and the other anything but. And the look on her face– He was sure he'd sell his soul to see it every day. Elara glanced up, catching his gaze, just briefly, and forming the conclusions all on her own.

She noticed his eyes drop. The way they tracked their way over her, leaving goosebumps even in the heat. He followed the tanged locks of her hair that she'd pulled over her shoulder. He slid over the toned curves of her arms and over her prominent hipbone, lingering slightly before they moved to her legs. When they arrived, however, he shot to his feet.

Attached to her calves, attacking and sucking at the flesh, were two pure black leeches.

"Elara."

It was all he managed before her weapons clattered to the ground and her arms fell to her sides. She slid back, followed closely by Tanner who he hadn't even noticed had a creature of his own.

"Tanner!"

Snatching one of Elara's knives off the ground, Caspian shoved the tip of the knife under the leech on Tanner's wrist. Flicking it as far as he could, he moved over to the ones on Elara, copying the act.

"Cas..." Elara stammered. "Cas, I-I can't move. I can't move. Why can't I move?"

"The leeches... they must've– I don't know! Paralyzed you somehow?"

"How do I undo it?!"

"I— I don't know!"

"We need Lightpetal." Tanner said, his tears practically audible in his voice. Elara's heart cracked in her chest. "In— water or just eat it. That's what works."

"Good job, buddy. Okay. Okay. Where do I find it?" His voice shook, as he grasped both of their hands, unsure if his touch was bringing comfort. Unsure if they could feel it at all.

"That's the thing, Cas." He said, his eyes staring into thick cloud around them. Caspian scrunched his brows together. "It only grows in super sunny areas. In this place? It's too dark. Too obstructed. It won't grow out here."

"What?"

Chapter Text

WITH FROZEN LIMBS, Elara could feel her fight to survive seep from her body like blood from a wound. Every drop of hope, every drop of confidence, that she could protect Tanner. That she could actually make him win. It was gone. She'd abandoned Caspian.

And yet, there he sat beside them, his body so still, she almost thought he'd been attacked by a creature too. He hadn't moved an inch since Tanner had explained what was happening. Even when the cannon had gone off twice more. His fingers had woven between Elara's, an invisible comfort that she couldn't even feel. She'd only realized he was touching her when he'd brought her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles and leaving no impact.

"Cas," She muttered, squeezing her eyes shut to keep her despair at her own failure at bay. If not for herself, for Tanner. "Promise me something?"

He shuffled closer, peering over her body to meet her eyes. "Anything."

"Don't hang around for too long. We might not have enough sponsors. I can't let you sit and wait and put yourself in more danger." She hated how damn weak she sounded. They'd be laughing at her on the screen. He'd be laughing at her.

He was so delighted at her misery, she could feel it in her bones. Sitting stiffly at his desk or on his stupid plush sofa, chuckling that grating laugh that rarely even forced a smile onto his creased face. She wondered how much he'd changed in four years. Not much, she decided. For as long as she could remember, he'd looked the same. Smelt the same too. Like roses. And blood.

"Are you seriously asking me to leave you both?" Caspian snapped, breaking her from her trance.

"I'm asking you to save yourself." She told him, her voice deathly low. Ridiculous, really. She couldn't even lift a finger. "What are you gonna do? Carry us around? Be serious for a second!"

"I'm being serious. You expecting this of me is fucked up, Elara." He said, and something thudded against the floor. She was pretty sure it was her hand.

"Being in a fucking death game as children is fucked up! You got a problem? Take it up with the President." She snapped. She thought about the broadcast and everyone watching from home. If she knew Gramps, the display and audio would've cut out just as Cas finished talking.

He'd taught her once. Always good to have a slight delay. She hoped they weren't quick enough.

He winced at her words, eyes darting around the canopy of trees like he'd locate the cameras. Find the microphones and destroy them right there. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

"I think that's a guarantee." She said, a humorless laugh bursting from her chest.

With a scoff, Caspian retracted from her like she was contagious. She understood why. Her determination was gone. She was a murderer. He'd killed someone too but it was to protect her. It was on her. Her hands were stained crimson with the blood she had shed and no matter what happened after, she'd die with that guilt. One way or another. Sooner or later, though she was sure it'd be the former.

Those people, the ones who'd been released of their hell though not of their own volition, were victims. Not a single person in that arena deserved the fate that was coming to them, she knew that. She'd known it at twelve years old.

Once again, Caspian remained too wrapped up in Elara to notice the small package parachuting its way to his feet. She wanted to yell at him again. To tell him to wake up and take this stuff seriously. He has to go. To survive. He's not going to win sitting and protecting two lost causes. When the small parcel nudged his boot, he frowned, picking it up with extreme caution. As if it contained a damn bomb.

Pulling the small lid off, his brows drew together as he took in its contents. Deliberate fingers lifted the note and his glossy eyes tracked their way over the words. Quick. Angry. Something was wrong. Again.

"What's it say, Cas?" She sighed. She was so sick of walking on eggshells. Might as well make it worse if it had to be. "Spit it out."

"Finnick sent a batch of the antidote. We had just enough sponsors." He told her, his voice flat. He shoved the card in his pocket.

"So what's the issue?"

Hesitating, he sighed as Elara rolled her eyes. She was being cruel, she knew that. Part of her felt bad. The other part couldn't feel anything. "There's only enough for one."

"Give it to Tanner." She said, never missing a beat.

"We should think about this, El."

"What is there to think about? Give it to him."

"I can't."

"Why not?" She snapped.

Caspian didn't reply, but, in his vocal absence, Elara heard the quiet snores of the young boy to her left. Soft. Peaceful. He found serenity at a time like this? She squeezed her eyes shut, pain bursting through her chest. He deserved better than this. He still had a chance.

"Wait for him to wake up."

"El... if you just take it now—"

"I am not taking it and leaving Tanner. Wait for him." She demanded. Her voice was firm and harsh and absolutely unapologetic. She couldn't find it in her to care if Cas thought she was being cruel. She was. He needed to understand this was what needed to happen. Tanner came first. Always.

"Attention, tributes!" A booming voice spoke into the arena. She wasn't sure where the speakers in this place were, but the voice was surrounding them enough that there must've been a lot. It was a man's, smug and amused and so goddamn irritating, and yet she found herself perfectly attuned to it. Like it was some kind of saving grace. "In the center of the Cornucopia, there is a package for each of you. It contains something you desperately need. There is one package per district. May the odds be ever in your favor."

There was one batch of antidote in Caspian's hand. There was another batch in the center of the arena. Elara knew that's what they'd sent. They needed it. That was all they needed. They knew exactly what they were doing. Setting up a trap for them to fall into and meet their inevitable deaths. They had to ignore the temptation.

Predictably, Caspian stood, brushing down his damp pants. "I'll go get your package." He said.

"Are you crazy? You'll die out there."

"I'll be fine." He shook his head, picking up his spear with burning determination flickering in his gaze. It was right then that she really hated this situation she was in. She needed her hands on his shoulders, desperate to explain this wasn't safe. That they'd be much better together there. Just until the feast was over.

"Cas, this is so clearly a trap to lead us into our final resting places, I'm surprised there isn't a blinking red sign. You are not going to run in there for someone else's district when there's a high chance you won't make it back to me. I won't let you." Her chest rose and fell quickly, her breaths almost a pant. She hadn't meant to say it: 'To me.' It had just slipped out. No part of her felt the urge to backtrack though because she meant it. She really did want him to stay with her for that part, just to know he was alive. They'd figure the rest out afterward.

"Okay." He nodded, his voice gentle and eyes softened. "Okay."

"Thank you." She said, clearing her throat of the emotion, whatever it was, lodged in her throat. "Now just– Wait for Tanner to wake up. Then, give him the cure. Forget the announcement."

He nodded again, lowering himself beside them. "Alright."

She nodded back, just one firm one, and let her eyes flutter shut, the exhaustion getting the better of her. She fought against it, desperate to stay awake to be sure Cas didn't do anything stupid, but it was no use. Without the feeling of anywhere below her neck, comfort wasn't really an issue. The dirt beneath her head was soft enough. It'd do.

There were new birds, she noticed. They were larger now. Clearly not a lark – she was positive she wouldn't be seeing another one of those. No, these birds were huge, majestic almost, if not a little withered. They flew in circles way above their heads, above the treetops, their paths repeated and consistent. She wondered if they were Mutts. Some kind of vulture that was waiting for their imminent deaths. They probably wouldn't have to wait long. The pit in Elara's stomach was enough proof of that.

Maybe she should tell Caspian. Alert him that there was a threat. Yes. She'd do that. Though even as she tried, sleep sunk its soft claws into her skin and pulled her right below the surface of consciousness.

✩➵✩

When the girl finally woke, she rubbed at her eyes to clear them of sleep. It was still daytime, the sky was still gray and the fog was still thick. She couldn't see the birds anymore. It was strange. With the thickness of the fog, she wasn't sure how she was able to see them in the first place.

Brushing her hair from her eyes, she was ready to sit up until she froze. Deadly still. The way she should've been without a choice. Brushing her hair back... Such a common action. One, she knew damn well, she should not have been able to do. That fucker. He'd done exactly what she'd told him not to. God, at least he wasn't dead.

Pushing herself upright, she looked to her left first, needing to see him okay. That was not the case, however. Instead, Tanner laid, stiff as a board, still sleeping peacefully. All hope seeped from her face as she met Caspian's eyes. He sat across from them now, guilt swirling within his gaze. At least he had the respect to look a little bit sorry.

"You son of a bitch." She spat, shooting to her feet and stumbling like a newborn fawn, yanking her dagger from her belt in the process.

Caspian jumped up with her, despair etched in every crease of his expression as she advanced on him again. All she'd talked about: being afraid that Caspian would kill them, turn on them without them expecting it, and she was the one who'd held her weapon to his neck multiple times. And after claiming she trusted him. Goddamn hypocrite.

And she was doing it again, her glare narrowed and words laced in venom. "You're a fucking liar."

"We can go to the Cornucopia, Elara." He protested, his head resting against the bark like second nature by now. He didn't reach out. She hated that that was something she noticed. "We can raid the feast they've set out. Easy."

"And leave Tanner on his own? Are you crazy?"

"We can bring him with us."

She scoffed and, in a fit of anger, pushed her blade to his skin. He could feel it now. The freshly sharpened cold edge of the knife. "I can't believe you."

"You can't believe that I'd save your life?" He asked, his own tone morphing into something of offence. What did he have to be offended about? She didn't lie to him.

"I can't believe you'd go behind my back. I told you Tanner comes first—"

"Yeah, well, two protectors is better than one!" He finally snapped, pushing himself forward. She couldn't pull her arm back fast enough. Still, he gently pushed her away. "Didn't you think maybe I'm fucking terrified right now? I can't keep you guys alive, Elara! Not alone!"

Her eyes softened and that pesky lump of emotion clogged her throat once more. She noticed the blood then. "Cas..." Her breath shook. "Your neck."

His fingers found the cut quickly. It was only small. Not dangerous. But it could have only come from one place.

When Caspian moved forward and Elara didn't move her arm, the blade nicked his neck. He was bleeding. Because of her.

Elara threw the knife to the ground like it was on fire.

"I'm sorry," She shook her head, unable to tear her gaze from the seeping trickle of crimson. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"Ignore it." He said, clamping his hand over it. His anger was painfully palpable. Her skin itched. She'd hurt him. "I cannot do this without you. I did what I thought was right."

She frowned, but it just felt wrong. Like she was fighting a losing battle. "Doesn't change the fact that you lied to me."

"Well, I'm sorry it had to come to that."

Once again did the familiar surge of irritation flare up beneath her skin. She understood why he did it. It made perfect sense, especially with his own fears. She wasn't trying to diminish that. What was getting to her was the fact he did it without asking. Like her choice in the matter was irrelevant and she was just supposed to accept that.

"The sooner we do this, the sooner we can save Tanner." Cas sighed, knowing exactly what buttons to push. It wasn't surprising really. He'd been in close contact with her for about a week now with nothing else to learn about.

Without a word, Elara collected her knife, shoving it into the holster and taking a step toward him. Her hand, gentle now it wasn't wielding a weapon, covered his and she carefully pulled it away. She just needed to see.

The cut wasn't deep. It had practically stopped bleeding already. Still, she could've thrown up. She cut him.

"Does it hurt?" She asked, her voice quiet, distant, like she hadn't even realized she was speaking.

"Not really," He told her, his own tone far gentler than she deserved. "Just a little sting."

"I'm so sorry," She whispered, wiping at the blood stain with her sleeve, fearful to move too close to the cut.

"Hey, killer," He said, and his large hand enveloped her own. His other hand abandoned his spear and let his finger tuck under her chin. He was so tender with her. Her traitorous heart thudded rapidly in her chest. With the slightest movement, he lifted her gaze to his, offering her a small smile. "I'm all good."

With a firm nod, Elara withdrew, taking a few small steps away. She didn't have to ask him to carry Tanner. He did it himself. Passing her his spear, he scooped the boy into his arms, grunting as he stood. They walked in silence. Elara wasn't even sure she was leading them the right way. She just guessed. Following the sun.

She despised how eerily quiet the arena was. There had been no run-ins with other tributes on their way to the center, no cannons, Hell, not even a single note from a bird. Just silence.

It was terrifying. Worse than it had been before.

When they reached the edge of the woods, peering into the clearing, Elara heard Caspian stop a few feet behind her, placing Tanner on the ground. He sat him up against the tree, like he was positioning a damn ragdoll, and joined El's side, his breath heavy.

"I'll go." Elara said, her voice flat.

"No way. Not a chance."

"Caspian, you don't get to be in the place to tell me what to do right now." She said, not unkindly. More as if she had no more emotion to muster right then; she'd need more time to recover it all.

He snapped his mouth shut, and shuffled between his feet beside her. She could feel his guilt radiating off of him in waves, he could probably feel her own, but it was not enough to dim her desperation. The sooner it was over, she reminded herself. He'd gone behind her back. Why the hell did he do that? He saved her so, of course, she was grateful but Tanner was supposed to always come first.

Tightening her hold on her blade's handle, she stepped forward, not wanting to discuss it anymore. "Look after Tanner," she said. "Please."

"I promise," He said curtly. He seemed to press his lips together, as if he didn't want to risk saying another word, before he stepped forward again. "Be safe." He rushed out.

With a swift nod, Elara cautiously approached the pit's edge, perching on it and scanning the area of any other tributes. It seemed empty. They could be hiding. When she was sure she'd have a chance to at least survive the slide down (she didn't like her chances of approaching the staircase), she moved to a part of the slope that wasn't blocked by rocks the whole way down, just a few blunt ones here and there, and shuffled forward.

It was scary. Taking a leap. Especially of faith. Leaping for what you wanted. She wasn't all that used to it. When she first reached the edge it didn't feel all that bad. Something settled in her mind, like she knew it'd be okay. And then she looked down. She looked down and the panic seized her limbs and her mind was so alive. It was begging and screaming and voicing every lingering fear and her skin was so cold and suddenly it was all a terrible idea to show up. A terrible idea to walk to the edge and a horrendously awful idea to look down. When she thought of Tanner though, his unruly curls and his bright sun-lifting smile, things were right in the world. He was the very best reason for such a risk. She pushed forward.

The dirt was wet and slippery beneath her as she slid, unable to brake or slow down in any way. Narrowly missing an extra prominent boulder, she finally reached the bottom, rolling across the ground a couple of times until she thudded to a stop, flat on her back.

The first thing she noticed when she righted herself was the silence. It was far too open down there. Too quiet. Compared to the turmoil of the beginning bloodbath, the place was... empty. She caught sight of one of the doors, the one closest to her, wedged open and inviting her into what appeared to be some kind of... lab? It looked like the same kind of place they took her to wax her to death. She dreaded to think how many people were hiding out in there.

With quick feet, Elara circled the edge of Cornucopia, her blades drawn and her heartbeat violent in her ears. The front was just as empty as the rest of the pit. A rock slab sat comfortable, and suspiciously, in the middle of the entrance, small boxes placed across the surface. There were five of them, all perfectly lined up, aside from the large gap between the last two. Someone must've already gotten theirs.

She was careful stepping out. Eyes alert and aware of everything around her, she hurried to the table, grabbing the box labeled 'District 8.' Still, she remained alone, her surroundings silent. Taking an extra second, she assessed which boxes were left, who'd escaped and who was on their way. 1, 2, 3, and 4 were yet to collect their own items, but 6 had been and gone. That meant the boy from 9, Rowan or Reuben or something, and the girl from 11, Evangeline, she thought, had died. The two previous cannons had belonged to them.

Left firmly down the line, the 'District 4' box called to her. There could be something in it for Cas.

But his District partner was still out there. Could she take it knowing she was stealing from someone else? What if she was dying?

One less enemy.

The thought had the same effect as a broken rib. It must have punctured her lung, surely, because all the breath she once held seeped from her lips, and she was ninety percent sure her chest was caving in. It felt like such a natural thought. She was suddenly glad for her plan, keeping the boy alive because she wasn't sure she'd be able to live with herself if this was who she'd become.

Before she could come to a decision, take or not, distant laughs broke her from her thoughts, kicking her into the depths of panic. She couldn't dwell on much as she tucked her box under her arm, keeping her other hand clamped tightly around her weapon, rushing back the way she came. She sprinted around the back of the Cornucopia, her heart too quick and her breathing too noisy.

There was no other way out. The sides were too steep to climb, she wasn't even sure where the open doors would lead her. There was only the staircase which was perfectly positioned right by the table.

Where the careers were currently chuckling over whatever it was they found funny. Murder, probably.

Unfair.

She'd just wait for them to leave. Take a look, see whatever they're doing, and wait them out. Sighing in defeat and frustration, she placed her box on the ground before moving quietly back along the edge. She poked her head out again, watching the three – still no Carmel – joke as they grabbed their own boxes. They looked so... calm. Relaxed. It was aggravating.

Her breath shot from her lungs in a swift second as a hand clutched her shirt, yanking her backwards and pushing her spine into the back of the Cornucopia. Elara's eyes squeezed shut. This was it. Now, they'd got her. Their hand pressed over her mouth, silencing any cries, and she braced for the pain. The stab of a sword or the cut of a dagger. The piercing pain of an arrow head or the intruding cold slice of a spear head. Though, it didn't arrive. Letting her eyes flutter open, she watched as the brunette tribute holding her glanced out at the careers with a small scowl. She pressed her finger to her lips, a warning, as she waited for the tributes to run off, right up the stairs in pure confidence.

With a sigh, she released her grip on El, raking a hand over her uneven hair, blissfully ignorant to the burn of Elara's wary gaze.

Freyr Beckett was a few inches shorter than her. Her hair was short, all different lengths really, which was a stark change from what it'd been during the interviews. If Elara was to guess, she'd say they must've hacked at it with their weapon – a sword, if the cold metal against her thigh was anything to note – when they got into the games. Soft blue eyes, a deep and dark shade filled with trepidation and all around rage.

"You know who I am?" She asked, her forearm still firmly across El's chest.

"Freyr. District 4."

"Mhm." She hummed, ensuring the coast was clear. "You come with me. Might be something in there for your boyfriend." She said, hand closing painfully tight around her wrist.

"You gonna get this over with?" Elara asked, glancing over her shoulder as she dragged her and eyeing where Caspian and Tanner waited. She wasn't even that far away. If she just shouted, he'd surely hear her.

He couldn't hurt Freyr though. She wouldn't even want him to.

"What?" Freyr asked, scooping her box in her free hand and dragging her right back to where they came from. She scrunched her nose. "Does it look like I'm trying to kill you?"

"There's still time."

They rolled their eyes. "Baby, if I wanted you dead, you'd be dead." Pulling out a small container from the box, she shoved it into her pocket without a word. That was understandable. Elara wouldn't want to explain her own situation to her either.

"Charming," Elara commented, smothering her oncoming smile when Freyr stood and smirked, her eyes running over her almost too quickly.

She reached inside the box, pulling out a small pocket knife. "That's for Caspian."

A pocket-knife? Why, of all things, did the Game-makers deem that to be what he needed? Her mind took off, spiraling and branching off with a million theories that she'd never voice, her walls attempting to build themselves back up in fear. Was that what he wanted to kill them with? Had he made it obvious in her slumber that he wanted to stab them? What had she missed? "Thank you." She told the girl, holding the box in her own arms a little tighter.

Freyr glanced over her shoulder, ensuring they were still safe before turning back. "Caspian— Is he...?" She trailed off, a frown forming across her lips. "Is he okay?"

"As well as one can be in here. He's just up the mountain if..." The rest of her offer was silent.

"No." She shook her head quickly. "We went to school together. Used to sit next to him during Numeracy. We agreed to stay apart. It'd be too hard otherwise." She explained, the solemn tone hurting Elara's heart.

It made sense. If Tanner had been someone she knew well, she... No. She'd have still gone with this plan. She couldn't imagine a world that she wouldn't.

Nodding and shuffling slightly, Elara sighed. "Well...Good luck. I hope we don't–" She swayed on her feet. Was the world spinning?

"You okay?" Freyr asked, her hand cupping her elbow.

"I'm okay." She said, placing a hand on the tribute's shoulder to stabilize herself.

"The fog." Was all she said. "I think it's getting worse."

She exhaled slowly, more of her weight resting against Freyr until she realized what the hell she was doing. She didn't know this girl. If she took this as vulnerability, she'd be dead in seconds. She couldn't die before getting Tanner the antidote.

"I'm good." She said, snapping her hands to her sides. "I'll get this to him."

"Right. Thanks." And like that the two were darting to the staircase together, weapons in hand in case of threats and darting in opposite directions through the fog and the trees and the water and she was so dizzy she could have accepted her death there and then.

Everywhere she moved looked the same. The fog didn't aid her panic, thinning the air she tried to swallow down so desperately. Freezing in a particularly familiar clearing, she curled over, her hands on her knees as she caught her breath. Goddamn it.

Spinning in place, she tried to dim the panic rising in her chest. It didn't work as she lost track of which direction she was supposed to be running in. A figure darted past her vision and her breath left her in a rush as she fell to the ground, water splashing outwards. They stood still, watching her closely. She couldn't make sense of it. She was losing her mind.

President Snow himself stood a few feet away, his hands folded behind his back as he tilted his head expectantly. She wanted to scramble away, maybe fly toward him with her weapon in hand but neither of the options seemed to happen. Instead, she stayed cemented to the ground, her heart beating so hard she was sure it might actually escape her chest. What was he doing here? What was going on? Was she hallucinating?

He looked how she'd expected: the same. Dressed in a suit she could've sworn she'd seen before, his eyes were just as beady, just as snake-like, and the exact same shade of piercing blue she remembered once glared her to obedience. His mouth, a thin line with the smallest hint of a smile, twitched every so often, as though he was swallowing something back. Every line, crease and wrinkle was the same. He hadn't changed a bit.

He didn't say a word as a distant splashing approached. He didn't even seem alarmed. He raised a wrinkled hand, pointing somewhere to the left with a look in his eye that was so similar to one she used to think of so fondly. She didn't know why she listened to the strange figure. Maybe it was the sound of her inevitable killers approaching, the need to find Tanner and Caspian, or her overall deep-rooted fear of disobeying him, the one she'd had since childhood. Whatever it was, it burned in her chest as she ran, far and fast until she was breaking through the trees and stumbling right over in front of her boys.

Caspian jolted at her arrival, his hand flying to the spear laid at his side, though he relaxed as he realized it was her. She wished she wasn't so shaken so she could take in the sight in front of her with the peace it offered. They sat together, Caspian running a hand over Tanner's hair. He offered a small smile, a silent apology. Without a word, she scrambled to her feet, looking over her shoulder once more, as if he'd have followed her back. It was useless anyway. Even if all she did want was confirmation on if he was really there, she couldn't get it, what with the fog far too thick and blocking whatever was ten feet behind them.

Handing the antidote over to Cas, she watched as he gently placed the Lightpetal drops on his tongue.

Elara reached into her pocket, pulling out the knife and tucking it into Caspian's empty palm. "That was in your box." She explained.

"You didn't have to—"

"Not me. Freyr." She said, shrugging at the sight of it. Caspian smiled sadly, flipping the knife over in his hand with a distant, shadowed look taking over before shoving it into his own pocket. She didn't ask why he needed it. She didn't want to pry. Instead, she gently, unsurely, stepped forward, wrapping her arms around his broad torso and soaking up his warmth. She'd tell him it was a thank you. He didn't have to know she just really needed that. She needed him.

Chapter Text

NO MATTER HOW MUCH TRAINING THEY put her through, no one ever prepared Elara for the unrelenting dread bubbling in her stomach. She hadn't slept much in the last day or two. It was hard to do so when every time she closed her eyes, visions of the people she loved were dying before his eyes. She'd beg for sleep but the vision of Snow staring at her like she was the same little girl that had left him behind never ceased. Instead, she chose to look after her team, offering Caspian a well-deserved break and calming the quiver of her fingers with the feel of Tanner's hair. It was getting a little knotted, what with the lack of hairbrushes in the thick of a damn swamp.

Her eyes followed a path they'd been taking far too often lately. Caspian laid so peacefully still with his arms folded behind his head. She watched him sleep, as odd as it was, just to watch the rise and fall of his chest. A gentle reminder that he was still breathing.

That familiar foreboding seeped in at that moment, the sudden reminder that eventually one of them was going to have to watch the other die if they were to get Tanner to the end. Selfishly, she hoped she went first. She didn't want to see him die. She couldn't. If there was any justice in this sick world, she hoped she'd die somewhere secluded. She'd go out on her own, no one else to witness it, especially not Cas or Tanner.

Resting her head against the tree behind her, she let her eyes drift across the sky. The death toll had confirmed her earlier suspicions with no new additions, so she sat in the dark, listening to the natural sounds of the world. The rush of the breeze. The chirp of the crickets and the buzz of cicadas.

Tanner jolted in his sleep, breaking her peace, or whatever little she had scavenged. Soft sobs moved his chest as he threw his arms over his head to protect himself from an unknown danger in his subconscious mind.

"Tanner?" She whispered gently, her own heart picking up speed.

The boy tossed and turned until finally throwing himself upright with a ragged gasp. His head whipped around, eyes bright and round in fear as he searched for them both.

"I'm here. Tanner. I'm here." She assured him, her voice anything but calm.

Finally laying his disoriented gaze on her, he inhaled a large breath, struggling with even that. He looked horrified. "El," he whispered, his voice so unlike himself she felt her heart crack open in her chest.

She opened her arms to him. Without hesitation, the boy shuffled forward and wrapped his arms around her neck, his tears wetting her shoulder but she didn't care. She was already a mess. His tears weren't gonna improve or worsen that. "Bad dream?" She asked, though she already knew the answer.

With a swift nod, he shuffled when she encouraged it, turning him to face her. "How can I help you?" She asked, her fingers still trembling with helplessness. She'd been an only child her whole life. She could protect him physically, that was child's play. But emotionally? That was where she lacked the most knowledge.

"Just— don't leave. Stay with me till I fall asleep again. Like before."

She nodded and let the boy lay his head on her lap once more, his curls flopping over the side. Running her hand over his forehead, she sighed heavily. They were almost done. They had to be almost done. "I'm not going anywhere yet, bug."

"Back home..." the boy whispered into the dark, "My brother– Well... He isn't really my brother. Just another kid in the home. But, he used to tell me a story, when..." He trailed off. With thoughts of the bruises and angry marks staining his skin, Elara filled in the gaps. "That usually helped me. Do you have any stories, El?"

Elara swallowed thickly. "Bea never really did the whole story time thing with me. I, uh, used to say I was too old for it. And my Gramps never really told me stories. Used to say," She hesitated. He was watching. "He was very busy, most of the time. He would tell me one about a bird. Gray with colors under the wings. That one doesn't really have a good ending."

"Why not?" Tanner turned so he could look up at the girl as she spoke.

"He used to tell me it so that I'd listen to him. The bird flies away at the end of the story and loses everyone it loved because it wouldn't listen. I didn't want to end up like that but now I wonder whether the bird had the right idea." She muttered.

He frowned. "No bird stories then." He declared softly. "I could tell you one of my brother's stories? That might make us both feel better." He offered.

Elara smiled and nodded gently. "Okay."

Tanner began, clearing his throat and telling the story with animated gestures, despite his tiredness. Elara watched him fondly, the boy's consistent positivity the only thing keeping her together. Keeping her alive.

His ramble soon died down as he felt safe enough to sleep again, Elara's thoughts still extremely awake. That was preferred since Cas was still laid on his side facing away from them, his shoulder rising and falling with his breaths.

She sighed, her brows furrowing again. Why was he looking out for her? For Tanner? He didn't owe her anything. There was nothing. No reason. And yet she was still breathing right now because the boy had taken a chance on her. He'd stayed by their side when they were practically lost causes. It didn't make sense.

Moving Tanner onto her jacket as his pillow again, she drew her knees close to her chest. She picked at the skin beside her thumb until she drew blood, her eyes burning holes into Caspian's back as she contemplated any possible reason he might've had. Was he a killer? Had it all been an elaborate scheme that she'd fallen for? Because she had: Fallen for it. She liked him. Searched for his presence at all moments and enjoyed his company. His touch.

"Elara, I can practically hear the thoughts in your head." His sleepy voice cut through the silence, the rasp in it making her heart clench.

"What are they saying?"

He sat up, his dark eyes finding hers. "It just sounds like this unnecessarily long screaming." He joked.

Against her wishes, the corners of her lips were tugged upwards. She rolled her eyes to humble him and desperately hide her new revelation.

"Missed that." He said simply.

She huffed. "What?"

"Your smile."

"This again?" She asked, and it took every ounce of her concentration to keep her lips in a flat line. "Be quiet. You'll wake Tanner. It took ages to get him to sleep."

"I know. I heard."

Her gaze darted to him. "You were awake?"

"Didn't want to leave you on your own as the protector again. People can protect you too, killer." He told her, his voice firm.

"I don't need protection."

"I know. But you deserve to have someone looking out for you every once in a while."

With her frustration building, she stood, marching off to the edge of their patch of land, right before the quicksand, her eyes on the fog in front of her. What right did he have? He didn't even have a reason to look out for her. Twigs snapped behind her as Caspian approached, joining her side, and their shoulders brushed. Elara stepped away.

"Stop it, Cas. I mean it." She ordered.

"Stop what?" He turned, so his body faced hers despite her not doing the same.

"Stop being nice to me. I don't deserve that. I also can't– I don't think I can handle this."

"We have no idea how long we have left. You really wanna waste that time in a state of denial?" He challenged, his stupidly perfect brow high on his forehead. He knew her too well. When had she ever backed down from a challenge?

Turning, her own brows now raised, she scoffed. "I'm not in denial."

"Sure, you're not." He grinned, his smile a sure awareness of how much he was infuriating her. Or maybe it just proved his knowledge of her lies.

"Caspian."

"Elara," he mocked.

"This is stupid. You know it is."

"Maybe, but when have I ever made fantastic decisions?" He shrugged. "Like before when I gave you the–" He shook his head. "That'll ruin the moment."

"I'm not easy to tolerate," She protested, but it was weak, like she didn't even want to mean it.

"And don't I know it," He said, sarcastically, his smile still strong.

"And for the little time we have left, I'll infuriate you. We'll probably spend it arguing."

"Thank God I love to talk."

"And you'll probably regret this instantly," She muttered, as his hand cupped her jaw, tilting it up toward him.

"Doubt it," He said simply, his smile the most pure it had been this whole time.

"Well, what if—"

"El, I'm gonna kiss you now, okay?" He asked, his eyes flicking back and forth between hers and her lips. It lit a flame against her skin. She was sure her cheeks were turning pink beneath his thumbs.

"Okay," She breathed out, surprising them both. She didn't lean or move at all really. She let him close the gap, letting their lips meet for the first time. He was warm, she noted, so warm against her lips and surprisingly soft. Gentle. For someone of his size, it had never been one of the words she thought to describe him as when she'd first seen him. Now that she knew him, however, it was probably the first. In her chest, her heart tripped over itself in its race to burst from her ribs. It had done that a lot whilst she'd been in the arena but this was the first time it had stumbled at a mile a minute and not horrified her. It reflected the giddiness in her fingertips as she gripped the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. She wondered if he could feel it. His thumb smoothed over her cheekbone and she felt her legs falter slightly.

As they separated, she felt her chest twang, the sudden realization that she didn't want him to pull away almost paining her. When Caspian beamed down at her, she didn't smother the smile pulling at her own cheeks. They didn't get many moments where they'd feel this pleasant swirling in their guts instead of the usual bracing for death, so they savored it. They felt it in every pore; the joy, the excitement and the fondness for the person they'd met in the worst of circumstances. They couldn't last. They shouldn't be attached but who cared when you only had limited time left.

✩➵✩

"Where are you going?" Elara asked Caspian when he stood, his tall sculpted form making her insides warm. He smiled, unapologetically bright, with softened eyes.

"We need more of those Lily berries."

"Lilydrop." Elara corrected, a soft smile playing on her lips.

"Whatever, smartass." He rolled his eyes, cupping her chin and pressing a kiss to her smile before he grabbed his spear. "We've cleared out like everywhere close so I might have to be out of sight for a little while. Yell and I'll hear you though. I promise, I'll come running." He said, his suddenly stern tone making her nod and squeeze his hand once. She didn't want him to go. It made her nauseous.

"Be careful," She ordered, making Tanner gag dramatically.

"You guys are gross."

"Oh yeah? You just wait, little man. You'll get it one day." He said, grinning at her as he backed off, the sight of his figure disappearing into the fog making El's stomach twist painfully.

"What did he mean?" Tanner asked, his brows scrunched together adorably. It occurred to her in Cas' absence that the Capitol had seen all that. The moments she had thought she was saving just for herself, whenever her last day came, were actually on display for the million people across Panem.

"Never mind," She chuckled, resting her head against the tree and letting her eyes flutter shut. She didn't sleep at all the night before, choosing instead to watch over them as they rested. She wasn't allowed to sleep now either but the bark was oddly comfortable.

They'd decided to move closer to the Cornucopia as soon as Caspian was back. They'd discussed it the night before, after their moment, and settled with the idea. Being closer to the Cornucopia meant they wouldn't be as likely to get eaten by Mutts or whatever lurked in the woods later in the games.

"El, can I carve our initials into the tree?" Tanner asked, breaking her free from her thoughts and holding one of the small knives Elara had lent him.

"Go for it," She smiled, reveling under the warmth of the sun on her face. For once, it wasn't sticky and uncomfortable. Just kind. She tried to push away the dread that still sat, unbudging, low in her stomach, as he got to work, his knife cutting into the wood and lulling her into that area between consciousness and sleep. When you can hear everything, but your eyelids are too heavy to lift and open again.

She stayed that way for maybe ten minutes. That was all. Barely anything. But it was enough that she didn't notice when that carving sound stopped. She hadn't realized how long Caspian had been gone. She stayed that way until the cold edge of metal was pushed against her neck and her eyes were springing open.

"No sudden moves." A familiar feminine voice muttered into her ear. She shoved her away from the tree and onto her knees in the clearing, her dagger securely back at her throat.

She couldn't even focus on that because when her eyes flicked around the area: left, right, left, right. Tanner wasn't there.

Where was Tanner?!

In front of her stood the boy from 1. Jasper Underwood. Seventeen years old. His arms folded over his wide chest as he watched her, disdain written across his features like a pitiful poem. Which meant that the one with the knife was—

Her eyes flicked to the person as they adjusted and sure enough, Adoration Clearstone was keeping her firmly in place. She was her age. Someone she could've been friends with if they'd have been from the same District and she'd have been good at being social.

The sharp sticks and rocks in the mud prodded deep into her knees as she let the breath she was holding seep from her lungs.

"Your choice, Ledger." Adora said, looking off somewhere to the right. Elara was sitting so still she couldn't see, especially with the blade to her neck. If she could just turn—

The figure moved in front of her. The remaining girl from 3, Mackenzie, she thought her name was, appeared in front of her. Elara internally winced. She was fourteen years old. Didn't the people at home see how wrong this was? Tears welled in her eyes as she took in the sight of Elara, finally defenseless. Alone. Vulnerable.

"You can get your revenge," Jasper offered, "Or we can do it for you." He placed his sword in her hands, gently wrapping her fingers around the hilt.

Mackenzie observed it, almost studying it as she contemplated her options. She could run at her, thrust the blade straight through her chest if that was what she wanted. Either way it didn't matter what she chose. This was it.

Elara was going to die now.

She hoped Tanner had shot off to find Cas. That they were hunting down berries while this happened. She wouldn't even be mad about him running off if that was the case. That was what she had wanted after all. To die alone. Away from them.

It was perfect.

She didn't want to fight them, she couldn't even if she did. Her hands were pinned to the floor, grasping the dirt. Her remaining knife was tucked in her belt on her left, the hatchet on the right. It'd be too obvious to reach for them. Too much unnecessary effort.

It was okay. She had well made peace with it at that point. It wasn't meant to happen exactly like this, she wanted to do it herself, but as long as Cas got Tanner to the end, that was all that mattered. And he would. He was good like that. Stronger than her. A smile almost spread across her lips.

She trusted him.

"I can't do it," Mackenzie shook her head. "I hate her for killing Acer but— I've never done it before. He did it all. Not me."

"Last chance, Ledger. That anger can be put to good use." Jasper offered. God, it was gonna suck dying by his hand.

"No," She shook her head firmly. "I can't."

Jasper sighed cruelly. "What a waste." Mackenzie never got to ask why. Jasper's hands had already spun her head, the snap of her neck bringing bile up Elara's throat as her body dropped to the floor, the harrowing thud echoing through her insides. She'd lost count of the remaining tributes. Hopefully, Cas and Tanner would hear the boom of the cannon in their location and count it up themselves.

"Fine by me." Adora chuckled. "I have to add this one to my list. What a score she is."

She laced her free hand into El's hair, pulling it tightly as she showed off more of her neck, but the girl could barely move her eyes away from Mackenzie's corpse. What the fuck?! "Any last words for the people?" Adora said into her ear, her words sounding more like the hiss of a snake than anything human. "We almost got you the other day, you know?"

The feast, she recalled. That was who was splashing behind her when she'd hallucinated the president right before her eyes.

It barely took her a second to come up with it. Dragging her eyes off the horror in front of her, she spoke clearly. Maybe it'd comfort him when he had to rewatch this moment. "Give 'em hell, bug." She smiled up at the gray sky. There was nothing special about her day of death. Just the same doom and gloom she'd become familiar with.

"How sweet. Shame you abandoned your little pet. I'd have loved to meet him." She said, pushing the blade into her neck a little more. Elara wished she understood why they had to be so cruel. They couldn't have always been this way. Then again, she wasn't aware of what it was like back in District 1. "Don't worry, I'll be sure to drag this out."

She felt a singular drop of blood slide down the slender slope of her neck, much like the one she had shed from Caspian by accident before. That had felt like a lifetime ago.

They say when you die, your whole life flashes in front of your eyes, like a montage of your time on earth, right before you enter into the light. But El didn't get any of that. She didn't see her past, or any bright glow to welcome her to the afterlife. She didn't see her parents, those she'd lost, waiting to welcome her home. Nothing.

Instead, she watched as a small figure darted out from behind a tree, his knife over his head as he sprinted at Jasper's back. Shoving the blade forward, he stabbed it into the older boy's hip, bringing him to his knees.

The next thing happened so quickly, even Adora loosened her grip in surprise.

Jasper cried out, collapsing to one knee as Tanner yanked his knife back. He'd smiled, not in a sickening malicious way, but out of joy of achieving his goal. Elara thought she gasped, but she wasn't sure where she stopped and Adora started right there. Jasper didn't hesitate to stand and spin, his large steps forward a clear winner against Tanner's tiny backtracks.

Tanner lunged again, slashing Jasper's bicep with deliberate intentions, before the boy slapped the blade out of his hands. She tried to dart forward, forgetting she was restrained as her breath, frantic and panicked, struggled in her lungs. She needed a distraction. C'mon Cas. Too late.

Jasper gripped Tanner's collar and thrust his sword forward. It moved smoothly, like he was piercing paper.

"NO!"

He yanked his blade out with much less care and deliberation from the young boy's sternum, tossing him to the ground like he was some piece of trash he was done with, his hand reaching back to cover his own wound.

It was like everything was in slow motion. Tanner's soft brown eyes met her own, tears flowing down his cheeks. As he dropped, Elara rose.

With Adora distracted by what had just happened, El gripped the knife in her belt and spun quickly, sinking it into the side of her neck with no remaining sympathy. Yanking it out just as quick, she lunged forward, using her speed to her advantage and kicking Jasper's sword from his hands before he could block it.

"Bitch!" He yelled as she slashed his stomach, letting him fall forward when he doubled over in agony. Her blood boiled as she climbed over his body, his stomach firmly against the floor and the dirt sinking inside his fresh wounds.

"You fucking monster," She spat, her voice so shaky she hadn't even realized it was her own, before pushing his face firmly down into the quick sand.

No matter how much the rest of his body fought against it, his arms flailing wildly and his nails scraping against the surface of her flesh, his head was cemented in the stuff, no oxygen reaching his lungs. She pushed him further, her arms aching with the force she used, until he finally stilled, his body going limp.

Three cannons. All in the space of ten minutes.

Shakily glancing over her shoulder, her eyes landed on a trembling Tanner, his tears slipping down his temples and soaking his hair as his small hands covered his bleeding chest.

Tears clouded her vision as she crawled toward him, the knife abandoned behind her. She stopped at his side, her eyes wide and flicking around for something, anything, to keep his wound closed until they got supplies. Her hand was all she had. She pressed it to his chest, crying out as he screamed in anguish, and scooping him up with her other arm to bring him close.

"El," he sobbed. "El, it hurts. It really hurts."

"I know." She nodded, angry at the tears that escaped her eyes. Why was she crying? She was going to scare him like this. They were gonna save him. "I know. But you gotta stay strong, okay? Be so brave for me– CASPIAN!" She screamed.

"El, please make it stop hurting." He pleaded, his voice so weak. She glanced at his chest, the river of crimson seeping between her fingers despite how much pressure she had on the boy. She was hurting him and it still wasn't stopping. Why wasn't it fucking stopping?

"I— I don't know how. Just hold on, okay? Caspian's coming back. He's– fuck! CASPIAN!" She cried out again, her voice so full of emotion she could barely recognize herself as her tears slipped and fell onto his forehead. Angrily, she swiped them away, just for them to be replaced so soon after.

"I'm really sorry, El." Tanner's glistening eyes bore into her own. "I didn't mean to. I shouldn't have run off."

"No. It's not your fault, okay? None of this is."

"Just... Please don't leave, El. Stay here." He pleaded. "Until I fall asleep. Like before, remember?"

"Please don't go to sleep yet." She shook her head. "I need you, okay?"

A heavy sob wracked through her body as his hands, smaller than hers but covered in the same shade of scarlet, wrapped around her own and pulled it away from his chest. She was stronger than him but still she let him do it. She could've sworn, in that very moment, that her heart had shattered entirely. He pulled it to his cheek, letting it rest there as her thumb brushed away his tears. The blood on her hands smeared across his face and a wave of nausea had her near to doubling over.

"Thank you, El." He nodded, his words still panicky. "Thank you for helping me."

She shook her head. "None of that. Not now. You're gonna be fine."

"If you... If you make it—" he rushed out, "Tell Weston and my brother – his name is Sam – that they're the best. And Cas. Tell them I'll miss them."

"You can tell them yourself." She said firmly, but with the blood pouring from the hole in his chest, she should've known better.

He nodded, his hand wrapping around hers again as he looked at her once more. "It doesn't hurt so much anymore." He reassured her. "You were like my family, El. Like the real one I–" He choked, blood spurting from his lips and speckling across her face.

And then he slumped. His sentence remained unfinished, his grip loose and his eyes had a faraway look to them, like they weren't really focused on anything. The tears still pooled there, but she had to lift his head to meet his gaze again.

"Tanner?" She whispered, fear in her voice. She knew. "Come on, bug. Wake up. Please don't go to sleep yet. I need you."

The boy stayed limp and when the cannon burst once more, Elara felt the last of her joy seep from her body, leaving an empty shell behind. Failure, it seemed, was a disastrously painful experience. She squeezed her eyes shut, leaning forward and pressing her lips to his forehead before placing him back onto the floor, covering his face with her jacket. She couldn't cover the blood. It had poured from his wound so heavily that it was trickling across the dirt, altering the color of the swamp water at the edge of the land.

She heard the splash of the water getting closer, clumsily heavy footsteps that she knew well enough now were Cas. He said he'd run and he did, though not fast enough. Yet, part of her hoped it was another tribute, Pluto maybe, since he was missing from this group, one who was able to finish the job and take her out too. Let her be with Tanner. What else did she have?

"El?" Caspian whispered, his eyes on the small form on the floor, top half covered and then moving to Elara's kneeling figure, her tears flowing from her eyes in silent streams. The body needed to be removed from the arena but Elara couldn't move.

When Caspian approached, she stood, shoving him hard. "Where were you?" She yelled, unable to stop the heavy flow of tears. "I needed you– He needed you!"

Cas shook his head, eyes filling up rapidly. "I was–" He sobbed.

"Fuck you." She spat, hitting his chest with her fist. He didn't even flinch. "Fuck you!" She shouted again, and again. Over and over, beating her fists into her chest until his hands closed around her wrists and she lost all fight in her gut. Practically collapsing against his torso, she shoved her face in his neck, clutching at him desperately as his arms wrapped tightly around her. Her body shook with her sobs as the two fell back, sitting on the forest floor. When she felt the warm drip of Caspian's tears hitting the spot between her shoulder and her neck, she cried harder. His hand covered the back of her head, holding her impossibly close as if they weren't experiencing the end of the world as they knew it.

A world that Tanner Crawford had loved and lost all because of a fucking death match caused by her own blood relative. A world he'd made so much better. His soul had burned so brightly before it had been snuffed out entirely. And she hadn't stopped it.

Chapter Text

GRIEF WAS A FICKLE THING.

Elara knew what it was like to grieve. Well, to some extent. When she discovered the truth of what happened to her parents all those years ago, she'd grieved them every day since. But that was a couple she'd never known in the first place. Two faceless silhouettes shaped like people that had cared for her when she was a baby. Aurelius and Stiorra Snow were merely strangers whom she loved dearly. The idea of them being gone made her sad sometimes, a crack in her heart for what she'd lost before she'd ever really got to have them, but that was it.

This was different.

Her chest felt like a cavern, an empty vessel with echoes of her loss never ceasing. There was a yearning in her heart that didn't understand why she couldn't just feel better. It didn't matter how much she screamed and cried and begged for all this to be a part of a bad dream, it didn't stop. Her heart had shattered completely and all that was left was the shell of a girl that used to be.

Bea once said that grief was necessary. "It's an act of love." She'd explained one night when little Elara had cried about her parents, when she hadn't known half of what loss really was, and she, in turn, cried over Nysa. "Even when it hurts so much you can't breathe, it means there is still the love you had for that person in here," she tapped the center of Elara's chest. "In your heart. That is something that no one else can take from you."

With the setting sun casting its soft mocking glow over the dull surroundings, Elara walked in silence. Her hands clutched her knife so tightly her knuckles turned white, the sweat forming in her palm making her grip much more unreliable. She'd lost everything. Why was she wasting her energy? Why was she even still fighting? She'd failed.

"El?" His voice was flat but the sound of it made her heart stutter. Ridiculous, pointless feelings.

"Hm?" The first noise she'd made since it happened — aside from her sobs. Those and a little gasp she'd let out, when she was dishing out berries between her and Caspian, suddenly realizing the extra pile she'd accumulated together would not be necessary.

"I'm scared."

She froze, her eyes misting over as she looked back at where he had stopped walking a few feet away. The light, that managed to peek through the gaps of the mist and the trees, hit his skin, the glimmer fitting for the type of person he was. He was so good. I hate it here.

"Why?" She hated the way her voice was like a whisper. That even though she tried so hard she couldn't get out any more than a rasp. She hated his words more. He was going to be fine. He was a Career. The odds were in his favor from the very beginning.

"My sisters. My dad. They're all at home right now. I don't want them to see how this ends." He stammered, his hands in tight fists at his side.

Needing to be closer, she returned to her place in front of him, reluctantly taking his hands in hers. They clenched tighter at first before loosening, their fingers clumsily tangling together.

"I'm scared too." She admitted, softening entirely as his eyes glistened with every unspoken emotion. Her tears threatened to fall at the sight of one escaping Cas, his shaky inhale making her feel sick. She had to bite back every drop of misery promising to break the surface.

"Even worse though?"

She tilted her head slightly, waiting patiently for him to continue. She didn't want to rush him, especially not now.

"I'm gonna lose you either way."

No.

Dropping his hands, she took a steady step back, the threat she once had now tracking down her cheeks, forever inevitable. She moved away, out of his reach. "Don't say that to me. Please." She begged, shaking her head.

"It's true. There's no happy ending for us. I know that. So do you."

"Cas, please, not now."

"It'll just take a second." He protested. Approaching her once again, his large gentle hands cupped her cheeks, tilting her face to his. He kissed her lips, once, twice, before meeting her gaze head on. "Whatever happens, know that you were one of the only things that dragged me through this shitshow. Thank you. For everything."

"I didn't even do anything," She argued, shaking her head insistently. "I threatened you multiple times."

"I never held that against you."

"I don't even know why you stuck with me!" She cried, unwilling to move out of his hold. "I've weighed you down this whole time and you– fuck, you're so good, you stayed with us. With me, and I don't understand why. I should be the one thanking you–"

He was quick to cut in again. "I don't need you to." Moving impossibly closer, Cas leaned down, resting their foreheads together so tenderly she was sure another round of tears were about to flow. "I stuck with you because I like you, okay? I–"

"Wait, you're not gonna say you love me, right? Because we're just dumb teenagers." She rambled, her time to think before she spoke non-existent in these circumstances. All she could really focus on was the heat of his forehead against her own and the soft touch of his fingertips against her cheeks. His lips were so close. If she just pressed onto her tiptoes, she could easily...

He smiled so softly, a sight that she could only describe as ethereal, as he gently shook his head. "No. I won't say that."

Swallowing thickly, Elara considered herself for a moment before practically leaping on him, her arms tight around his neck. Caspian being Cas, he caught her, arms around her waist, holding her up and burying his face into the crook of her neck. Something about this moment, both of them broken and bruised but finding comfort in the other, was nothing short of beautiful. At its very core.

She knew this was helpless. That she was very simply a lost cause by now. It didn't matter. She didn't need to hide her tears from the President because he'd never get the chance to berate for it. She didn't have to act strong for Bea's sake because it'd have been a waste of her energy. She just wanted this. One more day. A day full of Caspian and his touch and his lips and nothing more.

✩➵✩

They could see the stars that night. They wandered the arena, his hand sitting comfortably in her own, with Cas' spear used as more of a walking stick than a weapon. The two shared a silent understanding about no fighting; just each other and their grief.

Tanner never left El's mind. Every step she took physically hurt. Every plant she saw, she'd smile, turning to ask him what this one was before the sharp slap of reality hit her and it all came crashing down once again.

It had always been odd that their surroundings were so quiet. That never changed. They'd been strolling through the silence, neither one wanting to disturb it, before Caspian had stopped short, his eyes trained somewhere to their left and intense fear trickling over his expression.

"Are you okay?" She asked, nervously.

"What is she doing here?" He asked, dropping her hand and marching forward, away from her, with determination. "Why are you here?" He asked, desperation bleeding into his words. "It's not safe. Who put you in here? Why aren't you talking to me?!"

"Caspian!" Elara yelled, gripping his elbow even when he tried to shake her off. "Who are you talking to? There's no one there!" She protested, tugging on his arm so desperately.

He spun for a moment, his brows furrowed, and his eyes were full of the kind of rage that sent chills down your spine. The kind that had you convinced you were going to die. "My sister, she's–" He turned back and in an instant his face fell, the swirling mix of emotions he'd held suddenly melting from his expression like ice would. "No she was–" He shook his head before his words turned to whispers. "She was just here, I swear."

So, she had imagined him. It was a hallucination caused by too much of the gases in the fog. Snow was never here.

She should've known better. He had no reason to help her. She was getting a better punishment than he could've ever come up with, why on earth would he waste his precious time in the arena with them? It was a ridiculous thought in the first place, she couldn't believe she'd momentarily believed it.

When the world fell silent again, her stomach churned. The silence was the first thing she heard before it all went wrong. Before Tanner—

She couldn't stop reliving it.

Every time she felt like she'd slip too far, Caspian's hand would squeeze her own in reassurance like a reminder he was still there. She was in hell but she was with him. Though it didn't make her feel better, it was nice to know he hadn't left her.

So later, she didn't even see it coming.

They had settled down for dinner, another handful of the goddamn berries, and Elara had the sudden realization of how much weight she'd lost. She was quite lean regardless, what with their lack of rich nutritious meals back home, but after her meal of a handful of water-based berries every night, she was dangerously thin. It was especially obvious when the fatigue rolled in, waves of exhaustion from merely walking a few hours.

The water behind them had splashed so quietly it was a miracle it was heard at all. It was Caspian who caught the sound, jumping to his feet with his eyes narrowed in focus. "Did you hear that?" He asked.

Elara shook her head, steadily climbing to her feet, eyes scanning the water periodically with no luck. "I don't see anything," She said quietly, afraid he was hallucinating again. That was the last thing they needed.

Her breath faltered. A blur of pale blue shot through the murky water, rippling it apart like it was trying to split the swamp in two. She ripped her blade free from its position attached to her hip.

The head of the things broke the surface and Elara wanted to scream. Hadn't they faced enough? Couldn't they have one day of goddamn peace?!

It was a snake. But no, that was far too weak of a word.

The anaconda Mutt, a beautiful sky blue with brown misshapen spots, slithered from within the trees. The two barely had the chance to properly understand what they were looking at before it swiftly slithered forward, its jaw unhinging wide, baring the sharp fangs there as it approached.

The reptile lunged for El, who did not fight back, before Caspian yanked her to the side just in time. She fell on top of him, the two of them scrambling to help the other person back up before they had no other choice. They ran. With Cas' hand tightly clamped around her own, he dragged her behind him, the pair sprinting as fast as their legs would carry them. Even when their lungs burned and their sides cramped, or when their legs screamed in exertion, the two didn't stop. Maybe it was just gut instinct. To fight for your life even when you had nothing to live for.

Its ice colored jaw snapped at Cas' calf, narrowly missing it by an inch. If he'd have stumbled, it would have got him. She'd have been alone. She didn't want to be alone. He could handle it though, she was sure. It took zig-zagging their way through the trees, maneuvering in ways that were hardly conventional, to gain a little distance between them and the animal, its loud hisses turning to distant whispers.

Even then, they didn't slow down. Not when they had no idea when it would leave them, left only to run far and fast until they were safe. Wherever that might've been. It was that, their sheer determination and one track minds, that were very much their downfall. As Caspian led them forward, his eyes focused in front of him, he didn't realize when his foot sunk into the thick mud. It worked as quick as the day before, enclosing around it and cementing it in place. Cas clattered to the ground, tugging El right down with him.

She was lucky enough to avoid the quicksand, though when she caught sight of Caspian, the distant hiss growing closer every second, her panic settled faster than the mud ever could. No matter how much she pulled, she couldn't free him from the restraints. She wasn't strong enough. She was failing again, she was always failing. "Fuck!" She exclaimed. "Cas, come on!"

"I can't!" He yelled, his face contorted in pain.

The snake was quicker than any of them. It advanced with ease leaving Elara with no other choice. She wanted to be an altruist? That was her chance. The Mutt slithered forward when she let go of Cas, having to pry his fingers off of her and ignore his desperate cries. She needed to be its sole focus. Take me away from this place, she begged internally. Let me see him again.

The snake's jaw unhinged before it lunged at lightning speed. Even if she changed her mind, she would've never moved in time. It was unnaturally quick, and so all she could do was brace herself. Brace for impact, the searing pain that came with the pierce of its fangs surely sinking into her flesh any second. She squeezed her eyes shut, though even that was exhausting. It wasn't until the female cry of agony cut through her thoughts that she opened them again, eyes wide at the harrowing sight.

Sharp teeth were sunk deep into her neck, her mouth still parted in shock. Her eyes, the most electric shade of blue, bore into her own, glassy but dimming as the venom from the creature surely entered her blood stream. "Save him. Please." Freyr begged as she fell, her body writhing on the ground.

Horrified, she turned back to Cas, whose eyes were forced wide and teary. He'd stopped trying to escape, now too distracted by the sight of his lifelong friend's body on the ground. He barely had the time to come to terms with any grief he was surely drowning in as Elara crouched before him. "Freyr..." He mumbled over the light tap of the rain beginning to fall.

"Your shoe." El stated, quietly, her hands cupping his cheeks to keep his gaze on her. Despite the trees shielding the worst of it, the rain slid down their skin. It sizzled on contact and Elara had to sink her teeth tightly into her lip, the coppery taste of her own blood filling her mouth, in order to focus. Caspian first, then they could figure out what to do with the rain.

"What?"

"Your shoe. Take it off."

Robotically, Cas nodded, tugging his foot out of the boot as a tear slipped down his cheek. He brushed it away, quick and frustrated, but Elara saw it. Funnily enough, it was comforting. He was still the same Caspian. Gentle and so beautifully human.

Then, once again, they ran. Elara shoved her knife back into the belt whilst the rain thrashed down on them, burning them in ways so much worse than the boiling water from before. Fucking acid rain. It seemed to seep into every pore, burrowing into her flesh until she could feel the heat licking at her bones. Stumbling over her own feet as they broke into the clearing, the two of them slipped along the mud, tripping almost directly into the Cornucopia pit.

Caspian managed to grip the edge of a rock on its tall walls, one hand clutching hers as they dangled. "Fuck! I can't hold on!" He yelled, his face screwed up in pain as he tried to keep his fingers hanging on the boulder. The rain lashed down and with each gentle kiss, Caspian winced, his fingers slipping a little closer to the edge.

"Then, don't!"

"What?! Are you crazy?!"

"Let me go!" Elara demanded and he shook his head, furious at her words. At the fact she was trying this again. "I can survive this," She shouted over the loud rush of the rain crashing against the swamp. A cannon burst again, right along with the sickening thump of something within the pit not so far away, the noise yanking her back to Tanner's side. Swallowing back the tears, she forced herself back with him. She ignored the pain, the burn and the threats around them. Focus on Cas. "I'll push off the wall! You slide down afterwards!" She ordered, placing her feet against the slope. "Ready?"

Hesitantly, he nodded, placing all of his trust in her soul, before he counted her down. 3...2...1. She pushed.

As Caspian's hand slipped from hers, she flew back, out of reach from the sharp rocks before her shoulder collided with the ground, knocking the breath from her lungs, and the joint from its socket. She cried out in pain, from the rain, from the dislocation. All of it. She needed it to end. Just kill her already.

A few feet away, the body of Amalie from District 6 lay on the floor, still. The cannon. It had been hers. She didn't even have a chance to try and collect that information and figure out who else was left as Caspian slid down the mud, stumbling over to her side and helping her up as she rasped out breaths. "Are you okay? C'mon, we have to get out of the rain." He said, his thumb running over her cheekbone, before he quickly swept her through one of the doors and into a place that wasn't anywhere close to what she'd just endured for who knows how many days by that point.

The light was too bright, the walls too clean, save for the few splatters across the paint. Red. Blood.

It was a sort of lab. Containers and beakers were scattered across the counter tops and that was only in the first room. There was a doorway, a corridor that led them to everything beyond the small room they remained in.

She turned, seeking the comfort she could only receive from Caspian's soft gaze, and winced at her own movement. He was watching her, as expected, his expression a funny mix of rage and concern; desperation and guilt. His hands were gentle as they slipped over the raw uneven surface of the skin, that matched the pattern of his own, caused by the rain. It stung, of course it did, but she'd grin and bear it if it meant he wouldn't move away. She needed him.

When his fingers moved to the funny, unnatural shape of her shoulder, he exhaled a slow steady breath. "You doing okay, killer?" He whispered gently.

"Could be better," She replied, attempting a shrug before the unbearable pain shot through the limb.

"Okay, take it easy." He guided. "We have to reset it."

"No." She shook her head and bit back every cry dancing on her tongue. "No, that's gonna hurt."

"It is." He said. "But we have to."

"Just kill me now, Cas," She begged. "I don't wanna do it anymore."

Clouds of that stomach-turning betrayal covered his gaze as he stepped forward, shaking his head avidly. "Stop asking that of me. Not now. Just–" He looked toward the ceiling, catching his breath before reaching for his belt.

"What are you doing?" She asked, watching him free the leather of the loops on his pants before thrusting it out toward her face, the same way she'd done days prior.

"Bite down."

She gulped.

Doing as he ordered, she sunk her teeth into the leather, clamping her jaw tightly as he moved around her body. Did he even know what he was doing? Judging by the look of his furrowed brow, the nervous chew of his lip, she'd guess no.

He placed the ball of his palm gently against the front of her shoulder and delicately cupped the blade behind it. He was being so tender, featherlight touches she could barely feel, she'd almost deluded herself into thinking it wouldn't hurt. Then, before she could tell him to stop, he shoved his hand into her shoulder.

With a nauseating clunk, her shoulder popped back into place and she screamed around the leather until her throat was raw. He cupped the back of her head, pressing his lips to the top of it over and over until she'd quietened. The pain searing through the right side of her body was unimaginable. She wanted to cling to him, but lifting the arm felt like too much too soon. She was so sick of crying but still the tears flowed freely, lucky she couldn't wipe them away.

Caspian didn't need to be asked. He gently swiped his thumbs beneath her eyes, periodically pressing his lips to her forehead before resting his own against it. "I got you, killer," He repeated like a mantra. "I got you."

She hoped they could slip into silence then. One that they should use to remain close, holding one another the best they could, avoiding their wounds, but that was never something the world was kind enough to offer. The rain must've been an attempt to lure them to the middle, to those doors. Elara peered over Caspian's shoulder, his body still sheltering her own, and watched as the tall blonde boy that had slipped her mind pointed his bow right toward them. Her heart crashed to the floor. "Shit!" She choked out, shoving Caspian aside and out of the line of fire from his arrow and throwing herself to the floor. They rolled over one another, dodging yet another of Pluto's attempts as she tugged one of her knives from her belt.

Pluto grinned a warped sort of smile as he walked into the room. He walked, so leisurely. So unafraid. He cracked his neck, resting against the wall with thick fabric covering the expanse of his entire arm. Armor, maybe. She wasn't even sure, it looked so advanced.

"This is convenient." He smiled with a wince. The armor might have covered his arms but it could not protect his face. "Don't worry. I'll make it quick." He said, taking his first deliberate step toward them. He didn't get very far, however. Not when a girl she hadn't seen since the start gripped the back of his shirt and yanked him forcefully onto his back on the ground. She climbed over him, ruthlessly throwing her fist into his face, surely bruising him and making his nose bleed.

"Get off of me!" He grunted, finding the strength to toss her to the side, sliding across the linoleum floor. Carmel St. James wasn't just some girl. She was probably the strongest one in the line-up, especially after training her whole life for this thing. Being a Career sounded horrendous. She wished she'd asked how Caspian had coped.

"You left me!" She screamed. "After telling me for days that you'd be there for me, the moment the timer ran down you left like a coward!"

Pluto wiped at his split lip with the back of his hand, narrowing his eyes at his district partner. "You made it, didn't you? Now we can work together. We can win, Carmel. Don't you see?"

She spared a glance for the two a few feet away, stood now, their weapons readied. When her light brown eyes found Pluto again, she furrowed her brows. "And what then?"

"What do you mean?" He asked, exasperated.

"We'd be the only ones left. What then, Pluto?"

"We can figure that out after." He shrugged, like it was easy. "You've got a fair shot."

Surveying him quickly, her eyes flicking down, up, she paused. She knew she was strong enough. Elara wondered if Pluto knew it too, or if he was merely too egotistical to entertain the idea.

And then she nodded.

Tugging out a large axe, triple the size of Elara's blade, the two turned to them and Pluto nodded his head at the hall.

"We'll give you a head start."

El's heart was in her throat as Cas gave her a nod — at least someone had faith. Pluto tossed his bow to the floor, pulling out a sword instead and Elara's shoulder chose that point to throb in pain. In a last desperate attempt to keep Caspian alive, she flicked her blade towards Pluto and ran.

With Caspian's hand in hers, she didn't hesitate to take off. She dragged him with her good arm, loosely clinging to her blade in the damaged one, down the sterile halls of the bunker, turning corner after corner and losing herself within the identical rooms.

Caspian halted his steps, his face flat of all emotion. "We should split up."

"What?" She shook her head. "No, that's what they want. Two against two is still better odds than two against one."

"No." He didn't offer another explanation. Dropping her hand, he slipped from the room, quick and agile as always and abandoned her. She was alone.

What the fuck?

Every room looked the same. It was useless. There was no upper hand to have, not in there. Not when every turn was identical to the last and her right arm pulsed with unimaginable agony. She'd clutched the weapon in her strong arm but it might as well have been in her mouth. She was right-handed after all.

She heard Pluto before she saw him. He called to her, scraping the metal of his sword against the wall and chuckling at the grating noise it made.

Elara ducked into another lab room, between the door and the counter, holding her blade against her body.

"Come on, 8." He called out. "Just give up now. It'll be okay."

She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, smothering her breaths.

"You can be with him again." He said, and her heart sank. Had they gotten Caspian already? No, she'd have heard a cannon. But there wasn't much noise from the outside world within the shelter. Could she have missed it? "Tanner, right?" Pluto said and the tears brimmed instantaneously. "You could see him again."

He was right outside. His voice was so damn close. His steps were slow into the room, his sword readied in front of him as he crept forward toward the other side of the room where an identical doorway waited.

The idea she had was a stupid one. Passing her weak hand the knife, Elara reached for one of the beakers, filled with something a luminous orange, and stepped forward. She'd forgotten to clamp her grip around her weapon again, just in case and the world seemed to slow as it slipped from her grip, clattering against the sleek floors.

Pluto spun right as she launched the beaker, right at his head. It shattered on impact, glass flying everywhere but the liquid inside clung to his skin and swelled.

"Fuck!" He cried, his eyes cemented shut. He swung his sword out swiftly, too swift for Elara, and sliced into the flesh of her bicep.

She ducked to the ground, blindly grabbing for her blade as he stumbled around. He cursed, attempting to run at her before she flicked her blade, trying to muster up every drop of precision she'd mastered in training. Her hand was shaking so violently, though, from pain and fear, she couldn't be sure, and the knife wedged itself right into his shoulder.

She was unarmed. He knew it.

Following the sound of her desperate scrambling, he backed her against the wall. She wondered if the boy could hear the rampant beat of her heart. That's all he was. He was a boy. He shouldn't be in this place. None of them should.

He raised his sword, ready to plunge it down before his jaw fell open in shock. She recognized that look like an old friend. Blood poured from his mouth as his sword hit the ground and, with a wet removal of a weapon, he fell to his knees in front of her and collapsed across her legs.

When he fell, Elara caught sight of Carmel. She panted heavily, letting her stained axe fall to her side. "He's a liar." She spat. Her eyes found El's, round. Apologetic. "Sorry it came to this. You did good." She said, raising her axe above her head. Something in that moment felt right.

This was how it was supposed to be. She could feel the cold presence of Death lingering beside her, ready to take her hand in his and she swore she almost smiled. She opened up her palm, waiting so patiently before Carmel sickeningly followed Pluto and collapsed to the ground, an arrow striking her heart.

No. No, no, no, how had she avoided it again? She was supposed to die, that was supposed to be it. She was supposed to be free!

Caspian. He lowered Pluto's bow, tossing it to the ground, his eyes cold and empty. "I told her I'd let her get revenge." He stated. Two cannons burst.

El let her gaze remain on Caspian as she stood on shaky legs. He refused to look at her, his hand clenched in tight fists by his sides. "The rain stopped." He told her, ripping her knife from Pluto's shoulder and shoving it into her hands before beckoning her with a nod of his head and leading her out the room.

"Cas?" She called from behind him, frowning at his refusal to answer. Look at me. Please.

Stepping back into the outside world felt like a gift, even in their states. The shelter was too small, she decided. Too claustrophobic and disorientating. At least out there, she was getting used to where she was.

"I'm sorry, El. For all of it." Caspian said, his voice rough and startling.

She tugged her brows together. "What are you talking about? Saving my life? It'll be okay now." She said, wanting to use this time to split up. She'd do it then. Let him win.

"I didn't approach you in the training room by coincidence, Elara." He suddenly said, his voice void of emotion. Her legs wobbled.

"What?" Her own voice came out trembling. Wrong. What is he talking about? She pushed past her list of injuries and the pain they provided, focusing everything on him.

"You looked like you would've done anything for that boy," he said, turning and meeting her eyes. The honesty in them was nothing but disarming. "I needed help."

She hadn't even realized she was shaking her head. Her heart sank like a pebble in water as he spoke, her throat clogging lethally with a lump of emotion. "No," she said. "You're just saying that."

Caspian shook his head, silently.

"You— You used me?"

He inhaled, his eyes watering, before he nodded and Elara's heart shattered into too many pieces to count. "I'm sorry."

Something lit inside her chest. The first spark before a forest fire. It felt a lot like rage. "Was any of this real?" She asked, tears threatening to pour once more. She swallowed, desperate to keep them at bay. He's seen you cry enough times by now. Might as well carry on.

"The end parts were." He rushed out before she could doubt. "I just—" He shook his head. "I didn't think I could leave them, El." He choked out, referring to the family he needed so desperately to get back to. His sisters, that she was clueless of how many there were or their names. His father. He loved them more than anything.

El knew what that was like. All she had left was Bea. She'd be okay though, she was a strong woman.

Bea could live without her, she was positive. She'd lied to her before. Tricked her into trusting her.

But Elara was never supposed to leave the arena.

"Okay."

Caspian nodded and pulled out the switchblade in his pocket.

"Make it fair." He explained, pointlessly.

Shutting her eyes tightly, Elara stood stiff waiting for the new pain that would soon follow. She was growing familiar with a body of pain. She could handle it. She just hoped he'd make it quick. When the blade didn't arrive, she opened her eyes again, confused.

Cas stood, his hand lowering slowly as his eyes tracked over her. "What are you doing?"

"I'm letting you win."

"No," He shook his head angrily. "No, you fight back."

"You deserve to live, Cas." She said, making no effort for her own knife. "Go home to them."

"No. That's not how this goes. You fight back!"

"I'm not gonna fight you, Cas." She sighed, resigned. "I'm tired. I'm in pain. Just get it over with."

Caspian shook his head defiantly. "Yes. You are," He stated, simple and determined. She watched his throat move, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly around the words he didn't want to say. "Do it for Tanner."

El froze, her blood running cold at his blow. "Don't mention him. That's not fair."

"He's dead, El. You didn't save him. You failed, right? And now you're gonna fight because if you don't you know that he'd be so fucking angry with you." He said, bitterness coating his tongue. "He looked up to you. Giving up would be letting him down."

"Shut up." She knew he was saying it to hurt her. To taunt and lure her into what he wanted.

It was working.

"You're weak, Elara. Tanner needed you. You were supposed to protect him. He could've won and lived for so long but you were too damn weak to save him—"

She couldn't take it anymore. Pulling free the knife she still had, she launched it at him, the thing flinging at his forehead until he ducked. "There she is," He muttered, still loud enough to hear.

He turned, grabbing the weapon now discarded at the floor and kicking it across the floor toward her. "Show me what you got, killer."

As she wrapped her shaky hand around the handle of her blade, Elara sighed. She'd cried so much in the last couple of days, she thought she'd run out but still the exhaustion, the lack of fight in her soul, had her eyes brimming once more. She didn't want to do this. He'd lied to her, used Tanner to get to her... she should want him gone. And yet she couldn't. How could she when he was still the boy that would hold her so gently and missed the sight of her smile?

"I really am sorry." He frowned, a tear of his own escaping before he could stop it.

"Shut up." Elara swung first, hating every second of it. She was trying to hurt him. She didn't have another choice. Right?

Caspian blocked each attempt, pushing her arm back but never raising his own blade. Something that didn't go unnoticed by the girl. She held back her swings, using her fist instead until Cas kicked out a leg and swiped it under her own, throwing them to the floor. He dropped down, his knees holding himself over her and his blade at her neck. The same way she had done over and over again. Because she didn't trust him.

She was right after all.

"He said he'd miss you." She whispered, pushing past the pain pulsing through her entire body. The cold of the blade was her only relief. Her skin was still covered in burns and cuts from Pluto's sword and yet the only feeling she could focus on was Cas' other hand on her ribcage. It was so gentle. So opposite to whatever this was. So him.

Caspian faltered at her words, his eyes screwing closed in anguish. Tanner...

She used the distraction to shove him off of her, rolling them both until she was over him and his hand fell to her hip, keeping her stable. Grounded. She was not stronger than Caspian. He was letting her do it.

"You want me to fight back and then you don't do the same? Don't be a hypocrite, Hayes." She demanded, wincing at the soft rub of his thumb against her side and the flicker of a smile on his lips.

He launched his knife away, clamping his hand around her wrist. He pushed her hand away, struggling against her strength though he would overpower her every time if he just fucking tried.

"Fight back!" She begged, a mirror of himself mere moments before.

"Sorry, killer," He nodded, smiling through his tears as he met her gaze head on. As usual, it knocked the breath from her lungs and quickened her heart beat. Just like his gentle fingers brushing the hair from her face. "You're not weak." He whispered. "You did so good."

Confused and disoriented, she didn't pull her hand away until it was too late. Until he had tightened his grip on her hand, the one still clutching her weapon, pulled it into his own heart. The cannon burst almost instantly and with it a strangled wail clawed up her throat, sobs wracking through her body. She yanked her blade free, tossing it far away like it was on fire and covered his wound with her hands.

"No. NO! Why would you do that?!" She cried, desperately clutching his chest. Caspian didn't answer her. He opened his mouth, lips moving around his remaining words before she witnessed everything go. Every bit of light in his eyes that was so entirely Caspian disappeared in a moment, like a flame being snuffed out. Gone. In an instant. He was limp beneath her.

She cupped the back of his head, lifting him to find him again. She searched, eyes boring into the emptiness of his own as she begged so desperately for him to come back.

"Why'd you do that?" She wept, scooping him into her arms like she could force her own life into his chest and swap their places. "Please, come back. Cas! I'm sorry, okay, just wake up, damn it!"

Her head found that place on his neck, her tears unstoppable as she cried into his shoulder as she always would, not wanting to let him go. His weight was pressure on her arms, still burning in unbearable pain and discomfort, leaving her with no other choice but to let him go. She rolled to the side, laying beside him and as she glanced over, she noticed his open eyes staring right back at her.

It felt like her heart had been ripped out of her body. Like her soul had been obliterated into a thousand glass shards and they were all slashing at her flesh repeatedly. Tears streamed down her face, down her temples. Pain, both emotional and physical, pulsed in every part of her body, swallowing her whole. She heard the voice making the announcement but she never looked away. She couldn't. Not when those pretty brown eyes that she'd always thought carried their own light were now boring straight through her, empty and dull. She needed to find the light again. This couldn't be the last thing she remembered about him.

She sobbed, cupping his jaw with her good hand as the voice filled the arena. "Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present to you the winner of the 68th annual Hunger Games."

She had won. But at what cost? She wasn't sure what she was expecting to follow, but the dead silence of her complete abandonment in the giant hole in the earth wasn't it. She was so tired.

She didn't even care anymore. She wasn't supposed to be in this position. She was actually grateful when the world faded from her sights and the ground stopped spinning. So suddenly, the pain stopped. She was free.

Though even in the dark behind her eyes, Caspian's sacrifice played like a loop in her head. Over and over she watched him using her own hand to push the blade into his body. Over and over she watched the light seep from his eyes, the same way the blood left his wound.

Over and over she heard his final words, a whispered secret in her ears.

"I love you."

Chapter Text

ELARA'S HANDS TREMBLED. Clear of every scar and wound, she sighed at their pristine condition, empty of any reminders of her experience. Every minute, every struggle, every breath from that arena completely erased.

Even when she said no.

They even got rid of the ones that weren't from the games. The small one on her shin from where she climbed beneath the gate to District 8. Every tiny slice from the needle she sewed with at Bea's store. All of it. They'd even managed to remove every lingering physical pain thrumming beneath her skin. Her shoulder, her burns – every last one of them – were just...

Gone.

They'd asked when she had awoken half-way through the process, snatching the oxygen mask off of her face. A brief and unbothered: "We're gonna fix you up."

"No," She protested, dazed and confused. "Leave them." She had made her wants clear, despite their own ambiguity, though with her so looped up on pain meds, she was sure they just struck that one from the record.

It was the cut on her arm, the large gash on her bicep – courtesy of Pluto Cromwell, that took the most work. They'd had to knock her out with their funny gases at least three times during the process.

She was supposed to be with Val right now, getting all dressed up for the 'Victor Ceremony' but there she stood instead. In a fancy bathroom, staring at her perfect reflection, save for her distinct lost weight, noticing every part, that made her who she had become, gone completely.

There were too many mirrors in the room. The large one adorning the wall, the hand-held ones around the room. The full body one on the back of the door.

She couldn't escape herself.

Her breathing quickened, her hands finding their way into her hair as she tugged, desperate to feel something. Pain was her anchor, the only thing she had left to cling to.

Eyes darting around the room, meeting her own gaze at every turn, she pushed a palm to her chest, trying to slow the stumbling heart in her chest. If she could just reach in and grab it. Remove it from the cavern and let this bathroom floor be her final resting place. The thoughts occurred so swiftly she barely had the chance to catch herself. Tanner. Caspian. Their wounds in the exact same place she could feel the anxiety swelling behind her ribs.

Were the walls closing in? And the air— Was she running out? Had they brought back that awful thinning fog from the arena and filtered it through her vents?

Her eyes met the reflection again.

Grabbing the small mirror on a stand in front of her, she picked it up and launched it across the room, shards ricocheting and sliding across the ground. Release. It felt the same. Like throwing the blades in training. In the arena. She keeled over, hands on her knees. Panting heavily, she stared emptily at the glass fragment nearest to her foot.

They took away her parents. They took away her friends. They took away her right to live in peace.

[TW]

Fuck if she was gonna let them take away her choices.

Not really giving herself a second to think it through, she grabbed the piece off the floor and held it securely in her fist. It was cutting into her palm with how tight her grasp was but she ignored it with ease, she'd been through worse, and moved it to her bicep, never hesitating to trace the same line that took them so long to hide. Blood seeped from the gash the same way it did in the arena, but instead of focusing on the pain, she took pleasure in it. A waterfall of droplets, the finest rubies staining her skin and making her almost smile. Almost.

Poking her head out the door, she caught sight of Val brushing away a tear before her head flew to the sound. "Uh, hey. Do you have a first aid kit? Needle and thread, maybe?"

"Are you okay? What happened?" She asked, trying to peer around through the slight crack of the door where El kept her arm out of sight. It stung, pain dancing around the wound.

"I'm fine. Just need it."

Val wasn't stupid. She wandered into her bag, pulling out the items and placing them in Elara's open palm, opening her mouth to speak before the door slammed shut in her face again.

She was endlessly thankful for Bea's lessons on keeping a steady hand. On intricate stitching patterns and the most secure stitch in the book. It made this particular process a whole lot easier.

✩➵✩

Unzipping the dress bag, Val brandished an arm and revealed the much shorter, delicate dress she'd created for her. It was an emerald green, made of silk that flowed similar to the waterfalls in the paintings around the room they resided in. Around the waist, different fabrics, ones she'd definitely tended to back at the alteration shop, tied the dress together. Fabrics her District manufactured.

Val scowled as El shot her an awkward smile. "It really is beautiful." She offered.

"It'd be even better if you didn't have fresh stitches on show." She remarked, rolling her eyes as she pulled the dress free from its confines.

Elara shook her head, folding her arms tight across her chest. The raw stitches tightening with the flex of her arm. "They took them from me. I'm sick of them taking things from me."

At that, Val pressed her lips together, looking like a deer in headlights as her eyes became glossy from the tears she was holding back. "I'm so sorry about—"

"Don't. Please." Elara snapped, squeezing her eyes shut. It didn't help anything. Their faces were practically burnt on the back of her eyelids. She wasn't going to escape them.

"Okay," She nodded. Her lips parted, her words forming there before a knock at the door interrupted her.

"I'll get it." Elara said, jumping to her feet and rushing to the door, needing anything to get out of this situation.

She hoped it was Weston. Or Bea, if they could smuggle her to the Capitol. She hadn't had a moment with him since arriving home and she just really missed Bea right now. The Games ran over their estimated period of time, apparently, and now everything was being rushed together. That was on the Game-makers, though. They should've worked harder to round them together.

Behind the door, a peacekeeper stood. He was short, shorter than Elara, and held his weapon like it was too heavy for him. Shaved hair and sharp jawline, he shuffled on his feet as she raised a brow. "Pardon me," He cleared his throat. "Miss Rosewood?"

"What?"

"Would you mind following me? It's urgent."

Elara glanced unsurely back at Val, watching her nod gently. Knowingly. She waved her hand slightly, giving her the go ahead and El wanted to stand her place, demanding answers, but she couldn't. Not if she wanted everyone in more trouble than it was worth. She stepped out of the room, pulling the door shut behind her. Following the short man through each identical perfect hall, taking two right turns and one left, she counted, before standing in front of a door that was identical to her own. The peacekeeper knocked and waited for the calm "Come in," before turning the handle and stepping aside.

His movements were strange, almost terrified, as he trembled, suddenly avoiding all eye contact completely.

She realized why when she stepped in the room.

By the window, he stood, his hand holding the other behind his back as he stared out the wall of windows. This room was much more majestic than her own, she noted, though no less like a cage than the other. His suit was freshly-pressed, a deep shade of maroon, and his face was exactly how she'd imagined it had been in the arena. His perfectly styled hair was the purest white, just like usual. Just like snow.

He turned slowly, carefully, his lips in a firm flat line though at the sight of her they were curling upwards at the corner a little as she stood frozen in front of the now shut door.

"Elara Rosewood," He smiled. If she'd have only heard his words, she'd have believed he had no idea. The lark though. That was no coincidence.

"Mr. President." She stated flatly.

He exhaled a laugh through his nose and moved his hands, from behind him to in front, still folded together like he couldn't stand being anything but neat. "I think we both know each other enough to skip such formalities, my dear, don't you agree?" He asked, his eyes on her making her plead for the floor to open up and swallow her whole.

"Whatever you say, Coryo." She stepped a little further into the room, glad for the large chairs keeping the distance between them. "Is that good enough for you?"

"Such hostility."

"Only for you, Coriolanus." She said, keeping her words as empty of anything as she could.

"It's good to see you again." He smiled. His eyes didn't flicker away from her, so similar to a snake. She thought of Freyr. "You never did tell me why you left," He pointed out. "No letter. No call. Nothing. Cowardly move, my dear."

Ignoring the insult, she furrowed her brows. "You don't already know?"

"Of course I do. You left the files in the wrong order. I just wanted to know if you'd say it aloud now."

"You killed my father. Your son."

He smiled, slowly, before waving a hand at the arm chairs placed on each side of the decorated coffee table. Elara didn't want to be here. She could feel her skin itching, irritable all because she was in the same room as this man. He killed her father. Son of a bitch.

Sitting opposite him, she clasped her shaking hands together, waiting for him to spit out whatever reason he wanted to talk to her. His signature sickly scent, roses and the metallic smell of blood, turned her stomach. A pang of pleasure hit her chest as his eyes narrowed at the fresh stitches on her bicep. The distaste in his expression wasn't explicitly obvious but she could see it. She'd seen it so many times before.

Every time she opposed the Hunger Games as a child, that slight curl of his lip and almost undetectable furrow of his brows appeared. Every time she acted in a way he didn't consider proper or worn a color he never deemed appropriate she'd notice the way his eyes flicked away, like he couldn't really bear to look at her. Every time she'd cried over what he deemed a trivial reason.

"Congratulations on your win, Elara." He nodded, averting his eyes from the wound and boring into her eyes instead. Ice blue. Something cold trickled down her spine.

Elara didn't say anything. Just nodded, the guilt in her chest still rising at a constant speed. Their faces were so vivid in her minds but their voices... She was starting to second guess if she was imagining them correctly.

I miss them.

Snow shrugged. "Although, I'm sure it was easy with the blood of a Snow."

"My blood has no ties to you." She snapped.

"If that's what you tell yourself," He nodded. "But you can't deny the facts, Little Lark."

The nickname almost had her keeling over. "Don't call me that."

"You're my granddaughter. It's our term of endearment." He said. 'Our.' She felt sick.

"Don't call me that either."

"Elara, your denial is going to get you nowhere." He sighed, his mask of calm slipping slightly with his frustrated sigh. His fingers lifted to his head, rubbing that spot above his left eyebrow where he used to mutter about his headaches. Nostalgia was a bitch.

"You've taken so much from me. You've given me nothing. So, forgive me if I don't feel like playing happy family with you." She folded her arms over her chest, sitting back in her seat the same way a child would when they didn't get their own way. The thought forced her spine to straighten, scraping up a little more decorum.

"I've given you nothing?" He asked, that unreadable smile curving his lips once more. "Elara, I think you'll find I have given you the greatest gift of all having you sat opposite me."

"You think I want to be here?" She scoffed.

"No. In fact, I think you're happy to be here. Alive."

She stood, walking over to the window just to shove more distance between them as she spat back, "Yeah. No thanks to you and your death ritual."

"Contrary to what you believe, it's every thanks to me."

Elara froze, turning and narrowing her eyes at the man, old and slightly withered as he pulled a white rose from the vase on the coffee table. His favorite. "What are you talking about?"

He smiled, snapping the stalk and tossing it onto the spruce surface absentmindedly. His finger and thumb spun the flower head, keeping his eyes on the twirl of the delicate petals.

"What are you talking about?" She implored again, with more force.

He stood, turning to face her and smiling almost...proudly? "There was no way you were entering that arena, and not winning, Little Lark."

Her stomach twisted painfully. He was lying. He had to be. "I won. I survived on my own."

He approached her like he was nearing a preyed-on animal, one that might scamper at the smallest sound. She wanted to cry at how much it reminded her of Weston. He was nothing like him. "You didn't find it peculiar? Antidotes arriving at just the right time, Muttations dodging you completely?"

"No," She felt sick.

"Your own personal bodyguard."

Her stomach bottomed out. Cas... He couldn't have.

"That one was purely coincidental but it worked out in our favor now, didn't it?" He smiled widely, the sight making her positive she was going to vomit. "You found your way, well enough."

She thought of her hallucination. She couldn't admit it to him now. He'd smile so knowingly, using it to tilt the scales in his favor. "I won. I fought for my life." She whispered, fighting back tears in front of this man. I will not break, I will not break, I will not—

"Elara, You could have sat in the center of the arena without moving a muscle and you would've survived no matter what. I made sure of that." He told her, tucking the white rose behind her ear. She felt six years old again.

"I killed people..."

"Collateral damage." He shrugged so simply. Like it meant nothing.

No. No. No.

He'd been controlling it from the beginning. For all she knew, her name being picked was no coincidence. Everything she'd done... the people she'd lost... It was him. She won because she cheated.

"I didn't know where you had run off to, all those years ago. But seeing the 'Rosewood' girl being reaped... You look just like your mother, did you know?" He spoke like it was the easiest conversation of his life. She might have been on the verge of death.

The room was spinning. And shrinking. The air was being sucked out of there. Elara couldn't breathe. Why could he breathe? He shouldn't be breathing.

"Caspian Hayes, the boy from 4... I almost had to send something to get rid of him at the end there but thankfully he saved us all a job."

"Don't you say his fucking name." She threatened, the tears silently spilling now. She broke. She failed at something else.

"You may be my granddaughter but you are still not permitted to talk to me like that." He said calmly.

"What'll happen? You gonna kill me?" She chuckled without a drop of humor. "Do it."

"I'm not going to kill you, Elara. Not when I worked so hard to keep you alive."

Every reminder that he did this was like another crack in her chest. It was all for nothing. Tanner... He wouldn't have survived either way. Her efforts were futile.

"You're a monster."

"And you're a Victor. Go ahead and get ready, Elara. Your ceremony is soon."

She wanted to defy everything he said but she needed to leave. She backed up, strolling from the room as calm as she could manage before shutting the door with a deliberate gentleness. Then, the way she was good at, she ran. Turning down unfamiliar hallways until she was entirely alone she pressed her back into the wall and covered her mouth, her sobs wracking through her body uncontrollably. She'd gotten them all killed. All because she ran. If she'd stayed in the Capitol, she would have never been reaped. Caspian and Tanner might still be alive. All of those children might still be alive. Or maybe they wouldn't. Either way, she'd have been the one that avoided death all because of her original social class.

Footsteps had her head flicking up, noticing the man she hadn't yet reunited with. He frowned at her state and Elara couldn't even hide her emotions from him. She'd disappointed him. He'd lost the boy. She'd lost him.

Weston watched as she stood up straight, brushing away the tears still stuck to her cheeks with a swift embarrassment. "I'm so sorry." She struggled out, her ragged breath making her words tremble.

He shook his head, storming forward and pulling her into his arms. Her tears stained his shirt as she wept in his arms, his hand stroking over her hair. "It's not your fault, El." He muttered.

"It is. It's all my fault. You don't understand—"

"El." He held her in front of him at arms length, careful to avoid the stitches. He was very observant. "It is not your fault."

She couldn't find anything else to say. Instead, she let him hold her, just for a moment. She let him bear the weight of this issue. It gave her a chance to breathe until he let go, and her shoulders sagged with the pressure on them.

✩➵✩

Three hours.

Three fucking hours.

That's how long Elara sat in front of a live audience, reliving the worst moments of her life on a screen. Every life she took for no reason... she almost didn't recognize herself. She didn't cry. She didn't think she had any more tears left. Instead, she watched, her face blank of any emotion. She would've shut her eyes if she wasn't in front of everyone but that wasn't an option.

Every time she saw their faces, she felt something in her chest shatter. The crowd cooed at the sight of Tanner and his kind nature of life, and Elara wanted to scream. They didn't know him. When they sighed dreamily at the violent turned romantic relationship they portrayed her and Caspian as, she wanted to bury her head in her hands. They didn't deserve to see any of this.

There was a hole in her heart. Cas would be holding her hand right now. He'd make sure she wasn't scared, his thumb running over her skin in gentle soothing motions. Tanner would say something obscure, random, something that would make her laugh in disbelief. He was so smart. She never gave him the credit he deserved.

When the show ended with a close up shot of Elara's eyes fluttering shut, tears still staining her cheek, along with blood she wasn't even sure who belonged to, the audience burst into a raucous applause. Caesar beamed, reaching across their seats to squeeze her hand. Though she wanted to, she did not snatch her hand away.

They guided her to a throne, positioning her standing in front of it. The sight made her scoff aloud, though she held back the eyeroll. This performative bullshit wasn't going to take away what she'd been through. It wasn't going to bring them back.

Inhaling shakily, she tried to calm herself. Just get the crown and go home. See Bea. Get out of this.

President Snow approached her, eyes glinting with something, and placed the crown on her head. He smiled the way a father would at his child's achievements. He wasn't her father. No matter how hard he tried to act like it.

She kept her face blank, not giving him the satisfaction of showing how much he'd rattled her. It was difficult though when she knew she didn't deserve any of this celebration. All the times she'd avoided death in the arena... It wasn't luck. It was strategic. Calculated. Bullshit.

He turned with purpose and walked to the microphone.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, this year's Hunger Games was full of everything we hoped for. Love, heartbreak, hope and achievement. But it was different this year... For me."

There was no way he'd— Right?

"Five years ago, my granddaughter went missing. I have spent every day hoping she was okay. Wishing she'd come back."

Her brain was running like its life depended on it. Someone needed to get her off this stage. Her feet were cemented to the floor. He couldn't say it. Please don't say it.

"Today, she did. Presenting to you the winner of the 68th annual Hunger Games: my granddaughter, Elara Snow."

There was a ringing in her ears. Everything was moving in slow motion. People were yelling. Were they angry at her? For her blood? He was smiling. She didn't look for Weston, Val or Celiea. She didn't wanna see how they'd look at her. This was wrong. So wrong.

She was pretty sure the sky was falling. The room was spinning. She couldn't breathe. Her brain was going fuzzy and she couldn't breathe.

Her feet were moving before she realized. Rushing off the side of the stage and colliding into a body she hadn't seen approach. Regretfully, she looked up, sea green eyes meeting the chestnut depths of her own. There was no disgust there. No visual disdain.

The seemingly worried eyes softened at her demeanor, cupping her cheek and mouthing words she tried so hard to focus on.

"Deep breaths. Come on, Rosewood. Breathe for me."

She gulped air like she was drowning, clinging to his wrist like it was a lifeline. He pulled her into a small room, some sort of closet, away from prying eyes and cameras and secret grandparents and just let her catch her breath. It took a good few minutes to see the world for what it was again. Still. Unchanged.

Once she was sure the room wasn't rotating anymore, she watched as the person came back into focus, the sea green pairing with his chiseled jaw and high cheekbones. Finnick raised a brow at her staring, her breaths controlled and finally steady, save for the slight tremor she hadn't been able to rid since returning.

"You okay?" He asked softly. There was no mask today. He didn't smirk or tilt his voice in the teasing, sensuous kind of tone. Just him.

She nodded, the nerves in her stomach not going away anytime soon. Though she was perfectly fine within the interior of the closet, she'd have to leave at some point. Face the music. Rip off the band aid.

"This is nice." He said, pointing to her dress. "Lighter. Shorter than that last one."

She said nothing.

Finnick shuffled uncomfortably, glancing at the door almost longingly before meeting her gaze again. "So... You're a secret Snow, huh?"

"Don't call me that." She sighed, though there was no bite in her words.

"She speaks." He cheered weakly, an awkward chuckle slipping from his lips.

Elara raked back her hair with her fingers, holding her neck once she reached it. She offered him a weak smile that even she didn't believe as he crossed his arms over his broad chest.

"Thank you."

"Anytime. Uh– Thank you for being there for Caspian." He said.

"Anytime." Her voice shook on the word. He was kind enough not to mention it.

"He was a good guy. I think we could've been friends in another life." He nodded, clearing his throat to push away the emotion.

"He was. I'm— uh... I'm sorry he didn't make it." His family. God, they must hate her.

"That wasn't your fault. We all saw him—"

Elara couldn't hear those words one more time without bursting. So she did. She spat every secret she should've been clinging to and forcing into a dark hole to this stranger. She couldn't even confess why. "No, it was my fault. If I wasn't in that arena, any one of those tributes had a fair chance at winning. He made sure I was alive, Odair. He wasn't going to let me die, even if I tried!"

Finnick's eyes widened at her rant, pressing his lips together as she broke. She crumbled, exactly the way she never wanted to. She was weak.

"I cheated, Finnick." Her voice came out so small and broken, so different to the persona she'd created. "Even if it wasn't on purpose. I cheated."

"No." He said bluntly.

Scrunching her brows together, she retracted, in shock at the simple word. It hit her like a slap though there was no malice there. "No?"

"No." He shook his head. "You were thrust into the actual embodiment of Hell and forced to watch and commit acts you never thought yourself capable of. I would know. Just because that," He lowered his voice momentarily, "Fucking monster did something that makes you think you owe him, guess what? You don't. You didn't cheat because you didn't tell him to manipulate anything. You were innocent in this situation." He furrowed his brows like he couldn't really believe he was having this conversation. "Elara, that man is a manipulator. He does horrible things to people who don't deserve it. Those people that died in the arena were not your fault."

"Apart from the ones I actually killed, right?"

He swallowed. "Yeah. Ah— Apart from them." He reached out, within the dark room, his finger following the path of her stitches so gently she wasn't sure he was even touching her at all. "We've all got blood on our hands though. It's not often you can win without it."

"You're not that obnoxious." She sniffled. Her words were blunt but he took it on the chin, chuckling and nodding gratefully.

"Glad you think so."

"Why do you act like such an asshole out there?" She asked, missing the soothing touch of his fingertips on her skin.

Finnick shrugged. "Most people like the asshole Odair more than this one," He said. His expression soured as he added, "It sells better."

Elara frowned, wanting to reach for him but not knowing how. How did someone do that so casually? Instead, she shook her head, folding her hands in front of her body. "Not that it's gonna matter to you but I like the real Odair much more than the fake one."

A rueful hint of smile tugged on his lips as he raised a brow. "How do you know which is the real me?"

"Just a feeling." She shrugged.

"Well... Thank you. Consider yourself the first."

Leaving that room felt like the most difficult task in the world. They exited together and went different ways, as if they'd never really seen one another in the first place and she had no choice but to head back to her room. She couldn't go back out there. Opening the apartment door, she swallowed thickly at the distinct lack of Tanner. He seemed to fill out the space. Without him, it was nothing.

"There you are!" Val pressed a hand to her chest as Celiea visibly sagged in relief, though not without an eyeroll that Elara wanted to slap her for. She leaned her head back against the couch, running her hands over her face. Tobin's lip curled in disgust at the sight of her. She couldn't do it. Couldn't listen to his cruel words and taunts right now. Maybe tomorrow she'd endure it. Not today.

It was Weston though that she was the most afraid to look at. He'd been through the games too, just like Tobin. He'd experienced firsthand the horrors of the event and the hatred for the leader. She'd withheld information that would change everything. If he wore the same expression, it might kill her.

When she finally built up the courage to meet the face with a permanent frown, she watched the hard lines soften, his eyes shimmering with the lightest sheen. He walked towards her with purpose, again, wrapping his arms around her and holding her weight. She was fucking exhausted.

His palm smoothed over her hair once again, as she clung to him, taking all the comfort he was offering. With whispered words in her ear, she felt part of the pressure, yanking her to the ground, finally releasing its grip.

"You're okay, sweet girl. You don't have to explain."

Chapter Text

ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʀᴇɴᴀ

terrain: jungle

[a smaller arena; tributes begin on pedestals in a ring around the cornucopia, which sits on an island in the centre of a round salt lake. like a wheel, spokes divide the salt lake into twelve sections, with two tributes in each. these spokes run from the cornucopia to the beach, beyond which was a dense jungle also invisibly divided just the same. the entire arena is also enclosed in a high voltage force field.]

ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀɪʙᴜᴛᴇꜱ

DISTRICT 1:

LUXURY

gloss and cashmere

DISTRICT 2:

MASONRY

brutus and enobaria 

DISTRICT 3:

TECHNOLOGY 

beetee latier and wiress

DISTRICT 4:

FISHING

finnick odair and mags flanagan

DISTRICT 5:

POWER

wyatt frost and illari

DISTRICT 6: 

TRANSPORTATION 

blade crawley and mercedes crawley

DISTRICT 7:

LUMBER

blight and johanna mason

DISTRICT 8:

TEXTILES

weston ellis and elara snow

DISTRICT 9:

GRAIN

roman and castella

DISTRICT 10:

LIVESTOCK 

damien groves and yurei

DISTRICT 11:

AGRICULTURE 

chaff and seeder

DISTRICT 12:

MINING

peeta mellark and katniss everdeen

may the odds be ever in your favour. again.

Chapter Text

'Elara, My Dear,

I understand you may be frustrated. It has been a while.

I'm writing to inform you that I'm putting in place an assigned day, once a month, where I shall visit to make up for the time we may have lost due to your rebellious childhood actions. Alternatively, if I happen to be busy, I shall set up a method of transporting you here.

These are compulsory. If you need to rearrange for whatever reason, send a letter in advance so we can discuss. I shall arrive this month in a fortnight.

Best Regards,

Your Grandfather, President C. Snow.'

✩➵✩

A FEW MONTHS LATER

'Elara Rosewood,

I don't quite know how I'm going to get this letter to you without it being intercepted and all of my thoughts being rewritten, but here goes anyway. If none of this makes sense you'll see my plan didn't work and maybe I'll be dead, I don't know.

What happened a few weeks ago at your Victor's Ceremony was messed up. It was your business on who you're related to. That shouldn't have been revealed unless you wanted it to be. I would've said it at your Banquet but I never really got the chance to talk with you. Especially with... yeah.

In case it isn't obvious, I'm not the biggest fan of the  snow . It's too cold. I'm guessing from your reaction you aren't either. That's why I feel comfortable enough to tell you any of this at all.

The main reason I wanted to write though was to wish you luck for your upcoming Victory Tour. I know firsthand how scary they can be and I can't imagine how worried you must be with what came to light recently. Just know I think you can do it. That should mean a lot. Because I'm me.

I hope everything's okay at home.

Yours truly, Finnick Odair.'

✩➵✩

'Finnick Odair,

Your kind words were greatly appreciated. As was your healthy dose of self-righteousness. Something you always manage to add in every scenario, I see. (Joke, I swear.)

I'm sorry. I did want to speak to you at the banquet but I didn't have much freedom. He claimed he'd just gotten me back and didn't want to lose more time.

That being said, my thoughts on the snow aren't important. What's important is the effects the snow has on the population and the land. It ruins what it touches. I wish there was a way to just... stop it.

I am a little worried about the Tour. Mainly visiting your own District. Caspian meant the world to me but now I'm afraid it'll seem like deception due to my blood. It wasn't though. I swear.

I find myself thinking about that broom closet a lot. Not quite sure why. You must have said something worthwhile.

Yours truly, Elara Rosewood.

P.S. Very clever to send the letter in a fabric shipment. I don't think mine was as smart as that.'

✩➵✩

'Rosewood,

Inside a bouquet was genius, but I do think people might get the wrong idea if they were to find out you were sending me flowers all the time.

Not that I don't appreciate the affection.

You're right. I never have been a fan of the winter anyways. Much more of a summer guy, myself. What about you?

Don't panic too much about District 4. It's not all bad out here. Have you ever seen the ocean? I could show you the beach, if you wanted.

When you go up there to give your mandatory speech, find me. If you just look at me, maybe things won't seem so scary.

Yours truly, Finnick Odair

P.S. So what you're saying is you think about me often? Good to know.'

✩➵✩

'Finnick Odair,

Not to boost your already inflated ego but you'll be glad to hear that your letter is one of the first things to have made me smile this week. And to find it wrapped up in 40 layers of packaging was astounding. Was your plan to bore them to death?

Has anyone ever told you that you're an extreme flirt? It's impressive actually.

Although now I don't feel as special.

I have not seen the ocean before. Or a beach. I'd love to though, if you're sure it won't be too much trouble. I probably won't have much time.

Victory Tour starts next week. It sucks having to do it alone. I'm just glad I can bring Weston. Tobin's staying back though. He's not fond of me after... Well, yeah. I guess I'll see you then.

Yours truly, E̶l̶a̶r̶a̶ Rosewood.

P.S. If I lived somewhere full of the Earth's beauty: with fields and forests, I'd probably say the springtime, when everything's in bloom. Home tends to be very grey however, so I guess the fall will do. I like the rain.'

✩➵✩

'Rosewood,

Sorry. It's been a while since I last wrote. A couple of things on my mind that's all.

I have been called that silly word quite a few times in my life. I choose to call myself a charmer. It feels classier.

You should feel special actually. I might say things to butter others up, but I tell you the truth. I never want to lie to you actually. Is that crazy to say?

It sucks that I didn't get a chance to speak to you in person. I had this whole beach day planned out for you. Guess you'll have to visit again sometime.

Your speech was incredible. I check on his sisters and his Dad sometimes. I've been making sure they have enough to live. Don't worry too much.

Thanks for looking at me. You're not at fault. Always remember that.

Write again (please.) Don't be a stranger.

Finnick O̶d̶a̶i̶r̶.'

✩➵✩

ONE YEAR LATER

'Rosewood,

I can't believe we've been keeping up with hiding these letters in ridiculous places for a whole year. Insane.

I know I haven't replied much recently. I apologize. The schedule has been a little packed. So many people to meet and such little free time, right?

Sorry to hear about your double visit from the old guy. I know that must've been hard. Did he actually tell you what he wanted or was it more of an intimidation tactic? Let me know if you've got theories.

How's the crew doing? Is Bea doing good?

I was thinking about Wes the other day, actually. Got stuck in a "meeting" with some guy. He had a couple bottles of that liquor Weston loves to stare at. Had me wondering how he was getting by.

Sorta miss that old dude. (Don't tell him I miss him. He'll never let it go.)

How are you feeling about the Games? First year being a mentor. Tell me all your thoughts.

Sincerely yours, Finnick.

P.S. I know a guy. Peacekeeper but he's nice, I swear. Name's Atlas. He could be good for dropping off letters? He travels around a lot anyway. Your choice completely.'

✩➵✩

'Finnick,

Don't you dare take this the wrong way but I've missed your letters. I'd never say that to your face though. It's easier to confess things through written word, ha.

How has it been a year already? Better yet, how did you know? Consider me intrigued.

You're always meeting people. I feel like I never even leave the house anymore. Especially not to socialize. (Also, what's with the quotations? Am I missing something?)

Bea's good. She's still working even though I told her I can look after her. She said she didn't want to take my "winnings." Like I care about that. I practically had to carry her into my house to live with me there instead of her little shack.

Wes is as well as anyone could be. He visits as often as he can, I have a feeling that's more to do with Bea than me though. It's sorta weird but I don't mind. They enjoy each other's company. I've never seen that grumpy asshole smile so much.

In all honesty, I'm terrified for the games. I don't know why I thought because I'd won, that was it. No more having to see it. I forgot I'd have to guide others. I don't know how to do that. I'm only 17.

Finally, if you trust Atlas, I trust Atlas. That's because I trust you. Which I think might be weird now I'm looking at the words but it's okay. Sorry if that freaked you out.

Sincerely yours, Elara.

P.S. Definitely intimidation. Dick.'

✩➵✩

'Rosewood,

Just heard the news. Being a mentor can be scary. I'm sorry you have to do it. If you need anything, you know where to find me. I'm not on duty this year so I'll come find you, if you want. Keep you company. I usually watch the games from the Capitol anyway. Keeping up with appearances or whatever.

Sincerely yours, Finnick.

P.S. I trust you too.'

✩➵✩

FIVE YEARS LATER

'El,

You're lucky I like you so much. Otherwise I'd be having Atlas rip up every letter you send.

In case it wasn't obvious, that was sarcasm. I savor every word you write. I'd eat the letters if I could. Although, I do wonder why we don't just talk on the phone now. We can't have that many secrets to pass by anymore, right?

How are you doing? It always feels like it's been too long between our letters when it becomes my turn to write again, but I do know that I haven't asked in a while. After everything that happened, I feel like I should check in every two minutes.

Annie kept asking about you the other day. Met you a handful of times and she knows it's you I'm writing to. Perks of being a best friend I suppose. Guess you make quite an impression on people.

I miss you.

Finnick.

P.S. Was this a little cheesy? It feels cheesy.'

✩➵✩

'Finn,

First of all, yes. Yes, that was very cheesy. I'm going to treasure it anyway.

Well, aren't I lucky? Glad to hear you savor my words; they are brilliant after all. Although I wouldn't recommend eating them. I don't want you to get ink poisoning or something. I don't want to lose you ever. Just snack on your sugar cubes, weird guy... Save me one.

Maybe we should use the phone. I like the sound of your voice. Though I do like the idea of knowing you thought hard about your words and scrawled them down. It's fun, I guess.

I'm okay. The house is too quiet. I don't like it. It feels colder too. Will that ever go away?

Tell Annie I said hey! I think I like her more than you anyways. I miss playing that fish card game with her.

El.

P.S. I miss you too.'

✩➵✩

'El,

Hey! I'm supposed to be your favorite.

I don't think that feeling ever goes away, not really. It sort of lingers like a memory. It just gets easier to manage. And if anyone can handle it, I know you can. You're the toughest person I know.

I'll give you a call one day. We can do the letters too, of course, I'm not a monster.

It's coming up to that dreaded time of year again. That's something I used to think would get easier but it's coming back anyways. Right along with the nightmares. Well, mine usually come back at this time. I'm not sure about you.

"Finn" (only to you.)'

✩➵✩

'Finn,

I appreciate you. Even though you can be a pain in my ass, I like you anyways.

My nightmares pop up all year round at random times. I've hallucinated a few times. Those are pretty scary. It's usually when I'm tired or sick or extremely stressed, but I see their faces everywhere. It's getting worse though.

I'm worried. I don't think I can watch another kid die under my watch. I don't know how Wes gets through it. I've started looking at his whiskey collection with different intentions in mind.

El.

P.S. I still don't know why he stares at the whiskey and never drinks a drop. I'm too scared I'll be overstepping to ask, even after knowing him for 6 years.'

✩➵✩

A MONTH LATER

'El,

You ran away too quickly for me to come check on you and then I lost you. Are you okay?

I can't believe there were two victors. That's never happened. Not once.

Feel free to use me as a safe space. I'll happily read every word you want to get off your mind.

Finn.'

✩➵✩

'El,

Please talk to me. I can't get these letters to anyone else and to be completely honest I don't want to. You're the only one I want to talk to. If you don't want to write it's okay, just please answer the phone.

Finn.'

✩➵✩

'El,

I miss you. I hope you're okay.

Love, Finn.'

Chapter Text

A HEAVY SIGH SLIPPED PAST HER LIPS. Elara was far too used to this tribute facade by now. These two were no different from the rest that had visited annually.

This wasn't the same duo she'd seen a few days ago: the ones that had courageously donated a month of their winnings to the deceased's family and honored the ones they'd lost. Instead, she was watching the young "lovers" recite an identical speech for the third time over. By the looks of things, she wasn't the only one who wasn't buying it.

"Katniss and I want to share with you our victory and our gratitude to the Capitol for bringing us together," The boy, Peeta, announced to the sea of scowls. "It was the bond of love, forged in the crucible of the Games, that was our greatest prize. For it is love, and true love, that allows us all to bear our hardships. That mends the heart and banishes loneliness and gives meaning to our lives." Elara rolled her eyes as he moved aside, allowing the girl, Katniss, to step forward.

They were very different in terms of appearances. Peeta Mellark seemed to radiate nothing but that typical 'Golden Boy' energy the Capitol seemed to devour. Katniss Everdeen was... different. She was quiet, less approachable, dark features and a perfected scowl. What a funny pair to force together.

With the most forced smile Elara had ever witnessed, Katniss continued, "We also want to share with you the sorrows of your losses. The tributes of this district were great and noble warriors. They brought honor to their families and pride to their people. We are all of us united, both victors and vanquished, in serving a common purpose. The power and glory of the Capitol." Katniss glanced around. Elara shook her head. Here it comes. "Panem today. Panem tomorrow. Panem forever."

The young Victors pressed their lips together, a chaste kiss shared before they raised their intertwined hands above their heads. The crowd yelled, their faces filled with fury. Elara furrowed her brows, guilt swirling in her gut. She knew where this change of attitude was coming from. There was only one man who could've been responsible for that. She hated him more than anyone.

As Katniss and Peeta were pushed away by the Peacekeepers, Elara felt a warm arm close around her bicep. She flinched, her eyes screwing shut.

"Liar!"

"Cheater!"

"You killed my boy!"

Elara spun, noticing the man on the platform. Two small girls stood sobbing behind him. She didn't need to be told who they were. She knew as soon as she walked out onto the stage of District 4. He looked like an older version of Caspian. The man he should've become.

The Peacekeeper wrapped his hand around her bicep, attempting to tug her away. Her speech was over now. She'd found Finnick in the crowd and performed the script. She had to move on.

Not a chance.

Freeing herself from his grip, Elara rushed forward, holding the mic. The Peacekeepers rushed to grab her, pausing only when she spat, 'Remember who I am.' At least the name had one perk.

Once they had stopped, she turned instantly, facing the crowds but, more importantly, facing the Hayes family.

"Caspian was beautiful. I know it seems like I'm a liar. And that everything you all saw was fake. I'm here to tell you, face to face, I meant every word. I loved him. That must seem so frivolous coming from a sixteen year old. It's not. I've never felt an emotion like that so intensely. I'd have done anything for him and Tanner. Anything."

She didn't say another word. The Peacekeepers muttered in disdain as she stormed past, back through those grand doors. She didn't dare look at Weston. But Celiea intercepted her.

Her strong hands planted on Elara's shoulders, halting her movements. The young girl kept her eyes to the ground until the woman lifted her chin with her index finger. "Those weren't the words I wrote for you."

"I know. I'm sorry-"

"They were better. We won't let him hurt you. Just stick to the cards for the rest of the time, okay?"

Elara nodded, biting her lip to keep her emotions at bay. She knew, in reality, if Snow wanted to hurt her, he would. They couldn't stop that. Celiea released her hold and smiled softly, softer than she'd ever seen before. So different from her usual smirk. Crashing into her chest, El wrapped her arms around her torso, listening to her heartbeat under her ear. She didn't expect anything back. Celiea wasn't one for contact. But when Elara felt the older woman's hand placed on the back of her head, she couldn't help the small teary smile that spread across her lips.

✩➵✩

Rubbing her brow, Elara entered the lavish and beautiful Victor's village as the sun began to fall, the place she remembered she used to look upon across the District with overbearing envy. The headache she was currently aiding was making her vision fuzzy, one of those damn awful migraines she never did know how to calm. Opening up the front door of her house, she headed inside, slamming it shut and trudging to her living room, the sound echoing throughout the downstairs.

She perched on the edge of the armchair, her head in her hands as she tried to soothe the throbbing pain in her skull.

"How many times have I told you to use a cold compress? It's the only thing that works for you. Your clammy hands aren't gonna do you any good." The boy huffed.

Glancing up, Elara watched as Caspian pushed off the doorframe and slumped on the couch across from her. Frustratedly pinching the bridge of her nose, Elara practiced her breathing. In for four. Hold for seven. Out for eight.

"Why are you here?" Elara sighed, prodding at a particularly painful spot above her left eyebrow.

"Don't ask me. It's your subconscious." He looked older now, an altered version of who he used to be; how Elara pictured him at the age he should be by now. Twenty-four years old. Almost seven whole years without him. If she was to guess, she'd say she managed to age him by combining his face with his father's.

"I'm not sick."

"Didn't say you were."

"Well, then, I'm not tired either." She protested.

"So what does that leave?" He asked smugly, resting his chin on his fist.

It left her stressed. She hadn't had her monthly meeting with Gramps yet. It was coming up. They decided that combining it with some of his other events would be much more convenient for both of them.

Pushing off the chair, Elara headed into the kitchen, opening the freezer for the ice. She wrapped it up in a small cloth, the way Bea taught her to, and leaned back against her counter, placing the compress to her forehead.

Bea.

God, I miss her.

That familiar sting of tears burned her corneas despite how tightly shut she'd squeezed her eyes. She heard Caspian chuckle from across the room.

"Are you just going to follow me around all day or do you have something useful to contribute?"

Cas placed a hand over his heart. "Ouch," he frowned. She rolled her eyes but sobered up the attitude when he pulled his hand away. There was a gaping wound in his chest. His hand was covered in scarlet. The wet dripping sound of his blood against her hardwood floors turned her stomach as he met her gaze again. "No, really. Ouch." He said, dropping to his knees.

Her hand flew over her mouth as a horrified whimper escaped her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut and spun, dropping the ice and gripping the counter to stabilize herself.

In for four.

Hold for seven.

Out for eight.

"What?" Cas asked. She chanced a look behind her, seeing him perfectly... ordinary again, his arms folded across his chest in that 'Caspian Hayes' way. "Was the joke that bad?"

"Get out of my head." Elara mumbled, stubbornly shutting her eyes. "Get out of my head."

"You know I can't, baby. You don't want me to."

"Get out!" She screamed. "Leave me alone! Get out!"

"El!" Firm hands shook her shoulders.

Looking up into Weston's russet colored eyes, she exhaled quickly in relief. Caspian was gone. He wasn't ever there. Weston took her hand in his, placing it over her own sternum to feel her heart pounding in her chest. "Too quick?" He asked.

"Mhm," She couldn't quite form words yet.

"That's okay. Focus on the beats. Count how many for me. Go."

Elara counted each pulse of the organ behind her ribs, silently, keeping her eyes pressed closed as her breathing started to regulate itself.

"Okay. Open up." Weston encouraged. Her eyelids slowly opened, meeting his concerned look as he stroked a hand over her hair. "Slower?"

"Yeah."

"Good." He let her rest against the counter, the cold marble chilling her spine, as he started to clean the ice that had begun to melt on her floor. "Heard you chatting again. Had me worried."

"Can't escape him. He's like a cockroach." El explained.

"You don't think you should talk to someone? A doctor or something?"

"No. Just got a bunch on my mind today. That's all." Elara shrugged.

Weston nodded hesitantly, tossing the half melted cubes into the sink before taking the dishtowel off the rack. He crouched, placing it over each puddle to let it soak before he wiped it up.

"So..." El started, watching him carefully. "How's Bea?"

"You know I can't answer that, El."

"Come on, Weston. You all took her from my house without me knowing and didn't even let me say goodbye. You won't tell me where she is. You won't let me visit. The least you can do is tell me how she's doing!" She argued, her hands flailing as he tossed the towel into a basket.

"You make it sound like we kidnapped her."

"You did."

Weston raked a hand through his hair. "No, El. Bea came with us on her own accord. You know why we can't tell you anything about her."

Pressing her lips together, Elara nodded. It was too dangerous. She was too important.

A knock broke the silence in the room, followed by the dreaded scrape of an envelope slipping beneath her door. Abnormal time of day. There was only one person it could be. For fuck sake.

"That the other nuisance?" Weston asked. He never did seem all that bothered about people overhearing him.

Shooting him a concerned look, El nodded. "The one and only."

Crossing the room, she ripped open the letter. She scowled at the perfected cursive scrawl of her name, scanning the whole thing quickly before scoffing, tossing it on the counter and heading into her bedroom.

"Bad news?" Weston asked, although Elara knew by his unfocused tone he had already begun reading the note.

"Yep," She replied, yanking one of her newer dresses out of the closet and dragging it behind her as she looked for his reaction. "I have to go socialize."

"God forbid, huh?" He chuckled.

"God forbid, huh?" She mimicked. "Shut up."

"How old are you again?"

Smiling, she lifted a shoulder, launching the dress onto her bed and searching for a pair of shoes.

"You know I could call Val for you. Get you something special?"

"Don't bother her. She's probably swamped with other stuff."

"Alright." He agreed, resting against her doorframe. She glanced over at him, freezing when she spotted Cas over his shoulder, turning his nose up at the way the man had taken his spot.

No. Squeezing her eyes shut, she shook her head. He was gone.

Weston narrowed his observant eyes, assessing her behavior before she tossed the shoes on her bed too. She'd found that was the best option to deal with Weston's worries and concerns. If she just ignored him, continuing her day as usual, he'd give it up eventually. He pointed to a small cardboard box discarded at the side, one with the lid askew. "What's that?" He asked.

Noticing the box on the verge of revealing her stupid secrets, Elara jumped, shoving the lid back on and tucking it into her closet. Safe. Away. "Nothing," she tried. Standing again, she folded her arms across her chest but instead of exhibiting that confident aura that Cas had mastered, she just appeared insecure. Weak. "I got a train to catch." She sighed.

"Sure." He nodded unsurely, stretching out an arm for her to walk into. It was natural, now.

She did, something that always comforted her no matter the time. He held her close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Be safe." He muttered.

"You know it's in a couple days right? I'm not leaving now."

"I know. The statement still stands."

"I will. Promise. And, uh, if you see her, you know, while I'm gone, tell her I love her?"

He nodded, letting her step back and look at him. She had to check his eyes when she asked. Just to look for the lies.

"I love you too, you know." She told him, honestly. She didn't tell him as much as she should've. She really did love him. He'd stuck by her for what she wasn't even sure of. Never holding her blood ties against her, or the things she'd done in the games. Weston Ellis was once a man that was nothing but a grump in her eyes. Nothing more to him. Nothing less. And then, one day, he was just... not. He was more than that. Kind and caring and protective and brave. Unbothered.

Weston nodded, ducking his head as he cleared his throat and crossed his arms over his chest, as if to protect his heart. "Love you too, kiddo." His voice broke.

Tugging on a sweater, Elara brushed down her clothing, meeting his gaze with a grim smile. "I'm ready when you are," She sighed, fidgeting with her sleeves as he straightened, releasing a heavy sigh. An 'old man sigh', she would tease him.

"Let's get this over with." He said, leading the way out of her house and into the cold world outside.

The bleak and biting wind whipped at her face as they walked. It wasn't so bad, not really, but it was a stark difference from the warmth within her house. She found herself thinking often of the rest of the District in those conditions. Most probably didn't have heating or anything of that sort. Sometimes, Elara made extra blankets and left them on the doorsteps of District 8 residents. She'd wrap them up the way the Capitol did, and never be found nearby when the person discovered it. She didn't need them to question her motives.

They weren't very fond of her since she'd won the games. She hadn't ever questioned it. Hell, if she was in their positions, she'd hate herself too. But she wasn't. Instead, she waited patiently for the day they realized she hated him just as much as they did.

The square was packed when they arrived. Tobin and Loom sat in their designated seats, wrapped up in scarves and coats in order to keep warm. Residents shuffled uncomfortably in the crowd, chattering quietly as peacekeepers rushed around the stage, preparing the screen.

Elara didn't see the point. It felt ridiculous to make the interview between the recent victors some sort of publicized event but she wasn't exactly interested in the Capitols decisions.

"Does this feel like a little... much to you?" She muttered quietly to Weston as they took their seats. Someone in the crowd shot her an accusing glare and she forced her eyes away from him.

"Feels like a trap." Weston frowned.

The screen lit up and the chatter died down, Katniss and Peeta's bright smiling faces burning into her eyes as they answered Caesar Flickerman's questions with an ease she'd always lacked.

She was jealous of them. Plain and simple. They represented everything she never achieved, escaping the arena together. When she first saw their games, she'd shut down. It had reopened a wound she thought had long since closed. Maybe that was why she couldn't get rid of Caspian those days. She'd made it worse by letting it hurt. She welcomed every sting and shoved away everyone close to her. Weston broke back through, of course he did, but he... She swallowed thickly, rubbing at her chest to soothe the ache. She missed him too.

"Pay attention, El." Caspian scolded from the empty chair on her left. It'd been saved for the other victor but she evidently wasn't coming she had bigger things to worry about, so Cas had accepted it like it belonged to him.

He reached, brushing his knuckles across her cheek and she could've sworn she felt his icy touch, her gaze flicking to him in an instant. When she turned back, Weston was watching her closely, everything in his eyes appearing as if she might shatter.

He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "El, I really think–"

She ignored him entirely. On the screen, Peeta was lowering himself onto one knee, Katniss' hand in his own as he confessed his love for the girl he'd survived death with. That wasn't what had Elara so startled, however.

Down in the center of the crowd, a man had struck a match, placing it against the end of a cloth that had been tucked inside the neck of a bottle of white liquor. He didn't hesitate. Not when he barged past people without fear of harming them and not when he raised the bottle, pulling it over his shoulder and launching it directly at the stage.

Flames burst from the makeshift weapon on impact. They spread and licked at every place the liquor soaked, including the peacekeeper too close to the screen. He was rolling around, a ball of fire, screams of pure anguish clawing up his throat.

Elara shot to her feet, Weston close behind her. He tried to usher her away but she couldn't move. The cacophony of shouts deafened her as the crowd joined together. Some were tackling peacekeepers who had been taken off guard, snatching their guns from their hands and firing into the air.

Those people were the ones taken out first. Elara wanted to protest, to protect those rebelling but she couldn't, not with Weston's tight grip on her wrist.

"Weston–" She started.

A rapid sequence of gunshots cracked through the evening air, cementing her in place in impenetrable fear.

The peacekeepers were firing back. Aiming into the crowd and firing without care. She saw him too late.

She hadn't spent much time with Sam, too afraid of the memories he'd bring back of Tanner. She'd done as he had wished and helped him as much as possible in her position but that was all. Nothing more and nothing less.

Despite it, seeing him now, all grown up and riddled with bullet holes brought her to her knees. "No!" She yelled, struggling against the relentless hold on her but he wouldn't give.

"Elara, we have to go–"

"Sam!" He was two years younger than her. Barely an adult and his life had already ended.

That was when the first brick was thrown. Most of them were aimed toward the stage, the peacekeepers and the distorted frozen image of the District 12 winners on the screen. One of them, very specifically, came hurtling toward herself.

In an instant, Weston was yanking her back by the waist, cradling her head as the brick slammed against the ground somewhere behind them.

"Fucking assholes," He spat, checking her over for fear, injury, anything. She couldn't look at him. Her eyes were so trained on the brick, they burned.

When Weston dragged her away that time, she did not protest. She did not fight back or struggle. She let him tug her away, her limbs weak and trembling.

It didn't apply to her, she told herself, but even as she climbed into bed, dropping a few droplets of the gifted sleep syrup she kept on her bedside table onto her tongue and reveling in its sweetened taste, the word haunted her still. It entered her nightmares, printed across every surface within them.

'CORRUPT.'

✩➵✩

Oh, what a pretentious fuck.

Dressed in her own striking outfit – a flat but layered gown of off-white silk, silver trimmings on each hem – Elara glanced over the Presidential Palace, a scoff begging to be released. Bright decorations, idiosyncratic outfits. People breathing fire. All this because a couple of teenagers were engaged. The President needed a better hobby.

She watched her surroundings carefully, her heart beating impossibly fast as she lingered on the front steps with her glass clutched tightly in her hand. The more alcohol to get her through this, the better.

The District had been put on lockdown after the small uprising. It had been a fluke apparently. A sudden, unplanned riot caused by the anger toward the Capitol for displaying the teenager's proposal when they were 'in need of attention'. That's how the Peacekeeper worded it anyway. She didn't believe a word of it.

Forty-eight hours of Capitol air-force deployed within the streets to settle unrest. There were minor explosions, she remembered. Weston had told her they were destroying Rebel strongholds but all she could think about were the people. Were they bombing these places with people inside? How many deaths had occurred?

Now District 8 remained in a strict state of silence. People were not permitted to even leave their homes. She was only there that day because of who she was. If she'd have been anyone else, like Weston or Bea, wherever she was, she'd have been shot the moment she stepped outside.

The guests of honor arrived and she joined in on the applause, watching as the two followed an eccentric looking woman, Effie Trinket, she remembered, though they looked anything but comfortable. Older members of the Capitol were reaching out, their fingers tracing over the two victors' skin, like they had any right to do so. Elara's stomach churned.

They were too young for this. They were always too young for this.

Heading down the stairs whilst the crowd were much too occupied to care, Elara grabbed her bag, holding it behind her back in a way that was unintentionally indiscreet and beelined for the food table. Thankfully, it was rather scarce of people, all too busy fawning over the Victors. Elara positioned the plastic box in her bag so it was easily poured into and started grabbing plates.

They'd soon be refilled so she never saw an issue in taking some food home for the residents in her own district. She was an outcast, sure, but that didn't mean she didn't care for them. There were many people there that would benefit from it, whether from eating it themselves or selling it as their own. Since they hadn't won this year, that meant they didn't get the parcels of food every month anymore. She needed to help somehow. Elara was happy either way. As long as it wasn't wasted by these people.

Once the boxes in her bag were full, she zipped it close, noticing the plump man – Plutarch Heavensbee – heading over to her. Her foot pushed it beneath the table, hidden by the cloth covering, as she smiled warmly at him.

She couldn't stand this guy.

"Elara!" He bellowed jovially, the smile on his face making her want to scream. She remembered from her childhood. He was one of the few to know of her existence, keeping the secret to himself for years. With that though, Elara deemed him one of the people closest to Snow and, therefore, disliked by her.

"Plutarch," She greeted bluntly, the smile on her face completely false.

"How are you?" He asked, though he seemed genuinely interested.

"Fine. Can't complain." She shrugged noncommittally. "And yourself?"

"Excellent. Not sure if you've heard but I'm now Head Game-maker." He bragged subtly. He was proud of it, that much was evident, but something in his eyes said something else. That he was proud for different reasons, as if they shared a secret she had forgotten about.

Elara nodded, smiling. "How'd you earn that role?" She asked. She'd heard of the tragic suicide of Seneca Crane. She wasn't convinced. People around ol' Gramps always seemed to wind up dead one way or another.

In fairness to him, Plutarch didn't flinch. He merely smiled, and nodded his head. "Good, old-fashioned, hard work." He explained shortly. Right. "That or the fact I volunteered."

That was more plausible. She bowed her head quickly.

"How's your grandfather?" He asked. Fair play, old man.

"Feel free to ask him." Elara smiled politely. "I don't." It was no secret their relationship was strained. To someone like Plutarch? He must know most of the ins and outs of their history.

Plutarch grinned, a knowing glint in his eye. Weird. Before Elara could scramble up some excuse, Effie, the eccentric woman she'd seen earlier, the one that reminded her of Valeria, rushed towards them, sticking her hand out to the young woman first. Elara retracted, the excitement of the lady in the cerulean wig taking her aback for a moment before she slowly shook her hand. "Um... hello." She offered.

"Miss Snow, I am honored to meet you!" She beamed, too excited to notice the way El flinched at the name.

"Just Elara. Please." She told her politely.

"Effie Trinket." She introduced herself with the confidence of a thousand of these boring old men. It made Elara's grin much more sincere.

"The pleasure is mine." She told her. "Your dress is beautiful." Elara complimented, truly in awe of the ruffled masterpiece adorning the woman.

Effie's cheeks tinted darker than they were already painted as she turned to Plutarch. "And you must be our brand new Head Game-maker." She deduced, that beaming smile never faltering. "I have someone I'd like you to meet." She told him. "You too, dear, if you'd like? They'd be honored."

Elara smiled. "Thank you. Maybe a little later. I should be upstairs right now." She explained quietly, as if it was a secret between the two of them. She'd learned very quickly that, within the Capitol, she had to figure out what the people wanted. Figure out their personality and adapt. Every single time.

The two headed off back to the two teens, currently dancing in the middle of the floor. Elara watched how they gravitated together for a moment, the way Katniss watched Peeta talk and vice versa. Maybe it wasn't just a ploy set up by her grandfather.

Who am I kidding?

Glancing around quickly, Elara grabbed the bag from under the table and rushed inside, hiding it in her usual spot, in the cupboard behind the door in the spare office, before heading to the balcony. She climbed the stairs, bracing herself to pass that room.

Her room.

She shut her eyes tightly, each step she took an echo of the ghost of her childhood, sprinting from the creatures.

Oh, little Elara. If only you knew.

Once she had passed it, Elara moved to the doors, her sober expression so unmoving she wasn't sure if there was anything at this damn party that could make her smile. Especially not the old man approaching her, his garnet suit perfected with the white rose in the pocket. Handing her a drink, his eyes flicked over her dress.

"What a lovely gown." He smiled, pleased. He pulled another rose from one of the many vases full from around the room and snapped the stalk, tossing it on the small table. A small suited woman swept through the room collecting it before anyone could blink.

"It's champagne." She told him, bluntly. "Not white."

His lips turned upwards. Taking a controlled step forward, Snow tucked the small flower behind her ear, unphased when she flinched. "If you say so." When the music started to play, he extended an arm to the doors. "After you."

She shook her head defiantly. "I insist."

With one look at a Peacekeeper, Elara was shoved forward, the blinding spotlight finding her face and warming her skin. The crowd applauded and cheered, the Capitol's love for the Snow family unyielding. They erupted into more as he made his appearance, his arms outstretched like he was absorbing their affection, basking in the lights.

It took everything in her not to scowl. Not to roll her eyes or make a snide comment. She knew all of that was childish. She just didn't care.

"Tonight," he began once the applause died down, "on this, the last day of their tour, I want to welcome our two victors. Two young people who embody our ideals, much like my dear grand-daughter," He gestured to Elara. She bit her lip until that coppery taste coated her tongue. "Of strength and valor." He continued. "And I personally want to congratulate them on the announcement of their engagement."

The crowd clapped once again for the two "star-crossed lovers", Elara joining in despite never being ordered to and ignoring the sharp glare from Snow. They smiled politely at the attention before looking back to the man begging to be noticed.

"Your love has inspired us and I know it will go on inspiring us every day, for as long as you may live." Elara didn't miss the underlying threat in his words. She knew him like the back of her hand, no matter how much she didn't want to. There was no way those kids wanted to be engaged at eighteen. Not a chance.

Raising a glass to the two, Snow beckoned Elara to do the same, both their drinks raised up as the back lights switched off, replaced with projections of fireworks to match the multicolored display of gunpowder behind the crowd. Elara took a sip of her drink, watching the scheming old man do the same. As he tilted the glass, a sudden burst of carmine seeped into the golden liquor, filtering the ichor into something damaged and ruined. He shook his head at Katniss discreetly before turning, catching Elara's expression.

As it turned out, she was wrong. There was one thing at this party to make her smile. Snow shot her a look, and muttered very quietly, practically under his breath, "Something funny, Little Lark?" He knew how much she hated the name from his mouth those days.

"You about to kick the bucket, old man?" She uttered back, turning to leave. She'd been here long enough, she decided.

Snow caught her wrist, something that truly did catch her off guard. The spotlights had moved away now, so under the cold touch of the night, his warm hand was the contradiction. In all her life, from her early childhood to the recent six years, he had never placed a hand on her in anger, not once. And yet now...

"Show some respect." He said, eerily calm.

"You don't deserve it," She glanced at the crowd, too absorbed with the show of lights, and shook her arm free. "You never have." She told him, storming inside.

The doors closed after them when he followed, keeping her trapped in the room with a nod of his head. A peacekeeper intercepted her path, keeping her inside and away from prying ears, before gesturing to the man in charge. He scurried outside as soon as Snow gave the order. Like a well-trained dog.

"Need I remind you what's at risk, Elara?" He asked.

"I've got nothing." She told him. "No one left for you to threaten."

"Oh, Elara, you have an abundance of loved ones that I can go through. Just because you've hidden away one, does not mean I will not touch the rest."

Fiery anger simmered beneath her skin. How does he know about Bea? He shouldn't know about Bea. "What you don't seem to realize is you've done enough. You put me through the worst thing I have ever experienced. The Games are at the top of the list. You take someone else away, fine. It's not going to come close to that though." She shook her head. "You have nothing left."

His lips upturned into an unsettling smile, one that raised the hair on her arms and encouraged tiny bumps to rise over her flesh. "If you say so." He repeated. Elara didn't want to speak another word, not to him and not in that stuffy cage of a room, so she turned, swiftly heading to the door. "I'll see you next month, Elara."

With her hand hovering over the doorknob, Elara froze. Enough. One more day. "No, you won't."

"And why is that?" He asked patiently.

"I'm twenty-three years old, Mr. President. You've had it your way, with a visit every month for the last seven years. I'd say that's more than enough by now."

"You don't get a choice in that matter, Elara. I said it was compulsory or–"

"Or you'll take someone else away? Well, we just explained how that's not the case, didn't we?" She yanked open the door. "I'll stay for the rest of the party. Then, I'll see you never, Snow."

Storming out the room, Elara approached that door, her mind running wild. She hoped he believed her. In all honesty, him taking another person away might kill her but she couldn't tell him that. Now, she just had to see what was behind this god-damn door. She was scared to see how he'd replaced her. What new room he had in the house to make his life easier. She'd avoided it for years. Why not check before she left for good?

Turning the handle and slipping inside, Elara kept her eyes shut, feeling around for the switch on the wall. She flicked it on, watching the dark behind her eyelids transform to an illuminated vermillion beneath the power of the light. Opening her eyes, her heart dropped.

It was exactly the same.

Not a thing out of place, besides the fresh bouquet of white roses resting on the end of the bed. Her chest tightened at the sight and her eyes stung with the force of old memories. She hadn't ever disliked the room. It was her safe haven once upon a time. Now, though? The nostalgia was killing her.

He had kept this room the same for thirteen years. For what? In hopes she'd return? For some sick, twisted exhibition of history?

Her lip quivered as she circled the room, her hand running over the fabrics of her old dresses. Was the room shrinking?

No. Not again.

Elara rushed out the room in a final act of self-preservation, grabbing her bag from the office and rushing into the garden. She must've looked so out of place, dressed to perfection but lugging around a damn duffel bag. Cold air filled her lungs and she walked forwards blindly, her shoulder connecting with someone else's.

"I'm so sorry." She said, briefly looking into Katniss' glaring eyes, before running right out of there. Far, far away.

Tears silently fell on her train-ride home, despite her furious and repeated swipe to get them away, and they continued to fall as she headed inside, slumping on her couch. Her eyes still didn't dry when Cas took a seat beside her, his hand running over her straightened brown hair.

She didn't even try to fight them when Tanner's small head of curls rested on her lap.

She missed them so much.

And yet, no matter how hard she pleaded. The world did not grant her wish of bringing them back.

Chapter Text

SHE WOULDN'T WATCH. They'd forced her to be present, that was bad enough, but she couldn't watch these people be hung right before her eyes.

She felt sick as they were shoved onto the trapdoors, the ropes slung over their necks so disrespectfully before the peacekeeper stepped down the row, tightening each of them until they were so uncomfortable they had to lift their chins for a little relief.

The head peacekeeper wrapped his arm around the lever, and all of a sudden Elara found her head unable to move. She couldn't look away. Couldn't run. Couldn't even demand they stop. He smiled at her, something that turned her stomach so violently she could've thrown up there and then. Then, he pulled.

Elara shot up off her pillow. Her heartbeat raced rapidly in her chest as she clutched the sheets, perspiration pouring from her forehead.

Evidently, the executions had taken a toll on her mental state for the worst. They'd televised them too, but Elara had been ordered to be present by name. She wasn't sure what they were expecting from her, but she was sure her empty stare as she clung to Weston's arm was not it.

They were just about slipping back into ordinary life now, just a little over a week since the first attempt had occurred. She wasn't sure if they'd been planning more but she was genuinely worried for the lives of her people. Well, she saw them as such. They wished she was dead.

Showering and sweeping through the home to the door without breakfast, Elara startled when she found Clarisse waiting on the other side. "Oh, hey." Elara nodded, frowning at the letter between her fingers.

"Elara! Hey!" The most recent of the District 8 victors waved, the very one who hadn't attended the square's event the other night, hoisting her son onto her hip. The boy with bright blonde curls sobbed, his face bright red and blotchy. He had the same hazel eyes as his mother.

"Everything okay?" Elara liked Clarisse. She was one of the few that didn't judge her for her surname. The woman was only a couple years younger than El, with a three year old, whose father was taken away due to punishment for rebelling. Reaped at eighteen, pregnant at the time, though unbeknownst to the rest of Panem, she had defied all odds and become the 72nd Victor. She had done her duties and finally settled into the designated village before Snow had paid her a visit. They never told her what exactly Clarisse had done that resulted in such a fate for the young man she loved, but Elara didn't have to know. It wouldn't have been reasonable, not if Snow was calling the shots.

The only information Elara had was that Clarisse had met Snow, defied him somehow, and then the rest of Panem knew she was expecting. Her lover, Leonard, was executed publicly the next morning. They'd caused minor uproar at the snatching away of his father but ultimately, with a few lies and twisting of her story, the Capitol got their way. Like always.

"Leon's sweater." She grimaced. This was the third time this month the woman had asked for a new stitch to be put in the cuff of the clothing. Leon had a tendency to chew on his sleeves, ripping stitches and making the thing fall apart. Elara had offered to make a whole new sweatshirt multiple times by now but Clarisse refused every time.

The sweater used to belong to Leonard. It was irreplaceable. So without a second of hesitation, Elara had fixed it. Every. Single. Time.

Holding out her hand with a weary smile, she took the folded fabric and held it close to her chest. "I'll bring it back later. Promise." She pledged. Clarisse smiled gratefully, before holding out the envelope.

"The news carrier gave me this for you." She said, before offering a wave and carrying the now calm Leon back to their house.

As she crossed the street, Leon's tear-streaked face lifted and faced Elara's, a small smile stretching across his cheeks. "Thank you, El!" He yelled in the sweetest voice she'd ever heard.

Pulling a smile from her, she opened and closed her hands a few times in the form of a wave and walked alone, watching her breath leave her and expel as a small white mist into the cold air. Bea's shop hadn't been open as much as it should've been. With her being gone, Elara didn't like to spend too much time there. She missed her too much. She was embedded in the woodwork.

Pushing the key into the lock, she twisted it, the click sounding awfully familiar to when a thirteen year old Elara would start daydreaming, and Bea would snap her fingers to get her attention again. The brass bell above the door chimed as she entered, and for a moment she almost expected the woman to come rushing through the door to the back room, her bright smile etched perfectly on her face.

But she didn't. The shop stayed quiet and dim, the array of multicolored fabrics seemingly dull. Nevertheless, she knew Bea would want this. She'd want her business to run as normal, it was her pride and joy, so Elara went about her protocol of readying the store for any customers. Though she doubted she'd get any. She tossed the envelope on the counter and sighed.

Since Bea's sudden disappearance, the residents of District 8 hadn't exactly wanted to attend a place run by Snow's grandchild. They sneered at the sight of her, yelled for her to go back to her actual home. Back to the Capitol with the other liars. When it first began, way back when she was still a confused seventeen year old, Bea had appointed herself as El's personal protection. She'd scolded anyone who dared to criticize the girl in her presence, unaware that future El would just take it all on the chin. They were right, after all. She was a liar.

Taking out the thread, El laid out Leon's sweater on the table behind the front counter. She took her time grabbing a needle from the drawer and tying a small knot at the end of it. With each push of the small metal pin, she stitched the sleeve back together again, wondering if there was a way she could do that to herself. Put herself back together since all the pieces she seemed to lack these days had left gaping holes in her existence.

It had taken mere hours for curiosity to get the better of her. She hurried over to the envelope, angrily ripping into it and finding another plea from her grandfather. "District 8 isn't safe anymore. Come home. Blah blah blah."

There was no preparation for the explosion, the way it shook the ground she stood on and almost knocked her to her knees. It was so similar for a second, just like the death cannon in the arena, before the sound bellowed on and it was nothing at all like it. The rising sound of yelling drifted through the cracks of the door and disturbed what was once her sanctuary. Inevitably, Elara shot to the door, opening it just a crack to see what was now occurring within the dangers of her home.

A roaring crowd was gathering, with a man in the center raising his sign above his head with one hand, the other holding up three fingers. She'd seen these signs before. When Katniss Everdeen had been in the games and thoroughly impressed her with her defiance to the Capitol, Elara had taken note of her mockingjay pin and the three-finger salute she'd done to honor Rue.

She squeezed her eyes shut, pushing past the small pang of pain in her chest.

Peacekeepers stood at the front of the crowd, unapologetically readying their weapons for fire again. They raised their guns, faces covered and effectively removing their names from the situation too. That was how it worked. If they didn't know who was under the mask, they couldn't deem them a murderer. Was this who they were? Just as suddenly, they began to fire. They pulled their triggers, unapologetically. Unremorseful.

Slipping out the door, Elara hurried over to the crowd, accepting the gap where people avoided her like the plague, and noticing the man get shoved to his knees. She recognized him from the other night. The one who'd glared at her like she was their biggest opposer. One of the armed workers controlled the crowd whilst the other pulled out a small gun, pointing it at the man's head. She could see so many other bodies around them, shot and blown apart, thick puddles of nearly black blood seeping into the dirt and staining the ground they walked on, turning her stomach all the same in swift waves.

The rebelling man smiled into the barrel, whistling Katniss's tune to Rue and keeping those three fingers proudly held beside him. Elara watched the peacekeeper's finger move over the trigger and her brain switched off in seconds.

She didn't consider the consequences. That would explain the reason she lunged at him, yanking his arm down and letting his shot miss the man entirely. The bullet instead wedged right into the concrete.

Ripping off his mask, the guard cursed, throwing El to the ground and shaking his head as though she'd merely disrupted his favorite song. When she took in his appearance, her breath left her in a second. It was him. The Troll that had taunted her every day since childhood. He didn't appear all that different, still just as ugly. Just as alone. He did, however, appear crueler. Maybe it was the new scars he'd acquired over the years or the malicious glint in his eye, she wasn't sure. Her theory was proven correct as he looked her dead in the eyes, entirely unbothered, and raised his gun again, shooting the man beside her right in the head.

The shot rang throughout her ear canals, disorienting and temporarily snatching her sense from her. She was dizzy, sick– was she throwing up?

Horrified and shaken, El could hardly fight back as the Troll clutched her arm, his grip unforgiving. "Control the crowd." He uttered to the other, before dragging the woman ruthlessly behind him. The others didn't look entirely unbothered by her sure execution, which was a good thing, she guessed.

It was chaos. Madness, even. People were throwing bricks off of roofs, better than at her head, and setting government owned buildings on fire around them. The District was falling apart and the Capitol knew it. The residents knew it, holding rags over their mouths as they scattered the area, making bee-lines straight for the chain link fence. She just hoped it wasn't turned on. Maybe they'd have a better fighting chance.

Due to the amount of factories in 8, that meant there was a large amount of dark alleyways, usually used for trading contraband. But now, with one of the structures being nothing but a pile of rubble, it was used to keep Elara away from the prying eyes of the district. No one was going to approach after the bomb.

The man threw her to the ground, kicking his foot hard into her stomach. She doubled over, not getting too much of a chance to catch her breath as the man yanked her up by her collar.

"Think 'cause you're the big man's grandbaby, you get away with that shit?" He spat. "Not a cha—"

El threw her forehead into his nose, grinning when the misshapen feature began to stream like a waterfall. She observed it in sick, taunting interest. Give him a reason.

"Little bitch." He muttered, throwing his fist into her cheek. Over and over again. He was stronger than he seemed, so, having no other choice but to accept the beating, she did what any slightly unhinged woman would.

With blood filling her mouth and leaking from her nose, she smiled. Her smug grin angered him even more, pausing the movement of his bruised knuckles and instead causing him to grip her chin in his hand. "You know, if you get on your knees and prove that you're sorry, maybe I won't have to come up with an excuse for why the famous Elara Snow vanished from District 8," he sneered.

El gathered the coppery tasting liquid on her tongue and spat it on his cheek, the scarlet splattering across his skin. "Fuck you." She hissed. There was something enjoyable about ruining his face. She was the painter; he was her canvas.

Throwing her back to wipe away the spit and blood, Elara watched the man pull out his gun. He aimed it at her forehead, finally having the power he clearly needed and smirked. "Waited for this a long time, you know? I'm gonna enjoy this." He stated, as Elara stared right back into his eyes. She held his gaze. She wasn't going to be afraid. Not of him.

For a split second, she thought she saw Caspian standing behind him, waiting to see her demise just as eagerly, but he was gone before she could confirm it.

But the gun never went off. Instead, two strong hands wrapped around the man's head, twisting it harshly with a nauseatingly sharp crack. The peacekeeper collapsed to the ground with a harrowing thud, his entire body limp. Elara watched the whole display in imperishable horror.

Weston grimaced at his corpse as he landed by his feet. "Asshole."

"What the fuck did you do?!" Elara yelled, scrambling to her feet and shoving the man back.

Weston took a step back and furrowed his brows. "I just saved your ass since you can't keep yourself out of trouble for two goddamn minutes."

"This could've been it, it could've cleared my name and boosted the rebellion!" She exclaimed, agitatedly running her hands through her hair.

"All that would've done is please the rest of Panem that there was one less Snow to deal with." He scolded. "You know that shit."

Much to her dismay, he was right. She knew all too well that Panem didn't give two shits about her. Though still, she couldn't help mourning the plan that had made perfect sense in her head.

Staring down at the body, her fingers absentmindedly trying to clean up the rivers of blood rushing from her nose. "What do we do now?" She asked him quietly.

Weston didn't reply, simply yanking and successfully ripping off the sleeve of his black button up and folding it over a couple times. He looked ridiculous, with one long sleeve and no other but there had been more extravagant outfits in this world. His rough fingertips gently lifted her chin as he dabbed at the mess on her face with his makeshift cloth. "I'll deal with it." He said, finality in his tone. He was always cleaning up her messes. It wasn't fair, she wanted to express, though how she'd do so without sounding like an ungrateful child was beyond her.

Still, she didn't argue. Just nodded slightly, not moving too much since he was still trying to clean her up. "Let's get you home." He coaxed.

✩➵✩

Once she had delivered Leon's sweater with her head down to hide the bruising, too tender to cover with makeup just yet, Elara had settled on Weston's forest green couch beside him, sinking into the cushions and her eyes filling up with tears as he allowed her head to rest on his shoulder. She really was sick of it all. The rebellion was giving her hope that things could change, one day at least. She wasn't sure if she'd ever see it, but she wanted it. So desperately.

She was endlessly thankful for Weston. Without him, she'd be isolated. That impertinent swirl of guilt churned her stomach again at the thought of Bea and she had to squeeze her eyes shut in an attempt to shove it away.

Why did that have to be the day she left? Why couldn't it have been a good one?

Elara tossed the letter across the room, watching it bounce off the wall and hit the floor delicately, like the threat inside wasn't the heaviest message she'd received in a while. She could feel the impending doom already pushing on her shoulders, its claws curving into her flesh with a vice-like grip.

'My last letter stated that you should consider moving back home — to the Capitol. You disobeyed me again. My patience is beginning to wear thin, Elara.'

He didn't outright say he was going to kill someone but Elara could read between the lines enough. It was absolutely a threat. He just hated not getting his own way.

"El," Bea's voice drifted into the room, the stern tone making the twenty-one year old roll her eyes. Even at this age, the voice had her acting like a scorned teenager. "Don't roll your eyes at me, this is serious."

"Bea, you know this is pointless."

"I think maybe you should consider it."

Elara froze, trying to figure out if those words actually left her mouth. "You're kidding me, right?"

Bea shook her head and cut Elara off, knowing she was about to start yelling as her brows screwed together and her lips parted. "Just listen— One second please."

Elara rolled her lips together and nodded.

"When I lost Nysa, all those years ago, it was like my heart was ripped out of my chest. Then you were reaped and I spent every day away from you in paralyzing fear that I'd lose you too. And now the President is threatening you."

"They're baseless threats. He wouldn't dare!" El argued.

"You already know what he's capable of. He hurt his own son— your father! I'm sorry, El, but you are not sheltered from that man's harm." Bea emphasized each word, pushing her finger into her palm.

"So I'm supposed to... what? Roll over and run along back to that shitshow?!"

"I didn't say that—"

"You didn't have to." El shook her head. "I can't believe you right now."

"Elara." Bea inhaled. "I can't lose another child."

El winced discreetly at her words. She never met Nysa but she always wondered if Bea looked at her and that was who she saw. What she could've had with her actual daughter. She'd never given any clue to such a thought but it didn't stop her mind from wandering down into that dark, dark cave.

With a spiteful look and a hardened soul, El stared at the woman. "Then, it's a good job I'm not really your kid."

The shine appeared in Bea's eyes instantly but it was gone in a blink. Her steely expression was cemented in place as she scratched the back of her neck. "If that's how you feel." She nodded and left the room without a word.

It was the next morning that El woke to a note on her kitchen counter. Her name delicately inscribed across the top in that recognizable cursive handwriting. Bea was somewhere else now. She couldn't say where but she could say it was for her protection. If El really didn't want to go back to the Capitol, Bea couldn't force her.

'Promise me you'll stay safe, my girl. Because that's what you are. You're my girl. Nothing will ever change that.'

Elara had cried on the kitchen floor for at least an hour that day. What else could she do when she had no idea when she'd ever see the woman again. She could be dead for all she knew. It hurt too much.

Elara sniffled, praying Weston didn't try and ask what the matter was. If anything she'd expect he already knew, what with him and Bea getting on well. Her eyes fell on the small crystal glass on the table, the brown liquid inside untouched.

"Weston?" She asked, without looking at him. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Mhm." He hummed.

"It's a little personal."

"I think the only way we are getting rid of each other is by death. Ask me what you want." He grunted tiredly.

Elara sat up, shuffling around in order to face him before inhaling a deep breath. "Why pour the alcohol? You don't drink at all, I know that. I saw you toss it down the sink once. I just don't get the point."

Weston stilled, his eyes trained on the glass on the coffee table. Had she overstepped? Was he mad at her now? She was always saying the wrong thing, the thing that hurt the other the most. Like an idiot.

But then, Weston sighed, his eyes falling to his own hands, clasped together so tightly, as he spoke. "My dad used to drink that shit." He said, glaring at the drink like it had offended him in some way. "We didn't have much money growing up, like anyone here. But the spare money we did have would always go towards that. I'd go to school with gaping holes in my shoes because he spent the last of our cash that month on a bottle." He explained.

Elara frowned, but refused to say a word while he was talking. She didn't want to scare him off or jump to any conclusions so she let him speak freely.

"I thought maybe the drink took his mind off it. The money. He couldn't be harmed when he was drunk right? He was the strongest man alive." He chuckled bitterly, clenching his jaw so tightly Elara wondered if it might crack. "He'd test that theory on me and Ma. See how many bruises he could leave... Bones he could break. From seven years old that's all I knew. I was a kid and all I knew was pain."

He took another breath, like he was struggling to recount what he'd experienced. Elara could understand that. This was horrible. "When my name was called at sixteen? I was relieved." He confessed. "Relieved that I was free. That I didn't need to be afraid of that fucker anymore. Because he couldn't hurt me if I was dead. It was selfish, because I knew I'd be leaving my Ma but all I could see when I looked in the mirror was the shape of his fist staining my skin. I hated it." He swallowed.

"But then I won. I'm assuming you never saw my games," He said, checking her expression for an answer. Elara shook her head. "Right. I was...cruel. Ruthless. Did some pretty messed up shit. I'd used every drop of the anger he gave me and took it out on those poor kids. It took maybe three, four days but I... Alone, I just... I was so malicious they sent peacekeepers in to sedate me at the end. And because of all that, I was rewarded." He grimaced, shaking his head gently. "My father was a different person when I returned."

"'My boy's a winner.' That's what he'd tell people. 'I'm so proud of my son.'" Weston scoffed. "He was happy I'd brought home more money. That's it." He shuffled nervously, his eyes darting over to El. "Next bit doesn't matter."

"Why not?" She asked, softly.

"It's about your grandfather." He muttered quietly. Elara furrowed her brows. What did Gramps have to do with it? "He's still your family."

"You can tell me." She nodded. "I hate him enough already."

He nodded, swallowing around the lump in his throat before he continued. "I got a letter from President Snow. He wanted to... 'use my gifts.' He wanted to sell my body to members of the Capitol. 'An alluring young boy,' that's how he described me." Elara noticed the frustrated unshed tears in his eyes, matching the ones quickly forming in her own. "I refused. I sent him a risky letter back, told him to find a different puppet, and that I wasn't ever gonna belong to the Capitol." He shook his head, ashamed. "I found my parents dead the next morning."

Elara choked back a sob. Clarisse momentarily appeared in her mind. Her too, she deduced. She thought she couldn't hate Snow more. She was entirely wrong.

"They made it look like they took their own lives but the white rose on the floor gave it all away. I didn't really give a shit that he took another monster from the world, but Ma... She didn't deserve that." Resting his elbows on his knees, Weston sniffled. "I pour the drink because I need to prove to myself that I can look at it, even when I'm struggling, and not rely on it. That I can choose not to drink it because I don't wanna become him." He cleared his throat of the emotion lodged there. "That's why I never blamed you." He said, turning to El with his teary eyes, looking right into hers.

"Because I knew damn well that we are not the people that raised us. Not if we don't wanna be." His words were like a warm hug and gun shot all at once. They hit her in the chest with a force most likely able to sweep her off of her feet but the relief that followed. The peace. The loving embrace it provided was like no other. "At least, you aren't."

"You're nothing like him." She choked out, even though her voice shook and the lump in her throat refused to move. He had to hear it. "You're not him, Weston."

Brushing away a tear quickly with the back of his hand, he nodded. "Don't you ever compare yourself to that man again, you hear me?" He lectured, like a father would. "You are kind and caring and loving and gentle. You couldn't be like him if you tried. You understand?"

Elara nodded quickly. Weston beckoned her over with a nod of his head and she wasted no time before throwing her arms around his shoulders, her tears streaming silently down her cheeks. He deserved so much better than the life he was given. He was too good for this world, even if he didn't believe it.

"The announcement should be on in a second." Weston muttered, patting her back to let her know he was okay. "We missed the segment about Katniss' wedding dresses."

"Oh, how will we ever recover? You haven't exactly obeyed Snow's words today." Elara joked, wiping her cheeks. "What did you do with the body anyway?"

"Atlas visited. He gave me a hand." Weston said. "Shit! Atlas visited." While Elara turned on the screen, Weston reached into his back pocket for the folded over piece of paper. "Meant to give you this."

She glanced at the thing, noticing Finnick's writing like it was her own. Her hand snatched it away from him, opening it quickly like it held her fate. Ridiculous really, considering she hadn't responded to him in months.

Only a few words were scrawled across the page, but they twisted her lips into a smile all the same.

"Still being stubborn, Rosewood?
Love, Finn."

"What's your boyfriend saying? Anything good?" Weston asked, the smirk on his face audible in his tone.

"Shut up." She chuckled, shoving him with her shoulder as her grandfather approached his podium. "Dick." She muttered to herself at the sight of him. Weston chuckled as the two settled beside each other.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, this is the 75th year of the Hunger Games." The crowd erupted into cheers. "It was written in the charter of the games that every 25 years there would be a quarter quell to keep fresh for each new generation the memory of those who died and the uprising against the Capitol." He spoke proudly, the slight smile on his lips turning El's stomach. "Each quarter quell is distinguished by games of a special significance. And now, on this — the 75th anniversary of our defeat of the rebellion — we celebrate the third quarter quell."

The crowd cheered and clapped for their leader again, as the white haired man pulled a new card forward, lifting it so his old eyes could read better. "As a reminder that even the strongest can't overcome the power of the Capitol," He continued. His words felt aimed, personal even, making her bristle slightly beside Weston. The man leaned forward, his elbows back on his knees as he listened. "On this, the third quarter quell games, the male and female tributes are to be reaped from the existing pool of victors in each District."

She heard Weston before she herself reacted, because no. That couldn't be right. Surely, he was mistaken.

There was a ringing in her ears. She'd never felt so empty in her life but she knew she had to have been simply a hollow shell, because that ringing was so loud. It was echoing around her body like the church bells that toll at funerals, except they weren't stopping. Just over and over that constant chiming. Snow was still talking but she couldn't make out the words. She could faintly hear Weston's cursing but even that was muffled by the ringing.

She didn't even realize that she was crying, her trembling hand covering her mouth in disbelief. That fucker.

"That fucker." Weston echoed, his own eyes tearing up, at devastation or frustration — Elara wasn't sure — but something wasn't right. Was she dying? Could she feel her insides rotting?

"I can't breathe." She muttered.

"In and out, baby." She heard Cas chime in from behind her. "Don't you faint on me."

"Come on, El. You're being a baby." Tanner told her, suddenly sat with his legs swinging on the kitchen counter.

"Not real. Not real." She mumbled.

"They ain't there, El." Weston's arms wrapped around her in a secure embrace, holding her to his chest. "They ain't there."

She sobbed into his chest till her head hurt. He cried too. She felt his chest quivering with his breaths and the tears he didn't quite catch landing on her head and dampening her hair.

Elara had challenged Snow. "The Games are at the top of the list. You take someone else away, fine. It's not going to come close to that though." Was this her fault? Had she caused this?

Chapter Text

YOU'D THINK, SINCE SHE HAD DONE THIS BEFORE, Elara would have no problem at the reaping. It'd be easy. She knew what to expect and where to go.

That couldn't have been further from the truth.

From the moment the peacekeepers had collected her from her home and escorted her to the square, her stomach had been a tangle of knots. Each step was like another tug on either end of it, tightening more and more to the point of pain.

It was stupid, she'd decided. To try and conduct an orderly reaping ceremony when their district was filled with Rebels but they tried it anyway, unwilling to let the looming threat of destruction stop their silly ideals.

The suited guard beside her tried to grip her elbow, but she shook him off before he could get a hold on her. Weston, who'd refused to leave her alone, tried to switch sides but the peacekeeper on his right dragged him back into place.

Straight down the center of the crowd, the two walked, one after the other. The weight of every person's gaze pulled her own eyes to the floor. Their staring hurt. Like she was an outcast for being forced into this.

They were led onto the stage, Clarisse already waiting on her side with Leon writhing in her arms. Where Weston was escorted to, two older men— grey hairs and deep wrinkles— stood waiting. Tobin, still no more as fond of her as before, looked terrible. He wasn't doing too good. She knew that much at least.

Taking her place beside Clarisse, a soft smile spread over her lips as the young boy tugged on her hair. If Clarisse's name was called, and she didn't win... Leon wouldn't have either of his parents.

God-fucking-dammit.

Celiea entered the stage with a grim expression. It was nice to see her again, truly, but her red-rimmed eyes glanced around the crowd before landing on El and the breath was knocked from her lungs. With a wince, she turned away.

Straightening out her emerald, velvet suit jacket, Celiea approached the microphone. "Welcome District 8." She mustered up a smile, one that quivered ever so slightly before she pulled herself back together again. She pulled out her cards. "Welcome, as we celebrate the 75th anniversary, and third quarter quell, of the Hunger Games." Celiea shifted on her feet, her body language the most uncomfortable that El had ever seen her. "Ladies first." She forcibly smiled.

Turning to the side, she huffed loudly into the mic as she spotted the name bowl further than where it should be. Placing her hand over the metal grille, the same way she did at Elara's first reaping, she clicked her fingers a couple times to catch the man at fault's attention.

"Mikey!" She hissed. The man jumped up, bumbling and foolish. He stared at Celiea blankly, only jumping into gear when she gestured dramatically. "Bring over the bowl!"

Once it had finally been correctly positioned, Celiea's black gloved hand slipped inside the near empty bowl, hovering over the two slips of paper before she picked one up.

Elara's heart was in her throat, practically clogging her airways. She could hear every pump of the blood through her veins, each push almost strong enough to destroy her balance. If she died then, that'd take her out of the equation. But it'd leave Leon without a mother.

The paper unfolded and an almost incredulous breath of relief slipped from the woman's lips, so quietly. The only reason El heard it was because she was so focused on her.

"Clarisse Mallory." She said.

El's stomach bottomed out. She glanced at the woman, noting her teary eyes as she looked at her son, leaning forward to press their foreheads together.

As if able to sense exactly what was happening, Leon erupted into heavy sobs, throwing his arms around his mother's neck. He clung to her desperately and placed a kiss on her cheek as the peacekeepers ascended the stairs to collect him.

Clarisse turned to El. "Promise me." She mouthed, the devastation on her face enough to make her knees tremble.

She had to step up for Leon, right? Become a mother with no preparation and treat him as her own.

Elara stepped in front of the woman and her son. God, this was so stupid. With looks of confusion – and horror from Weston – burning into every inch of her skin, her lips moved faster than her mind could keep up. "I volunteer as tribute."

A chorus of gasps emanated from the crowd, though she knew it wasn't because they cared, and Elara pressed her eyes closed self-consciously; the judgment that would come from such an idea was something entirely unbearable.

"I—" Celiea stammered. Her gloved hand covered the microphone again as she leaned over. "El, what are you doing?"

Elara shook her head, a silent order for her not to try and intervene as she joined her side. Sending a wobbly smile in Clarisse's direction, she ignored the mix of horror and gratitude in the mother's expression and looked forward. Let the cameras capture this moment. She was not crying. She was not going to show fear for his enjoyment.

She wasn't even picked. Whether or not that's what he wanted, she didn't care. She was taking part either way.

Letting her eyes scan the solemn crowd, El's eyes caught on the two stood together in the back. The two that weren't really there. Caspian held Tanner's hand, his thumb moving back and forth over his skin. He smiled at her, raising his other hand for a sarcastic seeming wave. "Loved it that much last time, huh?" He asked loudly. She knew no one else could hear him. He was all in her mind. But that didn't stop his words from hitting her like bullets. "Had to go again?"

Celiea gulped, audible to El, as she turned to the second bowl, her hand hovering above the three pieces of parchment with clear hesitation before she snatched one of them and read the name. Elara steeled her expression, giving nothing away, not until Celiea spoke.

"Tobin Mackerin."

The breath she was holding had barely managed to slip past her slips before his goddamn voice was announcing in a sort of grunt. "I volunteer as tribute."

Celiea's head dropped between her shoulders as El's head jerked his way, her gaze darting to Weston. "You can't."

"You're a goddamn idiot if you think I'm letting you do this alone."

"Weston—"

"Enough." He said, tenaciously.

Sobering her expression and smiling widely, Celiea nodded. "Our two brave tributes from District 8. Elara R—" Her hand reached out, fingers linking with El's as she spoke with a grimace at the words she had to say. "Elara Snow and Weston Ellis."

There was an uncomfortable silence throughout the district. Despite being a victor, she wasn't welcome there. They weren't going to be mourning her loss. Maybe Weston's. He was good to them after all.

The peacekeepers stepped forward, their firm grip wrapping around her elbow— one she shrugged off quickly with a harshly snapped, "I can walk."

"No goodbyes this time." He explained. Weston scoffed.

"That's fine." Elara nodded. "Don't have anyone to say goodbye to anyways." As soon as the words had slipped from her lips, her gaze shot to Weston's. Did anyone else have contact with Bea? Did she know?

✩➵✩

"You two are the most stubborn little shits I've ever had to be in charge of." Celiea huffed, fiddling with her silver cufflinks as the tributes sat in silence.

Elara understood why she was mad. She was just trying to do her job. She asked them which of the remaining tributes they wanted as a mentor and the two being themselves had shaken their heads and refused. "I don't want a mentor. I'm fine." They'd said. Celiea had protested and told them it was just protocol, they didn't need to actually listen but they'd demanded to be alone. El pitied the woman.

"Sorry." They mumbled together, like scolded children.

"I don't care. God, why did you both have to volunteer?" She muttered angrily at the wall by the drinks cart, flicking the top off of a bottle of whiskey and filling a small glass to the brim.

"Isn't this good for you?" Elara asked, curiously. "This is good for your position, getting two non-careers to volunteer? Impressive feat."

Swallowing half the glass and slamming it back on the counter, Celiea turned, her expression more furious than any other time she'd seen. "Are you kidding?"

Under her scrutinizing gaze, El suddenly felt small. She shook her head quickly.

"I care about you two idiots. I shouldn't pick favorites but I did because it's you two. Now I have to go through this shit again. With people who've already done it before. It's bullshit."

Celiea shoved her hands over her face, the usually calm and collected woman suddenly emotional and throwing the others off balance. Elara didn't hesitate to push up from her seat and dart across the room, throwing her arms around her waist and laying her cheek on her back. Celiea chuckled slightly, placing a hand over El's and glaring at Weston. "You're not gonna hug me?"

"Thought you hated 'em?" He asked, a hint of a smirk playing on the corners of his mouth.

"Well, I can tolerate them for you dumbasses."

"Rude." El muttered into her shirt.

"My love will not merely be tolerated." Weston demanded, rather dramatically.

"Alright. Now get over here before I have to get professional again." She ordered, grinning wildly when Weston stood with a grunt, his large arms long enough to wrap around the both of them.

When they'd returned to their seats, Celiea cleared her throat and reclined in her own plush armchair, folding her arms across her chest. Weston and Elara glanced at each other, both suspicious.

"Are you gonna explain or...?" Elara asked.

"Of course I am." She sat forward, her elbows on her knees. "Either of you two heard the whispers of rebels?"

"Have you been near District 8 lately? There's a whole ass uprising going on back there."

"There's been other... rumors." Celiea began, her words careful.

"What kind of rumors?"

"Rumors of a full-blown rebellion." She told them. "A couple of districts are involved. So far I think there's 3, 4, 6, 7 and 11. Now, you guys if you want."

"I want to." El nodded quickly. Weston agreed, though she wasn't sure if that was really what he wanted or if he was following her plan on everything.

"Good. They have a face for it too. Our mockingjay." She grinned. "Katniss Everdeen."

She didn't know her, not at all, save for the few encounters and little information she'd learned, but she knew of everything she'd done to that point, fueling a domino effect of mutiny and giving hope to the struggling members of Panem. Even if she was momentarily being used as her grandfather's puppet. "Big job for a girl her age."

Weston flicked open the bottle of whiskey, pouring himself a glass. Watching the amber liquid rise made her stomach twist painfully, everything he had said rushing back like a tsunami. "We sure she can handle it?" Weston asked.

"Of course we are."

"Well, I—" Weston elbowed her before going back to swirling his glass. "We want to help."

Nodding, Celiea ran over their "plan": everything they had so far which was pretty much just 'escape the arena with Katniss alive'. "Oh and that's another thing." Celiea remembered. "Katniss doesn't and can't know."

"What?"

"She's a little hot-headed. And a terrible actress. Could mess up this entire plan. With Snow constantly on her ass she's probably watched even more than you."

He had been a little quiet since the stupid party. She told him to back off and he did. Why did that scare her even more?

"So... Quarter Quell? What's it like?" Elara asked, leaning against the arm of her chair.

"Imagine your games but flipped on its goddamn head." Weston said simply.

"It's all different. The Capitol throws as much cash in as possible. Rather than, you know, feeding the districts, they prefer to ramp up the stakes to an already insane death game."

Nodding like she expected such an answer, Elara sighed. "Of course they do."

✩➵✩

The room closed in on Elara far too often for her liking. Her breath was frantic and she could practically hear her own heartbeat in her ears. The walls were nearing her panicking form— curled up in a ball on the couch— her vision blurring in and out of focus. Caspian twiddled a lock of her hair between his fingers. He was always there in those moments. The ones when she was struggling.

Tanner didn't appear as often, maybe that's because he didn't die by her hand, but when he was around, he was so much kinder. She wasn't sure why her subconscious had made Caspian a villain.

"To try and justify the knife you put in my heart." He muttered quietly, like she'd said everything aloud.

"Go away. Please leave me alone." She whispered.

"That just doesn't happen. I'm always around, remember? It's been seven years, Elara. I'm permanent."

"It used to be once a month— Why are you here every day?"

"You're descending into madness, my love."

"Not real. You're not real."

"No. That's because I'm dead." He reached over, intertwining all their fingers and his firm hand was warm. He squeezed it once, twice, before turning to her again. "You murdered me."

"No!"

The door crashed against the wall as Weston burst in, worry and anxiety written across his face like a book she'd read over and over again.

"I'm okay." She shook her head but even as she tried to speak the words came out breathless.

"I know. Deep breaths. Focus on that breathing, El." He crouched in front of her, taking her hands in his. Moving it gently, he placed her own hand on her chest again. "Count the beats."

Boom, boom, boom. Racing thuds against her ribs, she counted every hit, hanging onto it like a life source. Her eyes shut tightly — anything to will that ghost away.

"Open up." Weston coaxed, his soft voice so opposing to the gruff and blunt man he presented himself as. "Better?" He asked.

Elara nodded, exhaling carefully, as if she wanted to prove the fact. If that was proof of anything, she was in danger. Playing a game where alertness was vital when she was constantly entering a self-destructive world of lies was an issue in and of itself.

"What's on your mind, kiddo?" He asked, taking a seat beside her.

"I'm a Snow." She muttered, though part of her was eager to get him off of her back. It was an ugly, stubborn part of herself but there was no surgically altering that trait.

"Okay?"

"They're all gonna want to kill me first. They always have."

Nudging her slightly, Weston smiled. "Not everyone."

"Point is I wouldn't stand out anymore if I painted a bright red target on my back." She huffed.

"I wouldn't recommend that," He chuckled, making Elara roll her eyes at him. "Why are you even worrying? We have an in, El."

"What are you talking about?"

"The rebellion." He explained. "We're all allies. No matter what. No matter how bad the Rebels hate you, they won't kill you."

Raking her fingers through her hair, Elara nodded. She knew trust was going to be a big part of this thing but since the moment she'd been crowned as victor, she hadn't trusted easily. Well... apart from Finnick. He was the exception.

"We can go through the Reapings whenever you're ready. Take your time. This is a lot." Weston said, standing from the ground and slumping beside her.

He was right. It was a lot. Every second that passed, she was just waiting for her eyes to spring open and she'd be back in her bed, where she'd spent the most of her bad days, rereading every word Finnick had sent her over the years. So, she might have had a sort of affection for the letters and saved them all. That wasn't a crime.

Her fingers slipped over her arm, tracing the pale line of skin where she'd etched the memory of the games that they tried to remove. She found herself tracing it often, like how some people whispered mantras under her breath. Odd that the thing that kept her going was one of the things that destroyed a part of her but it was a reminder. A reminder she'd survived.

"I'm ready now." She confirmed.

Weston set up the screen while she snacked on the blueberries that were on the coffee table. They had a pot of chamomile tea and strong coffee (she avoided that), like they were at some sort of resort, alongside a mixture of all kinds of fruit and treats. Bribery, she assumed.

"Alright, up first," He switched the screen on and two strong, similar looking and extremely familiar tributes appeared. Elara reached for another blueberry, finding the bowl empty and huffing to herself. Her eyes caught on the sugar bowl beside the drinks and she plucked a cube and popped it into her mouth. "Cashmere and Gloss." He introduced, throwing his legs up on the edge of the table. Elara, conscious of the food she kept stealing, slapped them down, earning a half-hearted glare.

"District 1?"

"You got it. Brother and sister too."

"Did they volunteer?"

"Not this time round." Weston snatched a bag of chips, opening them and tossing one into his mouth. "Bad luck, I guess. They won back-to-back games."

Elara nodded, as the screen switched and two new people showed up. A bald man, hugely built with eyes angry and dangerous as if he was already seeing his victims, stood beside a beautiful looking woman. Elara almost underestimated her for the second time until she smiled, her lethal looking grin perfected with her razor sharp set of teeth. "Enobaria." She pointed out.

"Yep. And that's Brutus. He volunteered. Crazy son of a bitch." Weston muttered, chuckling quietly when Elara snorted at his words.

Snacking on a grape now, Weston clicked the remote again and Beetee and Wiress took over the screen, glancing around nervously. "No way," El frowned. She'd met them a number of times and though they'd been a little stand offish at first, as expected, they were nothing but kind.

"Unfortunately. They're involved with us though so we gotta hope they'll have some crazy genius plan."

When Weston pressed the button again, Elara's heart stopped before restarting, tripping over itself at a ridiculous pace. "Holy fuck."

This time Weston snorted, receiving a deserved slap to the chest that made him choke on the salted chip he was mid-way through swallowing. "I know it's the Hunger Games but I didn't think you wanted me dead that badly."

"Not funny." She said, though her eyes were still glued to the screen— paused on his face. "Finnick's going in?"

"Yup. Lover-boy's gonna have the shock of the century seeing you after you ghosted the guy."

Her head snapped to him, eyes wide as she registered what he'd said. "Excuse me?"

Chuckling to himself, Weston watched her brows screw together as she wracked her brain for how he'd know. "El, please. I have eyes. You think I didn't see your little 'Peacekeeper Pal' Atlas sneaking around your house? Or that I wouldn't then ask him what he was doing?"

"And he just told you?! What a little—"

"Oh, I had to pry it out of the guy. I think I scared him. But when I watched him deliver letters and never take any back with him, I put two and two together..." He cleared his throat. "You wanna... talk about it?"

"God, no."

"Thank god." He nodded, pressing play again. "You know who that is?"

The timid ginger girl sobbing made her heart sink. Not Annie. There was no time to dwell, however, as the older woman beside her raised her hand with sheer determination, pointing to herself. "Mags... Flanagan. Right?"

"That's the one." He sighed, suddenly sad. "She's a nice lady. Sort of reminds me of my Ma. Sort of sad too. She was a mentor in the last quell."

"To who?"

"Haymitch Abernathy."

Finnick wrapped his arms around the nimble woman, gratitude in his eyes as he pressed a kiss to the top of her gray head of hair. She chose to ignore the way her heart soared at that. It was like it was on a goddamn rollercoaster. She needed to pull herself together

"You remember Wyatt Frost, I'm assuming." Of course she did. He fumbled his way through his interviews with an acting skill she was incredibly impressed by. No one thought he was going to make it. Not until he stealthily took out the remaining seven tributes with throwing stars after hiding in a cave for the first half. He'd suffered his way through a landscape of total snow. Poor guy. "And Illari." Another stealthy one. She squeezed the juice of nightlock berries that she'd found in a bag from the Cornucopia into her sleeping opponents mouths.

Blade and Mercedes Crawley, a married couple that found each other through their victories. He was reaped and she volunteered so he wasn't alone. The tragedy of it all made her palms sting.

Blight and Johanna Mason. One of the only tributes that didn't hate her guts. They had a rocky start but all it took was an accidental glare she'd sent Snow's way and they were chatting away like they'd been dear friends for years. Johanna knew far too much of her disdain for the President than was safe.

She didn't know many of the others too well. She knew of Yurei and how dangerous she was for a tribute from 10 and Damien Groves had made himself known when he'd tried to flirt with her at a party, only to high-tail it straight out of there when he realized she was the Elara.

Peeta Mellark, the baker's boy, and Katniss Everdeen, the Mockingjay. Star-crossed lovers. Or so they claimed.

Switching off the screen, Weston sighed. "So that's the competition. How're you feeling?"

"Like Snow is gonna realize I'm planning to join a rebellion as soon as he sees me."

"He won't." He promised. "I'm gonna see if I can find out more of the plan. Then, I'll let you know what's going on, okay?"

She nodded, picking at her thumbnail as he strode away. This was torture. That's how it felt. The idea of being back in an arena, maybe needing to kill other people for their entertainment.

But it wasn't like that this time. She was going to be fine. They were going to fight until they had the opportunity to get Katniss out alive. Whenever that might be. And if she could even survive long enough to reach that point.

For a brief second, she had a thought that made a wave of nausea crash into her, the blueberries she'd just swallowed threatening to make an appearance again. It was disgusting. Completely cruel and a dreadful betrayal of herself. A flickering speck of relief was igniting but she defused it before it could grow.

I want to kill Snow, she thought.

I want to watch him bleed.

✩➵✩

Her role was simple. Keep Katniss alive, by any means necessary. They were forming the plan to escape the arena which sent a foolish surge of hope through her ribs but she didn't push it away. They had a large team of victors willing to do this. They were going to fight back.

"Where's my girl?" Valeria's sing-song voice called out, entering the room and laying eyes on her. "Oh, my darling, it's been far too long."

"I'll say." She smiled, sinking into the hug from the woman as she held her tightly.

"I've been brought up to speed and don't you worry, I've pulled out all the stops for you." She grinned, swiping El's nose. "After Cinna dropped my jaw with the girl on fire, I've had to up my game. I mean— Textiles?! What am I supposed to do with that?" She ranted. Elara chuckled and let her continue before she revealed the outfit. "Do you like it?" She asked, self-consciously.

"Val." The word left her in a breath. In front of her was a dress. Its corset bodice, with a collection of types of stitching to sew the gold detailing to its ivory base, was atop a skirt with many fabrics. The gold train matched the torso but the skirt beneath it... A beautiful mixture of different shades of white, layered fabrics with that signature slit up her thigh. Upon further inspection, Elara found the burgundy color she'd worn all those years ago, hidden on her hip. She crouched in front of the dress, turning it inside out to reveal the small patch of red and raising a brow at Val.

"It's— It was the fabric from Tanner's suit. I've got you a holster for your thigh where you can have this." She handed her a seam ripper. "Whenever you're ready, you just cut the thread on your hip and the fabric should spill out. I wanted to add it to represent when you got your scar back. You took your choices back." She shrugged.

The ever-growing lump in her throat swelled along with her heart, the thoughtfulness of the outfit making her eyes fill. "This is insane." She beamed.

"A little. The other people might not get it but you will. He will. Your friends will. Just the essentials," She grinned. "One more surprise!" She guided her to the back of the dress, showing off the strings of the corset.

"I'm confused."

"Recognize these?" She lifted the ribbons to tie the corset together and it was like the dam broke. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks as she realized. They were made from the belt of Bea's dress. The belt she'd forgotten before Elara had been reaped— the first time. "She's with you, El. She believes in you."

"How did you get this?" Elara turned, seeking answers from Valeria's honest eyes. "Please. Where is she? How is she?"

"Oh, El," she began, her tone full of pity. Looking around nervously, Val bit her lip. "She's—" As her lips parted, the words died on her tongue when Celiea walked into the room, lighting a cigarette. Dead. She's dead, Elara concluded. She'd thought about it. Never had the guts to think further, so she'd accepted it a long time ago, unbeknownst to herself. It was only a matter of time before she joined the ghosts.

"Babe, have you seen—" Celiea spotted Elara and her eyes widened. "Shit."

"Oh, who cares? Elara doesn't."

"Well actually—" She started. It was about time they got together in all honesty. The way they acted every time they were in a room together... She'd not known any alternative but love.

"Nope. Change. Now." Val ordered, only turning and skipping over to Celiea once El had started to move. She threw her arms around the woman and pushed their lips together, tugging a tiny smile across Elara's lips.

✩➵✩

Walking over to her chariot was so much easier than she'd expected. She forgot that the members of the Capitol didn't have as much of a problem with her as the Districts tended to, but that was because they loved Snow. As his grandchild, they thought she was just like them. She wasn't. She never would be. Still that shouted their support from above as she passed through the tunnel, heading across the grounds to her chariot.

Seeing Weston in fine garments brought a wide teasing smile to her face, making him shoot her an irritated glare as she approached. "Don't."

"You look great!" She told him. He really did. Ivory suit with gold detailing, he was a long way from his usual dark clothing and signature ratty old coat.

"I look like a damn fool."

Chuckling, she glanced across the courtyard, passing over the scattered crowds of people. It was a lot more relaxed this time round, what with the victors knowing each other. They were chatting avidly in groups, never addressing the fact they could be dead in the coming days. As she observed, her eyes caught and stuck to Katniss as the girl approached her own chariot. Completely alone. Guilt brimmed in her stomach, threatening to climb her throat and poison her tongue. "Be right back."

"El, maybe you shouldn't—"

She was already gone. Striding across the yard and nearing her with cautious determination. Maybe she could hint that she was her ally, somehow. Her friend.

"Katniss?" She said, softly, watching her stroke a delicate hand over the horse's soft fur, giving Elara a quick glance before she turned away. Something dark seemed to cloak her face, but her movements never altered.

"Can I help you?" She asked bluntly. Elara winced at her tone.

"Just— Came to say good luck. And sorry... about your wedding."

"Is that a message from the old man?" Katniss' words. So similar to her own.

"What?" El took a step back, confusion washing over her and contorting her face. "No. Why would it be?"

"Oh, I'm sure it's all clear for you. You had to come and keep an eye on me. Makes sense that you'd volunteer."

"Hey!" She snapped, wincing in frustration at her own inability to control her emotions. "I volunteered because—"

"Elara!" Weston called out.

She watched him beckon her back before sighing heavily. "Stay safe. Okay? I mean that." She nodded, keeping her eyes on the floor as she turned away.

Her defeat truly screwed her over as she took a few steps away, only to collide with a body. Her cheeks lit up with pink as she steadied herself against the man's bare chest, his hands on her arms, not quite wanting to meet his gaze. But she did. She dragged her gaze up and over his smooth skin, meeting those sea green eyes and feeling her stomach bottom out.

"Finnick," She muttered with a sort of wonderment.

A flicker of surprise and what seemed to be relief flashed in his eyes before his signature flirtatious smile returned, his eyes darting over her. "Rosewood," He drawled. "You look," He took a moment to assess her, "Interesting."

That wasn't quite what she was hoping for. Raising a brow at his choice of words, she stepped back, out of his reach and narrowed her dark eyes at him. "Funny. I was going to say the same thing about you." She said pointedly at his distinct lack of clothes.

"I run hot." He lifted a shoulder in indifference. Nodding nervously, she made a move to step past him, but he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, his brow raising. "Easy... It's been a while, don't you think?"

"Sure has." She said, with no further explanation. She knew what he was implying. No letters.

He chuckled a deep laugh that seemed to flow through her ears and reverberate off of each of her bones making her shiver at the sound. "Sugar cube?" He asked, lifting the small, white cube up to her face.

She reached for it, always a sweet tooth, but he moved it away and nodded at her mouth with that goddamn smile that only meant trouble. She knew the moves to this dance, having performed it so many times over the years, and sighed, hiding the urge to smile. That was a dance for them, though. She wasn't used to the heat filling her cheeks or the feeling of everyone's eyes burning into their skin as she gave in, parting her lips and letting him place it on her tongue, his smile softening so slightly that she wouldn't be surprised if no one else caught it. She did, though. She always would.

With a mumbled thanks, she stormed away, her cheeks ablaze as she joined Weston's side. A knowing smirk played on his lips as he opened his mouth to speak. She shook her head angrily. "Don't."

Valeria rushed over to them with a distinguished impatience, her bubblegum colored lipstick slightly smudged as she beamed at them. Weston cleared his throat when Elara ducked her head, hiding her smile. "What?"

Using her thumb to indicate the problem on her own face, El chuckled as Val's eyes popped open and she hurriedly wiped it away.

"My apologies." She offered them an awkward smile. "Now, Weston." The man looked at her, his expression flat. "Perfect. Don't change. Elara, you remember your previous persona?"

Elara was the Capitol's flower. Their rose. Delicate and fragile, though outwardly protective, until she entered that arena and they realized she wasn't as pure as she seemed.

"You can't be that anymore." Val said bluntly. "You don't want to be here? Show them that. You can act better than it. Like it's light work. Like it's boring. You are no longer their flower, you are their thorn. Catch them off guard. Hit 'em where it hurts." She tapped the golden holster— that looked more like a garter— on her thigh and let her lips tip upwards. "You know what to do."

Nodding with resolve, Elara focused on her breathing. In. Out.

"Deep breaths. Come on, Rosewood. Breathe for me."

Finnick's past words echoed in her mind and, despite her refusal to believe that helped, she felt her panic fade, her hands clenched tightly at her sides. Her nails left their deep crescent-shaped grooves in her palms and she found herself tracing the curves with her finger.

Weston's large, warm hand encircled her own, stopping her assault on the flesh, as the chariot began to move. They kept their expressions stoic, riding forward and at halfway, Elara knew it was time.

She met her grandfather's smug stare head-on, reaching for the seam ripper and harshly dragging it across her hip. The flow of maroon silk seeped from the rip like blood from a wound, standing firmly out against the rest of her ivory outfit. Weston squeezed her hand again, a silent show of support, as they turned.

She broke eye contact with Snow with ease. She didn't need his approval or lack thereof. This wasn't for him. It wasn't until the chariots came to a stop that she realized something else had fluttered from the gash in her dress.

Following their path, trampled on by the other horse and chariots, was a path of wilted rose petals.

White wilted rose petals.

Chapter Text

TRAINING | DAY ONE

WALKING BACK INTO THAT ROOM, although it had changed a lot since her games, was like walking straight into her past. She half expected to turn around and see Tanner following her eagerly, or Caspian watching her from across the room with his large arms folded across his chest. Well... that was still a possibility in her condition.

Weston had disappeared to go wield some axes, probably with Johanna, who she still hadn't had a chance to see. She'd heard about her friend's little... performance — so to speak — in the elevator. Stripping in front of two tributes and their escort was nothing but bold and so authentically Johanna. That's probably why she loved her so much.

She wandered around the room, trying to find a place she'd fit in but not exactly succeeding in that task. Cashmere and Gloss were practically unmoving from the knife throwing station so Elara retracted right back to Weston's side, feeling like a child.

"Elara Rosewood." Johanna beamed in that smug looking grin as her axe dangled at her side. "Get your ass over here."

Elara grinned and moved forward, a hand curling around Johanna's wrist as the woman swung the axe at her. "Trying to take me out already?"

"Just have to make sure you've still got it." She shrugged, picking up an axe and handing it to her. "You've still got it." She confirmed. "Me and Westie, here, have been having a little axe throwing competition."

Weston was sitting on the floor, huffing and puffing in pants as he tried to collect his breath. "You." He pointed at Johanna, making the smug smile on her face stretch even further. "You are ridiculously quick with that thing."

"You're not so bad yourself, you know?"

He stretched out an arm for Elara to take and help him up again. "God, I'm too old for this shit."

The women chuckled, Elara still testing the weight of the axe in her hand. There was a sickening sensation shooting through her arm. It zipped through her chest and down the other arm, her fingertips tingling at the feeling. The familiarity of the weapon. The right weight. She liked it.

Her eyes flicked across the room to where Katniss was chatting quietly to Beetee and Wiress. The group turned towards the large room of Capitol officials above them, Plutarch front and center, and Elara followed their gaze. She wasn't sure what they were noticing, not at her angle. When she gave up trying to understand, in amongst one of the split seconds as she turned, she could've sworn Plutarch's suit warped slightly. She shook her head dismissively.

Without ever having really used it, Elara dropped her axe back where Johanna grabbed it from and moved across the room, almost completely passing Mags until she stepped back and watched her fingers. She was crafting an intricate fish hook, something she'd be used to doing back in her own district, and Elara watched quietly. The older woman shot her a few curious glances but no words were said. Not until Elara moved forward and gently tapped her shoulder.

Mags turned, looking up at Elara with that gentle smile she always sported. "Thank you." She muttered. The older woman's brows screwed together but Elara clarified, "For volunteering for Annie."

She shook her head with a smile, taking Elara's hand in one of her own and using the other to cover it.

"Why would you thank me?" Elara asked. Mags raised her shoulders almost nonchalantly before she nodded her head off to the right.

Following her gaze, Elara saw it. Only for a brief second before he was relaxing his features into that easy going smirk he usually had. Finnick stood off to the side watching them, his smile pure and admiring. She wasn't sure how long he'd been standing there but when Elara looked for him, he turned away.

"I haven't done anything for him." She told Mags when she'd tugged her gaze away.

The older woman shook her head, denying her any doubt, before tapping Elara's chest, right over her heart. That confused her. Her foolish heart had stayed locked away for the last seven years. What had it done to help anyone?

She parted from Mags, leaving her alone as she continued surveying the room. It was only day one. She'd start properly training tomorrow. For now, she was content with simply wandering around the room, picking out the spots she'd attempt to visit. Noticing the trident in the corner, her curiosity got the better of her, her legs moving before she could even tell herself to stop.

She reached out, hand closing around the bar right as another covered her own. She didn't even have to look. She could smell him. Sea salt and sugar. Sweetened ocean waves. It made her head fuzzy.

Turning to meet his gaze, though never removing her hand from the trident, she raised a brow. "Did you run over here to stop me taking it?"

"Of course not." He shrugged but he looked away on the last word. "I was on my way over here. This was put in for me, you know that right?"

"I had a feeling. Doesn't matter though. I grabbed it first."

"Doesn't mean it belongs to you. It's my signature."

"Who's to say I wouldn't be better at it?"

He smirked and Elara felt her legs wobble — something she chose not to acknowledge. "Fair point." Instead of letting go, Finnick let his hand run over her own, pausing there and letting his thumb move across her skin. "Show me how it's done." He muttered lowly.

Elara's breath was still, her brown eyes glued to his green ones, before the air rushed out of her lungs once he stepped back. She furrowed her brows, letting her gaze flick down, up, down, up before shaking her head.

"What?" He asked curiously.

"Just—" She shrugged. "Trying to figure you out."

There was enough there for him to throw in another flirty remark but he didn't. Not that time. Quieting and nodding, he tilted his head in the direction of the holograms.

She raised the trident over her shoulder, pulling it up and lining up her shot. Her hand was shaking, she could feel it, but Finnick was nice enough not to point it out. Once she was happy with her aim, she drew her arm back but Finnick's gentle hand moved around her forearm. "You're a little slanted." He said.

He moved in front of her, his eyes sliding across her simply to check her stance and yet Elara felt her entire body heat up. She didn't like it. How vulnerable she felt around him. How he seemed to have control over her without even realizing it.

Reaching towards her torso, he paused, bright eyes meeting hers. "Can I?" He asked, his voice low but soft. Holy fuck. She nodded.

Large warm hands pressed against either side of her ribs, turning her more at an angle, and sending her brain into a sort of haze. It was odd. Caspian had done a similar thing once upon a time. That hadn't made her feel like... this.

He'd bring that up next time he appeared, she was sure of it.

"You want to keep this arm a little higher." Finnick instructed, gently pushing her arm up beside her head. "When you throw it, try to step into it. With this leg." He crouched a little and tapped her left thigh. Elara kept her gaze glued to his as he stood tall, somehow breathless by this point despite hardly doing a thing.

A lock of hair had fallen from her ponytail, covering her eye. His finger curled around it, delicate and light as he raised it up, his eyes narrowed in concern. It wasn't until the gentle brush of his thumb traced the line of her cheekbone that she realized the bruising was still a vividly obvious purple stain on her skin. Val had covered it for the chariot rides and she'd done the same, though to a lower quality, on Reaping day. Now, it was a spectacle for all.

"What happened?" He muttered, as if he wasn't even bothered by their near proximity. Meanwhile, Elara wasn't sure how much oxygen was left in the room. She didn't even realize when her own arm had returned to her side instead of the position it should've been in.

"I don't know when to stop." She shrugged, not wanting to incriminate herself or, perish the thought, Weston.

His brows stayed furrowed, those seas of green washing over every inch of the bruise along with his featherlight touch. "Who did this?" He asked calmly. He met her gaze then, choosing not to comment when she inhaled sharply.

"Does it matter?"

"Does to me." He said without hesitation. Her heart was practically jack-hammering inside her chest cavity but she refused to think about what that could be. What it inevitably meant. She never said she was a genius. "Who was it?"

With her voice no more than a whisper, Elara shook her head discreetly. "There's no threat, Finn. Not anymore."

Appearing unconvinced, Finnick studied her a minute longer than he should've before he nodded quickly back. As quick as it had appeared, the seriousness — that he had suddenly harbored — dissipated, being replaced, instead, with a genuine smile curving his lips. "Finn." He mumbled to himself as he picked up that lock of hair again. He tucked it behind her ear, before raising her arm back into position and stepping aside with a satisfied nod. "Give it a go."

Mentally checking off everything he'd said with great difficulty — still reeling from being so close to him — she followed it through, throwing the trident and stepping into the shot. Her eyes didn't move from the spear as it flew through the air, crashing through the moving hologram and making it burst into a hundred tiny cubes.

She spun, beaming brightly. Finnick matched the expression, clapping slowly with a nod. "That was good."

"Better than you?"

He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head, as if he was trying to let her down gently. "I mean... I did have to fix your stance. You only hit it because I helped you."

Her jaw fell, making his grin widen, as he chuckled. "Alright." He nodded. "Better than me."

✩➵✩

TRAINING | DAY TWO

Cashmere and Gloss were back at the knife throwing station sending a rush of irritation through her. Didn't they ever do anything else? It was bad enough having to spend lunch with them; someone had the bright idea to pull the tables all together. So everyone could interact, they'd said. Finnick stole the spot beside her before Johanna could reach it and Mags, of course, sat beside him. The two from District 1 sat in the center, chatting with Brutus who also was hesitant to interact with everyone else. They weren't exactly antisocial. They just didn't like her.

She picked up the last sword on the stand, flipping it over in her hands as she wondered if she should use it or stick to her preferred weapons of choice. A hand came over her shoulder, tapping her gently and making her spin quickly, slightly cautious. The man from District 5 waved, his demeanor a little awkward, before clearing his throat. "Can I— uh— borrow that?"

"Sure." She held the sword out as he flinched back.

"Sorry. Everyone else here that I've spoken to has been a little... temperamental." He took the sword before holding out his free hand. Steady. Calm. "Wyatt Frost."

"Elara R—" She couldn't lie to him. Not when he was being so nice. "Snow." She finished.

Wyatt didn't even bat an eye, taking her hand in his and shaking it firmly. "Pleasure to meet you beforehand. You're one of the good ones, Elara."

"The good what?"

He smiled, raising his shoulders in a sort of shrug before slipping past her to do his training. The whole situation was odd and his words sent a cold shiver down her spine at the thought of being uninformed. She hated that feeling. The feeling of everyone else understanding what was going on and her without the faintest idea.

She felt nauseous.

Weston passed her, placing a hand on her back as he walked, just a quick brush as if to ask how she was. She nodded quickly, assuring him she was fine before her eyes fell right back on the Careers that still hadn't moved.

Oh, fuck it.

Storming over with determination propelling her forward, Elara moved behind the two tall blondes, tapping the one closest that happened to be Gloss. He glanced over his shoulder briefly, barely acknowledging her before turning away again. "Excuse me. I just wanna use the knives."

"Yeah? Sounds nice." Gloss said, his voice bored. Cashmere chuckled and picked up another blade, loosely flipping it over in her palm.

"Look, dude, just move along," She started, gesturing in the rest of the room's general direction. "There are other people who wanna use this station. We're all in the same fucking boat."

"Not all of us." Cashmere shrugged, chuckling when her brother did.

"Gonna use that card?" Gloss asked, one brow raised.

"What card?"

"The 'President's grandchild' card." Cashmere chuckled. "I'm sure having the last name Snow does you all sorts of favors."

"Like winning the games."

The siblings seemed to take turns in taunting her and, although she was managing to keep herself contained, she felt that simmering frustration bubbling beneath the top layer of her skin, making her fingertips prickle and her cheeks warm. "Are you implying something?"

"Just that... maybe your win wasn't as honorable as it was made out to be." Cashmere explained quietly.

"You didn't deserve it." Gloss added.

Elara smiled but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "If you say so." The words tasted bitter on her tongue. "If you say so." Her grandfather's voice echoed throughout the emptiness of her chest, making her dizzy. She was just like him.

"She killed five people. I'd say that was a deserving win." An unfamiliar voice came from behind her.

Elara smiled a little wider and nodded her head to the side. "Go try something else. It'll still be here when you're done." She told them, the way an adult would calm a child.

When she turned, a small genuine chuckle ripped from her chest at the sight of the unexpected partner. Peeta smiled kindly, his whole sense of being emanating a sort of golden haze. "They're something, huh?" He asked.

"I'll say. You didn't have to step in then, but thank you." She nodded politely, ready to turn away. He was nice but she could understand why he'd avoid her. She wouldn't take his leave personally.

He waved her off. "Maybe, as a thanks, you could teach me how to throw?" He asked hesitantly. With anyone else she'd have probably laughed in their face but Peeta was nice. He was an impressive sort of being that she knew would go far. He had many talents, from what she'd seen the year before. She could recall his camouflage and his strength. He had a knack for tricking other tributes, convincing them he was on their side before he flipped. That gave her just a momentary pause before she shook it away. The least she could do was teach him one extra skill.

"Grab a blade." She gestured to the stand of sleek blades.

She spent some time helping Peeta master the technique, teaching him to throw it by the tip of the blade and watching him get the hang of it quicker than anyone she'd seen. Quicker than she had. Spending the small amount of time with the boy had her realizing how protective she felt; it was strange to think that he was allegedly supposed to be married at that age. He was so young.

Before she left him to his training, she placed a hand on his shoulder, apologizing for how everything turned out. His wedding and his life, all on the verge of ending if they didn't keep him alive in the arena. She didn't think the latter would be an issue really though. Not when he'd have Katniss with him, who, by the sounds of it, was not about to let him go so easily. Peeta nodded once but that was the only response she received.

The hours seemed to drag out, most of her time spent wandering since it was so damn crowded in there. The lack of her actual training had her signing up for a personal session in the evening. She needed a couple of hours to clear her mind anyways.

With little of the allocated training day left, Elara stood by the rope tying station, following the steps on the screen with great frustration. It was something she needed to know but, fuck, it was annoying. Pulling either end, the knot came apart instead of tightening. She exhaled slowly, raising her head to face the ceiling as she tried to calm herself. Her temper was getting the better of her lately. Probably all of the ghosts that wouldn't leave her alone.

She pushed the rope slowly through the loop she'd created, trying to follow the screen before two arms slid around her waist, covering her hands with a muttered, "Here."

Elara yanked herself out of his grip, annoyance at the man's constant back and forth joining the irritation of the task. Everything was pissing her off that day. He'd caught her at a terrible moment.

Finnick chuckled, beaming brightly as he laughed out, "I'm sorry." He sobered his expression, though the amusement was still dancing in his eyes as he repeated, "I'm really sorry."

Elara scoffed quietly at the sight of his grin, the dimples on either side still able to make her knees weak even through her irritation. "Here," he said. "Let me show you the best knot to know in the arena." She couldn't possibly be watching what he was doing with the knot. Not when his eyes were glued to hers, unmoving and piercing through her soul. Like he saw her. Really saw her.

He realized that fact when she did, his dazzling smile tilting upwards quickly as he nodded down. "Don't look at me, look at the knot." He laughed, the sound almost enough to make her forget why she was so mad.

He wrapped the rope around in a circle, over and over. "This is the part where it gets quite complicated." He explained seriously. A noose. He had tied a noose. Putting it over his head, he tightened it, right up to his neck with a peculiar sounding gulp, before raising the end of it. "See? It's really—" He shut his eyes, pretending to be dead.

"That's—" She nodded. "You're hilarious." Though she wasn't laughing at all.

He noticed. She winced, the memory of the brutal executions still fresh in her mind and haunting her still. As if it was second nature to draw her bright smile back from where it had been covered, he lifted the other end and offered it to her. "You wanna take me for a walk?" He asked, a small smile gracing his lips.

She nodded, completely deadpan, taking the rope from his hand and wrapping it around her fist a few times. Then, in a move that caught him entirely off guard, she yanked him forward. Their noses were almost brushing the other, lips inches apart. He watched her with keen interest, intrigue and downright delight as she tilted her head. The man was stooped over slightly, so she smiled as she looked down into his eyes. "What's your game?" She asked politely.

"Game?"

"You act one way and then you're an entirely different person the next moment. I don't understand why..." She paused, giving him enough time to say something should he want to. When he stayed silent she added, "But I will. We clear?"

He smirked, running his tongue over his teeth. "Crystal." He stated. She watched his gaze flicker from her eyes, to her mouth a couple times before he stood up straight. He didn't say anything else but he did stay long enough to undo the noose and tie the knot she'd been attempting. Handing it over, he winked quickly, leaving her standing with a hundred emotions swirling in her gut and a tremble in her fingers.

✩➵✩

"Where are you sneaking off to?" Weston spoke up from the armchair he'd been sitting in, the room suddenly lit up. He looked like some kind of villain with this full glass of whiskey in hand. She chuckled at the sight of him. "You going to find Lover-boy?"

"First of all," She started, narrowing her eyes, "I'm going to train. I signed up for extra hours. Second of all, he is not my 'Lover-boy'... Whatever that's supposed to mean."

Snorting obnoxiously loud, Weston swirled his glass and nodded. "You are not a good liar."

She considered staying to argue that he had it all wrong, and she was a good liar; she'd lied to everyone for years, hadn't she? But ultimately what was the point? He knew about the letters, she wouldn't be surprised if he'd read them when she wasn't around, sneaking into her room and flicking through the box of them. He was going to come to his own conclusion one way or another. She wouldn't waste her breath trying to halt the inevitable.

There were worse things to speculate.

"I'll see you later." She waved, heading out the room to the quiet training center.

As she entered, her hand found the light switch, flicking it up and watching the gym come to life. The quiet humming of the electricity filled the room, only it and the steady sound of her breaths killing the silence.

She wandered a little further inside, bypassing the fire-starting station and into the designated room for training that she'd seen Katniss complete with ease. Her eyes lingered on the sleek bow in the corner of the room before moving to the teal blue trident on the opposite side. She briefly considered the hatchets before she went back where she always did, like a moth to a flame. She was nothing if not predictable.

Shoving three blades into her belt, she gripped another two in each hand, using the ring at the hilt to spin them around her fingers. The control panel was resplendent, probably costing more than the existence of her entire district, and so, when she left smeared fingerprints against the screen as she switched it to her desired settings, she felt a flicker of satisfaction at something so perfect being flawed.

The machine whirred to life and she stepped inside, inhaling deeply in preparation. Within seconds, a genderless yellow figure was sprinting towards her, sword in hand. She flicked her knife directly at its head, watching the blade destroy the figure into a hundred holographic cubes — just like last time — before wedging itself into the wall.

The next one appeared by her side, an arms length away. She ducked as it swung for her, thrusting the hand with the other blade up through its chin. The same process occurred as she flicked the same blade up at a figure with a bow on a higher level – that one was much harder to hit.

One ran at her with a hatchet; she aimed and threw a blade from her belt into its chest, flinging another behind her and turning in time to see those cubes collapse to the ground. One blade left.

She gripped it tightly, increasingly aware of the quietness in the room. It happened so suddenly.

The figure emerged from nowhere lifting the pointed golden spear over his shoulder. She saw him there. No matter how much she repeated to herself "That is not Caspian," it was like she was back in the arena, telling herself that the words he muttered weren't how he truly felt. The figure sprinted. She had no other instinct but to fling her blade at it, though her heart sunk like a brick in water as the knife missed him— it entirely, lodging into the wall behind it. The figure didn't stop. Running at her from across the large room, blade pointed at her chest.

She was not about to lose to a fucking hologram.

Darting directly at it, she waited for her moment, dropping and sliding across the polished floors beneath the spear before yanking the knife out the wall. The figure spun unnaturally, ready to run again but it was far too late. Her dagger had already left her fingertips, hitting where its heart would be and destroying it into those golden cubes.

Panting heavily, she startled at the slow clap coming from the doorway. She rolled her eyes at the smirk on his lips, collecting her daggers and stomping past him.

"You are enthralling." He complimented.

"You're kidding." She snapped as she returned the weapons to their stand, though with her back to him, she cursed inwardly at the heat blooming in her cheeks.

"Far from it." He said simply. She could hear his footsteps approaching but couldn't find it in her to meet his gaze. Instead, she let her eyes follow each curved blade, each point of the knife and the way the artificial light flickered off the metal. "I mean it wholeheartedly."

Huffing to herself, she brushed past him, trying to busy her hands. "You're not supposed to be in here. These are my hours."

Finnick clicked his tongue and, although she wasn't looking, she could guarantee there was a smirk there. "Should've locked the door."

"That's not how that works but... whatever."

"You're not exactly a stickler for the rules." He chuckled, his hand closing around her own and tugging her to face him. "Otherwise the man that did this," His thumb swept over her bruised cheekbone. "Would be alive and well." He whispered.

Elara's eyes widened, her spine straightening in fear of someone hearing him.

He softened and smiled, genuinely this time, and tilted his head. "No one is here."

"It's just— worrying. Besides," She shrugged out of his grip. "If you know that, you'll know it wasn't me."

He nodded, glancing around the empty room before suddenly beaming to himself. "I have an idea."

"That's never good." She quipped, snickering at the way he feigned offence, his hand over his heart.

"Now who's funny?" He asked with a grin as he yanked a mat over to the open part of the gym.

Elara furrowed her brows as she watched him tug it over, specifically the way his biceps flexed as he moved. Sue her. "What are you doing?"

"We're gonna spar." He said, as if she was going to nod along with ease.

"That's prohibited."

"So is me being here in the first place." He pointed out, his hands loosely resting on his hips. "We've broken one rule. Why not break them all?"

No matter how hard she tried to keep her smile contained, it spread across her lips so naturally. Finnick extended a hand to her, one that she took with a roll of her eyes as she stepped onto the mat.

With her hand in his, he had the perfect opportunity to bend it at that unnatural angle behind her back, and yet he never took it. Instead, he raised her arm, twirling her around and causing a laugh to spring free from a place she didn't quite think existed anymore. A place to feel pure, uncontainable joy without doubt or guilt. Placing her hands against his chest to stable herself, she smiled freely up at him, her eyes flicking across every part of his face.

They zeroed in on the small, pretty moles on his cheeks; the inward curve of his dimples that were like small wells containing his all encompassing joy. The way his face was truly transformed with the real smile, not the faux smirk he used with everyone else.

"Stay alert, Rosewood." He muttered so naturally she almost forgot what she was doing. His hand swung for her, momentarily skimming the top of her head as she ducked beneath it. At her low point, she swiped her leg out, knocking him off balance and sending him clattering to the ground.

He groaned at the impact, his eyes shut tight as Elara pinned his arms on either side of him. "You've gotta work on your cockiness, Odair." She grinned over him. "It's undeserving."

His hand splayed out on her lower ribcage, the same way it had done the day before. She zoned out for a millisecond too long, fear raising goosebumps across her skin. It was too familiar. Too similar. Though even as she thought it, her memory clouded, hazy, as if it wasn't ever real. She was too entrapped by the warmth and strength steadied against her; enough time for him to push her around, the same hand moving quickly and scooping the back of her head as she hit the mat. His free hand was pressed against the floor beside her head, holding himself up as he chuckled gleefully at his successful distraction.

"You got lucky," She protested before he could gloat.

"I don't think so. Just a keen eye." He shrugged, the smugness coating his face somehow charming this time round. "You're particularly sensitive here." His hand returned to her ribs, fingers pressing in slightly and making her squirm away. He narrowed his eyes, his expression suddenly changing like he'd won the damn lottery. "Are you ticklish?"

"No!" She declared adamantly. His fingers pressed in again and she jolted, her knee shooting upward and finding a home in his gut. Almost keeling over, he grunted, rolling off of her with a dramatic groan. With a gasp, her hands covered her lips as she checked him over. "Are you okay?! I didn't mean to—"

Finnick's laugh filled the room, bringing a reluctant and relieved smile to her own face at the sound. Shoving him with little effort, she dropped beside him, both staring at the bland ceiling like it was a sky of stars. "Dick," She chuckled.

"Defamation." He replied, unaware of how close their hands laid beside the others. "Slander."

She pressed her lips together, snorting softly at his words. She thought it was ridiculous. He thought it was worth it, especially if it meant she'd make that noise forever.

They quietened, accompanied by nothing but the low humming of the electricity in the room as they settled beside each other. She let it sit for a second before the question plagued her. "What is that noise?"

"Forcefield," Finnick told her bluntly, though not unkind. She turned her head, her brows contorting together in confusion. Finnick smiled at the face she pulled, before reaching out and using his finger beneath her chin to guide her gaze towards the wall with the Game-maker room. He pointed at the corner. "They added an invisible screen, this time. Probably to do with Everdeen." He huffed a laugh.

"She's a force, huh?"

"Without a doubt. Did you say you wanted to be allies with them?"

"I'd be stupid not to. I don't think she's choosing me though. Peeta, maybe. Did you?"

"Absolutely."

The two let their voices die down again, back in that position beside each other, simply soaking in the other's presence. "Finnick," She said, quietly. "Can I ask you a question? You don't have to answer, I just... I wanna know."

"You can ask me anything." He told her seriously.

Hesitation froze her limbs and for a moment she wanted to take it all back. To tell him it didn't matter and to forget she'd ever started talking. She needed to know though, if only to settle her racing mind. She wasn't sure she'd ever be truly settled in Finnick's presence if she was left still questioning about her past.

"Did you know about Caspian's plan? To use me to get to the end?"

She didn't look over at him when he stayed silent, momentarily squeezing her eyes shut at the tiniest pang of pain inside her chest. It wasn't so all encompassing anymore. More of a dull hum than anything else. "I did." He finally admitted after a while. "It wasn't my idea. It was more the other mentor but I didn't try to stop him. If anything, I, uh, encouraged him." He swallowed audibly. "I'm so sorry for my part in it."

Elara shook her head, not looking over at him but reaching for his hand. Their fingers entwined and, with them interlocked, her hand burned in the best way. "I'm not mad at you. It's been years. No time for grudges." She nodded. "We were just kids."

She could see his head turn down to glance at their joined hands, and felt the slow movement of his thumb on her skin. There was the quick squeeze of his hand and the warmth of his palm. All of it, every sensation he was giving her, warped her mind and sent every part of her into a blurry haze. And yet, she was so aware.

"I should go back." She told the ceiling, and yet made no attempt to move.

"Yeah." He nodded, and yet his hand seemed to tighten around hers. "I should too."

Elara was the first to move, pushing herself up and letting her hand slip from his. The disappointment of being away from him sunk into her chest like a damn anchor, but she pushed that thought away quicker than it could linger.

Finnick stood when she did, helping her return the mat to its rightful position and following her to the door. "I'll see you tomorrow, Odair."

"Back to 'Odair', huh?" He chuckled, though it lacked the humor she expected.

"Finn." She corrected, her smile gentle. He wanted to touch it with his fingers to check she was real; that he was truly being blessed with such a sight. "I'll see you tomorrow, Finn. And, uh... I'm sorry. For not writing back."

He grinned at that, letting her take a step before he was reaching out for her hand again and tugging her back. He almost let it take over. That insatiable urge to press his lips to hers and desperately show her that she had him. Until the end of the earth, she had him. Seven years of someone was a lot and yet, somehow, it wasn't enough. Not to him.

But he didn't.

His hand cupped hers softly, a gentle tug turning her back to him. "Don't be a stranger, El." He muttered. "Don't leave me hanging again."

Her throat thickened at his words but she nodded, smiling in the most comforting manner before she walked back to her room. Her heart pounding, her head scrambled and a fuzzy sensation running through her veins. When she dropped the sleep syrup on her tongue that night and slept soundly, she hadn't even realized Caspian was absent from her head.

✩➵✩

TRAINING | DAY THREE

The quiet chatter in the room was strangely the only thing providing the woman comfort during the lead up to the private sessions. She sat beside Weston, her knee bouncing and repeatedly knocking against his to the point he had to press his palm to the joint, shooting her a stern look. He wasn't angry... Well, he was – just not at her.

With the way the order of seats went, her and Weston were positioned behind Finnick and Mags and way too far from Johanna and Blight. She'd never really spoken to that man but he was sort of important to Johanna. That meant he was 'sort of important' to her.

She ignored the animated chatting Finnick was having with Mags— even though she desperately wanted to know what the two talked about— and focused on her decision. She knew her sudden bout of rage wasn't going to cut it this year and she needed a skill to showcase and fast, but on the other hand she couldn't stand to be a part of this shit show, dancing around for their entertainment.

"If you keep tapping your foot against my seat, I can't be held responsible for my actions." Finnick leaned back to mutter. Weston's eyes shot to them in the most obvious way possible, though he glanced at the ceiling afterwards to act subtle.

"I can't help it." She hissed back, feeling either side of her lips tug up at the sight of his easy grin.

"You're gonna be great. Nothing to worry about."

"Finnick. I don't want to be a part of this." She explained quietly. "I don't wanna play their game."

He considered that for a moment, nodding firmly as he decided. "So don't."

In her mind, it was just a throwaway comment to make her feel better. It sat and stewed as each name was called. When Beetee was summoned and Finnick laughed, Elara gave him a light tap on his back, simply to call him an asshole. She was still considering his words.

Weston's name was called, the number of tributes in the room decreasing by the moment, and her stomach twisted excruciatingly. Without him there, it was as if she was completely alone again. Johanna was gone, Finnick and Mags were done. Peeta was still there but he didn't know her. Not really.

"District 8; Elara Snow."

She grimaced at the name, as she usually did, before standing and heading into the room, her fingers clenched into tight fists to hide their trembles. The door slid to the side, beckoning her in, and Weston placed a hand on her shoulder as he passed. The room showed no indication of what Weston had showcased, and so, walking into the lion's den, she met Plutarch's stare head on, never flinching at his wave. It was as if he was greeting an old friend. He wasn't. He was with Snow. Clearly, he had chosen his side. It was about time he learned she wasn't with them.

"Miss Snow," He gave a small smile. "You have ten minutes to present your chosen skill."

She nodded, repeating words in her head like a mantra. 'Don't play their game. Don't play their game.' She glanced around the room, looking for a chair and coming up empty. Oh well, that wasn't important.

She lowered herself to the ground, crossing her legs, and sat comfortably with no intentions to move. They furrowed their brows, glancing between each other as she sat and stared. They wanted her to perform. To give them something to work with. As long as it stayed like this, she'd give them nothing.

"What are you doing, Elara?" Plutarch spoke up from his room, though his expression was surprisingly light. She didn't respond, choosing silence instead. He glanced at the collection of men behind him a little nervously before turning back to her. "Is this what you want your grandfather to know?"

Did he truly think that she was worried about disappointing him? She'd done that enough, and him the same, she was hardly worried about that.

"That you're a coward? Refusing to honor any of the people who came before you? Ones that just weren't as successful as you? Shouldn't you honor their memory?"

The lump in her throat grew more with each word, but she refused to let up. She had to hold out for the last eight minutes. That's all.

"If this is how they raised you in the District, you are some wasted potential. Your grandfather wants to see you shine. The Capitol longs to see you succeed."

"And I should've seen the ones that didn't grow up. All those children, Heavensbee. Are you proud of what you all caused?" She finally said. The group shared some uncomfortable glances but she could tell what they lacked. They weren't remorseful in any way. No regret on any of their surgically altered faces.

Six more minutes.

Plutarch smiled, that eerie expression giving her chills as it usually did before he nodded. "We keep Panem safe. Safe from the dangers of Rebellion."

"By murdering innocents." She accused, rightfully. "You all sit behind your forcefields, in your safe glass box making your civilians fight to the death for your sick entertainment. You're fucking cowards. But there's another reason, isn't there?" She tilted her head. "The Hunger Games is almost always sending the children to fight. You need to wipe out the new generation before they realize everything wrong with you. Before they join together and learn to fight you."

"Murdering more isn't going to scare people back to their districts." She told them all, each of their faces more disgraced than the other. "It's going to fuel their anger."

"Enough." He ordered, bringing a smile to her lips at his panic. "Showcase your skill, Elara. You have three minutes left."

She stood, purposefully. Moving over to the collection of paints, clearly meant for camouflaging, she grabbed the blood colored berry red, dipping her fingers into the liquid and smearing it across the floor in quick harsh strokes. Her eyes filled as she painted every word, but she swallowed her frustration like it was shards of glass. They didn't interrupt for the remaining time, letting her write what she needed before Plutarch told her time was up.

Moving to stand beside the angered scrawls, she used the back of her wrist to wipe at her forehead. She watched each of the Game-makers read the words but it was Plutarch she couldn't figure out. He read them and smiled almost proudly.

'Aurelius,

Freyr,

Tanner,

Caspian,

Rue,

Fathers,

Mothers,

Children.

HOW MANY MORE IS THERE?'

"Might wanna clean that up before the Mockingjay sees it." She spat, storming out the room without a single regret.

Chapter Text

ELARA DIDN'T OFTEN FEEL like a fraud. That seemed to be something reserved especially for times she would appear before a live audience. Glancing down at her get-up, she sighed softly. Valeria was an artist, undoubtedly so, so the outfit she had on was beautiful. She wasn't lying when she had politely smiled and told Val as much, but it just didn't feel like her. It felt more like she was a doll, dressed in riches and made to move and act a certain way. She didn't understand what had changed.

Stood in her dressing room and absorbing every detail of the walls like it was a canvas in a museum, Elara waited patiently. Val, excited and frantic, had looked over the outfit, the skirt with a hundred layers of multicoloured fabrics and the silk white bodice, with a seemingly forced smile– right up until that smile vanished without a trace and she had rushed from the room, yelling about the missing touch.

The dressing room walls were a steel gray, with thick golden drapes covering the window and making the room feel outrageously dark. The art hung on the walls felt like a mockery, the ornaments; a bribe. Even standing in there was like she was accepting something from that man.

The door pushed open and El sighed in relief at the return of her stylist until she truly acknowledged her visitor.

Finnick smiled sheepishly, shutting the door carefully behind him as he entered the room further. Despite her best efforts, she let her eyes move over his outfit; the long, black, robe-like bottoms paired with the billowy white shirt that was designed to remain open, showing off a large portion of his tanned, muscular chest. She swallowed thickly as he dropped onto the couch, his arm draped across the side of it. She could hear the cheers at Caesar Flickerman's entrance but it would've made no difference to her if it was dead silent beyond her walls. Finnick was looking at her.

Really looking at her.

Though when he opened his mouth to speak, his words were far from what she was expecting. Or hoping for. "It's not exactly... you, is it?"

"That's what I said." She huffed, dropping right beside him. The mountain of fabrics fluttered up and down at the movement, some even finding their way over Finnick's lap. He didn't seem to mind.

"Hit me with it, Rosewood." He said.

"Hit you with what?"

Chuckling to himself, he turned, laying his head on the back of the couch and smiling. "With your thoughts." He said truthfully. "And desires, and needs and–" He continued in his asshole voice.

"You didn't have to continue." She rolled her eyes, though the corner of her mouth was dying to tilt upwards. "I'm... worried, I suppose."

"You? The tribute that scored an 11?" He poked her arm.

She shoved his arm away with a discreet smile. "You also got an 11 if I'm not mistaken. I still don't understand why they gave me that."

He shrugged. "Anyway, worried about what? You killed it with your interview the first time round."

"When I was younger and likeable, and not a snappy grown woman who is permanently mad at the world." She corrected.

Finnick laughed, lifting his head back up to smile at her properly. "You're gonna do great. You wanna be angry? Be angry. I know Johanna is."

"Johanna's always angry."

"So are you." He retorted, earning a quick slap from the woman despite her snort. "You and Weston have gone over what you'll say a hundred times by now. You're gonna do great."

"What have you planned?" She asked curiously. Finnick only smiled, mimicking the action of zipping his mouth closed with a smug grin. He loved knowing things she didn't. Him and his secrets.

They settled beside each other, silent, peaceful, their eyes on the ceiling and heads resting on the back of the couch beside the others. Elara liked that about him. She never felt an obligation to fill the silence. She could just exist, and that was enough. Her natural state of being was sufficient for him. That was all she ever really needed.

Unlike the moment during their training session a couple days prior, Finnick reached across her nest of skirt fabrics and took her hand in his own slowly, as if he wasn't sure if he was crossing a boundary. His fingers slid between her own, their hands moulding together as if they were created that way. She turned slightly, trying to sneak a glance at him before she noticed the way he was already watching her with the utmost intrigue.

Was he getting closer? He was. Or she was. She couldn't be positive, all she knew was they were inches apart, so close their noses might brush if one of them moved. His sea green eyes were like her own personal landscape to admire, a vast horizon for the sun to set and rise and a wonderful place to get lost in.

Sinking into such beauty, Elara had the sickening realisation that she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted it so badly, maybe even needed it. She sat up a little, an attempt to make the act easier and her heart flipped at the tiny inch that Finnick's lips lifted at the action. She lowered her head, blocking out every fear and worry and nerve that tried to infest her mind and just have this. Please let me have this.

"I don't care that he– Oh!" Val yelped as she burst into the room.

The two shot apart, Elara scrunching her eyes closed while Finnick chuckled unashamedly. She felt like a teenager. Val burst into giggles as she zipped through the room, a new outfit in hand. "Clearly, I interrupted something. I'll wait outside until you're finished."

"No, Val, you don't have to–" She tried to explain that she was making the entire situation much more awkward than it had to be, but the door had slammed shut before she could finish the sentence.

Turning to Finnick, she rolled her eyes at the leisurely way the man smiled, his arm behind his head. "I think she caught us." He joked, clearly poking fun at her panic.

"Shut up. That was nothing."

Slapping a hand over his chest in feigned hurt, he gasped. "Nothing? Oh, my love, you wound me. I think of you always, did you know?" Elara laughed despite her irritation, trying to cover his face with a cushion. Finnick spoke up, ensuring he was heard. "Your lips remain in my dreams. I would die a happy man, should I get to taste them one day–"

"You have got to stop talking." She laughed, standing and hurrying to open the door. Her eyebrow raised as Val fell into the room since she'd been resting an ear against the door. Val smiled, a little awkwardly, as she stood again, nodding politely at Finnick, who had followed the woman to the exit. He almost left without a word, until he thought better of it, stepping back to cup El's jaw and kissing the opposite cheek quickly. She knew he could see the bright blush blooming across them but she didn't let it bother her. That was something she seemed to be getting used to.

"I promise, you're gonna be okay." He said, emphasising the words an awful lot for a mere interview.

"I know." She nodded. I got you, she didn't say.

Val paid her a kindness she didn't deserve when the door shut, and she moved on from the whole debacle like it never occurred. Instead, she beckoned the woman over, her hands hovering over the zips of the dress bag excitedly. "I have a confession." She said. Elara nodded her head, encouraging her to continue. "The dress you're wearing isn't one of mine. Well it kind of is. It's from the Capitol. From your grandfather." She winced.

Elara could feel the nausea filling her stomach, the idea of wearing an outfit he chose. It'd make him happy. That was the last thing she wanted to do.

"He sent a very boring white dress, and I tried to make it better with the colours but it just– The corset... I hate it." Val admitted bluntly.

"Me too."

"Good! You had me worried when you were complimenting it. You're so polite, my dear." She beamed, yanking down the zip and revealing her outfit. "This seemed more your speed."

As quick as it had been revealed, Elara's breath rushed from her lungs. She'd gone for a pantsuit this time round, though it was made from the fabric her district specialised in, the one they used for the Peacekeeper uniforms. The material, that she'd dyed navy and somehow made shimmer, flared outwards nearer the ankle; it was helpful that she wouldn't be too restricted in the get-up since she had a tendency to lose her breath. The bodice was the same shape as a waistcoat, though made from the same material as the rest of the outfit and outlined in silver. Rounding the waist like a belt however, was a collection of small black and blue roses, their petals scattered as if they'd fallen and stuck to whatever part of fabric they could grab. Val picked up the hanger, holding it out so El could circle it. It was simple, extravagant in its own way, but it was her.

"Valeria." She whispered, like it was tradition to do so every time.

"The roses have symbolism, as usual... The blue represents a number of things; mystery, pride, secrecy. Some even say rebellion. I like its significance of portraying unattainability the most, however. You're unattainable. The Capitol can't have you. The tributes can't have you. Snow cannot have you." She nodded reassuringly.

"And the black?"

Val smiled solemnly. "Uh, they stand for the end of something."

Elara knew what she was referring to. She said it in a softer way but the word she'd left absent lingered in the air like a foul smell.

Black roses meant death.

She swallowed past the word lodged in her throat as she took the clothing into her hands. When she put it on, forever impressed by how perfectly every outfit fit, she turned in the mirror as the team finished up on her hair. She never did learn the names of Val's team. That was primarily because she only ever saw them when she was about to die but it hadn't escaped her notice that her team changed often. When asked about it, the woman waved a dismissive hand and said, "Everyone deserves a shot to work with greatness."

She was a very humble woman.

Elara sat, much more comfortably, on the edge of the couch in her room, not really saying a word as she watched the screen, despite her door acting as though it was revolving, constantly opening and closing as more people filed in. She heard Celiea enter, her gentle hand brushing El's bare shoulder as she approached her girl. The team lingered at her side, their eyes on the screen and chattering quietly about each tribute. The last time she heard the door go, her tense shoulders dropped when he lowered himself onto the seat beside her. He huffed as he did it, causing El to side-eye him, but he shrugged casually, like this was all part of a regular Sunday. "I got old knees."

"If the Quarter Quell were written into law by men, certainly, it can be unwritten." Beetee on the screen pointed out, drawing a smile from the two tributes.

"That was the bluntest attempt, yet." El spoke over Caesar.

"I love that weird genius," Weston chuckled heartily, sipping from El's untouched glass of water.

She slapped his shoulder without sparing him a glance. "Don't call him weird."

She wasn't completely sure what she was supposed to say during her interview. Weston had given her the idea of putting things into perspective. They'd briefed her enough times by now: aim for the heart, any means necessary, try and stop the games. But for the woman that had hardly anything going for her, what was she supposed to say? Everyone already thought of her as Snow's loyal prodigy. How was she supposed to change that?

She must've been too wrapped up in her thoughts because all of a sudden she was shaken out of them, sharply brought back to her reality by Weston's elbow. "Your man's on screen." He said simply, already fighting back a smile at her eye roll. She wasn't going to address the way Val whispered to Celiea. About what she'd seen, no doubt. Little gossip.

"Finnick," Caesar began. The audience screamed wildly, something that had her snickering. Finnick smiled to the audience, ever the master of basking in praise. "I understand that you have a message for somebody out there. A special somebody."

Finnick chuckled though it lacked any emotion. Elara furrowed her brows at the screen, turning to Weston in confusion. "What's going on? Why are they being so vague?" She asked.

"Jealous?" Weston raised a brow.

Elara huffed. "Curious. And, now, annoyed."

He shook his head with a laugh as Celiea cut in. "Finnick's a Capitol favourite. They all want that guy. The lack of confirmation helps them delude themselves into thinking he's talking about them." She explained, an arm around Val's shoulders. "He's probably reciting a script."

Caesar chuckled at Finnick's smile before asking cheekily, "Can we hear it?"

Inhaling heavily, he looked directly into the camera. "My love," He began, in the same insincere awestruck voice that he'd used in that very room not so long ago. "You have my heart. I think of you always."

He was repeating it. Those damn words from before.

"If I die in that arena, I'll only think of you." Elara winced at the idea of him dying. No. That wouldn't happen. "You're the only person I ever want to talk to. If I make it back to you," He inhaled again, his breath shakier than before. "Promise not to be a stranger."

Oh.

That same lump lodged itself in her throat again, her heart racing. The others in the room sighed wistfully, expressing how lucky the one he was talking to is, but it was all muffled to Elara's ears. She could feel the burn of Weston's eyes on her face, heating up her cheeks but all she was truly thinking about was Finnick. She wanted to go to him. Shake him and demand to know if he was acting for the camera's. Why was she a role in his production?! That wasn't fair.

"Elara." Celiea said firmly.

Looking around, anxiously aware of herself, El frowned. Weston was by the door, watching her with worry in his eyes, much like Val. The rest of the team had been ushered out but that didn't take away her anxiety. Celiea was crouched in front of her, a caring hand on her shoulder. "You're almost up."

"Oh–" She stood quickly, folding her arms over herself. "Sorry. Let's go." She nodded.

Every step she took down the halls was under Weston's surveillance. As if she was about to run the other way at any moment. But she wasn't. She wouldn't. Otherwise, he would win.

"Nice look, Rosewood." Johanna winked before she strutted onto the stage, all traces of her friendly demeanour absent to the audience.

"We have seen a lot of tears here tonight." Caesar said, discreetly intimidated by Johanna's stare. "But I see no tears in Johanna's eyes. Johanna, you are angry. Tell me why."

She scoffed, her smile almost mocking. "Well, yes, I'm angry. You know, I'm getting totally screwed over here. The deal was that if I win the Hunger Games, I get to live the rest of my life in peace." She turned to the camera. "But now, you wanna kill me again." She chuckled without humour before turning to the audience, riling them up once again. "Well, you know what? FUCK THAT!" A wave of gasps washed over the audience and scandalised mothers covered their children's ears. "And fuck everybody that had anything to do with it!"

She stormed back off the stage, unapologetic as Caesar moved on. Elara was up. She shuffled uncomfortably, waiting for her cue. Johanna paused. If it was possible, she would have had smoke billowing from her ears. "Give 'em hell." She told her.

"Let us all give a very warm welcome from the descendant of the man himself, our darling flower, Elara Snow!"

She walked out with her head held high. She did not shy away from the crowd. She did not smile for them. She merely walked out, like she had been wound up with a key and made to move.

"Elara, this outfit is just divine, you always pay homage to your roots!" He exclaimed, pointing out the roses around her waist.

"My stylist is good at her job." She shrugged, a small smile climbing even then.

"Valeria, right?" He asked. Elara froze, nauseous at the moment. She wasn't sure why, it just... felt wrong. Call it intuition.

She nodded quickly, breezing past the subject like it never happened. "You've got some great style yourself. I had to say that before..." She trailed off.

"Oh. I–" He appeared genuinely surprised by the compliment but flattened his expression once more as he continued. "Thank you. You must be so conflicted about all of this."

"Not really." Elara shrugged. Now was her time. Try and stop the games by any means necessary. "I'm sort of still recovering." Clearing her throat of nerves and emotion, she sighed, ignoring the crowd's mutters about the seven years. "When I lost them, Cas and Tanner, I just... broke. There's been a hole right here," She rubbed at her chest, "ever since." A chorused sound of sympathy passed over the crowd. "I spent some of the worst moments of my life in that first arena and now I'm going in again? It's... I just hope that Gramps–" She said strategically. "I mean... President Snow has it in his heart to realise what I'm– what we've all been through once already. What we're still going through."

The boisterous crowd applauded and Elara was led over to the ascended stage with the other tributes, her heart in her throat. She was trying to rile up the audience, something that didn't work as well as it was supposed to but gave her a push nonetheless. She was grateful for Johanna's outburst – that was something that would have an effect on the people.

Her nerves were working in overdrive as Caesar Flickerman welcomed Weston onto the stage, his bright smile such a contrast to Weston's gloomy expression.

"Weston Ellis, I must say I am honoured to be talking to you today. It's been, what, twenty seven years?" He thrust the microphone towards the man.

Weston stared blankly. The silence in the room was deafening.

"Um... Right. Well, can you tell us how different you're expecting this year's games to be?" Caesar asked, offering the microphone once again. Weston didn't open his mouth. He crossed his arms across his chest, seeming entirely bored with the whole thing. Caesar was great at saving those struggling when they gave him something to work with. This was impossible.

The interviewer shuffled uncomfortably, glancing out towards the audience like they could help him. When he realised no one was coming to save him, Caesar plastered his smile back across his face and waved an arm. "Weston Ellis, everybody!" He beamed, letting the grumpy old man wander off up onto the podium beside Elara. "I cannot imagine how the tributes must feel going up against that man, let me tell you!"

Elara chuckled to herself as Weston took his place, his side-eye perfected over the years. "I ain't telling these people shit."

"Grumpy ass." She muttered.

Weston shot a look of feigned offence, elbowing her gently with a smile before he shot upright. One of the other tributes, Brutus, she recalled, had shot him a glare, making her smother yet another laugh all over again. Weston chuckled in a way that she'd only heard a handful of times. One that was filled with giddiness and pure joy.

Another laugh joined in somewhere behind them, and Elara turned, their gazes connecting almost instantaneously.

Behind them, Finnick was smothering his own laugh with his hand, his smile wide and real, before he shook it away. The laughter stopped but the smile remained as he kept his hands behind him.

Elara was easily distracted for almost the entirety of the other interviews. What really caught the woman's attention, however, was Katniss Everdeen. Walking out onto the stage in a wedding dress of all things was something she could have never predicted. Not until she realised Snow had made her wear it. And the way she spoke. She was so capable. Elara had been told a number of times that Katniss was a terrible actor but the way she acted in her interviews... They were perfect every time.

"Will you do us the honor? Please?" Caesar pleaded, giving her the floor.

Katniss took a step, inhaling deeply before she began to spin. The bottom of her skirt was set alight, the golden flames rising the more she turned until she was left in a completely different dress. This one was not the pure matrimonial white, but an ashy, smoky shade of gray. She lifted her arms, and up rose two delicately crafted wings.

"It's got feathers." Caesar gawked. "It's like a bird." He stammered. "It's like a... like a– um..."

"Like a mockingjay." She confirmed.

The audience applauded as Cinna, her stylist stood and bowed, soaking up his moment in the spotlight. It was deserved. He was a master at his craft. She looked incredible.

The final tribute was one Elara had been waiting for. Peeta Mellark had impressed her during training and achieved something that not many were able to do. He'd made Elara Rosewood like him. She wanted to watch him win in every aspect so when the conversations turned to life events that he didn't get to complete, however fake they may be, she listened intently.

"But, Peeta, the wedding, the marriage, never to be?"

"Well, actually, we got married. In secret." He announced, the crowd gasping with their tragic fears of missing the drama.

"A secret wedding?" Caesar asked. "Alright, do tell."

"We want our love to be eternal." He smiled. "It wasn't official or anything. Just the 12 tradition for us and us alone. You know, Katniss and I, we've been luckier than most. And I wouldn't have any regrets at all if– if it weren't..." He faltered.

"If it weren't for what? What?" Caesar encouraged.

The audience chattered quietly, swapping their theories before Peeta spoke again, his voice clear and unmistakable. "If it weren't for the baby."

The crowd gasped and yelled and, like they were following cue cards, demanded for the games to be called off. Elara's own lips parted in shock until she glanced off to the left, seeking out his 'wife'.

When she caught a glimpse of the split-second shock written across her expression, Elara knew. The Capitol was a simple tune, easily changed and twisted if needed, and Peeta Mellark had played them like a damn fiddle.

Caesar pointed him to the podium, pushing through the irate mob's uproar, and doing his best to keep everything under control. Katniss held her 'husbands' hand tightly, before reaching for the man from 11. The action created an effect similar to knocking down a domino and before she knew it, Elara was holding Weston and, the man from 7, Blight's hand high above her head. They stood together, the picture of unity before the lights shut out and they were ushered away.

✩➵✩

"Talk to me, El." Weston requested softly, his eyes unmoving from the woman who was frozen, with her chin resting on the knees she'd drawn to her chest.

"I can't. If I talk I might cry." She whispered, feeling like that scared sixteen year old all over again.

"So cry." He said. "You're allowed to. Even if you don't like it."

As if his words had allowed her to feel emotions, she felt her eyes sting and her lip quiver. "I just thought he'd done it, you know? I thought we were safe. That we could do the whole rebellion thing without the Games." She averted her eyes. "I'm so stupid."

"You're not stupid. Don't bother with that shit. I thought we were safe too." He watched Elara carefully, his heart cracking in two as he followed the tears slipping down her cheeks. "Are you worried about your... condition?" He asked, still concerned about her hallucinations.

Elara shook her head, picking at her fingernails."I just don't wanna lose you." She muttered, ignoring the warm tear sliding down her cheek. "I'm scared something's gonna happen to one of us before we all–" She inhaled a shaky breath. "I love you." She told him instead.

"I love you too, kid." He sniffled.

Her gentle tears morphed into a heavy cry at his words and she forced herself to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry for forcing my way into your life. I'm sure it was a lot simpler without a disturbed sixteen year old taking residence in it and just staying for the last seven years."

Weston chuckled as he wiped away the tear that escaped his own eye. "My life was boring without you, kid."

Elara slept a total of three hours that night which, with all things considered, she took as a win. She may have had to cry herself to the point of exhaustion to reach that state but it was a win in her eyes nonetheless.

She woke and dressed into the outfit they had hung on her door, a black and grey wetsuit with removable sleeves, before walking to her impending death, for the second time.

Valeria was the only one she could be with, she couldn't even be with Weston which was enough to send her into a downward spiral but she held it together enough for the workers on the ship to implant her tracker.

Elara paced around the small room, her eyes on the platform that was taunting her like the ghosts of her past. They'd been eerily quiet lately. It made her nauseous.

"Did you hear any of that?" Val asked, a perfectly shaped brow high on her forehead.

"Sure I did. Hot clothing. Thermal, et cetera." She waved a hand dismissively.

"If you were actually listening, you'd know I said the opposite of... all of that." She said, stepping closer to the woman and tucking a loose strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear. "No thermal. Most likely hot weather, like the rainforest or something."

El sighed and nodded, wincing at the mechanical voice giving the sixty second warning. "I'm really scared." She confessed.

"You know your role," She nodded. "Just give 'em hell. And keep 'dear old dad' alive too while you're at it. I like him." She said, smiling at the genuine chuckle El let out. She hugged her tightly, the both of them startling at the sudden visitor.

"Celiea? Your supposed to be–"

"We have to go." She told Val. "Word is that Snow isn't best pleased with your disobedience to put her in his outfit. They're not fucking taking you."

'10 SECONDS TO LAUNCH.'

"Wait, can't I-"

"No time. I love you, sweetheart." She said to El, grabbing her girlfriend's hand. "Get on the podium." Without another word, she dragged Val back with her.

"Where are you going?"

"In." She demanded again. Her tone made Elara actually move this time, too afraid to act out. "El!" She yelled once more. "Remember who the real enemy is!"

With her heart in her throat, Elara was jolted back to her own problems. The podium began to rise.

Chapter Text

THE UNRELENTING BLAZE OF THE SUN burned into her retinas as she rose into the arena. The humidity hit her like a sledgehammer, heat clamming up her skin and air almost too thick to inhale – she might suffocate. Squinting against the glare, she held a hand up, blocking the light's path to adjust and adapt to the brightness of her surroundings and gathering her bearings. It was so fucking hot. She couldn't breathe.

Deep down, she knew wondering whether or not Val made it out was futile – it wasn't like anyone was going to be informing her of the woman's whereabouts anytime soon – so, with a swift determination, she examined her surroundings. Her eyes swept across the landscape, bouncing back and forth like the pendulum in a grandfather clock. Round, rocky island holding the Cornucopia. She was on a small podium positioned in the large expanse of rushing water surrounding it. The arena was circular, from what she could tell, the thick overgrown forest rounding them and trapping them in. Elara didn't have a game plan this time round; she just had to find him.

There was one person in the arena much more important than any of the others in her eyes and she had to find him, first and foremost. Her eyes flicked over each of the tributes nearby, praying that each of their muddled faces would unblur. Weston was all that mattered to her right now.

Before she could even attempt to properly locate him, that grating voice that echoed in her nightmares, sent a new rush of chills down her spine as it took over the intercom. "Let the 75th Hunger Games begin."

She inhaled a sharp breath, holding it in her lungs as if she needed to preserve it, and pleaded with the universe to still the doubts plaguing her mind. She couldn't focus when they were so damn loud. He spoke again. "May the odds be ever in your favour."

Then, despite how hard she prayed every night in her bed that she'd avoid the horrors and she wouldn't have to relive the worst moments of her life, the countdown began.

10. 9. 8.

Her mind went blank entirely. She stood, straight-faced and frozen as the numbers changed over and over again, the count to her downfall. She'd have to move quickly.

7. 6. 5.

Grab a weapon. Find Weston. Prove them all wrong.

3.

She noticed the jittery man, Wyatt, by her side. He looked exactly how she felt. Nauseous.

2.

Stay focused. She would not stray. She would not–

Her eyes shot open.

On the island, leaning against the Cornucopia with a casual demeanor, like they weren't about to collectively fight to the death again, was Caspian. He swung his sword around his hand with a precision she never could master, playing with it. He looked murderous. How did they–? How was he standing there right now, as solid as the tributes on either side of her? His smile stretched from ear to ear. Calculated. Taunting. It wasn't possible.

1.

The cannon burst so loudly her ears started ringing. Salt water splashed onto her legs and she could hear the crashing man-made waves but she wasn't moving. She was still watching the ghost of a boy waving merrily. Each waggle of his fingers was enough to turn her stomach.

"Elara!" A gruff voice broke through her daze, bringing her consciousness rushing back to the ground. She could see Weston, paused momentarily on his pathway to call to her – his brows furrowed and the greys in his hair reflecting light just as the waves did, and the other tributes racing to the middle. Her eyes darted back to their original destination and she choked out a sob. He was gone. No– He was never there in the first place. She was fucked.

Shaking the tinnitus from her ears, Elara dived headfirst into the water, her arms flowing over her head in alternating strokes. Despite the heat in the arena, the water was freezing, shocking her system and momentarily stilling her in the lake. No time, she reminded herself. Suck that shit up. She had never kicked her legs so fast in her life, determination becoming the only thing propelling her unreliable limbs faster. She couldn't be left defenceless. That was as bad as the red target idea.

Her hands finally met the rock of the pathways and the fleeting relief gave her enough energy to push herself up, even though her arms were screaming, the trembling shake of her limbs following her even when she was right back beneath the sun. Everyone was miles in front of her by now. Fuck. With no time to waste, she took off, keeping her calm at the idea of slipping and killing herself with a head trauma incident, and reaching the centre with an untrustworthy ease. In front of her, she watched a tribute go down with a sickening thud, a trident wedged into his chest and a cannon following soon after. Finnick yanked his weapon free, yelling orders at Katniss like a natural born leader before he turned, catching Elara's eye momentarily. Suddenly alarmed by something over her shoulder, he aimed at her and the sight was so sickeningly familiar she almost lost consciousness. Even when she couldn't see Cas, she saw him in everything.

"Catch." Finnick said simply. The trident flew towards her and, just as a magnet would, her hand reached out, closing around the handle as she turned and thrusted it forward into the tribute's chest. Damien. The man from 10. With his eyes wide and the three prongs puncturing his torso, she watched on with a nauseating curiosity as colour seeped from his irises.

The cannon burst once more but she did not dwell on the fact. She was already a murderer, right? Couldn't reverse that any time soon. She turned back to see that Finnick had joined her side, his hand covering her own on the metal of his weapon.

He made to move away, despite his bright eyes longing for anything but, when her free hand tugged him back. "Don't die." She said, hurriedly. Earnestly.

He smiled, tilting his head in a casual way despite their circumstances. "You first." He rushed out, before darting towards Mags without another look behind him.

Ensuring the coast was clear, Elara cautiously moved further into the Cornucopia. The gratefulness filling her chest was smothered swiftly by a wave of guilt as she searched through the weapon piles with robotic movements. The tributes were entirely enthralled in Katniss Everdeen, the girl on fire, and her presence, so much so that the Snow girl looting the base was managing with few problems. She rooted through the collections, dismissing the swords and scythes before finally locating two knives and claiming them immediately. The dreaded sound of fast heavy footsteps had her raising them right along with her guard, until Weston appeared, his relief visible. Her chest sunk with her sigh. She'd never been so relieved to see the creases beside his eyes.

"Hurry your ass up. The Careers are rounding up, we gotta get out of here." He warned.

They met up with Blight and Johanna on the beach. She hadn't even seen when the two had raided the supplies and ran, both even sneakier than she had been, but Johanna was cleaning off her axe, bloodied with the act of defending two more tributes that Elara had almost missed completely. Behind the people from District 7, Beetee and Wiress sat on the sand, muttering imperceptibly to one another. Between them, instead of holding on to some kind of weapon, Beetee kept a large coil of thin wire close to his side. She remembered hearing his story. He'd won with the damn thing.

Johanna rolled her eyes at their hushed whispers, pointing her axe between El and Weston with authority. "These two are smart. Keep them alive." She said, nodding the meaning that they were already well aware of as a reminder. She couldn't exactly admit 'Katniss needs them' aloud. "We're gonna have to find fresh water soon." She mentioned once her threats were uncomfortably settled.

"Is that what this is for?" Weston held up a spile he must've taken from the Cornucopia. Convenient, she thought.

"It's in the trees." Blight concluded with a nod, picking up his spear and pointing towards their companions. "We've gotta get these two out of plain sight. Fast. Those fucking assholes are eyeing us like we're live bait." He said, gesturing towards the scheming Careers still standing on the Cornucopia island.

Elara nodded, squeezing her daggers a little tighter in her clammy fists. "Lead the way."

Shrouded by the dense blanket of trees, the group trudged through the woods for what seemed like hours, until Blight finally deemed it time to stop for water. He took the spile, bashing it into the trunk with a rock and grinning when the fresh water began flowing. He was pretty smart, it seemed. Brains and brawn were an excellent combination. They took it in turns, Blight, then Johanna, Wiress then Beetee. It took Weston and Elara an inconvenient amount of time to take their turn. Their delay was down to their shared stubborn natures, both insisting that the other needed the break more, as if their own exhaustion were somehow less important. In the end, Weston won, a smug smirk plastered across his face as he jokingly shoved her forward.

The humidity in the forest was almost too much. With her sweat acting as a glue, right along with the salty lake water, her hair stuck to the back of her neck and the damp wetsuit clung to her body like a second skin.

"We've gotta find somewhere to settle, or we'll be dead before sunrise." Blight pointed out, using his spear to lift branches and leaves out of the way.

Beetee nodded. "We should get a place under the canopy."

"I'm assuming no fire? The smoke would alert literally everyone where we are, right?" Weston asked.

Blight pointed, knowingly. "Yeah. Avoid the fire and then maybe we could–"

Without warning, a blade, swift and deadly, slid past Elara's face from somewhere behind her, slicing her ear and wedging into a tree trunk beside her head. Practically undetected – she didn't even hear any other footsteps. She gasped, dropping to the ground and rolling in a failed attempt to duck out of the way. She wasn't prepared for strong, toned arms to pin her down, pushing another dagger against her throat.

"Say goodbye to your grandfather." Yurei, the woman from 10, spat, moving the blade a little further left to drag it across her throat.

When she lunged, she didn't pay attention to those around her. Whether or not that was down to carelessness of the raging hatred coursing through her veins, no one was sure. Elara had assumed they wouldn't care if they lost her. She'd been walking around with the presumption that Weston might be saddened by her passing but they'd move on in the end. They had to, right? After all she wasn't the mockingjay or the creator of the rebellion, she was a nobody. A target. And yet, in 2 seconds flat, Yurei had been disarmed and ripped off of her. Weston held her still, arms restrained by her side and Johanna's axe at her throat instead.

"Did you really think you'd get away with that?" Johanna interrogated.

"She's a Snow. I didn't think I would survive the attack. Just had to get her and anything after that was fair game." She said, panting heavily with a spiteful look of disdain towards El.

"Yurei!" A softer male's voice broke through the tension, his fast footsteps approaching them without a care for his surroundings. Breaking through the trees, Wyatt gaped at the sight he was greeted with: Yurei held tightly by a seething Weston; Elara hunched over on the ground, one hand on her head in her stress; and Johanna with her weapon held to the neck of who appeared to be his friend. Or ally – she wasn't sure. He didn't receive another second of analysis after that because Blight had rushed behind him, knocking him to his knees. "Woah, easy!"

Blight lifted his spear, ready to plunge into the younger man's back. Fear raced through her bloodstream. Wyatt was good. He didn't deserve this.

"Wait! Don't hurt him." She yelled, stopping him in his tracks. Yurei furrowed her brows, suspicious at the act and evidently surprised by her willingness to help someone close to her. Though Elara hadn't yet figured out the bond between the two – they weren't even district partners – she liked Wyatt. He'd always been kind to her over the few years she'd known him. If she could form another alliance, she would.

"Do I even wanna know why we're keeping these sorry assholes alive?" Johanna asked, dropping the hand holding her axe to her side.

Elara only stood, her knees still shaking as she regained her composure. She almost died. And in a matter of seconds.

Weston scowled, though his intentions were pure. "You know why. We make allies. I don't care about killing any of you punks. I'll leave that to the others."

Lowering her axe with a resigned sigh, Johanna glared Yurei's way, tightening her fist. "One wrong move and I swear to–"

"I got it." She snapped, ripping herself away from Weston and grabbing her dagger off the ground.

An awkward silence descended over the group, heavy and unspoken, as each person struggled to regain their breath. Elara, her chest rising and falling at a slightly quicker pace than the others, wiped the damp sheen of sweat from her forehead, her fingers lingering for a brief moment as if trying to ease the tension building up there. Beside her, Weston stood close, his presence grounding. He placed a large, gentle hand between her shoulder blades, rubbing small, reassuring circles, and offering a quiet comfort in a moment that had left them all shaking like goddamn leaves. He never took his skeptical eyes from Yurei, afraid she'd try something again.

"So..." Wyatt brushed the dirt off his clothes. "Have you guys... found water yet?"

✩➵✩

The mixture of colors in the western sky faded, dragging the great ball of flames down with it and stripping the arena of any lingering hints of gold instead replacing it all with a dull bluish gloom. The heat remained the same; Elara was still pulling sections of her wetsuit periodically to remove some of the discomfort. She shuffled uncomfortably, sitting on high alert and glancing around at every noise.

The others were asleep, though not before Weston and El had yet another stubborn stand-off on who required the necessity more. Since Weston had gotten his way with the water, El was glad to have something to use to her advantage. The only other person awake was Yurei, still untrusting of the woman due to her unfortunate familial ties. She sat on the ground, her back against the rough bark of a tree as El rested on a rather jagged rock.

Reaching down, Elara plucked a small orchid from the ground, twisting its stalk between her thumb and forefinger. She could feel the scalding heat from Yurei's hateful gaze burning into her temples, but she took no notice of it, snapping the flower's stalk and brushing a gentle finger over its petals.

She tried to focus on her task at hand, letting the other's rest and staying alert but soon enough the silence was far too loud, practically screaming in her ears, and Yurei hadn't moved an inch.

"I'm not your enemy, you know?" She huffed quietly. Gently placing the orchid on the floor, the way one would over a grave, she turned, meeting the woman's glare head on and sighing. "I'm not gonna murder you in your sleep."

"I don't believe you." Harsh but fair.

Elara nodded. "I wouldn't either."

Yurei clasped her hands together, resting them over her stomach as she took in the woman's frame. She wasn't overbearingly threatening, not in any sense, but death followed her like it was doing her bidding. She'd rather not stand close enough to be next. "It's funny."

"What is?" She furrowed her brows together.

"I've been staring at you for well over an hour trying to find something. A fleck in your eye or the shape of your nose or– something. You don't look like him." She gestured at her face with the end of her dagger. "You sound like him sometimes. Your actions are strikingly similar," She let the blade's point move to the flower. "But physically? If he never admitted who you were, I wouldn't have realised."

"Thank you–"

"I don't like it." Yurei cut her off. "Makes it too easy to imagine you're just like the rest of us."

Elara didn't argue with that one. How could she? She didn't win fair and square. She started off in the Capitol unlike the rest of Panem. She wasn't going to ignore the existence of her own privilege to make herself feel better. That wasn't how it worked.

"I look like my mother," She confessed instead. "That's what I've been told."

Yurei nodded, flipping her dagger in her hand, just for something to do. "I do too," She smiled to herself. "My Otousan said that all the time. When I was younger, he would lift the ends of my hair and mess it up, even if I'd just brushed it. He knew it made me laugh so when he saw my smile, he'd remind me how lucky I was that I got her genes instead of his." Even in the dim shadows of the arena, Elara could see how her face, normally stern and fierce, seemed to soften and glow with a warmth that lit up the entire space.

"She must've been beautiful." El smiled gently.

"She was." Yurei nodded.

A chill ran down Elara's spine at the use of past tense and she silently steeled herself as she asked, "Was it–?"

She shook her head. "She was really sick. We couldn't afford the medicine." Before El could offer an apology, Yurei changed the subject. "You can rest if you'd like. I won't kill you, if that's what you're worried about."

"I'm not worried." She said, making Yurei chuckle. She smiled with her. "I'm not tired, if you don't mind having company?"

"I'd– I'd like that."

The two settled into an oddly comfortable silence, sharing the canister of water they'd obtained and making brief fleeting jokes until the goddamn anthem started up. It was loud enough to shake them all from their sleep, well, all but Wyatt, who continued snoring soundly. She watched the faces appear.

Blade Crawley. District 6.

Roman. District 9.

Castella. District 9.

Damien Groves. District 10.

Seeder. District 11.

"Five steps closer." Johanna muttered, Blight humming in agreement.

Five tributes. Nowhere near as many as she was expecting. Dread filled her lungs right along with Caspian's quiet chuckle in her ear. She shook her head, an action that caught Weston's attention. Obviously. He watched her like a hawk.

"Your turn." He ordered, no other explanation.

"I'm not tired."

"You need it." He shook his head, sitting upright.

"Wes." She said, quietly. "I promise."

Arguing with the options in his head, Weston chewed on his lower lip. The wrinkle between his brows made its appearance, though it never truly went away, and he lowered his eyes to the ground to make his decision without El's pleading gaze interfering.

"I'll stay up with her." Yurei offered.

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Weston scoffed.

Elara laughed, though it lacked all the joy she tried to portray. "I can take her."

"Good luck with that." Yurei smirked, all the while Weston screwed his eyebrows together bewildered.

"Weird." He muttered, laying down and allowing himself to fall back to sleep.

They'd been collectively still for just over an hour, the sky hadn't changed a shade, still casting a dark cold tone over the arena. The forest had been eerily silent, excluding the rustle of the leaves in the canopy and a singular twig snapping, one that kept them paranoid and regrettably wide awake.

Distant and far away, a gentle chorused clicking sound echoed throughout the air, dragging El's head to the side, instinctively following its direction. Yurei turned soon after, her brows knitting in concern as the noise grew steadily louder. It was drawing closer – it was coming right for them.

Deciding against waiting around and finding out what was going to try to kill them, Yurei jumped to her feet, swiftly tucking her daggers away for easy transportation and kicking Wyatt in the ribs. He awoke with a start, glancing around disoriented and reaching into his pocket protectively.

"Get up. All of you," She said, raising her voice just enough to wake most of the others. "We gotta go."

"What's that noise?" Wyatt asked with a yawn, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Johanna slapped Blight's chest to wake him, collecting her axe and glancing into the woods, paranoid. She was quicker than the others; Beetee and Wiress were still tugging themselves off the ground, grabbing their coil of wire.

Weston extended a hand, gently resting it on El's shoulder, trying to grab her attention. She remained motionless, her gaze fixed on the shadowed expanse of the woods, brows drawn tight in unwavering concentration. "El," He murmured, his voice soft but firm, as he attempted to coax her attention elsewhere. "Come on," He urged, releasing a quick breath when she finally moved, slowly turning to meet his eyes.

The incessant noise was incredibly loud by that point, surrounding them like they were prey. Materializing before their eyes was a wall of... something. It shimmered oddly, looking almost as the static on the TV had looked between the live executions, and nearing them at an increasingly quick pace, flickering in and out of focus.

Weston swallowed. "Mutts."

"RUN!" Yurei demanded, taking off in a blink and dragging Wyatt behind her.

The group bolted, their feet pounding against the ground as they ran for their lives, pushing their legs to the limit. Behind them, the mutts — now unmistakably insects — closed in with terrifying speed. Some were faster than others, their tiny bodies zooming through the air with unnatural precision. They shot forward, the pincers clicking together and slicing open the skin at the back of El's neck and arms. She winced, stumbling but being dragged with sheer determination from Weston. He was surprisingly quick, even at his age, as he used his height to an advantage, making strides, fast and far, with El's hand firmly clasped in his own.

"This is– FUCKED!" Johanna exclaimed, losing breath as she ran with Blight, doing their damnedest to keep Beetee and Wiress safe and in front of them.

"Just keep going!" Weston ordered, though he too sounded as if he was losing stamina at a rapid pace.

The insects were relentless, slicing and pinching at whatever flesh was in reach. In her peripherals, she could see the others flinching as a bug or two caught up to them, carving into their prey with merciless accuracy. With their head start, Yurei and Wyatt were miles ahead, a distance the rest of them could only pray to reach at that moment.

Elara watched with undivided attention as Wyatt's foot got caught beneath a thick tree root. Everything was suddenly slow as he fell. No.

No.

Yurei halted in her steps, falling back and helping him up as the others passed. Elara tried to slow, an act proved useless with Weston's hand holding her wrist so tightly. "Don't stop!" Yurei ordered, noticing their struggle. "Keep going!"

And so, they ran. Elara's heart panged painfully as she fought to keep her eyes ahead of her. She couldn't turn back. Not even when it seemed like their footsteps had rejoined them, she couldn't look back. Weston tugged her, his breath ragged and almost occasional. Her whole rib cage was on fire as she ran, the agony almost sending herself to the ground and forcing her to become a meal. Keep moving.

It wasn't until Johanna noticed the clicking beginning to fade that she risked a look over her shoulder. The insects were halted in place, stopped by some kind of invisible wall. The rest of them were cowards, Elara could admit that, but Johanna... Courageous as ever, the woman approached with baited breath, moving cautiously forward, her heart in her throat. The wall was a forcefield, confirmed by Beetee. They were safe.

Wiress stared curiously at the display with her brows screwed together, muttering quiet words beneath her breath as she often did.

"Yurei." Wyatt suddenly choked out, his voice cracking with emotion.

"She was right behind us, where is she?" Elara asked, panicked. "Wyatt, where is she?!"

"She–"

The cannon boomed, shattering their hopes and quietening their pleads.

The tributes froze, the air heavy with sudden grief. "Fuck." El's voice broke, her chest heaving and breath shaking.

"We've gotta keep moving," Johanna told them all, Blight nodding alongside her. "No point sticking around for something worse to show up." The two of them hadn't bonded with Yurei, hell, they hadn't even tried. El was only just getting to know her but Wyatt. Oh god. He was distraught.

Elara's eyes burned into the wall of insects, torn between rage and sadness, as they left it behind, threatening tears stinging the corner of her eyes. Yet another person who was far too close to the Snow girl paying the price for it. She was an omen to everyone around her. She wanted to push Weston far away and keep him at a safe distance until it was all over. Until death herself had no one else to choose but Elara. At least they'd be safe that way.

As they walked further, deafening booms of lightning struck behind them, though far away enough that Beetee had confirmed they should be okay with their continuous travels – they shouldn't go back just yet. El wasn't quite sure what he meant by that but it was more than enough for her to continue through the dark, anxiously twisting her knife in her hand.

Wyatt hadn't spoken a word since they lost Yurei. She was yet to find out why they were getting along so well at all but she wouldn't pry. Not yet. Her death was far too raw for him to talk about.

The sky had lightened, just a few shades – Elara was sure of it. What had been a vast stretch of darkness was now a muted, pale blue—gloomy and cold, but undeniably the early signs of morning. The reality hit her all at once, and she let out a small, almost imperceptible sigh of relief. The night had passed. Their shitty plan might actually work after all. She stared at the sky for a moment, as if trying to send them a message beyond the shifting colors. 'You see this, Gramps?' She wanted to ask. 'I'm doing just fine without you.'

Walking beside her, Weston hummed. He raised a weary hand, wiping at his cheek with the back of it. After a few seconds, he huffed.

"What's wrong?" El finally asked him.

"Think it's starting to rain." He shrugged. He shook his head again, his angry huff making her chuckle despite it all.

"It's just water." She told him, laughing despite it all.

"It pisses me off." He complained. "Makes my knees ache."

"Of course it does. You're old."

"Little shit." He chuckled with her.

A small droplet hit her cheek, running down her skin and making her smile. Then, her forehead. The rain wasn't cold or refreshing as she'd originally hoped. Instead, it was warm, raising heat to the surface of her skin. She reached out a hand. Though it seemed to miss her hand entirely, she could hear it, pattering against the leaves and the ground, soft taps lulling her into a state of calm. Finally, a drop hit her hand but her smile fell at the same speed. "What the fuck?"

In her hand, she did not hold a small droplet of rainwater, something that brought her peace in days when her mind was too loud. Instead, her hand was coated with a crimson splash of blood.

She turned to Weston. In the minimal light of the sky streaming through the trees, she could see his face. Skin smeared with blood. He noticed the same on her as the rain began to pick up, the sky becoming restless and morphing the gentle patter into intense torrents that trapped them all in place.

Johanna yelled out. "You better be fucking kidding me!"

Chapter Text

THICK, HOT BLOOD RAINED DOWN on them ruthlessly with a speed and force that was almost impossible to endure. The others were barking instructions – 'Stay close!; Keep going!; Nobody move!' It was no use. Each voice overlapped, a chorus of nonsensical sounds drowning in the noise of the rain.

Stumbling forward blindly, the group bumped into trees – and each other, anything in their paths as the liquid coated them in a burning layer of garnet, preparing them for a gory death.

"We— Keep going!" Blight's gruff voice, Elara was almost positive, cut through the rush.

Johanna practically screamed. "Are you fucking crazy?!" Despite her attempts, Blight didn't listen, continuing to stumble off in the complete wrong direction. Elara would've followed him too, if it weren't for Weston's hand closing around her wrist, even blind. With one swift tug, he yanked her to the ground, keeping her firmly in place as Johanna continued to yell for Blight, urging him desperately to keep still.

He should've listened. Oh god, why didn't he listen?!

The forcefield around the arena warped with Blight's contact, sending harsh ripples over the entire dome but more prevalently, exploding a few feet away. His body landed with a harrowing thud. Wiress screamed – El might have too. They could hear the sickening sizzle of his flesh, even through the blood, and Johanna's anguished "No!" Then, distant through the crashing of the rainfall, the cannon burst.

Without realising her position, Johanna dropped to the ground, right beside him, instinctively keeping her head down and clutching at the wet dirt. They couldn't travel through the downpour – not if they liked living. They had no other choice but to wait it out, their bodies rigid and still as the scalding blood streamed over them.

Seconds passed by like hours as the weather timer ran down, the skies finally clearing and stopping their assault on the tributes on the ground. They didn't stand, not right away. Beetee and Wiress sat together, the man trying to calm his muttering partner – with no such luck. El raised her shaky hands, though her limbs felt ten tonnes heavier, dragging them over her face with her increasing panic. She was covered in blood – Whose blood was it?!

Glancing around, she struggled to pull her gaze from Beetee, doing his best to clear the lenses of his glasses of the substance. Wiress sat beside him, just as worried, as she wept. Elara had always had a sort of sad appreciation for the woman. She didn't know much about her but she knew she was kind. She'd watched her games once before, awestruck as she witnessed a younger version of the kind lady fool the Game-makers themselves. No blood on her hands. Not a drop. Elara shuffled towards the tributes from District 3, cupping Wiress' distressed face in her hands and smoothing her thumbs over her closed eyelids. She wiped away some of the blood there, helping her open up her softened eyes, though not before the woman muttered a quiet but necessary, 'Tick-tock,' into her palm.

Then, there was Johanna. She sat silently, staring at the body of Blight with nothing but rage etched in the creases of her face: the furrow of her brow and the fading smile lines. She reached out, her hand covering his own, the one still clutching his spear. At first Elara thought she was holding his hand, until she removed the weapon in his grip, tossing it to Weston and storming off with no other word but, "C'mon!"

"Cold." Weston stated. He'd never had to speak to her that much over the years. Not until El became good friends with her, drifting towards her at events like a moth to a flame. Weston, being the dear chaperone he was, trailed after her, giving her the space she desired and the comfort she forever sought. Although he didn't understand her like El did, he'd watched over her as if she was his own– Well, El wasn't his either. Not technically. He tended to let that detail slip his mind often.

Though her feet were moving, one in front of the other, her eyes lingered a second longer over her shoulder. She could hear the whirring of the Removal Ship, hovering above Blight's lifeless body and reaching down, down, down, till it had him in its tight, mechanical grasp, and ripped him away from solid ground.

It was still dark when the cannon burst again. El jolted, startling violently until Weston placed a hand on her arm. She was okay. He was there. He was safe. He was alive. Wyatt wandered not so far away, his own head down. They looked like monsters, she realised as the sky lightened and the sun rose once more. Skin coated in crimson, clothing still scarlet – murderers parading through the forest in the blood of their enemies.

She couldn't help but think about the liquid covering her skin. She shouldn't have, not if she wanted to sleep soundly at night but the sheer amount of it, the sight of each of her allies covered in the same stuff – she almost heaved.

"Hey." She muttered quietly to Weston. He didn't do much but shoot her a sideways glance. She knew he was listening though. He was the one who always did. "Do you think this–" She hesitated. Weston's brows drew together in confusion. She started again. "I heard a rumor once. About the mutts in the last games being fallen tributes."

Weston slowed, trying to catch a read on the woman.

"You don't think–?" She asked, scratching away at the dried stains on her hands.

He thought for a moment. She appreciated that. He wasn't just telling her what she needed to hear. He'd tell her the honest truth no matter what. After spending her early years in a home built on lies, she was grateful for the change. "No." He finally decided. "I don't think they'd have enough for the time we endured and the quantity."

Elara grimaced, her skin going cold at the lack of confirmation on what, or who, was stuck to her skin. She should've been relieved it wasn't fallen tributes but even the thought of alternatives was sickening.

"You asked what I thought." He pointed out, bluntly. "That's what I think."

"I know." She nodded. "Thanks." She waited a second longer before voicing another thought. "When'd you learn to swim?"

"I had twenty years alone, kid. I had to fill the time one way or another."

Grunting, he ran a hand over his stomach, doing his best to soothe the nagging ache she was sure he was feeling too. It'd been a while since they'd eaten. She'd done her best to keep an eye out for fruit or a squirrel or something. Anything, really. Though with the constant trouble and unlikeliness of survival, she'd been far more distracted than was reasonable.

She heard his steps before she saw him. Heard his goddamn voice before she saw him, materialising at her side entirely out of thin air.

"Getting difficult, isn't it? You still remember this feeling, don't you?" Caspian asked, and she shook her head as if to will him away. Discreetly. She didn't need her fr– her allies– to think she was unstable. Wiress was still muttering anxiously; "Tick-tock," over and over again. They didn't need another person talking to themself.

"Ouch. That what I am to you? Just a loose screw?" He chuckled, rubbing at his heart as he turned, choosing to face her and walk backwards. "Right in the stab wound, Snow. And after you replaced my touch with your new boyfriend's."

Not real. Not real. Not real.

"Realer than these friends you've made." He taunted, tilting his head to meet her gaze. "The closest one you've got here is this fossil." He said, waving a hand at Weston. "And even he's getting sick of you."

"Get out of my head." She muttered.

Weston glanced at her, catching the words despite her desperation to keep them quiet.

"Uh oh. Careful, Snow, your crazy's showing." He laughed again. Wrong and twisted. Not real. Not real. "Do you remember the hunger? The anguish in your gut that felt maddening? Or have you been in luxury for too long now? Can't fathom even reflecting on those days."

"El." Weston's gruff voice reached her ears but it was muffled. Distant. She could hear her own heartbeat more than his voice.

"You feel the irritation that hunger always brings." Cas stated. Not questioned. He knew everything already. "One word. One slight infliction of their voice and you feel you might–" He snapped his fingers. He was gone.

No.

He had moved.

No longer invading her personal space, the boy– man– ghost had appeared a few feet in front of her. He stood, eyes wide as he choked, his body jolting with each heavy splutter. Red, the same red staining her own skin, pooled in his mouth, dribbling from the corners as he lost control of his muscles. A small knife wedged into the centre of his chest, a matching stain spreading around his clothes. Beside him, almost too short for her to notice at first, was Tanner. He too shared the same expression, frozen in fear with the sword protruding through his ribs. His back arched with the force of it, almost taking his nimble body entirely off the ground. Not real, she tried to remind herself.

"Your fault." A voice muttered.

"NO!" She fell back, scrambling away as they pushed closer. They weren't walking. It was as if someone had frozen them in time, pushing their stage closer until she could see nothing but them. Nothing but the blood they'd lost and the horror trapped on their faces. Nothing but her own bloodied hands that she was suddenly sure was all because of them. She killed them. Their blood was right there on her hands. When had she stopped breathing?

"Not now." Weston seemed to mutter, his heavy palms – ones that she'd seen mercilessly snap a man's neck – gently covered her shoulders, lifting her to her feet in one quick tug. He was a blur of red in front of her, cutting off the horrors of her past and replacing them with his furrowed brows and nervous chew of his lip. "Come on, kid. Snap out of it."

"I'm–" She shook her head, glancing around blankly. Caspian was not there. Tanner was not there. It had, once again, been a lie. "I'm okay."

"You sure?" He raised an unkempt brow. "You thirsty? Here I've got the–" he said, reaching for the spile they'd tied to his wrist. He fumbled, eyes flickering at his arm and the ground. "Fuck."

"What's the matter?"

"The fucking– We left it in the tree."

"So, we no longer have water. No one has had a drop in this heat since last night." She stated obviously.

"Fuck." He ran his hands through his wet hair, before focusing on her entirely once more. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Before she could reassure him again, Wyatt turned, nodding his head. "We got a sponsor."

Weston hovered, unphased by his words and focusing entirely on El. She wanted him to look away. Stop staring her down like she was a ceramic that would fracture any second. As much as she appreciated him, she wished nothing more in that moment than for him to turn around. Leave her alone.

They paused, Wyatt yanking open the small metal container and pulling out a loaf of bread. It wasn't huge, definitely not enough for all six of them to eat and be satisfied. Still, the note was addressed to him, reading very simply: 'Wyatt. Decide what to do with this. Selfish or not, you won't be judged. – N & L.'

He didn't hesitate. Breaking up the loaf in his hands, he held out a chunk to Wiress first, then Beetee, Elara, Weston and Johanna last. She tried not to read too much into the fact there felt to be some sort of order he'd ranked them in. Weakest to strongest, perhaps. She let it run off her skin, focusing instead on his kindness.

Something else in her questioned what they didn't know. He must have done something, shown some sort of Capitol-adoring quality, for his mentors to have raised enough money from sponsors to afford it. Not much, evidently, but something.

"Eat and walk. I'm not waiting around for anything else to come after us." Johanna ordered, patting his shoulder in thanks despite her harsh tone.

Savouring her piece, El ate dainty bites as she walked, seeking comfort in the way she could focus entirely on it. She counted the crumbs that fell to the ground and how many bites it took for her to finish. Weston had eaten his in two, not one for waiting, whilst he stuck closely to her side, eyes shooting over at every chance he had. He must've thought he was being sly, but discretion had never been one of his strong points in the entire time she'd known him. She took a step away. He followed. She sighed and shot him a glare. His flat expression remained unchanged. He was relentless.

With the dark gloom of the arena brightening with the rise of the scorching sun, Elara caught the sound of the water, the rushing reaching her ears and pulling something calmer, less erratic, to her surface.

"Finally! God, how fucking big is this place!" Johanna exclaimed, picking up her pace. "Look, we'll wait around on the beach a little while. Clean this shit off." She told them, rolling her eyes at Wiress and her frantic mutters. "Then, we have to–"

She paused, stretching out her arms to get them to slow down. The ground seemed to tremble beneath their feet right before a woman, somewhere far in the distance, let out a gut-wrenching scream. Wyatt shot upright, his spine stiff as he peered forward, past Johanna's arms and at the rustling trees across the arena.

"What's wrong?" Elara asked him, noticing the way his dry lips trembled around his lack of words.

"That–" He winced. "That sounded like Illari."

They watched, the trees forcefully parting as a large wave burst through the seams, sloshing over the Cornucopia and spreading across the beach. Then, as Wyatt held his breath, the cannon burst. That was the third one that day after Yurei.

He didn't move. Stiff and unwilling, El reached around him, placing her arm over his shoulders and guiding him forward. Johanna wasn't as sympathetic as her friend. It made perfect sense. She'd just lost Blight and was forced to move on without another word. She expected no less from the others.

"Hurry up." She told them, marching forward. "I don't want this to take too long and I can't stand the smell of this damn blood anymore."

"You'd rather smell like a fish market?" Weston asked.

"You bet your ass, Grandpa."

"Fuck you." He huffed a laugh.

With El's slow guidance and Beetee's gentle coaxing, they worked together to get Wyatt and Wiress out towards the shore, their patience everlasting. Weston stood beside Johanna, keeping his keen eye on El, as she let Wyatt slip from her grip, splashing into the water and letting the ripples rush over him. He was close enough to the edge to be sat upright, his legs crossed, and the water only reaching his sternum.

"Are you okay?" She asked him, her voice so gentle he felt six years old again, crying in his sister's lap about the fear of reaping day.

"Yeah," He nodded, his hand shakily rubbing at his fingers, the blood releasing its grip on his skin and slipping into the water in whisps, like smoke from a match. "Yeah, she was just–"

"JOHANNA!"

Elara's hand squeezed around the blade attached to her palm. Weston lifted Blight's spear in a blink. Johanna, though the greatest fighter of the bunch, did not lift her weapon. Her eyes popped open, turning in surprise before a disbelieving chuckle slipped from her lips.

"Finnick!" She yelled, another laugh bursting from her chest as he ran toward her, his trident still clutched safely at his side.

Finnick. Finnick. Finnick.

He was okay. The cannon hadn't been his. Not a single one of them. Though, in reality, she hadn't even assumed such a thing.

Elara didn't move. With Wyatt's hand in hers, she smoothed her thumbs over the back of his palm, clearing it of the crimson stains long before she focused on herself. She couldn't look away though, her eyes flickering from the tops of his unruly bronze locks down to the leather holding his feet. His skin was a little more tanned than the last time she'd seen him, sunkissed from the endless hours underneath the unrelenting heat. He wasn't visibly injured, and didn't seem to be limping in any way. His smile was just as bright, despite their circumstances, his eyes just as brilliantly similar to the ocean he lived with. She could confirm that. He'd shown her it one time.

Weston caught her staring, not saying a word to break her out of the trance. This was the staring off into the distance that he'd allow. At least this guy was real.

Finnick's smile faded ever so slightly as he glanced at the empty spot beside Weston. She was always beside him.

He turned to the water, watching Beetee stand once more, his hand finding Wiress'. He nodded approvingly to himself before they drifted to Wyatt. The younger man didn't look back at him, his eyes unfocused on his view, not even paying attention to the figure beside him, out of Finnick's eyeline.

It was almost impossible to recognise them under their coatings. They were a gory sight, but still Finnick leaned, peeking around the man and narrowing his gaze on the woman, her soft brown waves now matted together and appearing black.

She met his gaze, green on the russet, and air rushed into his lungs. There she was. His lips lifted despite himself, her own twitching at the corners, as he let himself admire her, even in her peculiar disguise. Elara hadn't even realised Peeta and Katniss had joined his side. When she finally managed to tug her gaze from him to the others, she swallowed around the large ball of emotion in her throat. Three.

Mags wasn't there.

"Well," Johanna brandished her arm outwards. "I got 'em out. We were all the way deep into the jungle where I thought it was gonna be safe. That's when the rain started." She explained, taking a step forward.

Wyatt held Elara's hand as he dunked himself, letting the salty water do its thing instead of forcing her to help. He didn't enjoy using her like this. Not when she had enough to deal with.

"I thought it was water. It turned out to be blood." She clarified for them, evidently providing a clear explanation on their appearances. Behind her, Wiress stumbled forward, continuing her mutters, 'Tick-tock.' "Hot, thick blood. It was coming down," She pushed Wiress away from her. "It was choking us! We were stumbling around, gagging on it, blind. That's when Blight hit the forcefield." She told them, bitterly. She didn't sound devastated like Wyatt had after Yurei, but angry. Of course she was. She was furious that he, of all people, had died so stupidly. "He wasn't much, but he was from home."

"Tick-tock." Wiress' voice stayed at one volume, her breathing ragged as she repeated her words.

"There was another." Weston said, saying the words that neither Wyatt nor Elara could bring themselves to utter. "Yurei: District 10. Taken out by these fucking sharp, pinching Mutts."

Finnick nodded, his brows furrowed the same as Katniss and Peeta's as they watched Wiress stumble around. Elara wasn't sure when she'd stop but she wished she could. Her constant 'Tick-tock,' felt like a harrowing reminder of their lives, the timer running low before they were all wiped out. Before any real damage could be done.

"What's wrong with her?" Katniss voiced.

Beetee stood, with the help of Finnick as Wyatt was guided from the water by El. She hadn't cleaned off yet, more focused on him, but she'd have to do it soon. She might pass out from that god-awful metallic smell.

"She's in shock." Beetee whipped off his glasses. "Dehydration isn't helping. Do you have fresh water?"

Katniss nodded. "We can get some."

"Tick-tock." Wiress' voice practically pleaded, her hands clutching Johanna's shoulders. Johanna wasn't much of a 'physical touch' person at the best of times so as soon as the woman made contact, El took a step forward. "Tick-tock!" She grinned.

"Listen–" Johanna said, scrambling for her to let go. She swung them round, but Wiress' hand clung to the back of her neck.

"Hey. Ease up." Elara tried, stretching out a hand, oblivious to Johanna's battleaxe being swung towards her thighs. Weston reacted quickly, yanking her back and out of harm's way.

"Stop it!" Johanna begged, pushing the woman a little too hard and sending her on to her back.

Katniss fumed, storming forward with sheer determination. "Get off her!" She demanded, shoving her away.

El struggled in Weston's grip, his large hand keeping her forearm in his hold and cementing her in place. 'Don't get involved,' he seemed to be begging.

"I–" Johanna struggled as Finnick tugged her back whilst Peeta did the same. "Got them out for you!" There goes discretion.

"It's okay." Finnick attempted to coax as Katniss interrogated her partner for answers.

Johanna continued to struggle, shoving at his hands as she demanded she was okay.

Without speaking another word, the group, the ones still covered in that thick garnet grime, moved into the water, soaking themselves and scrubbing at their flesh. Weston offered his help, but she waved him off, silently begging for him to trust her. She could be left alone. She wouldn't die in a few seconds of solitude.

Cupping the water in her hand, she threw it over her face, leaning back and trying to remove as much of the stuff from her hair. Her clothes were no longer salvageable, discolouring stains unmoving on the lighter fabrics. She stood, raking her fingers through her hair, gathering it together and letting it drape down her back. Before all this, she'd wondered if she should cut it off – offer herself some kind of fresh start. Evidently, she never got the chance to decide on such a thing, now stuck with long brown waves that did nothing but pose a threat.

Pushing through the water, she moved to the shore, dropping onto the sand alone, no doubt forcing the small grains to cling to her body. Peeta and Finnick sat together somewhere to her left, with Beetee and Wyatt even further so. The younger man watched him eagerly, his eyes narrowed as he tried to understand what he was doing with the coil he'd lugged around the whole time.

Weston approached from out of the water, he considered it, sitting next to her and offering no comfort with words, until he considered what a burden that might be, and resorted to join Peeta's side.

Scooping the sand in her hands, she held it there for a moment, until she parted her fingers and let it slip to the ground. They were collectively muttering around her but she couldn't fathom listening. Not when the sound of the waves reached her ears and the sun finally felt somewhat pleasant. It lay against her skin with its featherlight kiss, no longer attacking them with an unseen force but warming them gently. Allowing them something to appreciate. Adore.

The rustle of the sand cut through her trance behind her, right before the lightning began. A disturbance of the peace. A literal storm after the calm. She sighed, forgetting to check who'd approached and watching Katniss embrace the woman ahead. Joy was still possible at least. Even if it was strained.

✩➵✩

"This entire arena seems to be laid out like a clock," Katniss explained. "With a new threat every hour, but they stay only within their wedge." She led them across the rocks, directly to the empty Cornucopia. "It all starts with the lightning. Then the blood rain, fog, monkeys. That's the first four hours."

Elara focused on her words, ensuring she wouldn't miss a single second of it. If she wanted their overall plan to work, she had to have the advantage. She had to know more than Snow wanted her to.

"At 10:00, that big wave hits from over there."

"11:00 is bugs." Wyatt added, his voice still solemn. He was more... Wyatt now, however, so she was taking the wins as they came to her.

"Wiress, you're a genius." Finnick said, passing her with an approving look. She was. A beautiful force of nature with a mind greater than any of the Capitol lackeys out there.

El flipped her blade in her hands, wandering within the Cornucopia to scout for any supplies they might have missed that weren't more of the heavy weaponry that was getting much harder to carry.

"Look," Peeta pointed. "The tail points to twelve."

"That's where the lightning strikes at noon and midnight."

Peeta swiped his blade through the obsidian sand of the island, marking out the arena to visualize it all. On the edge of the land, Wiress muttered a nursery rhyme to herself, offering Weston a timid smile as he checked on her, before joining Johanna's side.

"So 12:00 to 1:00, lightning. Then, 1:00 to 2:00 is blood. Then, fog. And then, monkeys." Peeta recited, making small drawings in the ground with the tip of his blade.

"And from 10:00 to 11:00, the wave." Katniss added.

"Don't forget about the insects." Elara reiterated gently, pointing at the '11:00 to 12:00' sector. Peeta smiled appreciatively. Katniss only stared.

"What about everything else? Did you guys see anything?" She asked them all.

"It doesn't really matter." Peeta offered. "As long as we steer clear of whichever sector is active, we'll be safe."

Finnick spoke but it fell on entirely deaf ears. Blood was rushing through her ears as she glanced up, a goddamn second too late. Wiress gasped as Gloss yanked his blade free from where he'd stuck it into her neck. Her face was so full of fear, so pure and terrified.

Jumping to her feet, El balanced her blade between her fingers, but Katniss was quicker. She aimed and fired the arrow in a heartbeat, faster than El had even realised was possible. His face's emotions faded as the arrow shot into his heart, pushing him backwards and forcing him to take Wiress with him.

From their right, Cashmere sprinted forward, a fiery fury burning in her eyes. Johanna shoved Katniss down, readying her axe until two small stars slipped past her face, almost slicing her nose. Wyatt watched the Career fall with his weapons lodged into her throat and wide eyes.

From the other side, Brutus let out a yell as Finnick shot forward with determination. He hadn't seen when Enobaria had scaled the side of the island, doing her damnedest to catch the man off guard. She, in turn, hadn't prepared for Elara's speed.

It didn't matter that it felt wrong. That these people were in positions just as they were, terrible forced positions that they had no way to escape. She needed to protect her people. She flicked the blade at her head. Enobaria, much to her credit, dodged impressively swift, but not before the blade caught the side of her mouth, slashing it open halfways into her cheek, like a zipper being undone.

The District 2 tributes ducked behind the structure, with Katniss and Johanna hot on their tails. Weston readied his spear, marching forward to chase them down himself, until the ground shook them off balance and they were scrambling at the rocks.

Was she about to pass out? Is that what was happening here? Why was she suddenly disoriented?

The ground was unsteady beneath her, trembling until it jolted once. It slid round smoothly, the deadliest kind of carousel.

There was no build up. No warning of their impending doom. It reached its peak velocity in an instant, throwing them around with its only motivation: kill. They rolled and scrambled, weak grips burning against the stones they clung to and knocking the breath from their lungs. El wished she could have looked around and checked on her allies, but the wind was pushing too fast, barely making her able to look to Weston, who was already right beside her.

The rogue weapons left in the Cornucopia flew, shooting over their heads and nearing them fatally close. El pressed her face to the rocks, her fingers aching as she wedged them into the small ledge, giving her some leverage.

A blade, swift and undetected, flew from the middle, shooting toward her and Weston before either had a chance to warn the other. El dodged. Weston wasn't fast enough.

He threw his body to the side, failing to move his arm in time and giving the blade enough flesh for it to slice the surface of.

"Fuck!" He yelled, his arm sabotaging its grip and making him scramble to grab on. El's own hand shot out, clinging to his despite his horror.

"Let go!" He demanded.

"No!"

"El!"

"Fuck! Try to move up!" She begged, her hands clamming with sweat and humidity, slipping on her ledge.

"Elara! Let me go!"

She grimaced, tugging with all her might to lift him and getting nowhere. He was too heavy. She could let go of her own rock. At least that way, wherever they ended up, they were together.

Before she could evaluate her options, Weston's hand tightened around her own, his strength unbearable to her limb. He squeezed until it was painful, a cry clawing out of her throat and her grip loosening just the slightest bit. It was all he needed.

He yanked his palm free, sliding down the rocks and disappearing into the blur surrounding them. Elara screamed, throwing her hand back onto the ledge and keeping her body pressed against its surface.

It felt like hours before the island slowed again, though it was only a few seconds, and she clambered to her feet, her face streaked with tears and her hands red and raw.

Katniss climbed onto one of the pathways, obviously slipping from the island as Weston did. She heard the group's chatter, the check-ins on their mockingjay. Katniss put up her thumb, and hope and relief momentarily flickered in her chest. She was alive. Please.

"Weston!" She sobbed, calling out with no idea of where to look. She couldn't see straight; the world was still spinning. "WESTON!"

A hand covered her bicep and she spun, eyes full of hope and tears, but when Finnick's face came into view, she crumpled. Collapsing into his arms with heavy sobs wracking her body. No. No. No.

Finnick's voice was faint, but she could hear his soft reassurances. His reminders of his presence and his hand on the back of her head, smoothing her hair like they had all the time in the world.

Weston was all she had left. How was she supposed to continue without him?

Water splashed and suddenly the sound was the worst thing in the world. What happened to the peace it had brung? Where had the glimpse of joy dissipated to?

"El." Finnick muttered, calling to her. He patted her back. What a terrible way to comfort someone, she decided.

"Well, at least I know you'll miss me."

Oh God. Had Weston joined her hallucinations already? She thought she'd have a little more time before that happened. Despite knowing he'd spit venom, she turned, desperate to see him again.

Weston stared at her, the slice across his arm still fresh and scarlet. Water dripped from the ends of his mess of hair, droplets clinging to his skin. She sobbed, her eyes misting over as his brows furrowed, arms loose at his side. It wasn't until Johanna patted his shoulder that she questioned everything entirely. Weston had never been able to see Cas. Why could Johanna see Wes?

He wasn't dead. He wasn't dead.

"Oh my God!" She sobbed, stumbling into his side and wrapping her arms tightly around his torso. He winced, his breath hissing past his teeth and she tried to move off in a panic but he shook his head. His arms tightened around her, holding her close, and his chin rested on her head as she wept into his chest.

"Seriously." He muttered, the words tangling within her hair. They twisted with the strands, staying lodged firmly there and permanently whispering in her ears. "Too old for this shit."

Chapter Text

THERE WAS A CONSISTENT TREMBLE IN HER FINGERS. She’d willed it away, tightened her hands into fists and tried to busy herself, but it was relentless. She didn’t even have a weapon to cling to anymore, having been more focused on Weston than on some silly knife whilst Death tried to snatch them.

She regretted every second she’d tried to push him away. In their shitty positions, there was no reason for her to complain like a child about how she was viewed. That became startlingly clear in an instant. She felt like such a fool. Every so often, she thought back to his interview. How he’d done nothing but stare as they made a mockery of his death sentence. Parading him around like it was a blessing. He hadn’t cared what they’d thought. Not once. So, why was she still sitting struggling, wishing on every star that she was seen as essential and not the loose cannon? 

Weston hadn’t critiqued her for her sudden change of tune. He allowed her to stick to his side, her hand cradling his own to inspect his scrapes and scratches. She’d lost count of the number of times he’d apologised for the attack on her own hand, the mottled red and purples beginning to bloom from where he’d crushed it. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her, not by a long shot, but the threat of losing her was much more prominent than his own life. He’d never put himself before her, not even if the fate of the rebellion relied on it.

On the other side, despite how they hadn’t had an actual conversation since meeting back up again, Finnick hovered around her. He wasn’t worried, or surveilling her. It was more of a comfort to them both. A reminder they were still alive. When he was close to her, he was extra aware of the thump in his chest. He clung to that.

“So besides Brutus and Enobaria, who's left?” Katniss asked, her hand scooping sand and letting it slip through the gaps between her fingers.

“Maybe Chaff.” Peeta said. “Just those three.”

Finnick rested his arm against a low branch, his eyes flicking from the floor to the top of El’s head. “They know they’re outnumbered.” He said, offering them some ridiculous glimmer of hope. El was starting to worry. She’d been told to keep the mockingjay alive, which was something she was sure she could do, but what happened after at the end? Was she supposed to succumb to her death and go quietly? She hoped not. However she died, she hoped it was in a direct attack on him. He didn’t deserve peace. “I doubt they’ll attack again. We’re safe here on the beach.”

“So what do we do? Hunt ‘em down?” Johanna asked.

“Not that bad of a plan.” Weston shrugged, running a hand through his hair.

Elara stood, brows furrowed as she took in the sights of her allies. Their lips were cracking, sweat forming in droplets across their heads. They were dehydrating. “I’m gonna go look for berries. Maybe I can scout some Lilydrop.” She said, ignoring the solemn look she knew Weston was harbouring at the word. Katniss nodded, not quite smiling but not being hostile at least. Unless she was losing her mind, she’d say Katniss actually started to trust Finnick Odair. In turn, she supposed she didn’t have much choice with his friends. Still, she wasn’t actively trying to kill them. That was enough for El.

“Wait.” Finnick said, catching her arm before she could stray too far. When she turned, he let his grip soften, cradling her elbow and holding out his trident. “You can’t go off without a weapon. Be safe.” 

She wrapped her fingers around the metal of the spear, smiling softly and offering a firm nod. “I won’t go too far.”

“Be so safe!” Johanna called after her, tone full of light-hearted mockery. It was followed closely by a weak thwack. The sound of Weston gently cuffing her upside the head.

Smothering her smile, Elara let her eyes focus on her surroundings, lifting branches with the end of the trident to pave her path. She let herself drift, scanning the area for those little pale blue spheres she was so familiar with. Though, like always, her mind didn’t stay quiet for long.

She found herself thinking about the mystery that was Weston Ellis. Not the one she’d come to know. No. She knew the grumpy man who rarely said three consecutive sentences far too well. She’d heard parts of his life. The darkness he was haunted by, and the motivation for his sobriety. But what about everything else? He’d never spoken about any new family – evidently he hadn’t married. He had survived his games, at sixteen years old, and returned home just for his family to die days later. He’d never mentioned a sibling or even a friend.

So what did he do? 

Did he remain in solitude for years? Keeping himself to himself until he was forced out of his home to lead the newest unlucky District 8 children to their deaths? 

Wasn’t he lonely?

Perhaps, despite it being the worst of circumstances, being in a team was good for him. She wasn’t exactly sure where they were leading but he was with people. People who’d been through things he had. They weren’t so different.

At the idea of the alliance, El swallowed at the thought of Katniss. She couldn’t imagine what she was going through. To be surrounded by people she’d asked for and people she wouldn’t trust as far as she could throw them. Elara might not have known the plan in its entirety but at least she knew of its outline. Katniss knew nothing.

Then, there was Wyatt. She knew next to nothing about him too. Nothing but that he was kind with a surprisingly excellent aim. Beetee, who was another enigma, was the local genius. She wondered about his life, his family if he’d had it and the path he’d taken to end up in this situation. God, she was so ignorant. She hadn’t even taken the time out of the last seven years she’d been offered – the ones she’d wasted after surviving – to learn about people that struggled. She was a Snow. Through and through. 

“PRIM!” Katniss’ scream was raw. She knew fear. She’d felt it moments before but she’d never heard it so guttural before.

Elara took off running, following the dwindling sound of Katniss’ screams and the voice of a girl she’d never heard before to wherever she ran, her one objective staying front and centre. The Mockingjay lives. Then, with a dull thud, the screams ceased. It became clear all at once what they were dealing with.

Elara had been taught about jabberjays since she was six years old. Their many helpful qualities and all the things that Gramps liked most about them. He was always careful with what he shared, not too little that she was entirely in the dark but just enough that she wouldn’t form her own opinions until it was too late. He was damn good at it too. She was informed of how they worked: the neutral setting that had them acting just as any other bird in the trees would – singing and repeating back the phrases it caught until it heard something else – and the record mode where the birds fell abnormally quiet, silent so as not to interfere with the audio. 

Again, a scream ripped through the silence, different now but no less gut-wrenching.

She heard a woman screaming for Weston so much it must have made her throat raw. She was frantic, downright hysterical, somewhere ahead and to the left. Pausing, Elara swallowed, wondering who else he had in here. Who had he been close to that she’d been too blind to notice. But there was nothing. No one in her mind that fit the bill. It didn’t make sense–

Oh. Oh no.

“WESTON!” Elara screamed, but she didn’t. She hadn’t moved a muscle, and yet still her own voice rang out through the trees, echoing off the trunks and piercing her ears. And if she could hear it…

Pivoting fast, Elara had barely made it two feet before the voice screamed for someone else. Still her own tone, same inflections and same gravelly lilt she’d gained within the arena. But now, she screamed for Finnick.

Fast footsteps approached, not following the sound of the voice but seeking her. They were rapid, suddenly cut short when calloused hands cupped her elbows and scanned her entirely for any sign of injury whilst the screams continued.

Weston’s brows furrowed as Elara’s voice rang out through the forest, mixed with the cries of Prim, when suddenly Finnick cried out for her just as desperately. That one she knew, somehow, was not a Jabberjay. That was the real deal. His voice was so hoarse, she worried for its state.

Without even a look back, she took off through the trees. Her feet hit the ground hard, branches parting like they were in tune with her and not forced away by her vigour, her breath fast and painful. The air that flooded her lungs was three times heavier than oxygen; or that was how it felt. Burning her lungs from the inside out, Elara fell over her panic, her grip tight around the trident. 

“Finnick!” She did shout then, desperate. Hysterical.

She saw Peeta first, smacking his palm against what seemed like empty air at first, until she noticed the ripple across its surface and she realised, bile rising in her throat as the distant bushes ruffled with movement. She barely had a moment to clock the sudden muffling of the voices.

Elara shot forward, palms pressed against the invisible wall as Finnick barrelled toward her, an attempt to hold her tight in his arms and quell the fears that had so quickly arisen in the centre of his chest. The ones that had made his skin simmer and his heart lose its rhythm at the very premise of her being hurt.

“Stop! Stop!” Peeta was pleading beside her as they approached, his voice going hoarse.

The two of them, Finnick and Katniss alike, hit the forcefield with a dull thud, sending the ripples like a stone in water across its surface, scaling upwards towards the sky. Elara pressed her palm further against it, as if she could break through the molecular structure and hold him. It’s not that she thought her touch would soothe him, the opposite really. She knew he’d calm her, despite her being in the more ideal of the two positions. She was thinking about her own selfish gain once again because–

“You’re a Snow, Elara. It’s all you’ll ever be.” 

“Please. Please!” She cried. To Finnick, who was clawing at his ears like he dreamed of ripping them from his skull. To Caspian, who had never, in their haunting seven years together, ever known when to leave her alone. Why wouldn’t he just leave her alone?

“They’re just Mutts!” Peeta yelled, his forehead pressed securely against the wall. “It’s not real!” But they couldn’t hear him. Katniss couldn’t hear him. She was screaming, her palms clamped securely over her ears and failing to drown out the noise. 

Where she had her eyes shut tight, Finnick’s were wide open, tears brimming and his own cries, helpless wails and gut-wrenching sobs, silent behind the border. But his eyes, that devastating shade of green, were locked on El. He wouldn’t blink. He refused to. As if, in the split second his eyes were shut, she would vanish and his worst fears, the ones currently plaguing him with a soundtrack of her screams, would come true.

Every minute that passed felt worse than the last. Finnick had lost the last of his energy, bleeding him dry of his fight and leaving him on the ground, his temple resting against the transparent wall. His eyes were empty, his arms limp. Sweat poured from his forehead from most of his fighting, the humidity in the air unyielding even then.

Elara hadn't moved from her original position, reaching and waiting for the moment she could hold him. The moment she could ensure he was okay and this hadn’t broken something inside of him. Something else. Her eyes too had fluttered shut, too afraid to witness their pain, their suffering. She couldn’t handle it.

Weston had kept his distance, knowing it to be the last thing she’d need when she was suffocating in her own dread with no way to help until the time was up. Wyatt and Johanna lingered behind Peeta, achingly helpless to anyone else. Beetee was on the ground fiddling with his coil, his eyes shut and his lips forming around words no one could hear.

When the hour had finally run down, it was confirmed by Finnick’s slump. He slipped, head falling into Elara’s quick moving arms before he caught himself with a weak hand to the floor. She acted fast, scooting in front of him and cupping his jaw, slick with sweat, in her palms and did her very best to ignore the bird carcasses that had clattered to the ground from both of their attempts to silence their pain early. Where she usually found sea-green over crushed pearl, turquoise had taken its place, the rest of his sclera so red-rimmed she wondered if he’d weep blood.

“Hey. Hey,” Elara said, voice gentle as she sought his gaze. Empty or not, it didn’t matter to her. Anything he could offer her, even the smallest part of him was a gift. One she would cradle in her hands and protect with her life. She didn’t need riches or money. Big houses or fancy outfits. He was more than enough. He was everything. “You’re okay.”

“El– I–” He stumbled over his words, hands trembling as they lifted. They shook as he placed his palm over her ear, fingers sliding into her hair.

“Deep breaths.” She coaxed, his own words floating around her mind like a mantra. “Come on, Odair. Breathe for me.”

He inhaled, albeit shakily but it was large enough that she was no longer worried that he’d stopped entirely. Setting a rhythm, she drew in a long breath in time with his own, holding it for a few seconds and exhaling in an over the top way that he would know exactly when the cue was. 

“Not real.” She reminded him with a nod, her thumb brushing over his strong cheekbone.

Finnick didn’t change his expression much, he couldn’t really, but he muttered in no more than a whisper, “Not real.”

Elara shuffled to his side, wrapping both her arms around one of his and settling her forehead against his temple. Johanna approached then, her voice so gentle it sounded unnatural.

“You okay?” She asked, leaning over to meet his gaze that was zeroed in somewhere on the floor, though his hand was clasping the side of El’s head like he needed to touch her to know she was really there. To know the Jabberjays were a fraud. 

Katniss trembled violently, flinching when Peeta rushed to her side. She muttered about Prim, her purpose, and unbunched her shoulders when he reminded her it wasn’t real. That Prim wasn’t there, she was home. Safe.

“Your fiance is right. The whole country loves your sister.” Johanna pointed out, her axe hanging loosely at her side. “If they tortured her, or did anything to her–” She scoffed, shaking her head lightly. “Forget the districts, there would be riots in the damn Capitol.”

“She’s right.” Wyatt muttered, taking Beetee’s hand in his and pulling him to his feet. “I saw the way they teared up in the Capitol at every mention of her. They’d go insane.”

“Good kid.” Was all Weston contributed.

Johanna smirked. “Hey, how does that sound, Snow?” She yelled at the sky. “What if we set your backyard on fire?! You know you can’t put everybody in here!”

The group stared, a strange concoction of horror, bewilderment and absolute awe, as Johanna shrugged the act off like it was nothing. Elara had moved her head, resting her ear on Finnick’s shoulder, her eyes on Johanna. She was aware her position was probably sending anyone entirely unaware of her and his history haywire but she couldn’t bring herself to give a shit right now. 

“What?” Johanna dismissed their stares. “He can’t hurt me. There’s no one left that I love.”

She was wrong. Johanna may not have had any family back home anymore but she had El. She’d be the shoulder, the best friend she could’ve once had, if she needed her. Johanna had Weston; Lord knows he’d rather cut his own hand off then abandon either of them. She had Finnick, a life long friend, more like a brother, whose trust in her had never wavered. Hell, everyone else in their little group was there now. Like it or not, no matter their blood, they were a team. That was something Snow could not change, even if he dreamed of it.

“I’ll get you some water.” Johanna said to Katniss, turning away from the group and stepping out.

Wyatt glanced at her retreating form, slicing down branches to release a drop of her bottled rage, his brows tugged together, and gestured. “I’ll go after her. Make sure she’s not alone.”

Elara’s chest ached. She hated that she couldn’t fix whatever was wrong with him. He had always managed to help her when she got like this. In the years they’d been chosen as mentors and Elara had some particularly painful visions of Caspian, Finnick had been perfect, as if he’d been prepared for something like that his whole life. He’d practically glued himself to her side, scooping her hands in his and speaking consistently; another voice for her to focus on instead of the ghost’s. He didn’t avoid the subject, that wasn’t what was needed, but he pulled her away from it regardless.

“I think he’s gotta learn to move on.” He’d said a couple years back, interlocking their hands together whilst Elara fought off the migraine. Caspian was lounging across one of the plush couches, the one that a snoozing Tobin was not occupying, humming a taunting little song, one of the forbidden ones, she thought, about a couple and a tree. 

“It’s us, El. Don’t you think? If we get you one of those necklaces they sing about sometime, then we can be together again.” Caspian posed, his words gentle to make his venom sweeter. His head rolled to the side to get a look at her.

“Don’t say that.” She winced, her hand squeezing around Finnick’s like it was her lifeline.

“I say it because I love you. Don’t you love me?” He asked, sitting upright and placing his hand over the centre of his chest again. The same place he always did; the same place the blade had entered. 

She snapped her gaze away before the wound could appear. 

Cas spoke again. “Is that why you killed me?”

“You know what, what’s he saying? I wanna talk to him.” Finnick nodded, glancing across the room at the empty couch and tilting his head. “Are you listening, you little… punk?” He tried, brows drawing together at the word foreign to his regular vocabulary.

Elara let out a struggling chuckle.

“He’s humming a song.” She said, though offered no other details. “I think he wants me to–” She snapped her lips shut, unwilling to voice the idea and have him fret over her even more than before.

Finnick didn’t push or pry. He nodded, pointing his free hand towards the couch, a little too far left to be directly at Cas.

“You gotta leave her, man. We were friends, no? Listen to a pal and take a hint.”

Caspian smiled at Elara, his grin wide and unmoving. Elara spoke for him. “Or what?”

“Or–” Finnick frowned, his eyes flickering around the room as if searching for the answer. “Or I’ll have one of those Capitol nerds to find a way for me to enter your subconscious. We can settle it face to face then.”

“You’d crawl inside my brain?” Elara snorted. “Just to fight a dead tribute you barely knew?”

“Exactly. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” He grinned, his heart soaring at the sight of her smile as he pulled her closer to him, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and drawing her to his chest. “Man, why’d you have to get the asshole shadow? Couldn’t have Tanner, huh?”

“If I could pick, he’d be here. Caspian just likes the attention.”

“What an asshole.”

Why couldn’t she aid him here? Now? Why was he unable to come back from that long, torturous hour? She hadn’t managed to draw a smile from him once.

When Johanna returned and they collectively agreed to go back to the beach, El let Finnick wander ahead after she’d folded his fingers back over the shaft of his trident. She hung back, joined quickly by Weston, as they made their way through the trees.

“You gonna go to him, or what?” He asked, spear sticking in the wet mud like a walking stick.

“I think he needs space for a minute. I don’t want to overwhelm him more than I already have.”

Weston scoffed, though not unkindly. “That boy has just had to endure an hour – an hour – of the most horrific screams imaginable, ones that sound like evidence of a murder or goddamn worse. And they were in your voice. You don’t think he’s not gonna want you under his arm, whispering sweet nothings in his ear until the sun goes down?”

“Weston.” She warned, shaking her head. “This is serious.”

“I'm as serious as a heart attack, El.” He grunted, gesturing as the lake came into view. “Some kind, gentle and constant words from you to remind him you’re there is exactly the kind of medicine the doctor would prescribe. Not my fault if you’re too afraid to comfort the man you love.” He shrugged.

She slowed, eyes wide in surprise. Weston took a quick hold of her wrist to yank her along in time again, gentle near her bruises. No being left behind. “I’m not– He’s… Whatever you think you know–”

“I know I ain’t no genius, kid, but there’s no way you need this spelling out for you. He looks at you like you, yourself, created the world around us. Like you cried the water for every body of it and molded the earth we walk on in your palms. He sent letters, put himself in danger for you, learned every last thing there was to know about you from you so he had not one misconception for seven years. People don’t do that for just anyone.”

“So– What, you think he–?” She asked, her eyes locked and unmoving from Finnick’s back.

“I won’t say the words, sweetheart. They should come from him. But, yes. Yes, I do.”

She watched for a moment as they arrived, her feet in the sand and the rustle of the waves in her ears, as Finnick lowered himself into the advancing shore. He sat, unbothered as the waves rushed over him. If anything they were probably more welcome than she was with him. They were his home.

She didn’t look over at their team beneath the shelter of trees. She didn’t really want to, not even when she caught a slight wind of the discussion they shared over their loved ones. She heard about Katniss’ family, and a vague and blunt confession about a young boy Beetee once knew. She caught the grunt of Weston and his uncharacteristically quiet admittance about a woman he missed. But, she didn’t look over. She didn’t even want to. Everything she ever wanted, the thing she hoped she saw last before she died, was sitting a few feet in front of her.

“Hey,” Johanna’s voice, softened and kind, cut through her thoughts. Her realisation. “Beetee has a plan.”

“Where do Careers feel safest? The jungle?” He asked, the way a teacher would. A man who had the answer, but needed to know if you were paying attention.

“The jungle’s a nightmare.” Johanna dismissed.

“Probably here on the beach.” Peeta agreed.

“Why aren’t they here then?”

“Because we are.” Elara muttered. Finnick’s head snapped her way, eyes wide and soft when she spoke.

Johanna nodded, pointing her way. “We claimed it.”

“And if we left they would come.” Beetee said, though she was unsure on if he was stating or asking them.

Finnick spoke then, clearly – and melodic in her eyes. “Or stay hidden in the treeline.”

Beetee nodded. “Which in just over four hours will be soaked in water from the ten o’clock wave. Then, what happens at midnight?”

“Lightning strikes that tree.” Katniss answered.

“Here’s what I propose: we leave the beach at dusk. We head to the lightning tree.” He said, hand cutting through the air to direct them. “That should draw them back to the beach. Prior to midnight, we then run this wire from the tree to the water. Anyone in the water, or on the damp sand, will be electrocuted.” 

Peeta scooped a handful of sand, confirming its state, as Weston shook his head. “We sure that’d work?”

Johanna nodded. “Yeah, how do we know the wire isn’t gonna burn up?”

“Because I invented it.” Beetee answered simply. “I assure you it won't burn up.”

Katniss glanced at Johanna and Finnick, who were already sharing a look before her gaze slipped over Elara. She had her head bowed, eyes unmeeting anyone else's. 

Wyatt let out a long, careful breath. “It’s the only idea we have. I’m glad you’re around, Beetee.”

“Better than hunting them down.” Johanna agreed.

“I still think something could go wrong–” Elara began before she was cut off entirely.

“Yeah, why not? If it goes wrong, no harm done anyway, right?” Katniss said.

Predictably, Peeta nodded. Devoted. That’s the word she’d use to describe him. “Alright, I say we try it.”

Finnick let out a sigh, before he nodded. “So what can we do to help?”

Beetee only shrugged. “Keep me alive for the next six hours. That’d be extremely helpful.”

✩➵✩

Finnick was back in the water again. Spinning his trident around his arms, he focused on the waves. In turn, so did she.

She watched them overlap, the white sea foam materialising over the top like the icing on one of the ridiculous Capitol cakes. She noted every shade of blue and green and frowned when she realised not a single one matched the colour of Finnick’s eyes.

She could feel Weston’s gaze burning into her, his words echoing in her brain and making her skin itch. What if he was as delusional as she was? What if he too was seeing things that weren’t there? How was she supposed to come back from a rejection from Finnick Odair, one that would be captured by however many cameras there are around the centre?

Elara didn’t give herself any more time to consider it. She couldn't trust the direction her thoughts may have taken, leading down into a terrifying spiral towards the opposite kind of verdict. Instead, she quickened her pace and bee-lined for him.

He didn’t notice her approach, or if he did, he didn't react to it. Katniss and Peeta remained behind on the beach beside each other, Wyatt and Weston a little further away from Beetee and Johanna. Elara didn’t look at any of them. They weren’t the ones she was worried about right now. All she could do was follow the tug of the rope, tied tightly around her waist, that seemed to yank her toward Finnick.

“Hey.” She said over the rush of the water, already lapping around her ankles. It was freezing, a harsh relief from the heat of the arena.

Finnick turned, his lips drawing up in the faintest of smiles though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. She didn’t blame him. She couldn’t imagine what he was going through. “Hey, Rosewood.”

“You feeling better?” 

He twirled the trident around his hand, somehow having it spin around his wrist and fall straight back into his palm. Magnetic. She didn’t understand how he did that. “I’ve been good the whole time. It messed me up a little, hearing you like that but it wasn’t you. It doesn’t matter.”

“Matters to me.” She shrugged, folding her arms across her chest in defence, though, from what, she wasn't sure.

He smiled again, tilting his head. Without a word, he held out the trident, offering it to her. “You wanna try?”

“I couldn’t do all that.” She said, shaking her head with a dry laugh. 

“Not if you don’t try, you can't.” He said, his arm holding strong. “I’ll help you.”

Begrudgingly taking a step, Elara rolled her eyes, stepping into his space and ignoring the way her entire body lit up. “What am I doing?” She asked, wrapping her hand around the handle. Finnick’s covered hers.

“Just twisting it. Spinning. Twirling. Any other words that mean the same thing.” He said, and the warmth of his palm settled in her bones. “Okay. We gotta fix your posture first.”

Huffing a laugh, Elara let her limbs go loose, moldable under his hands. “Don’t you think we have better things to be doing?”

“Like what?”

Elara thought for a moment. Damn it. They had a couple more hours until they had to go. There really was nothing else she should be doing. “Alright, fine.”

“Good.” He said and she could hear the smile in his voice. And then, he stepped closer, his body heat warmed her back, and suddenly nothing was funny anymore. With the hand not already covering hers, Finnick rested his free arm on her waist. He moved her into position, easy enough when she moved where he did, and watched him carefully as he began to turn her hand. “See, we're just aiming for a figure of eight here. Down and up and over and down,” He said, moving her wrist in the correct motion. “Keep it going.”

“And what exactly is the point of this?” Elara asked, chuckling until he stepped away and she found her smile falling and her body turning to find him. He laughed, returning to her side to aid her temporary panic, hands right back in their place, a comforting warmth spreading across her skin. “How is this gonna help with–” The words ‘the rebellion’ almost tumbled far too easily from her lips. She corrected her expression and brushed it off. “Beetee’s plan?”

“It keeps me focused.” He said, without further explanation.

She furrowed her brows, pausing her movements and narrowing her eyes as she tried to peek at him over her shoulder. “So why am I doing it?”

Finnick huffed a laugh as he circled her, his smile soft and steadying. “When you do it, you smile. Because it’s stupid. And you think I’m funny.”

“I don’t think you’re that funny–”

“Nuh uh. You think I’m funny.” He reached out, hand cupping her chin and his thumb tracing the side of her mouth. Elara didn’t breathe. “That keeps me focused.” He said, his eyes going soft when her lips tilted in that way he’d memorised.

Elara rolled her lips together, eyes bright and twinkling against the setting sun. “Very smooth, fishboy.”

Finnick laughed, loud and sudden, but just as heavenly as always. “‘Fishboy’? That’s a new one.”

“Fitting, though, no?”

He really smiled then, pure and soft and beautiful. Elara was sure it was the greatest sight they could’ve been offered within the confines of the arena. No sunset, golden embers painted across the skies, or flowers, a whole multitude of colours she was sure she’d never seen collectively in one space before, would make her feel that way. 

“Are you okay? Actually?” She asked, head tilting gently.

Finnick swallowed, glancing out to the descending sun for a moment before he lowered himself to the ground, the gentle waters lapping around his legs. “I thought I lost you.” He admitted, voice quiet and conscious, though still easy. A cover-up. “I’ve never felt that scared before.”

Dropping beside him and scooting as close as possible, El turned to him, bringing his attention to herself. “I’m still here.” She smiled, but he noted the strain. It wasn’t real. “So are you.” She added, though that one felt like more of a comfort to herself than him.

“Yeah.” He muttered.

They let the silence wash over them just as the water did. Calming, gentle. Comfortable. With the sunset, the horizon looked like a painting. An artwork of colours handpicked by the creator and streaked across the sky just for their viewing. When their knees touched, Finnick placed a gentle hand on her thigh, just holding her there. Like he was ensuring she was still real, and not about to vanish anytime soon. It made her wonder if he had ghosts of his own that he’d failed to mention. Still, she shoved away her doubts, her suspicions, choosing to rest her head on his damp shoulder. He smelt like seawater, the way she imagined a long day at the beach might smell, but that sweet scent lingered. It tiptoed its way around her head until she was dizzy without even realising it.

“El?” His voice was soft. Too soft. For a second she heard Cas. Not older, torturous Cas. Young. Afraid. Openly honest right after Tanner died. If Weston was right, he couldn’t say it now, like this. With a discrete wince, El tucked herself closer, the warmth of his palm grounding her.

“Hm?” She hummed, like it was instinct. Please, not here. Not now. She wanted to tell him so but the thought burned in her chest. She couldn’t ask that. Not again. It’d be like following her own script.

But Finnick knew her better than she realised. No three worded confessions flew from his lips, no tragic end of the line goodbyes. She should’ve known their hearts were much more in sync than that. 

Turning his head, he pressed his nose against her damp hair, something she almost tried to fight away from – there was no way it smelled pleasant, and breathed slowly. Evenly. His grip tightened momentarily, barely a hint, before he let himself speak. “You know.”

And she did. She knew because she felt it too. Burning her from the inside out, her heart tripping over itself to reach his. Something low in her gut twisted painfully in its need to have him. All of him. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her days by anyone else’s side. Damn it, Weston. 

She lifted from his shoulder, turning to face him and brushing his nose with her own in the process. It occurred then. In all the years she’d known him, slowly falling more and more in that scary place with him, they’d never kissed. Not once. They’d wanted to, that much was obvious, but it had never really happened. 

Her head tilted upward like it had a mind of its own. She sought him, sought that feeling, his lips on hers and the funny butterflies in her stomach taking flight like she was sixteen again. But Finnick’s head slipped downward, his forehead coming to rest on hers, lips out of reach. She almost frowned. Almost tugged away, like the spoilt child she’d always been, away from his rejection. The very same one she’d been so worried about.

“Not for them.” He muttered, his words fluttering across the surface of her lips. 

She’d almost forgotten the entire existence of the cameras. The audience, watching their every move and granting them not a single moment of peace. Somehow, even though it seemed entirely impossible, she thought she fell a little more.

She nodded. His skin was warm on hers. His breath danced across her lips, pressing his words in the way a kiss would. He was enough. “Not for them.”