Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

 - PART ONE: THE TRIBUTES -

When Powder woke up, it was to a cold and empty bed.

It wasn't surprising, or unusual. 

Only unwelcome.

She sat up, rubbing roughly at her eyes. 

Gray walls, cold and quiet, loomed on each side. The premature light of sunrise filtered just barely through their one creaky window, and the bedroom dared her to break the buzzing silence. 

Vi wasn’t home. Likely out hunting, as she often was in the early hours of morning. 

She’d be back. Powder knew that much. After all, she didn’t have much of a choice. 

It was the day of the Reaping. 

“Your name is only in there once. Just keep your head down— it’ll be over soon.”

The statement had been clanging around in her mind for four long years and it was scheduled to continue for another two. Vi and Vander had done everything in their power to ensure the sentiment remained true— Vander spending long days in the mines and Vi submitting her name for tesserae twice a year. Even though Vander tried to stop her, she always somehow managed to get past him. Only when she would arrive home with the first round of rations would he heave a deep, unsurprised sigh, and allow her to help him prepare dinner in silence. 

But it was Vi’s last year of eligibility for tesserae. She’d already forbidden Powder from submitting her own name, but she knew the only other option was to send Vi down to the mines with Vander. They’d have to earn their rations somehow. 

Powder felt she’d gone long enough without being allowed to help her family— she wasn’t some fragile flower that needed protecting. She could contribute if they’d just let her. 

“Powder?” A hollow knock against wood. 

The girl looked up to find Vander, his huge frame towering in the doorway. Eyes dimmed and hair grayed, he nearly blended into the walls. 

“Time to get up,” He murmured. “Early day.” 

The reason why went unspoken. 

They both knew. 

Powder trudged to her feet, already alone in her room again. 

A crack of wood on wood, and the girl was alerted to a new presence within the house. 

“I’m home!” 

Vi. 

Powder tiptoed to the kitchen, feet lifting to minimize contact with the freezing flooring. 

“You didn’t need to do that today,” Powder reminded.

Vi glanced up from the table, sparing her only a moment as she unpacked her game. “Better to take advantage of the morning than just… lay there awake.” 

Powder shrugged and crossed the kitchen to lean against the scuffed wooden table. Silently, she watched as her big sister’s tense but skilled hands wrapped and tied everything to be traded or preserved. 

As the pale morning light shifted to a dim array of color on their creaky wooden floorboards, Powder pushed herself upright. “We oughta get ready.” 

Vi bit at the inside of her cheek, fists at her hips and shoulder high to her ears. After a short pause, she echoed, “Yeah.” 

A jerk of her head towards their bedroom, and the sisters trekked to their closets and their pre-picked Progress Day bests. 

Powder never understood why she had to dress up for the Reaping. Either she was simply sent back home to change and do chores, or she’d be picked as the next offering to the Capitol. The next animal to the slaughterhouse. Dressed up to draw a smile out of her consumer before they feasted on and forgot her. 

But Vi taught her to avoid the attention of the enforcers at all costs— and the enforcers said to look their best. 

So look her best, Powder did. 

Or, tried. At sixteen, she was still much smaller than Vi, but tall enough that her old dress didn’t fit anymore. Vander offered her one of her mom’s old dresses, but…

Dark blue hair, a pearl-white smile, a lilting voice that sung her to sleep… 

Still somewhere deep in the coal mines, buried under the impossible weight of hundreds— no, thousands of pounds of rocks and rubble, and her bones must match the dust of the caves by now, her body must be long gone— would she have rotted? Or was she simply grinded to bits, into nothing? Blood spattered in crimson patterns that would never be discovered and her voice snatched by the unrelenting maw of death— but sometimes Powder still hears her song, way down in that cave, bouncing off the walls of rocks she never escaped from, beckoning, calling, Powder, Powder—

“Powder!” 

Powder jumped, startled back into her own body. Her mother’s dress itched between her fingers, soft cotton somehow heavy in her hands. 

“Switch me,” Vi offered. 

Powder looked down at the button up and slacks in her sister’s hands. “You hate dresses,” She mumbled weakly. 

“Switch me anyway,” She insisted. 

Powder dropped the dress into Vi’s hands, and immediately felt guilty for allowing her sister to bear yet another burden of hers. 

The slacks and button up were a little too big, but Vi just rolled her eyes and mumbled something about ‘skin and bones,’ before tightening a belt around her waist and tucking the shirt in a little tighter. 

Powder fiddled with the back of the shirt as it came untucked again. 

A heavy pair of footsteps stopped outside their door, and the girls turned to face Vander. 

“Ready?” He asked quietly. 

The pair nodded in response. 

The walk to the Reaping was the same every year since Powder was twelve. 

Three pairs of feet, side by side. One heavy pair on her left and one steady pair on her right. Powder always sort of felt like she had a kind of protection detail on the walk over, and supposed it wasn’t far off. 

Check in at the Reaping was the same every year. 

Vander, who had aged out decades ago, would give them each a firm hug before leaving to find his place off to the side with the other adults. They would get in line with hundreds of other bone-thin and dirty children for the Capitol to take a pinprick of blood— not a single child completely spared from the bloodshed— and then be directed to the town square. 

The year was like any other. 

Vi tightened her hand around Powder’s, a desperate look in her eyes. 

“Your name is only in there once. Just—”

“I know,” Powder squeezed her sister’s hand in return. “You don’t need to worry so much. The odds are in my favor, you and Vander made sure of that.” 

Vi’s gaze remained guarded from under heavy eyelids. “The odds are never really in our favor, Pow Pow.” She paused and straightened up, expression smoothing with faux reassurance. “I’ll keep you safe. Don’t worry.” 

“But who keeps you safe?” Powder mumbled before she could stop herself. 

Vi’s expression hardened. “It’s my last year. I’ll manage.” 

Powder opened her mouth to argue, but caught a glimpse of an approaching enforcer. She flashed her a small smile to show she understood… and then her sister was being led away to the line of female eighteens. 

With a nervous twist of her lips and a twitch of empty hands, Powder shuffled forward to the line of sixteens, eyes scanning the adjacent line of boys. 

Her sister had a bad habit of understating things. Holding herself to a different standard than she held others. While she’d been taking tesserae since she was thirteen and would have her name in the running twelve times, she was in a panic over Powder having her name in once. While she’d pick at the skin of her fingertips and fret for days leading up to the Reaping, she wouldn’t bat an eye to say it was all going to be okay. She’d encourage Powder to feel her fear and sadness and lock her own away so deep she forgot about it. 

Vi’s name was in that bowl twelve times, but she’d never even considered that she’d be called. 

Powder wanted, more than anything, to help. To hold her sister when she got nightmares. To help Vander wrap his hands when he came back, blistered and bloodied by the mines. To take tesserae when her sister no longer could. To be more than that six year old child who curled up in a ball and screamed for hours after the mining accident that claimed her parents. 

Sometimes she wondered if that was why her family kept her so close under lock and key. That maybe in their eyes, she was still clawing at her hair and shredding her vocal chords. 

Powder didn’t realize what her eyes had been searching for until they landed on his. 

Ekko raised his eyebrows. Quite the turnout, huh?  

Powder rolled her eyes. It’s a mandatory event. 

Ekko shrugged. Eh. Same difference.  

Ekko was Powder’s best friend, and the only person in her world who didn’t baby her. When she was with him, she was every part of herself she’d grown into, and every part she’d yet to leave behind. She wasn’t the kid her family couldn’t help but see her as. 

She was smart, and strong, and every bit as capable as him. 

They were equals. 

Teammates. 

…They were every bit as sick of the Hunger Games as their counterpart. 

Ekko jutted his chin at an enforcer and widened his eyes. New guy.

Powder flicked her eyes over the man— tall, but thin. Built…eh, ish. A bit of a baby-face. Likely a new recruit rather than a transfer. 

Possibly another enforcer they could ‘corrupt’ into joining their black market trading system rather than trying to take it down. It was worth a shot. 

Might have to pay him a chat after all this, Powder smirked. 

Ekko winked. I like how you think. 

“Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor.” 

The pair turned to the stage, startled by the shaky voice. 

For the last, well, forever, the District Twelve escort had been a short old man with an unflattering shade of green in his tightly curled hair. Powder and Ekko had started calling him the ‘Moldy Man' from their very first Reaping at twelve years old. But that wasn’t the Capitol citizen onstage. 

Instead, a tall young woman, dressed simply but sensibly, stood in front of them. Curtains of dark blue hair framed her sharp features and watery blue eyes. Her soft and unimpaired hands trembled around the cue cards she clutched. 

Powder shot Ekko a look from the corner of her eyes. 

“Seventy four years ago, the thirteen districts of Piltover rose against the Capitol in a misguided…”

Powder tuned out the girl’s unsteady voice, instead scanning the rest of the stage. The mayor and her wife, lined with age and sagging with grief, were in their usual chairs off to the side. 

Every district required the mayor and their spouse to stand behind the escort commencing the Reaping. It was an almost sickening show of pettiness: the Capitol forced the districts to play in and witness the games, but they also forced them to pretend to support it. The leadership were forced to sit on stage and become complicit in the bloodshed—and the victors of previous years were forced to sit right beside them in a false show of hope. 

You could survive, too. 

It was an outright lie, if not a taunt. 

Some districts— One, Two, and Four, specifically— would have rows of chairs onstage to hold the victors. And they would sit there, heads high and eyes bright, as if the spot on the stage was some prize they’d earned. Like it was something worthy of dying for. Like they'd forgotten how it felt to be on the other side of the stage.

But Twelve only had two victors in the seventy four years of games. One, who had long since died without much fanfare or recognition (Powder guessed it was because the record-keeping systems had changed. Victors didn’t used to be the celebrities they had become with time, and their names likely weren’t important enough to remember), and another who had only won eleven years before. 

Powder smirked at the empty wooden chair on stage. 

It seemed good ol’ Viktor the victor had managed to evade his front row seat at the Reaping again. 

As far as representatives for districts went, Viktor was at least genuine. Perhaps he wasn’t as personable as many victors, or even vocal enough for anyone to know anything about him. But he hated the Games, and he at least wasn’t quiet about that. He was the best representation they could ask for— he was every bit District Twelve. 

Underestimated. Resilient. Spiteful. 

Powder could only imagine… if she was Viktor, she’d want to avoid that stage forever, too. She wanted to salute that empty chair. 

“...It is a time for repentance, and thanks.” 

Powder shook herself back into her body and dragged her attention back to the blue-haired girl. She just managed not to roll her eyes when she noticed the continued nervous twitching of her hands. 

What, she got to have stage-fright? While sentencing people to death?

“As always, ladies first,” The girl stated. She turned towards the glass bowl on her left and visibly hesitated. Slowly, she snaked a hand inside and, with a wince that highlighted the fear in her eyes, plucked a slip of paper from the surface. 

Powder crossed her fingers. 

“Your name is only in there once. Just keep your head down— it’ll be over soon.”

It wasn’t going to be her. She knew it wasn’t her own name on the paper. 

“Your name is only in there once.”

She crossed her fingers tighter. 

She knew that— she knew that. 

But it wasn’t herself she was worried about. 

“Just keep your head down.”

Vi’s voice swirled inside her head, knocking into the sides of her skull and leaving a pounding headache. She lowered her gaze obediently, heeding the voice’s command. 

Vi’s name was in the bowl twelve times. 

Only twelve. 

Out of thousands of names, what were the odds? That one of her twelve slips of paper would be the one picked? And on her final year? 

It couldn’t be that simple, could it?

That twitchy, pale-faced Capitol girl could just snatch one of those slips with her soft, shaky hands and get rid of her big sister with the unfolding of the paper? With the hesitant words on her tongue? 

How was that fair?

What were the odds? 

Powder heard the crinkle of paper beside the microphone, and the capitol girl cleared her high-pitched voice. 

“It’ll be over soon.”

She supposed it was true. 

Vi’s voice ricocheted back and forth, her name bouncing and tearing through any other half-formed thought. Her big sister didn’t deserve her name to be called. She didn’t deserve to have her name in the running twelve times. She didn’t deserve to be worried about her little sister and be sad about her dead parents and be worried the same would come to their pseudo-father. She didn’t deserve the world she lived in, and it didn’t deserve her. 

Powder pledged to sneak into the square and sign up for tesserae— not just for her and Vi, but for Vander, too— as soon as the submissions opened up. 

The world didn’t deserve Vi, but she would make it better. She would do anything she could to make it better. 

She would help. 

She clenched her hands into Vi’s thick pants and glanced across the square for Ekko—

Ekko. 

Powder frowned, confused. 

He stared back, frozen. Eyes wide and terrified. Shellshocked. 

She squinted at him. It wasn’t often they weren’t able to read each other's expressions like books. 

The shift, a bright shade of pink in the corner of her eyes was what got Powder to look away. 

It was surreal, seeing Vi walking past her. 

Powder scrunched her face in confusion, her usually quick mind stumbling and stuttering to keep up.

Why would Vi be walking toward the stage?

Nobody walked up to the stage unless their name was called, and nobody’s name was called unless they were being sent away to the Capitol to die some gruesome symbolic death, but Vi wasn’t going to die, this was her last year, her name was only twelve out of thousands of options, and everyone else Powder loved was already dead, buried deep in the mines under unshifted rubble, bodies unrecovered, and Vander was still here, even if he’d lost his fight long ago in that collapse, they couldn’t make it without Vi, Vi was the only one who still cared and believed in things, she was the only one who could still make something out of the mess they’d been given, and fuck— fuck. 

Her big sister was walking away from her. 

Vi was leaving her alone. 

“No!” 

The scream ripped through her throat before she could process it. 

Without even realizing, Powder had tripped her way into the gravel aisle, hellbent on reaching her sister. 

“Vi! Wait, please come back!”

It startled Powder how easily she fell back into the mind of a nine-year-old without any parents. 

Another strangled cry escaped her. 

“Please, wait— come back, please, I need you!” 

Two enforcers gripped her arms— she wanted to bite them, scratch at their disgruntled expressions, unsurprised and uncaring. Her world was shattering and that fucking baby-faced enforcer just rolled his fucking eyes. 

Powder let out a scream— terrified, anguished, frenzied, seething. Inhuman. 

Struggling against the enforcers, she was every bit the district animal they believed her to be. 

“Please! Please!” 

Vi turned to face her, jaw set but eyes contradictorily wet. 

With a minute shake of her head, she turned back to the stage. 

And Powder realized… she was every bit the child Vi believed her to be. 

Not a helpless, weak, fragile one. 

But a sensitive, reckless, unstable one. 

Not fragile like a flower. Fragile like— 

With a sudden surge of unbridled fury, Powder managed to shove one of the enforcers away. 

A sharp flash of her eyes, and she exploded. 

“I volunteer as tribute!”

Chapter Text

“I volunteer as tribute!”

Ekko’s feet jerked towards the sisters on instinct, but an enforcer intercepted him. 

Vi spun around to face Powder, startled by her outburst. Her eyes, wide with shock, seemed to glaze over momentarily, unable to process the scene. When everything clicked— the gasp of their peers, the enforcers directing Powder to the stage— she whipped back to the stare at the startled blue-haired escort. 

“She doesn’t mean it!” She shouted. 

“Yes, I do!” Powder yelled over her. 

“No, you don’t!” Vi tripped over to her sister, clutching her shoulders. “You don’t mean it, you—” A choked sob cut her off when an enforcer batted her hands away. “No, wait!” 

Vi was yanked back from her sister. As they dragged her down the aisle, further and further away from her little sister’s retreating back, she kicked and weeped. “Powder! Please, don't— she doesn't mean it! Let me go instead, please—!” 

The blue haired escort offered Powder a trembling hand and helped her up onto the stage. “What’s your name?” She asked quietly, offering her a spot in front of the mic. 

Powder took a stuttered breath in and answered, “Powder.” She jumped slightly when her own name echoed across the town square. 

Vi collapsed at the sound, defeated. 

“Why?” The girl appraised her, chin tilted downward in a show of… Powder didn’t understand. Mourning? Respect? “Why volunteer?”

Powder scanned the crowd for Vi. When she found her, she swallowed thickly, ignoring the tight pain locking up her words. “She’s my sister,” Her voice cracked on the final word. 

Vi let out a gasping sob, shoulders heaving. 

“I want to help,” Powder whispered. She looked away when Vi only stared at her, deeply betrayed. 

The escort nodded tightly. “That’s very admirable of you,” She said, words stilted. 

Powder shot her a look, but found her place on the girl’s left side. 

She raised her eyes, glancing from face to face. All the people she’d grown up with, that she’d never see again. 

A movement in the distance caught her attention. 

Powder watched as Vander raised three fingers, expression grave and heartbroken. 

The crowd followed. Three fingers from each citizen of the district were raised in Powder’s honor. It was the kindest farewell she could have been offered.

The blue-haired Capitol girl tilted her head down, as if allowing them a moment without her presence. A moment to grieve, and acknowledge the unfairness of her fate. 

When all the hands were back at their sides, uniform and submissive, the reaping continued. 

Ekko’s heart pounded in his ears. 

Powder stood on that stage, all alone, eyes wide and teary, shocked— like she still didn’t fully understand what she’d just done. Ekko could admire her for it. He did. It was the kind of thing he would have seen coming if he’d only allowed himself to consider it as a possibility. It was the kind of thing he’d do himself. 

Powder was a fighter. And she cared too damn much about the people she loved. 

But no matter how determined or strong Powder was, he was all too aware that her odds were far from working in her favor. 

“So much excitement, and we’re only halfway through,” The escort tried for a carefree laugh, but it came out unnatural and terrified. “Now for our male tribute.” 

Ekko clenched his hands at his sides. 

What, the Capitol just got to terrorize them and force them into meak submission? Lord their victory over their heads annually? Take away their siblings and parents? Starve them? Beat them? Torture them? 

And now they got to take Powder, too?

Ekko unclenched his hands just to find them in fists again. 

It wasn’t fair. None of it was fucking fair. 

The Capitol girl’s hands shook so badly that she dropped the first slip she picked and had to choose another.

Ekko stared at the paper as it unfolded.

“The male tribute for District Twelve is—”

Almost like he could see the future, his feet moved toward the stage before she could even finish saying—

“Ekko.” 

Ekko sort of guessed it was meant to be. 

He and Powder had always had some grand dream of storming the Capitol and fighting for the long-dead revolution. At least they’d accomplish the ‘dying fighting, together’ part. Even though it was part of the Capitol’s charade instead of in resistance of it. 

He climbed up to the stage without managing to meet Powder’s eyes and found his place on their escort's right side. 

“Please welcome our 74th annual tributes from District Twelve: Powder and Ekko!” The Capitol girl managed a cheer that could pass as excited.  

When she waved them towards the doors of their justice building, Ekko ignored her. He hurried to Powder’s side, took her hand, and only then did he reluctantly follow the girl’s lead. Powder tripped along behind him, but held his hand steady. Through touch alone, she understood she could trust the firm hand guiding her. 

“I… am Caitlyn. Kiramman. I will be your Capitol escort until you leave for the games. It… I’m sorry.” The blue-haired girl hesitantly introduced herself as the doors closed behind her. They were all trapped together— the illusion of a team. 

Ekko sized her up, expression pinched. “Where’s our mentor?” 

“Likely being forced onto the train,” Caitlyn admitted. 

Powder let out a nervous giggle. 

“I think they’re giving you a few minutes to say your goodbyes,” Caitlyn continued. 

Ekko spoke with clenched teeth. “How kind.” 

Caitlyn grimaced, and directed a clench-fisted Ekko and a cloudy-eyed Powder to separate rooms. 

Ekko surveyed the room, eyes flicking from side to side. He remained completely still otherwise, unsure of who would walk through the door. Benzo, likely. Perhaps Vander and Vi would manage to send him off. Otherwise, who would miss him? 

The door squeaked open, and Ekko turned to face his first final visitor. 

“Ben—” He stopped. 

The pair stared at each other. 

“Why aren’t you with Powder right now?” He asked tightly. 

 The girl stared at him, lip trembling. 

“Because saying goodbye won’t save her,” Vi whispered. 

Ekko frowned. “But saying goodbye to me will?” 

Vi grimaced. 

Nothing needed to be said— Ekko understood the point of her visit. 

“Oh,” He breathed. 

“Ekko. I need you to do something for me,” She whispered. Her eyes stayed fixed on the floor, ashamed to look up. 

“I know,” He clenched his hands at his sides to keep them from fidgeting. “I’ll get Powder home.” 

Vi finally met his eyes. 

Ekko couldn’t help but stare at Vi’s tear-streaked cheeks. He hadn’t seen her cry in years. Not since the mining accident. 

“I’m sorry,” She pleaded. “I’m sorry to ask you to— I’m sorry.” She held her hands together in mock prayer. “I’m so sorry.”  

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” He admitted quietly. 

And that was true, wasn’t it? That was why he hadn’t been afraid to walk onto that stage. Because Powder was standing on it. His best friend, who he could never leave to die alone. Of course he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“It’s not like you made the games,” Ekko muttered. “We die or we play.” 

“You die either way,” Vi glared at the floorboards. 

A harsh knock at the door. The pair startled, and turned back to each other. 

“I think it’s Benzo’s turn,” Vi hesitated to meet his eyes. 

Ekko smiled, small and reassuring. He opened his arms and Vi crashed into him, pulling him in for a tight hug. A final hug. 

“Thank you, little man,” She said, hushed. 

Ekko nodded, face hidden in her shoulder. “Keep an eye on Benzo for me, yeah? He’s getting old, and that repair shop is too quiet.” He sniffed, and willed the tears away. 

Vi nodded sharply. “Yeah. Yeah. I’ll— we’ll take care of him.” 

“Good.” He pulled back. “And take care of Powder. She’s— she’ll be fine, but she’ll need a new best friend.” 

Vi’s expression scrunched up. A fresh wave of tears announced their arrival and she simply shook her head. “We can’t replace you. Powder’d never even think about it. You know that.” 

“Doesn’t really matter anymore,” He reminded her. “I’m gonna get her out. That’s what matters. That’s what I know.”

A sharper knock at the door. 

“Go see Powder,” Ekko said calmly. “She’ll be wondering where you are.” 

Vi nodded robotically. “I— I’m sorry,” She whispered a final time. With one last glance over her shoulder, she disappeared into the cold hallway. 

Ekko dropped into the first chair he could find. Head in his hands, he let himself take a deep, shuddering breath in… and out. 

His time was numbered, but it always had been. 

All that mattered now was what he did with it. 

And Ekko had never been wasteful.

Chapter Text

The tube rose against his wishes. 

And suddenly, he found himself squinting in green daylight that barely made it through the dense canopy above. His skin, though hidden under a light cargo jacket, immediately broke into a sweat. Partly in dread, partly in shock of the change in temperature. The room below was crisp and uncomfortably cool. The air he found himself trapped in was thick, damp, and desperately trying to bake him alive. 

His chest rose and fell rapidly, trying to acclimate to the new environment. 

In a wide circle around him, twenty three heaving bodies glanced from tribute to tribute. 

A rhythmic booming finally caught his attention, and he looked to the center of the circle.

Fifteen. 

Fourteen.

Thirteen. 

The countdown. 

The air buzzed with life, the floor churned beneath him. Water, he realized. Soupy, brown water like the broth Babette served in the Hob. Trees rose high around them, vines twisting and slithering through the greenery. The arena was alive. And it was about to do its damndest to make sure he wasn’t for much longer. 

Ten. 

Nine.

Eight. 

It was a swamp. 

He was seventeen, and he was going to die burning and drowning in a swamp. 

Five. 

He looked up, hoping to catch sight of the sky one last time. 

Four. 

He wouldn’t kill.

Three. 

He wouldn’t play. 

Two. 

He wouldn’t win.

One.

He wanted to hit himself. It wasn’t the sky, they weren’t even real trees. He’d had his last look at the real world all the way back in Twelve, before he’d been dragged to the Capitol. 

“Let the 63rd Annual Hunger Games commence. And may the odds be ever in your favor.” 

A deafening boom—

“Viktor!”  

Viktor jolted awake, hand striking at the voice who woke him. 

Caitlyn jumped backwards, startled. She raised her hands in surrender once she was out of reach. 

The pair stared each other down.

Caitlyn swallowed thickly. Viktor watched her carefully, heartbeat rabbiting in his ribcage. He'd fallen asleep on the train. Nothing more. Once he had fully come to terms with the fact she wasn’t a threat— it took him a moment too long, he was losing his edge— he lowered his hand and cleared his throat. 

“Caitlyn.” 

“Viktor,” She murmured, averting her gaze. “Your tributes are here.” 

“They’re not mine,” He retorted venomously. 

She looked at him from under her lashes. “Sorry,” She apologized, near silent. 

He softened just slightly. 

Neither of them were there by choice, after all. But she was the child in the equation. 

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” He managed. He gripped his cane tightly and dragged himself to his feet. “Names?”

“Powder and Ekko,” She responded, turning to lead him to the car they waited in. “Ekko was reaped normally, but Powder volunteered for her sister.”

“A volunteer?” Viktor paused in surprise. They stopped in front of the sliding doors before they could activate. Caitlyn nodded, sharing in his shock. “Ages?” 

“Sixteen. Both of them.” 

Viktor nodded solemnly. On the older side, but it made it no easier sending them to their deaths. “Anything else of note?” 

Caitlyn hesitated. Viktor raised his brows. 

Finally, she admitted, “They’re friends. Close. Known each other their whole lives. I imagine we can probably use that to get them sponsors.” 

Viktor tightened his hold on his cane to keep himself from drifting off into his head. 

So what if they were childhood friends? 

It had happened before. It wasn’t unique to his own games, when he’d been reaped with—

“Well, let’s meet the poor doomed children the Capitol has entrusted me with this year,” Viktor stated darkly, and passed Caitlyn into the next train car. 

A dark-skinned boy with white hair shot to his feet at his arrival. “Where have you been?” 

Viktor ignored him in favor of his counterpart. 

Jaw and fists clenched, a pale girl with braided blue hair got to her feet. Big blue eyes tracked his movements, flicking to his cane, his leg, his face. He was reminded of a child trying far too hard to look grown up. 

He was reminded of every tribute before her. 

“Sit,” He said softly, looking at the pair. 

The boy, Ekko, he remembered, shook his head. “I don’t feel like sitting.” 

“Whatever makes you comfortable,” Viktor shrugged. He took the seat across from him and motioned at his leg. “But I will be sitting.” 

The girl, Powder, dropped into her own seat. 

Ekko paused… and reluctantly took his own. 

For a moment, the trio only stared at each other. 

Then, Caitlyn slid into the seat beside Viktor, startling them all. 

“Why weren’t you at the Reaping?” Ekko asked, gaze hard. 

Viktor leaned his cane against his seat and clasped his hands together in his lap. “I think the Capitol has used me for entertainment quite enough.” 

“It’s not about the Capitol,” Ekko argued. “It’s about being there for your district. How do you think it makes us feel, looking up and seeing an empty stage?” 

“I would do the same thing,” Powder muttered. 

Ekko snapped his mouth shut and turned to her. “Huh?” 

“I wouldn’t sit on that stage even if it got me killed,” Powder stated firmly, looking up at Viktor. 

Ekko softened slightly. “Not everything is about what we want.”

“Nothing is about what you want anymore,” Viktor corrected. “You’ve been reaped. You are the Capitol’s now. They decide your fate— whether you live, die, and even whatever happens after that.”

“So you can’t help us?” Ekko crossed his arms. 

Viktor shook his head. “That’s not what I said. You have one final choice to make. No matter what you decide, you lose all control over your lives. But whatever you choose will decide whether or not you live at all.” 

“What is it?” Powder asked. She rocked subconsciously back and forth in her seat. 

Viktor tilted his head to the side, weighing his own words. This would be the tenth time he extended this offer. 

He wondered how many times he’d give it again before he finally gave in and died. 

“You can play the games,” he began slowly. “You can play them, and I can do everything I can to get you sponsors, and allies, and whatever you need to come back home. If that is what you want— to come home— then I will do everything in my power to help you.” 

The pair watched him closely from the other side of the table. 

Ekko broke the tense silence. “And what’s the other option?” 

“If you… if you’d rather not play at all…” His eyes darkened, but he met their gazes without hesitation. “Well. I’d tell you how to make it quick. Or, at least painless.” 

Powder’s eyes widened slightly. “Suicide?” 

Ekko’s stare hardened and he bumped her shoulder, jolting her out of her head. “One of us is coming home.” 

Viktor nodded. “If that’s what you want, that’s what we plan.” 

“That’s what we want,” Ekko said firmly. 

Viktor’s golden gaze drifted to electric blue. “Powder?” 

Powder bit at her lips and cracked her knuckles. “I— I don’t know. I’m still not sure if I’m dreaming. Or if he’s really next to me, or…” She cut herself off with a little laugh and a fist rapping at the table. “I haven’t been this bad in awhile, have I?” Her head tilted towards empty space, as if listening to an answer. 

Viktor looked to Ekko for an answer. He only glared between Viktor and Caitlyn, daring them to comment. 

Powder nodded resolutely, drawing the group’s attention. “Okay. Okay. I’ll do it. But only if he’s really here.” 

“If who is really here?” Viktor asked calmly. 

Caitlyn shifted next to him and he took a deep breath in, hoping she’d get the message and copy. From the corners of his eyes, her shoulder rose and fell. 

Powder jerked her head in Ekko’s direction. 

Viktor leaned against the table and caught her eye. “I know it’s hard, Powder. Believe me, I know. As much as it doesn’t feel like it, as much as they try to convince you you’re not,” Viktor nodded at the empty space at her other side, “You’re here with us. And I’m sorry, but Ekko is the one sitting next to you.” 

Powder’s rapt attention on him sunk into disbelieving sadness. She sniffed, then forced a little smile. “At least I’m not totally crazy,” She sang. She turned to Ekko and elbowed him roughly. “Betcha won’t miss that, huh?” 

Ekko was torn between indulging her: allowing her to enjoy herself before he couldn’t be the butt of her jokes anymore— couldn’t be the friend at her side, and glaring at her for thinking she could laugh away her problems, or thinking he would be the one to make it home. 

Viktor interrupted before he had to decide. “Caitlyn and I are your team. We will be the ones you come to with any questions, concerns, ideas— anything. We are your bridge to the Capitol, and we are your ticket back home.” He paused, catching the wary glances in Caitlyn’s direction. “We are on your side. Both of us.” 

Ekko wasn’t quick to trust, or slow to voice it. Viktor admired it— he’d need that quality in the arena. “How do we know that for sure?” Ekko asked, eyeing Caitlyn closely. “Why are you even here, anyway? You’re a Kiramman; shouldn’t you be busy training to be a gamemaker? Or the next council member?” 

Caitlyn winced. “I— my mother thinks I don’t have enough allegiance to the Capitol. She’s scared for my future. I guess she’s hoping this experience will reinforce my belief in the games. In the system.” 

“And is it?” Powder draped herself over the edge of the table. 

Caitlyn looked down at her hands. “I… don’t imagine I’m supposed to answer until I mean it when I say ‘yes.’” 

Ekko snickered. “Practiced answer.”

“Are you really planning to help us win?” Powder asked. 

Caitlyn squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. When she met their eyes, she met them firmly. “I will do anything I can to make sure that the victor is one of you two.” 

Viktor shook his head and added, “We’ll do what we can do to make one of you a victor. But don’t think that means you won. Whatever you think going into these games, just know: nobody ever really wins. Even if you come home—”

“Once a tribute, always a tribute,” Ekko finished knowingly. 

It was said constantly across District Twelve, though there hadn’t been a victor in decades for it to mean anything. Until, of course, Viktor. 

“Districts never win,” Viktor finished knowingly. “Do you still want to play?” 

Powder and Ekko looked to each other. A series of eyebrow twitches and squints later, and they turned back to face their team. 

“We’re playing,” Ekko stated, eyes fiery. 

Viktor nodded softly. “Then let’s get to work.” 

*

Viktor bit at the inside of his cheek, shuffling papers across the table. 

“Can I trust you to sway your mother?” He muttered, distracted. 

Caitlyn nodded, icy blue eyes determined even under low lamplight. 

The districts slid by outside their tinted windows, but the pair paid them no attention, too busy scoping out potential sponsors. 

“She tends to favor District Two, ever since—” 

“The 60th Hunger Games,” Viktor murmured. His fingers twitched towards the chain around his throat, but he quelled the urge. It wasn’t the time to think about any games but the ones he found himself in right now. 

“But I’m her daughter,” Caitlyn continued. “If anyone can sway her… well, let’s hope she’ll at least hear me out.”

Viktor nodded tersely. “We shouldn’t expect anything. We don’t have any reason to believe my district looks any better than usual. The only unique aspect is Powder’s volunteer, and—”

A sharp hiss as the door slid open. 

The pair startled and spun to face their intruder. 

Viktor turned his chair, reaching for his cane and standing. “You should be resting.”

Ekko shrugged defiantly. “Wanted to see what you were up to.” 

Viktor understood he wouldn’t be able to convince Ekko to do anything he didn’t want. He waved the boy towards the table and explained, “Scouting sponsors. Would you like to see?” 

Ekko glanced towards the table, then to Caitlyn. After a beat, he shook his head. Turning his attention back to Viktor, he asked, “Can I talk to you?” 

Viktor glanced towards Caitlyn and nodded. She turned back to their work, her neat handwriting flicking out new ideas and old contacts. Viktor faced Ekko again, and with an encouraging nod, followed him to the other side of the train car. 

“What can I do for you, Ekko?” 

The boy fidgeted with his hands momentarily, before he whipped them to his sides and into fists. 

“If I was reaped with anyone else, I wouldn’t play,” Ekko confessed. 

The rumbling of the tracks beneath them and the scratching of Caitlyn’s pen were the only sounds to interrupt their shared silence. 

Viktor watched him with resigned understanding. “But she’s your friend.”

Ekko raised his eyes to meet Viktor’s. “She’s my best friend.”  

Viktor took in a deep breath, closing his eyes and reminding himself it wasn’t the balmy swamp air that haunted him so. 

The air left his lungs just as easily as it came, and he took a moment to appreciate it. 

“I’ve seen this before,” Viktor muttered. He opened his eyes. “I’ve lived this before. It may not go how you hope— it won’t go how you hope.” 

“Well, I was only five when you won. I don’t know any better, and, if it’s okay with you…” Ekko’s shoulders sagged as he admitted, “I think I’d like to keep it that way.” 

“Sometimes, a blank slate is the best we can hope for,” Viktor agreed. “Though other times it’s better to learn from others’ mistakes rather than risk making them yourself.” 

“I just wanna keep her alive,” Ekko hissed. He raised his hands— then clasped them tightly together. “You said you’d do anything to get us home. Right?” 

Viktor nodded, unsure of where the conversation was going. As unsure as he was, he still knew he didn’t like its direction. 

“That’s not what I want,” Ekko was unfaltering in his decision. 

“What you want doesn’t matter anymore,” Viktor reminded slowly. 

“You said I could have this one choice,” Ekko retorted, tone sharp. 

Viktor’s eyebrows drew together. He hated to ask, but he did anyway. “What do you want?” 

“Don’t worry about me. Focus on Powder.”

Viktor sighed, reluctant but unwilling to break his word. 

Ekko watched, waiting for confirmation. 

“I can’t promise that my attention will save her. It never has before.”

“I’m not asking that you make it a sure thing. I’m asking that you increase her odds.” 

Viktor grimaced. 

He’d heard this argument before. He’d been on the receiving end of this kind of thinking. He’d survived because of it— and yet, he hated himself everyday that his savior— his best friend— had died instead of him. For him. 

Would Powder feel the same? Would she regret survival, as he did? That is, if she did, against all odds, survive?

Viktor never had the choice to decide. He promised himself, no matter how it made him feel, he would give his successors a choice. 

He swallowed the lump in his throat and met the young boy’s dark eyes. “Are you sure?”

“As I could ever be.” 

Viktor allowed his hand to travel up to his throat and tug at the chain hidden under his collar, gaze drifting to the floor. A minute reminder of a moment of calm. He ran his thumb over the metal links and felt it grow warmer under his touch. 

Another day and he’d be back in the Capitol. 

Finally, he managed to set his features and meet the boy's eyes again. “We save Powder, then.”

Chapter Text

Caitlyn pinched at the bridge of her nose, then passed Viktor the porcelain sweetmilk pitcher before he could ask. 

They’d only been introduced a few days before the Reaping, but they already made an efficient team. 

…Okay, fine. They hardly knew each other. 

But she did know from experience— multiple, mind— that Viktor would refuse to hold any conversation with her until he had coffee. He quite literally would only communicate through a range of scowls and snarky comments up until he had his first sip, and then suddenly he was completely fine and level-headed. One-fourth coffee, three-fourths sweetmilk; the same brow-raising concoction he apparently made for himself every morning. No matter how little they knew each other, though, she’d heard Ekko and Powder down the hall. Viktor needed to wake up, and soon. 

(In her opinion, they did still make a good team. But that was besides the point.)

“Sleep well?” She asked politely. 

He dumped the sweetmilk into his cup and grumbled, “Questions you never ask a tribute.” 

“Right. Sorry.”

The door slid open, and Powder and Ekko slumped their way into their seats across from them. 

“We waited for you before we ordered breakfast. Is there anything in particular you two are interested in?” Caitlyn stood, eyes locked on the young teenagers. 

The pair stared blankly up at her. 

Viktor took a long, slow sip of his coffee, completely comfortable in the tense silence. Only once he’d set his cup down with a quiet clink against the sleek glass table, did he turn to her and say kindly, “I think something light would be best. Just until they have some more time to get used to Capitol food.” 

Ekko scoffed at the idea of living long enough to get used to anything new. 

Let alone something from the Capitol. 

Caitlyn nodded and walked briskly from the room, trying not to view it as a retreat. 

The automatic door hissed closed behind her.

Viktor turned back to Powder and Ekko. “How did you sleep?”

Powder scowled, her sharp gaze framed by furrowed brows and deep eye-bags. “How do you think?” 

“Yes, well, I wouldn’t ask if there wasn’t something I could do about it,” Viktor pushed the pitcher of juice towards them. “Let me know if you are interested in some kind of sleep supplement. You’ll need your rest these next few days.” 

Powder picked at the skin of her fingertips and fell silent. Ekko spared her only a momentary glance before taking the pitcher and filling both of their glasses. 

“You were talking about how you can get us sponsors last night, right?” Ekko pushed the pitcher away and leaned forward, clasping his hands on the table. “What can we do to get them?” 

Powder raised an eyebrow at him. “How did you know they were talking about that?” 

Ekko glanced at her. “Went for a walk. Couldn’t sleep.” He looked back to Viktor, eyebrows raised in a silent plea for a subject change. 

Powder’s gaze flicked between them.

“Right. Caitlyn and I were discussing tactics, but we thought it best to get your input before we decide on anything,” Viktor reached around Caitlyn’s seat and snatched up their shared notes from the floor. He squinted at the table like it was an unsolved problem, covered in unnecessary silverware and pitchers and centerpieces. With a kind smile, he asked, “Could you two please pick up your drinks for me?” 

Ekko and Powder shot each other a look from the corners of their eyes, but picked up their glasses of juice without question. Viktor placed his notes in his lap and daintily lifted his own cup. 

With a swift and calculated swipe, Viktor sent everything else flying off of the table. Glass shattered and slid across the floor in a crashing cacophony of chaos. Flowers and broken dishes and spilled beverages lay on the floor, staring up at a shocked-still Powder and Ekko. 

Viktor only contentedly took a sip of his coffee and unceremoniously spread his notes across the now clear space. “We were thinking—”

“Breakfast is on the way!” Caitlyn announced, trying her best to be cheerful. She stalled momentarily on the mess that greeted her, but with the way her shoulders slumped and no comment about it came from her, it seemed she’d experienced the same thing before. 

“We’re discussing sponsorships,” Viktor pulled her chair out for her without getting up. “I was about to explain our different options for marketing tactics, but now you’re here...” 

“Marketing tactic?” Ekko asked. 

Viktor sighed at the term, but nodded. “To survive the games, the first thing you need to understand is that it is nothing but a television show to the Capitol. They are the ones with the money, they are the ones who can pay your way out. If they say it’s just a show and you’d like to survive, then from now on, it’s just a show. And you are a marketable contestant.”

Ekko’s jaw clenched, but he knew it was true. 

“You aren’t meant to survive, you’re meant to entertain,” Viktor continued. “If you’d like the former, you have to make peace with the latter. Can you do that?” 

Powder and Ekko managed to nod. 

Caitlyn reached for one of the papers and said, “Well, then, welcome to Marketing 101.”

Powder snorted humorlessly and leaned in closer, attention fully on her mentor and escort. 

“The first tactic is the most obvious,” Caitlyn explained. “You two are childhood friends, if I’m not mistaken?” 

“Best friends since childhood,” Powder corrected. 

Caitlyn nodded with an indulgent smile. “Right. Well, we could play that angle. Two best friends who have known each other their whole lives.”

“But…?” Ekko prompted. 

Caitlyn sighed. “ But it’s a bit weak, for the games. It’s unlikely to catch anyone’s attention— they expect you to get reaped with your friends. It’s almost a baseline. No matter how close you are, the Capitol just won’t sympathize. Partly because you have such a short time to prove how much you mean to each other, and partly because friendships just aren’t the same in the Capitol. It would be almost impossible to convince them to sponsor on the basis of friendship.” 

Ekko squirmed slightly in his chair. “Well— well, then— where does that leave us?”

“We lie,” Caitlyn shrugged. “If you two are any good at lying, then it should be reassuring that acting won’t be much harder. It’s the exact same, but you lie to yourself until others believe you, too.”

“Always wanted to pull a fast one on the Capitol,” Powder drawled mischievously. “What did you guys have on your minds?” 

Caitlyn looked to Viktor, but he only waved her on, allowing her to take the lead. “Well, you two are close, so this one is barely even a lie. You pretend to be family.” Ekko picked up Powder’s hand and raised them to her view— deep brown against stark white— and stared, unimpressed. “Not by blood!” She exclaimed. “Found family— my city has a soft spot for nice things they don’t understand, I guess. You emphasize growing up together: helping each other with schoolwork, or defending each other against bullies. What meals did you share growing up? What childhood memories will endear you to the public? If anyone asks, you aren’t just best friends, you’re siblings.”

Ekko’s eyebrow raised, but he supposed it wasn’t far off. He and Powder did grow up together. They were family. And he loved her deeply enough that… Well, he could be her brother. What was wrong with that? 

“Okay,” Powder said slowly. “So we just exaggerate our childhood? Pretend like we basically lived together and like Vander and Benzo were… co-parenting?” The idea sounded humorous to her, but Viktor nodded, straight-faced. 

“And that one is more likely to work?” Ekko asked. 

Caitlyn nodded in affirmation. “But it’s not the most likely of our plans. We have one more that has higher odds.” 

Powder frowned at her hesitation. “Well, we want higher odds…” She said slowly. 

Caitlyn grimaced and opened her mouth to speak, but Viktor, mercifully, beat her to it. 

“You could pretend to be in love,” he said bluntly. 

Ekko and Powder blinked back at them. 

“Oh.” Ekko’s heart gave an uncomfortable lurch. 

“So our options are siblings or lovers?” Powder asked, expression twisting slightly. “What is this, District Eleven?” 

Caitlyn’s eyebrows flew upwards and she flicked her eyes to Viktor immediately for confirmation. 

Viktor waved a hand, though his eyes sparkled with silent amusement. “Ignore her. District Eleven does not have incestuous tendencies.” Caitlyn relaxed and turned back to the teens. While she was distracted, Viktor caught Powder’s eye and mouthed, “Anymore.”  

Powder grinned wickedly. 

“Why is that one the most likely to work?” Ekko asked, all-business. 

Caitlyn tapped her fingers against the table in a rhythmic pattern. “I don’t know for sure,” She said thoughtfully. “But the statistics don’t lie. Viktor’s done the math and tragic romances tend to catch the Capitol’s attention for much longer than other ‘plotlines.’”

“Wasn’t much math involved,” Viktor mumbled. 

Caitlyn ignored him and continued, “I imagine it’s just because it seems more dramatic. I don’t fully understand why, but it garners more sympathy. We don’t want to push you into anything, but that’s your best bet.” 

“Then that’s what we’re doing, right?” Ekko sat up straighter and turned to Powder for confirmation. 

Powder stared at him for a moment, then nodded determinedly. “I mean, it’ll be a tough act to sell, being in love with you, but—” 

Ekko rolled his eyes and cut her off. “Okay,” He said, and turned back to Caitlyn and Viktor. “We’re in love.” 

Powder shot him a look from the corner of her eyes. 

“What’s next?” Ekko continued, oblivious. 

“We’ll be arriving at the Capitol in less than an hour. From there, you’ll meet the prep teams,” Caitlyn read faithfully from an itinerary she drew up from the mess of papers. 

“It’ll be uncomfortable,” Viktor warned. “But let them work. They’re getting you ready for your first public appearance, and a good first impression can be incredibly beneficial.”

“First public appearance,” Powder said softly, eyes distant again. 

Ekko looked to his team. “The Tribute Parade?” 

*

Powder curled in on herself, the cold metal stark against her bare skin. 

Skin scrubbed almost raw and hairless, her long braids undone and trimmed neatly, she was cleaner than maybe she’d ever been in her entire life. But with the sleek stainless steel table chilling her to her very core, she missed the rough edges of her home. The almost unbearable warmth in the air. The dust from the mines. 

The Capitol was clean, but it was cold. 

With a hiss, the metal door slid open and Powder’s head shot up to face her intruder. 

“Sorry about all this,” The man drawled. He struck an intimidating figure— though he was an average height and rather thin, his eyes were sharp and insightful. 

Or, rather, Powder realized, his eye . 

Transfixed by the cloudy blue of his blind eye, she almost didn’t see the hand he extended. 

“Here,” He prompted. 

Powder looked down, and found a grey blanket offered to her. 

She hesitated for a mere second before snatching it tightly wrapping herself in the soft fabric. She sighed at the slight warmth, then turned her eyes up at the man, a questioning tilt to her eyebrows. 

“I know how cold it can get here,” He said in explanation. He extended his other hand. “I’m your head stylist. My name is Silco.” 

Powder’s eyes flicked hesitantly from hand to green eye… but finally, her hand slithered into his own. He shook it gently. 

“Powder,” She whispered. 

He nodded. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Powder, even if it is under these circumstances.”

Powder’s eyes flicked over him again, this time scrutinizing him in utter confusion. “You… don’t look how I thought you would.” 

“No?” He smiled a little. “Is it the eye?” 

Powder frowned at that. “No, just. You look so… normal. You look like someone I’d see at home. Are you new?” 

“This is my first year as head stylist,” He conceded. 

Powder snorted humorlessly. “So they stuck you with District Twelve, huh?” 

“I asked for Twelve,” Silco said simply. When Powder scowled at him in disbelief, he cracked a real smile. “My ancestors are from twelve. They sided with the Capitol in the war and it got them a free ticket here. So, here I am,” He spread his arms just slightly, almost giving an illusion of openness. “Capitol, but not quite.” 

“You’re Twelve?” She sat up straighter. 

“My blood is,” Silco smiled softly, his good eye clouding similarly to his left. “Though I wouldn’t much fit there, either.” 

Powder’s head tilted just slightly at that. It was hard to imagine not belonging anywhere. Even if her place was hard to swallow, she wouldn’t trade her home for the glitz and glamor of the Capitol— what did it have to look like for Silco’s family to leave? It seemed to have saved them well enough if he managed to make it to the levels of Capitol stylists. 

“Follow me,” His silky voice interrupted her thoughts and he turned to leave the room without a glance over his shoulder. 

She slid from the table obediently. Her bare feet padded against the smooth floors, quick little shuffles to keep up with his confident gait. 

“Tonight we are preparing you for the opening ceremonies,” Silco called over his shoulder. He reached out his hand again when he noticed her lagging behind and Powder took it without question, her other hand clutching the blanket tightly around her. His steps slowed, adjusting to her pace. His hand was warm and reassuring around hers. “And I’ve bullied my partner into giving me full creative freedom, so you and your friend, Ekko, will match this year. I’ve spoken to Viktor and it seemed best to give a united front.” 

The way he uttered Viktor’s name, familiar and soft, caught Powder’s attention. She opened her mouth to ask if they knew each other, but he continued on, unnoticing of her confusion. 

“As you well know, the tributes are dressed in outfits that remind the Capitol of their district’s main jobs,” He guided her down long hallways without thinking of where he was going. Powder couldn’t imagine being able to navigate the labyrinthine manner of Capitol buildings. Still, that wasn’t what she worried about. 

“Are you going to make me wear a miner outfit?” She asked, voice thick with suspicion. Her thoughts drifted to past tributes, their ugly and often inaccurate miner costumes doing nothing to attract sponsors. 

Her mind drifted even further, back to when she would steal Vander’s mining helmet, her tiny hands clutching the rim as he chased her around the house. He would scoop her into his arms and say, his rumbling voice echoing in her chest, “Is this an offer to take my shift tomorrow?”  

Once, he’d been too hurt from a mining injury to chase her. She’d placed the hat on her head and run up to him, excited for their little game, only for him to smile sadly and hold his bandaged hands up in surrender. “Sorry, Powder,” He’d smiled. She’d tilted her head, the helmet nearly slipping off, and grinned. “Good thing I’m taking your shift tomorrow.” Her mother knelt in front of her to straighten her helmet, pearly teeth— dashed to pieces underground in the mine the very next day. 

“I think that’s a bit overdone, don’t you?” Silco flashed her a conspiratorial smirk. 

Powder shrugged, still shaky. Her mother's eyes followed her down the hall. “Never stopped anyone before.” 

“Well, nobody is me,” He said, and gave her hand a confident squeeze. 

“Right,” Powder mumbled. “So, what? You’re gonna dress me up as a piece of coal?” 

Silco stopped walking and turned to face her. With a slight quirk of his lips, he mused, “Not quite…” Powder raised an eyebrow. He continued indulgently, “Tell me, Powder, are you afraid of fire?” 

Powder paused. 

The fact of the matter was that Powder had been practicing building bombs since she was old enough to collect scrap metal and conceptualize the idea of explosions. Ekko joined her, though he preferred less destructive inventions, and together they wished they’d been able to learn from an inventor from District Two, or even Three. 

When her bombs didn’t work— they never did— she would return to the old garbage can hidden behind her house and stuff it full of leaves, then set them alight. Watching the flickering flames lick at the leaves and curl them into ashes was never quite as satisfying as the startling pop that would instead send them flying. Still, she’d sit with the orange and white reflected in her blue eyes, and wish for a bigger flame, a bigger boom. She would sometimes scare herself with her desire for destruction. 

“No,” She answered simply. 

He nodded. “Good.” 

Without explanation, Silco continued walking. 

She hurried to match his pace. “What are you planning to do?” 

He smirked and hummed out, “I want to set you on fire.” 

Powder blanched, though she didn’t let go of his hand. “Well, that’s welcoming.” 

Silco laughed, a real, genuine laugh, and turned his bright one-eyed gaze on her. “I want them to recognize you. Powder, the girl who was on fire.” The determination and excitement in his eyes taught Powder something: the kind and welcoming man she thought she was getting to know was actually, likely, insane. 

“I think we’re going to get along,” Powder said, a slight smile sloping at her thin lips. 

*

“Well, don’t you strike an intimidating figure,” Ekko called playfully. 

Powder rolled her eyes and slid to his side, bumping him off his balance. “We match, so you can’t talk.” 

They were both stuffed into tight black jumpsuits, almost scale-like in material. Powder’s blue hair was styled in elaborate braids to keep it from falling down her back, and his own pulled back from his face. Dark makeup lined her eyes, making her electric stare even more off putting than usual. 

Ekko shrugged, turning to the man who accompanied her. 

“Oh! Silco is our stylist,” Powder explained. He was surprised by the genuine warmth in her tone as she gestured to the man. “He’s the one who decided burning us alive on live television would get us sponsors.” 

Ekko’s eyebrows furrowed slightly. “My stylist said they’re synthetic flames?” He glanced between the pair, wary. 

Powder turned to Silco, lips pursed. 

Silco’s brows drew slightly together as he murmured, “Might have forgotten to explain that part.” 

“You were okay with him lighting us on fire?” Ekko hissed. 

Powder threw her arms out. “I thought someone would follow us with a hose or something! But I knew we weren't gonna die!” She glanced over at Silco and said from the corner of her mouth, “Your plan is way better.” 

“Unbelievable,” Ekko muttered. Powder flashed him an apologetic smile and he sighed, shoulders slumping and expression softening. 

“You two look marvelous!” 

Caitlyn and Viktor sidled up to their group. Caitlyn smiled encouragingly as Viktor scrutinized them closely. 

His hard squint lessened when he turned to Silco, offering the man a tired smile. “Nice to see you in person for once.”

“I’m a busy man, as are you,” Silco returned his smile. 

Viktor rolled his eyes and turned to Powder and Ekko. “Comfortable?” 

“As one can be, waiting to be set on fire,” Ekko mumbled. 

Viktor barked out a laugh, though Caitlyn rounded on Silco. 

“You said the fire wasn't real!” She accused, eyes flashing. “A good impression isn’t worth it if it kills them!” 

“They are fake,” Silco stated, so calm in his retort that it almost looked lazy. Ekko wondered silently if he was on some strain of shimmer to keep him so level. “Ekko here is just a little nervous.” 

Ekko glared and crossed his arms. 

“Worst that happens; we don’t even have to enter the arena,” Powder whispered unhelpfully in his ear. 

He turned his gaze to his best friend. “You are not skilled in bedside manner.” 

She shrugged, fingers tapping wildly against her legs. 

Slowly, so she didn’t startle, he pressed the back of his hand against her own. Her shoulders, nearly at her ears, began to relax. The tapping subsided. 

Across from them, Caitlyn and Silco bickered quietly. Ekko turned his gaze on Viktor, mouth opening to ask a final time, “We’re totally sure the flames are totally fake?” But frowned when his mentor’s attention was distant and focused across the room. 

Ekko turned to follow his gaze and only found other groups of tributes and their own mentors and stylists. Nothing of note, as far as he could tell. 

But in the end, District Two caught his eye. 

Two teenagers stood, dressed in what Ekko could only imagine was supposed to represent armor. But even in their distracting costumes, they couldn’t hold his attention. Because right behind them was a huge tanned man— and he was staring right back at their group, gaze contradictorily soft to his appearance. 

Ekko glanced back at Vitkor, the sole recipient of his attention. 

Powder caught on. “Who is that?” She asked, eyeing him closely. 

Viktor startled, turning to face the pair. His eyes glanced subconsciously back to the man before finding purchase on their eyes. “Ah, him. Victor of the 60th Hunger Games.” 

Powder squinted at the man in question. “How do you know him?”

“We’re both mentors, aren’t we? We’ve crossed paths.” Viktor brushed the topic off, instead putting a hand on Silco’s arm and drawing the pair's attention to himself. “We should discuss the logistics of the ceremony.” 

“Agreed,” Caitlyn whipped her distrusting glare from Silco to land on Powder and Ekko. “For the most part, it’s exactly what it looks like on television. The horses know where to go and when to stop. All you have to do is get on, hold on tight, and try to make a good impression.”

“I was with you until the last part,” Ekko grumbled. 

Viktor grimaced in agreement. “You two are best friends, you’re ‘in love’, you’re in this together. And you’re on fire,” He added the afterthought, leaning slightly heavier on his crutch and waving a flippant hand. “Look fierce. Hold a united front.” 

“Tributes to the chariots!” A voice boomed over a speaker. 

Powder stiffened beside Ekko, and he pushed the back of his hand more firmly against hers. 

“Alright, you’re on.” Silco’s green eye flashed at the sound of the roaring crowd outside, but he gave a reassuring smile to the pair nonetheless. “We won’t let you burn alive. I have the remote to turn them on— just don’t get too startled when it happens.” 

Powder and Ekko climbed onto the chariot. When it gave a slight jostle, they gripped tightly at each other’s hands and eyed each other warily. 

“So, what? Hold on tight and pray to Janna? No seatbelts on this thing?” Powder hissed from the corner of her mouth. 

Ekko shook his head darkly. “Janna’s not with us now. Hold on tight and prepare for the worst.” 

She squeezed tighter at his hand, the other occupied with the railing. 

In the distance, they could hear the host announcing the start of the games. In his form-fitting jumpsuit, clutching at his best friend’s hand, Ekko finally realized with a start that it was actually happening. 

He was actually, definitely, undeniably a tribute. 

He glanced over his shoulder to his little team— his only hope for success. 

Viktor caught his wavering attention. His golden eyes, bright with determination, gave him a point of focus. So subtle Ekko almost didn’t notice, Viktor gave him one encouraging nod. 

Ekko straightened up and steeled his shoulders. He returned the nod just as the chariot jolted forward. 

“We got this,” Ekko said firmly. Powder looked at him, an eyebrow raised doubtfully. He nodded confidently and repeated himself. 

The bright lights of the avenue outside rolled over them just as Powder gave an exasperated shake of her head. In tandem, they turned to face the void of nonsensical Capitol citizens in the stands. 

Colors slithered and merged and moved in a hypnotizing swirl, and Ekko found it hard to believe all those colors were people. Capitol people, but still. He didn't know if he'd even had dreams with that much color in them. 

“Ah, and here comes District Twelve! Tributes Powder and Ekko—” Ekko looked up towards the giant screens to find himself and Powder reflected back at them. He fought to keep his expression stern rather than show any sign of the bewilderment he was consumed with. 

A flickering light burst in the corner of his eye, and Ekko tightened his hold on Powder’s hand. Mentally, he crossed his fingers. 

“Oh— what’s this? District Twelve— well, I just can’t believe it!” The commentators shouted their disbelief at their costumes, falling over each other as if talking louder would give them some kind of credit in their discovery. 

Powder glanced over the crowd, gaze going hazy. Ekko tugged on her arm. She looked at him, eyes wide. 

“We have their attention,” He stated. “Let’s keep it.”

“How?” She bit out. 

Without thinking, he raised her hand in the air, their clenched hands high on display for the rest of the world.  

Like victors, he thought to himself. Flames billowed out behind them, leaving a trail of sparks in their wake. If their images on the big-screens were any indication, they were making more than a good impression. With luck, at least their outfits would be the talk of the Capitol for years to come. 

Proud of his instincts, he glanced over at Powder again. Her eyes hadn’t drifted from his face at all. 

In the distance, he could hear the commentators shouting about them, the crowd droning on and on, but he only smiled reassuringly at her. In a move he didn’t quite calculate, he closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against hers. 

Powder froze… and then nudged her own forehead against him, accepting and commending the touch.

When she opened her eyes again, they only continued to stare at each other. Eyes a little clearer, Powder took a deep breath and started to glance at the crowd again. 

“Don’t mind them,” Ekko said, sparing a short glare for their viewers. “It’s you and me, yeah?” 

“You and me,” Powder nodded. “You and me.” 

Powder continued to repeat the phrase to herself. Through the rest of the ceremony, on the walk back up to their penthouse, as they sat down for dinner, and even after, when she was supposed to be trying to sleep. 

It wasn’t the worst voice to have echoing in her head. 

When she slipped from her room, bare feet against clean floors, she was hardly surprised to find Ekko awake in their sitting room. 

“What are those?” She asked. 

He shuffled the papers so she could get a better look. “Caitlyn and Viktor’s notes on possible arenas.” He looked up at her and smiled tiredly. “Took you longer to show up than I thought it would.” 

She shrugged and slumped into the seat across from him. “I’m losing my touch. Being in the Capitol has made me lazy.” 

“Ah, I see,” Ekko feigned understanding, even scratching at his chin. “Well, good thing we aren’t here for long.” 

Powder’s lip twisted. “Right.” She glanced around the room. The walls were high and pristine, and though the room was sparsely furnished, Powder’s skin itched. She felt trapped. Trapped like one of the beatles she and Ekko used to collect in glass jars, or like a frog in a pan of boiling water— or like a miner under collapsed rock. 

“You wanna get some fresh air?” She startled herself with how shaky her voice was. 

Ekko looked up, surprised as well— then nodded, pushing back from the table. “Anywhere in particular you’d like to see?” 

Powder shook her head. 

Ekko took the lead, walking down long hallways and glancing through each doorway. “I would say we should go to the roof, but Caitlyn said Viktor’s up there with someone.” 

“Who?” 

“She didn’t say,” Ekko shrugged. “Maybe a sponsor. Hey, that looks promising.”

Powder peered into the room he motioned at. At the far end, a fully glass wall revealed a sleek balcony with an almost insultingly good view of the Capitol. 

“This’ll do,” Powder mumbled, and tripped over to the ledge. 

Ekko followed as he always did, and peered into the city. 

Silence settled over the pair. 

Powder tapped at the railing, willing for the relentless energy coursing through her to dull. When her hands began shaking, she let out a frustrated groan. Ekko turned to her, eyes asking a silent question. She shook her head in frustration. “Sometimes I feel like I’ll explode,” She ground out. “Like I have too much energy, and if I just sit here, I’ll— what do I even do? How do I get rid of this feeling?”

Ekko winced at her helpless tone. He wasn’t a stranger to Powder’s struggles— in fact, the longer they persisted, the more they pained him. “You need an outlet. Let’s go find one.” 

“What are we going to do?” Powder asked helplessly. Her feet shuffled restlessly from side to side. 

Ekko bit at the inside of his cheek. “There’s gotta be something we can set on fire. Right?” 

Powder’s eyes flicked up to his, then around at the blinking lights of the city. Hesitantly, she murmured, “Think they have the stuff to build a bomb?” 

Ekko raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. 

“Just a little one!” She defended. “Barely even an explosion.” 

“I think you should be happy I’m even indulging your pyromania,” Ekko grumbled. 

Powder scowled. 

The buzzing beneath her fingertips kept her from arguing. 

Chapter Text

District Two was famous for churning out victors. 

Just as easily as they could forge a tool or assemble a weapon, they could disarm and destroy— in seconds, not minutes. A career didn’t need to get their hands on anyone to eliminate them. Not only did they have the privilege of a special school that trained them to be ideal tributes, but the Capitol already favored them. Going into the games, the career districts already had a distinct advantage over the others. 

So, he guessed he was lucky to be District Two. 

Looking back, he couldn’t believe he ever listened to his trainers. To his mentors, and to past victors. He couldn’t believe he ever fell victim to the Capitol’s agenda. Somehow, he’d allowed the Games to be just that— a game. An opportunity to better his life and his family’s life. Even amidst the slaughter and the gore he watched annually on screen, he believed it when he was told that the Hunger Games were a blessing to the districts. A reminder of the Capitol’s sovereignty and an opportunity for the Districts all in one— there didn’t have to be a victor, but there was. Because the Capitol was merciful. The Capitol wanted what was best for everyone. 

In his attempts to live up to the expectations set of him, he failed to recognize one crucial detail: no matter how many tributes he killed, no matter how many sponsors he got— he would always be District. It had yet to cross his mind that the success advertised to him could be nothing more than an illusion. It had yet to occur to him that there was nothing fair about being District— even as a victor.

He’d always believed himself to have a steady head on his shoulders— that he could think well enough on his own. But finding himself staggering through a frozen wasteland after a purple-fingered tribute (wrist deep in another tribute’s gut, starving) was the wake up call to change everything. He’d been tricked— he was just a child believing what adults told him. It almost made him laugh, after the fact, that the realization of his own innocence was the end of it. At a mere fourteen years old, he knew he’d never be that deceivable child again. 

He hoped, as he struck the blow that turned him from tribute to victor, that he could find a way to earn the life he’d fought so hard to keep. 

The frigid thin air still hadn’t left his lungs, even fourteen years later. 

He used to wonder if his limbs would ever regain feeling in them. If the numbness would ever subside. 

Annually, and only for the duration of his time at the Capitol, would Jayce find his answer. 

“Fancy seeing you here.” The lilt of a devastatingly familiar accent had Jayce spinning to face it. 

Jayce grinned at the sight of him, so close, so tangible. “At our usual meeting point? Yeah, don’t let the shock kill you, V.” As he spoke, he rushed smoothly to the man, arms open.

Viktor chuckled when he found himself enveloped completely in Jayce’s grip. The pair swayed as one, highlighted by the lights of the city— from the roof of their hotel, they found a small semblance of privacy. A minute moment of peace. 

“What do they feed you in District Two? This is entirely unfair.” He patted at Jayce’s firm chest and had to tilt his head completely back to make eye contact. 

“So you’ve said,” Jayce laughed goodnaturedly. 

Viktor’s jaw dropped in faux offense. “Are you accusing me of running out of things to tease you for?” 

“Novel content has long since been lost on us,” He answered easily. The relief of Viktor— not quite warm in his arms, but Jayce would fix that— drew his words out in a breathless rush. Jayce hated being breathless, as it often reminded him of winter air and bloodless fingers. But Viktor huffed out a laugh, and the memories failed to cross his mind. 

“Devastating. We’ve finally run out of things to talk about.” Though his lips turned in a pout, his eyes twinkled with poorly concealed delight.  

“We don’t have to talk,” Jayce mumbled, lips already brushing Viktor’s. 

Viktor's lids slid closed, accepting the kiss readily. He dropped his cane without a thought in favor of snaking both arms around Jayce’s neck, Jayce’s own hands responding in kind by attempting to draw him in further with their tight grip around his waist and between sharp shoulder blades. 

“You look lovely as always,” Jayce murmured between soft, searching kisses.

Viktor laughed into his mouth. “Funny.” 

“You know I mean it,” Jayce chastised softly, moving his ministrations to his cheek and jaw. 

“I do,” Viktor conceded. With a sudden laugh and a light tug at Jayce’s hair, he joked, “I trust you believe my sincerity when I ask what the fuck happened to you?” 

“What do you mean?” Jayce pulled back, complaint in his tone. 

Viktor traced a finger at the dark circles under his eyes. “You look like shit, Jayce.” 

Jayce smirked and dropped another trail of kisses down the side of his face. “You know, you’re the only person that’ll tell me that.” 

“And you’re the only one who calls me beautiful. It evens out.” 

Jayce pulled back to give him a rueful grin. Viktor only raised his eyebrows in challenge— and Jayce immediately knew he was fighting a losing battle. Once his Viktor had his sights set on answers to something, it was impossible to make him stop. 

“Just a little trouble sleeping,” Jayce sighed out. “‘Tis the season.” 

Viktor nodded in understanding. His golden gaze trailed to stare off across the city, distant as he lost himself in thought. “I guess this time of year does bring the memories back a little clearer than usual.” 

Jayce watched him closely. “Still have them?”

He didn’t need to clarify. Flashbacks, nightmares, memories— they were all the same. 

Viktor scoffed. “Do you honestly expect them to ever stop?” 

Jayce glanced to the floor. Softly, he muttered, “No. No, I guess not.” 

The wind whistled between them. Jayce shivered in the cold breeze and adjusted his hold on Viktor. 

Hesitantly, he asked, “Are yours still the same?”

Viktor bit his lip at the question. 

The swamp. 

Murky water over his head, a hand around his neck. 

The blade raises, but a blur intercepts the blow. 

His best friend falls. 

Jayce falls. 

Tributes he was supposed to mentor fall. 

All dead, face down in the water. Always the same. 

Always his fault.

In his dreams, Viktor used to be alone with a single corpse he couldn’t save. These days, the water ripples with limbs and forgotten faces. 

“Same as always,” Viktor managed. “Yours?” 

Jayce grunted out a quiet, “Nothing of note.” 

“At least we know what to expect.”

The pair shared a short, humorless laugh.

One of Jayce’s hands shot up suddenly to skim under the collar of Viktor’s shirt. He let out a triumphant little noise when his fingers brushed the hidden chain. 

“You still have it,” Jayce grinned, and for a moment his smile allowed him to look his age— perhaps even a few years younger, back to before the last remnants of his childhood were stolen. 

Viktor rolled his eyes at Jayce’s awed tone. “Every year you act surprised that I haven’t thrown it out.” 

“I don’t think you'll throw it out! I know you wouldn't do that!” Jayce defended him resolutely. He softened and added, “I think it could get confiscated, though. Or you could lose it— you lose things, V. Don’t try to act like you don’t.” 

“Well, it’s on a chain for a reason. I can’t lose it if I never take it off, can I?” 

Jayce pressed a kiss to the small gear hung from the chain in response, lips turning up in a smile at the warmth from being hidden against Viktor’s skin for so long. 

“You know, I don’t hound you about yours,” Viktor prodded at Jayce’s chest, knowing full well a chain that matched his own was hidden there. 

Jayce shrugged. “Nobody’s stopping you,” He said, a teasing lilt to his voice. His thumb didn’t waver in its path back and forth over the metal. 

Viktor indulgently pulled the corresponding chain from under Jayce’s button-up and pretended to inspect it. “Hmmm… fascinating…” His gaze flicked up to Jayce and he stated, “Just as I thought. It looks exactly the same as it has for the last seven years.” 

“Are you making fun of me?” Jayce asked, faking offense.

Viktor hummed. “I thought that was clear.” 

“So sue me for wanting to see my husband’s—”

“Wishful thinker,” Viktor scolded lightly. 

Jayce exclaimed, “You said I could call you that!”

“Both can be true,” The man shrugged in response. An ornery smirk tilted his lips as he continued, “You can call me your husband and I can allow it and tease you for it. We can trade gears from our labs back home, and I can wear it every day without fail and still laugh at the fact that we equate them to wedding rings.” 

“Okay, well, you’re the one who said rings would be too noticeable—”

“And you know I’m right!” Viktor pointed a stern finger at Jayce. 

“And I know you’re right,” Jayce complied easily. 

The pair paused, catching their breath and simply taking in each other’s familiar features. 

Viktor’s hand raised subconsciously and traced the tip of his index finger against the apple of Jayce’s cheek. “You have a new scar,” He observed, voice hushed. 

“Forging accident.” Jayce watched him reverently. In a sigh, he confessed, “Gods, Vik. I’ve missed you.” 

“And I’ve missed you, Jayce. You wouldn’t believe…” He trailed off, unable to find words that fully emphasized his feelings. Finally, he complained, “With every year, I feel the distance between our districts grows and the time between our visits lengthen.” 

“We have these few weeks,” Jayce whispered, eyes downcast. He wished he could feel grateful for the time, but the simmering fury in his gut reminded him he would always be angry that they’d spend more time apart than they would ever spend together. And he’d always be angry that the time he could steal with Viktor would forever be undermined by the trembling rage he felt throughout it in the hopeless wait for a deadline.

Viktor let out a conflicted semblance of a laugh. “Part of me is grateful for every second we have together. The other part prays those kids aren’t in that arena long.” 

He guessed Viktor had always had a heart less prone to anger than him. 

“You can feel both of those things at the same time. Doesn’t have to be separate pieces of you.” Jayce mumbled the words quietly, distracted as he tried to brush an unruly strand of Viktor’s hair behind his ear. On the third attempt, he seemed to remember Viktor’s hair was just as stubborn as the man beneath it and settled on holding it away from his eyes with one large hand cupping his cheek. 

“Jayce,” Viktor stared up at him through his lashes. Viktor’s hand rose to cover Jayce’s and he pressed into the contact. Jayce’s brows pulled together and he leaned closer, waiting for him to continue. 

Viktor’s lips parted—

The door to the roof swung open, and the pair slid apart without a thought. In one swift motion, Jayce swiped Viktor’s cane from the floor and handed it over, then stepped a respectable distance away. Viktor steadied himself on the cane and craned his neck to see their intruder. 

His heart raced in his chest, prepared to be caught and separated and maybe even tortured, killed— 

Viktor cut himself off. 

For what crime? He asked himself the question over and over. For what crime? Even though he knew he was guilty of nothing, he wasn’t reassured. The Capitol needed no crime to prosecute, and Viktor knew that fact well. 

Still, what could he and Jayce get in trouble for? Victors weren't restrained from socializing with each other. What could they assume? How would it effect them?

When the click of light, recognizable footsteps reached his attention, Viktor’s shoulders dropped in slight relief. Jayce shot him a look from the corners of his eyes. His muscles remained tense, and he rose to his full intimidating height. 

“Viktor, I— oh.” Caitlyn came around the corner, but stopped short when she caught sight of Viktor’s company. She glanced beseechingly between the pair, though her focus went to Viktor for answers.  

“This is Jayce; my—” Viktor cut himself off when his tongue refused to form a title. His mouth opened and closed for a moment, unsure of how to continue, but then a defeated resolve washed across his features. “He is a mentor as well,” He said softly. 

Caitlyn stared up at Jayce, features distorted in confusion. “Jayce… District Two?” 

He nodded in confirmation. 

“Oh— Caitlyn. Kiramman,” She gestured to herself excitedly. “Sorry, you might not remember me—” 

“No, I remember— I’m more surprised you remember me,” Jayce chuckled, easily maintaining a friendly facade. He put a hand to his knee as a measurement. “You were about this tall when we met.”

“Well, sure, I don’t remember you, but my mother won’t let me forget about our family’s association to you.” Caitlyn blushed in embarrassment at the implication of her statement. “Not that sponsorship really is much of an association—” 

Jayce cut her off with a shrug. “Your family’s donation saved my life. Your mother’s only claiming credit where it’s due.” 

Caitlyn shot him a sharp look that seemed to say, “It’s partly my mother’s fault your life needed saving in the first place.” 

Jayce glanced at Viktor, then to the floor. He, of course, agreed wholeheartedly. But he wouldn’t risk acknowledging that to a Councilor’s child, no matter how much Viktor seemed to trust her. He settled on shrugging again. 

“Anyway,” Caitlyn cleared her throat. “Viktor, I was going to ask where you left our notes on the arenas? Ekko wanted to look over them before turning in.” 

“Ah, yes. Everything is on the desk in our shared study.” Caitlyn opened her mouth to dispute this fact when he added, “I hid them under those catalogues Silco brought by. Just in case someone thought to tamper with them.” 

Caitlyn paused, then nodded slowly. “Right.” She composed herself quickly and smiled politely. “Thank you, Viktor. And nice to meet you, Jayce.” 

Viktor nodded kindly and Jayce mumbled out a quiet, “Likewise.” 

Jayce watched her retreating back with a critical stare. 

Viktor raised an eyebrow at his severe expression. “Jayce—”

“Are you ready to go?” He asked suddenly, eyes still on the door as it swung shut. 

Viktor’s features softened. “If you let me work on Powder and Ekko’s sponsorship pitches.” That finally got Jayce's attention. He turned and gave a wry smile, as if he expected the response. “What?” Viktor asked defensively. “I have hope this year.” 

“You have hope every year,” He reminded quietly. Jayce put a guiding hand to his back, voice low and expression downcast. 

Viktor’s face fell. Jayce never meant to, but he always reminded Viktor of the low likelihood for change. Maybe he was destined to hope for the best for the rest of his life, only to return alone from the Hunger Games every year, save for another round of nightmare-inducing memories to accompany him. Maybe he was the last one that needed to come to terms with it.

Jayce resigned himself to the belief that nothing would ever change— it hadn’t yet, after all. 

Viktor had to believe things would change. He was positive that without that belief, he would simply lose his mind. 

Jayce pulled him closer, apology in his tone. “We can work on our pitches together.” 

Viktor looked up at him, and smiled gratefully. 

The pair snuck down to Jayce’s room, where they spent the entire night leaning against each other and prepping silently to help the children they’d been charged to mentor. They parted with the rising sun, as they always did. Finding himself suddenly alone in the frigid silence of his Capitol-assigned bedroom, Jayce leaned against the floor-to-ceiling glass windows and wondered how something as universal as the sunrise could look so lovely among the harsh splendor of the city, even though the same sight back home never caught his attention. In the back of his mind, he knew it was only the afterglow of Viktor’s presence that caused him to acknowledge beauty in the sight. 

Even so, as Jayce surveyed the bleeding array of morning colors, he wondered if the sun favored the Capitol as well. 

The view from his empty bedroom seemed to suggest it. 

Jayce stepped away from the sight to prepare for the day. Freshly showered and dressed, he steeled himself to lead his tributes down to the training center for their first session. 

His eyes itched, and his fingers stiffened like they were freezing all over again. 

He never really did leave that arena all those years ago— nobody ever did. And even though he hadn't quite realized it as a child, he was well aware now: he could win the games, mentor tributes to success, woo Capitol investors with his looks and words and pretend to reciprocate their extended affections... but he would always be trapped under their thumb. 

Jayce watched his tributes run off to explore the training room with unconcealed glee in their faces. 

In some way or another, the Capitol managed to rub that fact in his face every damn day. 

*

“We have two more full days of training.” Powder glared daggers at Viktor as if he could change it. She threw herself onto the plush couch behind her when he only nodded in response. 

Ekko sat gingerly beside her and posited, “Every second counts.” 

The sun outside the window was high in the sky, only just beginning its downward spiral. The tributes’ training day had finally ended, and Viktor found the pair in much more sour states than they’d been when they left in the morning. 

“Ekko’s right,” Viktor said, and settled into the armchair across from them. “You two need the survival skills and the combat training.” 

“Yeah, yeah, more likely to die from dehydration and infection, yada, yada,” Powder crossed her arms and slumped down even further until her chin was at an uncomfortable angle against her chest. 

Ekko shot her an annoyed glance that she ignored. 

Viktor reluctantly nodded. “That is correct, but it’s not all you need to learn.” He gestured to Caitlyn from where she was posted in the doorway, beckoning her to join them in their conversation. Only when she settled in the seat beside him did he decide, “I think it’s time we discuss your particular skills and strengths.” 

“What skills?” Powder scoffed.  

Ekko rolled his jaw and tilted his head to the side. “We aren’t helpless,” His sharp gaze shot to Viktor, as if looking for confirmation. 

Viktor felt a particularly uncomfortable weight on his chest at the sight— a child looking to the closest symbol of security for approval and answers. “You aren’t helpless,” He nodded firmly. “Especially not after your entrance at the parade last night. You both made wonderful impressions and Caitlyn’s informed me of many interested sponsors already.”

“Three house names,” Caitlyn tacked on. With a sly squint, she added, “And— don’t put too much stock in it yet, but my mother was quite interested in you two. I spoke with her this morning and she was just as star-struck as the rest of the Capitol.” 

Ekko sat up straighter. “This is good. We have the sponsorship part moving along, now we need to learn everything we can about survival. We have a chance. We can do this.” He muttered the last two sentences under his breath, as if trying to convince himself. 

“We can do this,” Caitlyn agreed confidently. 

Ekko regarded her with an appreciative, though still closed-off stare. 

“I know it's unlikely for either of you to have a specialized field of combat, so let’s start simple.” Viktor leaned forward in his chair, a hand on his cane. “Throw out any ideas— do you have any experience with knives? In the kitchen or a chophouse? Or axes, even just from chopping firewood?”

“We’ve both helped in the kitchen, but only for cutting bread and sometimes cheese…” Ekko trailed off and bit the inside of his cheek. “I’ve helped chop firewood before.”

Viktor nodded, his sights falling on the still-silent Powder. “Any ideas are helpful. What else do you two do?”

Ekko paused with the hopes she’d answer. When she stayed slumped over, picking at the already raw skin over her fingertips, he sighed. “Uh, we invent things. Try to.” 

“What kind of things?” Viktor asked. His back straightened and his eyes lit up with hope at the statement. No matter where Ekko went with his answer, having an inventor’s brain was something that could save their lives.  

Ekko shook his head in dismissal. “Nothing that’s really worked. We only have the scrap metal we can scavenge up to work with. We tried to make air purifiers for the mines, or an alarm system to alert on possible collapses. Never even got full prototypes for those.” From the corner of his eye, Powder stiffened at the mention of the mines. He braced himself for a possible explosive reaction, and said anyway, “And Powder builds bombs sometimes.” 

“What?” Powder darted up in her seat. “I do not!” 

Viktor glanced between them. “It would be an incredibly useful skill to have.”

“She does!” Ekko insisted. He whipped to face Powder and hissed out, “Why won’t you work with us all of a sudden? This could save your life!” 

“How is a bomb that doesn’t go off going to save my life?” She glared. “Nothing I make ever works and you know it!” 

“You wouldn’t participate in training and now you won’t practice a skill?” Ekko shot to his feet. “I don’t get it— do you just wanna die?” 

Powder scoffed and rose to match his stance. Still the shorter of the pair, she had to tilt her head back to look at him— though she somehow managed to match his height in pure presence. “Nobody wants to die, but I’m not naive enough to pretend I don’t know what’s coming!” 

“Don’t play dead before the Capitol even kills us! It’s only coming if you just stand there and take it!” 

“Do you honestly believe that? I know we saw the same tributes; do you actually think we stand a chance? A third of them have been training for this their whole lives— they’re happy to be here!” 

Ekko shook his head and switched tactics. “How do you think Vi and Vander would feel about this?” He could feel himself losing control of his emotions— anger, no matter how righteous, was bubbling in the back of his throat and threatening to escape. 

“I’m sure they’ve at least accepted the outcome.” Ekko clenched his fist at her cold reply. “They can cry about it all they want, but it doesn’t change anything. And we can ‘train’ all we want, but that’s gonna do fuck all, too!” 

Ekko let out a frustrated groan, unable to stop himself anymore. “Dammit, Powder, how am I supposed to get you home if you don’t even wanna try?” 

Powder stumbled back a step, face blank like the words were a physical blow. 

Viktor and Cait glanced at each other, trying to decide whether it was best to step in or let them get it all out.

“I knew it!” Powder pointed an accusing finger at Ekko. “I knew it— Vi couldn’t even look me in the eye when I asked what you two talked about after the Reaping. You made a deal with her, didn’t you?” She jabbed her finger into Ekko’s chest. 

Ekko rolled his jaw, not wanting to admit but refusing to lie. 

“I knew it.” Powder took a step back, her fury-twisted features hardening. She let out a humorless laugh and asked, “What, so you’re allowed to give up, but I’m not?” 

“It’s not giving up if it’s—”

“You’re not gonna try to win; it’s giving up no matter how you dress it up.” 

“They can’t have my best friend,” Ekko muttered, glaring at Powder. 

Powder threw her arms out. “Kinda seems like they already have us, Ekko!” 

“But you could go home! Vi and Vander—”

“Yeah, what about Benzo? I’m pretty sure he wants you to come home!” 

Ekko stalled— then shook his head. “That’s different.”

“How?” She exclaimed. “What, does he matter less?” 

“No!” Ekko cried. “No, just— gods, Powder, I don’t have family like you do! Benzo’s not my dad! You and Vi aren’t my sisters! You’re my best friend, and I know that’s not nothing— but it’s just not the same as what you and Vi and Vander have. I’m not going home on that train by myself. And going back together isn’t an option.” He took a deep breath in an attempt to steady himself. “It’s gotta be you.” 

Powder stared, jaw slack and eyes wide. Her shoulders rose and fell in quick little bursts. Finally, she managed, “That’s bullshit.” 

“What?” Ekko’s head jerked up to stare at her, bewildered. 

Viktor raised a hand. “Maybe we should—” 

“I said that’s bullshit!” Powder repeated herself, her voice rising.  “You’re getting mad at me for losing hope when you don’t even have any for yourself!” 

“Fine!” Ekko shouted, throwing his arms up. “Fine! I will try to win— if you do, too.”

Powder’s jaw clenched. “Are you actually going to?” He nodded. “None of this self-sacrificial bullshit?” He heaved out a short breath, but shook his head. “Then shake on it.”

Ekko stared at her outstretched hand. Powder raised her eyebrows in challenge, absolutely reading his mind when he thought about how he couldn’t back out if he shook it.

With another short exhale through his nostrils, Ekko took her hand and shook. “But you’re still my first priority,” He warned. 

Powder glared, eyes sharp. “And you’re mine.” 

Caitlyn looked to Viktor as the commotion calmed. He shrugged his shoulders, lost. 

“So you’ll build a bomb?” Ekko prompted. 

With a jut of her chin and a squint of her eyes, she stated, “I haven't learned to build a bomb in the last two minutes.”  

“That’s why Viktor is going to help us!” Ekko turned to Viktor, but Powder beat him to it. 

Powder asked in a tone that mocked her own question, “Viktor, do you know how to build a bomb?” 

He sighed. “No.” Powder looked to Ekko, smug in being proved right. “But I know someone who does.” 

The pair turned to face Viktor, surprised as he rose to his feet and leaned against his cane. “I’ll be back later tonight. It may take awhile for me to find him.” 

“Wait— where are you going?” Powder called to his retreating back. 

He looked over his shoulder, a sly smile playing at his lips. “Getting your blueprints.” He nodded to Caitlyn and said, “Go over basic survival skills with them until I come back— finding shelter, protection from exposure, treating wounds, the works.” 

With that, he was gone. 

Ekko shoved at Powder’s shoulder. “See!” 

“Gods, I saw!” She rubbed at her arm, sparing him a scowl. She whipped her attention to Caitlyn, who stiffened in surprise at being put on the spot. “So you’re gonna lecture us on infections and clean water until he comes back?” 

Caitlyn bit at her lip. She had an idea for an alternative plan, but she wasn’t sure Viktor would like it. 

Powder raised an eyebrow at her silence. “What?” She leaned in closer, and promptly recognized the thoughtful look in her eyes. She pulled back, a wide grin spreading her lips as she gleefully claimed, “Oh, she’s got a bad idea…” 

“What?” Caitlyn blanched. “No, just—” She sighed, defeated. “It’s not technically breaking any rules.” 

Powder crossed her arms. “Please. I know that look. You’ve got a bad idea.” 

“What is it?” Ekko looked between the girls, suspicion piqued. 

“Well… building a bomb is a good skill,” Caitlyn said slowly. “But it would be best if you two knew a form of combat with, well… less prep time?”

“Yeah, that would be nice,” Powder stated dryly. 

Ekko held a hand up, cutting off the rest of her sarcastic comment. “Where are you going with this?” 

Caitlyn fidgeted with the hem of her skirt, thinking. Finally, she muttered under her breath, “Mother’s going to kill me,” and squinted at them from under her lashes. In a conspiratorial little whisper, she stated, “The training center will still be unlocked right now.”

Powder and Ekko subconsciously leaned in closer. 

“So?” Powder asked, matching her volume. 

Caitlyn glanced to the side, checking for sure the room was empty. When she found it clear, she gave a small smile. “How would you like to learn to shoot?” 

*

Silco pulled out a chair for Viktor as soon as he saw the man enter his office. 

“Ah, Viktor,” He leaned against the desk behind him as Viktor settled into the chair across him. “How can I help you?” 

The pair’s relationship was simple and to the point. They understood they could trust each other, and they’d made it clear they were allies under any circumstances. Silco had watched over Viktor for many years now. He wasn’t about to stop any time soon. So, Viktor showing up unannounced for help was not only unsurprising, but welcome. 

“I need your help— I need to talk to someone.” 

Silco squinted in suspicion and clicked his tongue. “This doesn’t have anything to do with a certain bothersome head gamemaker, does it?” 

“No, he— this is completely unrelated; what are you talking about?” Viktor tilted his head in confusion, momentarily distracted. The familiar rise of paranoia settled deep in his gut at the mention of the man. 

Silco shrugged, badly feigning indifference. “Usually our first private visit of the season is because he’s attempted to intimidate you. I’m simply checking in.” 

White daylight streamed in from the window behind the desk, perfectly illuminating Viktor’s expression as understanding washed over him. 

He waved a hand, hoping it appeared as dismissive as it was supposed to. “I'm sure it’s only a matter of time before he tracks me down. But that’s not what I’m here for.” 

“Oh,” Silco lifted himself up onto the desk and settled in, leaning his elbows on his knees. “What did you want to talk about?” 

“I…” Viktor paused, expression tilting only further into confusion. Silco raised his eyebrows expectantly. Finally, realization clicked. “Oh— Silco. I’m not here to talk to you, I need you to bring someone here for me. ”  

Silco rolled Viktor’s first statement around in his head and realized, regrettably, that he was correct. The smile that crossed his lips had a slightly self-deprecating twist to it. “Of course not.” He tilted his head to the side and put a quietly dramatic hand to his heart. “You’re never here just for me, are you?” 

Viktor pursed his lips but Silco had known him for eleven years, and he could see the amusement twinkling in his golden eyes. “I’m sure I will see you plenty in the next week. For now, my priority is getting Powder the blueprints she needs.” 

“Blueprints?” Silco asked. He slid from the desk with a graceful slide and rounded his desk to pick up the rotary-style phone. “A fellow inventor, I see?”

Viktor nodded. “The both of them, actually.”

“Fascinating,” He murmured, distracted. He slipped the phone from its cradle, his other finger hesitating on the dial. “Who am I summoning for you?” 

Viktor hesitated. 

Silco rolled his eyes fondly. “Him? Again? ” Viktor frowned sheepishly, and Silco teased, “Am I always to be the coordinator for your little secret meetings?” 

Viktor looked down at his hands and mumbled, “I suppose that’s possible.” 

Realizing the hopelessness of his statement, Silco frowned and turned back to the phone. With practiced ease, he dialled the number for the District Two apartment floor. He held the speaker to his ear, eyes firmly on Viktor’s hunched form. 

The speaker clicked when someone picked it up. He cleared his throat and put on his best formal cadence. “Hello, this is the Capitol Stylist Department speaking. We are requesting the immediate presence of District Two’s mentor, Jayce, in regards to his tributes’ interview attire.” He paused, listening to the response. A teasing glint in his eyes was the only warning Viktor had for his next words. “Yes, tell him it’s a pressing matter requiring his immediate attention. His designated stylist team is waiting in the back offices.” Viktor glared weakly and Silco simply shot him an ornery smirk. He waited for an affirmative response on the other end of the line and on receiving it, just barely got out a, “Wonderful,” before he was clicking the phone back into its cradle. 

A tentative silence fell over the pair. 

Silco, of course, broke it with a sly, “Before I’m sent to wait in the hallway for your man, can I ask you one thing?” Viktor gave a reluctant but affirmative hum. “Are you sure this is about blueprints?” 

Viktor scowled. “Of course I am! I need a District Two inventor who remembers plans by heart. It’s only a bonus that man happens to be Jayce,” He mumbled the last words to himself. 

Silco shrugged as he walked around his desk towards the door. “I guess I can’t blame you. I’d likely act the same in your particular situation.”

“Yet you complain,” Viktor snarked and turned in his chair to watch him leave. 

Silco’s hand on the doorknob hesitated. He paused, looking over his shoulder and with an amused raise of his brows. “You have me carrying messages back and forth like some mockingjay. No amount of circumstances can make the job less taxing.” When Viktor sent him a questioning look, he explained quietly, softly, “I long to see the day you can simply walk up to each other. That’s all.” 

With that, Silco slipped from the room. The door clicked shut, and Viktor found himself, as he often did, on his own. 

Even alone in the well lit room, wrapped in his comfortable Capitol-issued clothes, he felt exposed. Not as he did to the stylists during his first time in the Capitol, being hosed down in preparation for the Tributes’ parade. Not as he did to the elements during his time in the arena, choking on thick air and soaked to the bone in murky swamp water. This kind of exposure was startling— unexpected, just the same as the first two. But where the first two brought dread, this left him with only the simple knowledge that he was thought of— that someone wanted good for him. It didn’t feel like the harsh blast of a hose or the constant press of humid air. It felt like a cool, clean breeze. A soft reminder. 

“Mockingjays mock tunes, not words,” Viktor grumbled under his breath. 

*

“What I don’t understand,” Ekko drew his words out slowly, “Is how you— a Kiramman — were ever allowed near a gun in the first place?” 

“It wasn’t my mother’s idea of a respectable pastime,” Caitlyn admitted with a wry smile. 

Powder watched her skilled hands assemble the small handgun, entranced. “So…?”

Caitlyn glanced up at her. “So what?”

“So, how’d you learn if your parents didn’t like it?” 

“My mother didn’t like it,” Caitlyn corrected. “I don’t know if my father could care less— he seems to support me until I directly oppose Councilor Kiramman.” She stated the title with an underlying venom. Ekko and Powder shared a glance, but said nothing. “There was an enforcer they were friends with who taught me. She transferred to the Districts a while back— I don’t know where.” 

“That’s such a random skill to teach a Councilor’s kid,” Ekko mumbled. His eyes tracked Caitlyn’s movements, obsessively taking in everything. 

Caitlyn let out a strained laugh. “Not as random as it sounds. Her father was alive during the rebellion.” 

Ekko looked up at that. “What, she thought we’re going to revolt again?”

Caitlyn shrugged. “Her father did. Insisted on it, actually.” 

“And she thought a Councilor's kid would end up on the battlefield…?” Ekko eyed her skeptically. 

Caitlyn shrugged again, this time catching his doubtful once-over. She turned to the human-like target at the far end of the room and cocked the gun with a confident click. “I don’t think she thought I would. But I have the choice now, were the option to arise.” 

With a deafening bang, the bullet tore through the target. 

Right between the brows of the featureless face. 

Powder and Ekko turned to each other, eyes wide. 

“Her father was always going on about the districts and their plots to rise up and take what’s ’rightfully ours’. I don’t know if she believed him, or agreed with him… but she said she taught me for ‘any fight I find worth killing for.’” Caitlyn looked down at the gun thoughtfully. “I used to think it was just a polite way to say I could take out rebels without getting my hands dirty. I know it’s what my parents think.” She loaded the gun and placed it softly in Powder’s hands. Carefully, she looked up and met the girl's eyes. “Funny how things work out.” 

Powder’s breath caught in her throat. 

Ekko appeared similarly affected. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He whispered. Caitlyn only glanced into his eyes before guiding Powder into a proper stance. Ekko slinked over to the pair, unwilling to let the topic go. “No, seriously. What are you trying to say?” 

Caitlyn met his eyes from over Powder’s outstretched arms. “I’m sorry,” She admitted. “I’m trying to say I’m sorry.” 

She pulled her eyes away from his and gently lifted Powder’s arms to a straighter line in front of her. Her hand moved to the younger girl’s shoulder and she tapped her foot against the inner curve of the practical boot. “Widen your stance. Feet aligned with your shoulders.” Powder obeyed, grip tightening around the gun. “Good.” 

Ekko watched her closely. “I can’t figure you out.” 

Caitlyn and Powder looked up, confused. 

“What?” Powder asked, feet shifting with nerves. 

Ekko shook his head, focused on Caitlyn. “You always answer our questions without actually telling us anything. Why?” 

“I…” Caitlyn frowned, on the verge of disagreeing. “I guess I don’t mean to.” 

“You’re doing it again,” Ekko accused. 

“Ekko,” Powder pulled his attention easily. She waved the gun around, still maintaining the tight outstretch of her arms. 

Ekko crossed his arms and shot Caitlyn a dubious look, but he digressed. 

Caitlyn hesitated for a moment, as if considering continuing the conversation. But then she caught sight of the glint in Powder’s subtly twitchy hands, and her priorities shifted. 

“Right,” She shook herself out of her temporary stupor and moved to stand behind Powder’s shoulder. “Do you see the notch at the top of the gun? Line that up with your target.” 

Powder nodded, silently communicating that she had. 

“Your stance is stable and your hand placement is good. Are you sure you haven’t done this before?” Caitlyn asked absently, looking over Powder again. 

Powder shook her head. “Just grew up around trigger-happy enforcers.” 

Caitlyn paused at that. She mentally berated herself, but said nothing— there wasn’t anything to be said that the three didn’t already know. What, It wasn’t fair? She was sorry? 

They were all well aware. 

“Alright, go ahead and try shooting.”

Powder startled and looked over her shoulder. “What, just like that?” 

“We’re on a deadline,” Caitlyn shrugged. “You won’t hurt yourself. I just want to test your natural ability.” 

Powder nodded tersely, shifting her weight again. Through the crisp silence in the vast training room, Caitlyn and Ekko waited with baited breath. 

A sharp pop!

The trio leaned in, squinting to find the bullet’s trajectory. 

Caitlyn whistled, impressed. “You didn’t mention you have incredible aim.” 

Powder lowered the gun. “I didn’t know,” She muttered. 

Across the room, the target’s throat sported a precise little bullet hole. 

*

"As soon as I saw Silco standing in that hallway…” Jayce’s voice rumbled fondly behind his back. Before Viktor could turn, a pair of strong arms enveloped him and pulled him against a familiar broad chest. 

“I think we have the poor man at the end of his rope.” Viktor’s hands clutched at the arms around his torso. He paused to crane his neck behind him— only when he caught sight of Jayce’s face did he joke, “Long time, no see.” 

“No kidding,” Jayce said and nuzzled his nose against Viktor’s cheek— though from the tone of his voice, it didn’t seem like much of a joke. “I didn’t think I’d see you again before the games started.” 

“I had resigned myself to that as well, but—”

“You need my help,” Jayce concluded. His grip tightened slightly. “What can I do for you, V?” 

“Your district builds weapons.” 

“Astute observation.” 

Viktor clicked his tongue and Jayce apologetically hid his face in his neck. Accepting the silent surrender, he continued, “I need to teach Powder how to build a grenade. But I don’t have any blueprints.” 

“You’re teaching your tributes how to build bombs?” He asked, slightly muffled. 

Viktor nodded. “I’m teaching Powder. She wants to present it at the tests.” He hesitated when Jayce stayed quiet. “I understand if you don’t— you have your own tributes to look after, and explosives are more of a District Three thing anyway—”

“Don’t go doubting me now,” Jayce said softly. His hands moved to steady Viktor’s waist. 

Viktor hummed out a near silent, “I would never.” 

Jayce took in a deep breath, shoulders rising up to his ears with tension… and then released it. With a final quick squeeze of Viktor against him, he crossed to the other side of the table to slide the open journal towards himself. “I’ll help. But only because it’s you.”

Viktor leaned against the desk and slipped a pencil out from behind his ear. “Your favoritism could seriously impact the games, Jayce. You don’t have—”

“Don’t say I don’t have to,” Jayce accepted the pencil and hunched over the desk until he was almost eye-level with the journal. He was already fully distracted, hand scribbling and arcing across the page in practiced strokes when he mumbled, “I know I don’t.” 

Viktor took his seat and watched. From his chair he had an unchallenged view of the concentrated furrow between Jayce’s brow; of the way he rolled his jaw when he paused to remember a calculation or a measurement; of the short flicks of his eyes towards Viktor, always making sure he was still there. 

“You have hope this year,” Jayce said suddenly. 

Viktor startled slightly. He took a moment to process the statement— but when he did, he only looked down and repeated Jayce’s words from the night before. “I have hope every year.” 

Jayce, who still hadn’t looked up from his hasty blueprints, hummed. 

The couple fell back into a pleasant silence. 

That is, until Jayce’s pencil paused, and his eyes squinted up at him from under his lashes. With a scrutinizing sweep of Viktor’s form, he frowned… and went back to his sketch. 

“Something’s different,” He muttered. 

Viktor tried to joke, “Something you didn’t notice last night?”

“Something I didn’t mention last night,” Jayce corrected shortly. 

At first, Viktor thought he had done something wrong. He had never asked for Jayce’s help in creating something that could destroy his own tributes; it was likely the most inconsiderate request he’d ever made of him. Maybe something really was different about him— and maybe it was something wrong. He was just opening his mouth to tell Jayce he could figure out the explosive himself— he could, but there was no telling how quickly— when Jayce continued on. 

“I don’t like not knowing.”

Viktor watched him, eyebrows raised beseechingly. 

“I wanna know everything about you,” Jayce complained bitterly. 

Viktor froze, surprised by the explanation. Jayce’s tone, so utterly upset over something Viktor, in the past, could never have imagined being appealing, brought on a small but unrestrainable smile.  

“We see each other once a year, Jayce. I think it’s understandable that we… don’t know each other completely. We don’t have the option to,” Viktor reached across the desk and put his hand over Jayce’s.

Jayce pulled his hand away, but only so he could turn it and cradle Viktor’s in his own. He humphed. “There were those two years we saw each other twice,” He offered. 

“I don’t think seeing me in the crowd from the stage while you’re on one of your tributes’ victory tours counts, Jayce.”

“One of those times I got to walk past you and I brushed your hand,” Jayce recalled, gaze distant. “It meant everything to me.”  

“My hand didn’t stop tingling for a week,” Viktor agreed quietly. There was a reluctant turning at the corners of his lips. 

Jayce met his eyes; the hushed laugh they shared felt like a secret passing between them. 

“We may not be exactly the same, but… I’m glad this is,” Jayce admitted. The hand holding his pencil gestured between the two of them, then went back to sketching. 

Viktor hummed his agreement. For a moment, he let his gaze linger on Jayce’s skilled hands, but eventually it was drawn inevitably to the man’s expression. 

“Something’s different about you, too,” Viktor stated with an ornery smirk and leaned in as if to more closely observe him. 

Jayce’s gaze flicked up, amused. “Well, we've already established you think I look worse than usual.” 

“I think you look exhausted; not ugly.”

“You have such a way with words, V.” 

“I—” Viktor cut himself off with a startled laugh. For a moment, Jayce revelled in the carefree sound. Unfortunately, as all good things did, the moment was snatched away without warning. That time, it came in the form of Viktor’s suddenly sober expression and slight wince. 

Jayce’s hand paused and he readied himself to be by Viktor’s side in a moment’s notice. “What’s wrong?”

Viktor’s grimace only deepened. With a minute headshake, he muttered, “I shouldn’t be laughing. I shouldn’t be happy, not while the games are going.” His hand clutched at the arm of his chair after an aborted move to pick at his lips. 

Jayce shook his head in disagreement. He was disappointed by the notion, but unsurprised by its presentation— Viktor said the same thing at least once every year without fail since they’d met each other. “If you’re not allowed to feel happy now, when are you? The Capitol can’t take that from you, too.” 

Viktor’s lips turned just slightly in the impression of a wan smile. As familiar as Jayce was with the statement, Viktor was just as familiar with the answer. 

“This isn’t going to ruin things, right?” Viktor’s meak question drew Jayce’s full attention again. 

The man cocked his head to the side. “What’s gonna ruin what, Vik?” 

“You building this? For my tributes?” Viktor’s finger traced the near finished plans in his journal. “What if it works? What if it works on your tributes?”

Jayce squeezed Viktor’s hand still in his. “You’re just looking out for your kids. I would do the same. Hell, if it’s ever needed to send them blueprints for a long term water filtration system, I know who I’m coming to.” 

Viktor chucked weakly and ruffled Jayce’s styled hair. “Coming from anyone else, I’d think I was being made fun of.” 

“Don’t be so sure you’re not,” Jayce warned. 

Viktor bit his lip. “I feel like I should do something in return. For your tributes.” His thoughts returned to Powder and Ekko, and his gut twisted. 

Sensing his guilt, Jayce only shook his head. “You’re not asking for these as my opponent. You’re asking as my…” He stalled before reaching the term he wished to use. With a furtive glance towards the door, he muttered a quiet, “My Vitya.” 

Viktor’s eyes stung. Jayce was the only person in the world who treated him so… so gently. With so much genuine care. “Thank you, Jayce,” He whispered. 

Jayce shook his head as if to dismiss the gratitude. “My tributes already have a head start— they’ve spent practically every waking moment of their lives prepping for this exactly. I think they snuck down to the training center as soon as I left.” His voice dropped as he mumbled to himself, “I should probably go get them after…” 

He cut himself off when Viktor stood, putting his weight against the table. He watched, enraptured, as Viktor pushed the hair hanging in his eyes back and pressed a lingering kiss against his temple. “Just take the thank you, Jayce.” 

Jayce simply squeezed Viktor’s hand again and, instead of responding, brushed a deliberate kiss across his knuckles. 

Viktor rolled his eyes as he sat back down, but was unable to suppress the upward turn of his lips. 

He supposed it was close enough. 

The pair fell back into an easy silence. 

*

“Well, you’re quick learners. I’ll give you that.”

Caitlyn had both of them shooting steady with a gun, and had since moved on to weapons that were more likely to be in the arena, though she had less experience with. 

Ekko squinted at his target, wrist poised to flick a throwing knife at it. “Surprised?”

“Not particularly,” Caitlyn said, and smiled consolingly when he missed his target completely. “Maybe I spoke too soon.” 

Ekko clicked his tongue but didn’t disagree. 

From her other side, Powder fumbled with the bow and arrow she’d picked. “Why can’t they just have guns? I actually figured out how to aim those stupid things!”

“Would you actually want to fight a bunch of people with guns?” Ekko asked, knowing the answer full well. 

The tension between the trio was still palpable, but they’d begun to ease into a hesitant peace. Caitlyn was, after all, proving to be more than a Capitol citizen— someone they could rely on, at least during the games. Powder and Ekko had brokered a truce through their agreement to attempt to win, but the stress of the day still kept them from completely relaxing. 

 “What do you think the next best thing to a gun is?” Powder called over her shoulder. She fumbled with the arrow again and groaned. “This better not be it.”

“I think once you can get the arrow straight it won’t be…” Caitlyn trailed off, doubting her own words. “Well, too hard.”

“What if we don’t figure it out at all?” Ekko asked. 

Caitlyn frowned at the notion. “Just make sure the other things you do are interesting. They just want a good show. The longer you give them a reason to pay attention to you, the longer the gamemakers favor you and the more sponsors will want you to make it home.” 

“Okay, but what if we need to defend ourselves? What then?” Powder lowered her bow in frustration, only seconds away from simply throwing it across the room— when something streaked past her face, just almost grazing her cheek. Strands of blue hair flew to the side, and only moments after did her brain process the bang of a sturdy object against the target behind her. 

The trio spun around, startled. 

“What the hell?” Ekko glared at Powder’s almost-attacker with bewildered venom. 

A blond boy, stocky and smirking, stood up to his full height from where he’d just been doubled over. From throwing something, Powder realized. She glanced over her shoulder to see what it had been. 

“Just showing you,” The blond teenager said. “You know, ‘what then?’” 

He gestured to the target, but Powder was already looking. 

A javelin was poised deep, almost artfully in the humanoid target’s chest. 

The perfect shot. 

“No fighting before the games,” Caitlyn warned. Though her voice was level, her eyes betrayed a flicker of agitation. 

Powder turned just in time to see the boy give a careless shrug. “I don’t see anybody fighting right now.” 

“You almost caught Powder in the face!” Caitlyn accused. 

The other tribute raised an amused eyebrow. “But I didn’t.” He turned to Ekko and said, slyly, as if it was a joke between only them, “If I’d wanted to, I would have.” 

Ekko took a hostile step forward, but Caitlyn threw her arm out in front of him. 

“District Two tribute, right?” Caitlyn prompted. He smirked slightly in answer. “Where’s your mentor?”

He shrugged again. “Had to meet with our stylist. Thought I’d come down here for some extra practice— didn’t realize the place was occupied…” 

Ekko’s eyes narrowed at his roguish smile. 

“No harm, right?” Powder stepped to Caitlyn’s side. Her words were just as stiff as her posture. 

“Right.” He chuckled and added, “Yet.” 

“Oh, fuck off, Deckard,” A voice called from the shadows. 

The blond tribute— Deckard, if the voice was correct— turned with a snarl. 

Two teenage boys strolled out from the shadows. The pair couldn’t be from the same district, it was logistically impossible. Even so, they approached the group as a pair, united. 

The taller of the pair was bulky, a square jaw and broad shoulders. His skin was pale, but sunkissed. Beside him, a dark-eyed teenager with wild hair and lanky limbs sauntered confidently along. 

“You know you’re totally fucked if you do anything tonight,” The shorter teen continued. 

“He might not know that,” The taller of the pair suggested offhandedly. “District Two isn’t exactly known for their intellect.” 

Powder and Ekko glanced at each other, eyes wide. 

“And you would know all about intellect, District Seven, ” Deckard spat. 

The boy he addressed only shrugged, expression passive. “I know enough to understand that if you throw anything else at someone, you won’t even make it to the arena.”

“A tragedy of immense proportion,” His counterpart grinned wickedly. 

Deckard bared his teeth, though it was clear the message had made it through. He moved to leave but stopped at the rack of spears and javelins. Stroking a hand down one of the handles, he looked over at the pair with malice in his eyes. “I’ll be getting one of these in the arena. And I’ll be saving it for you.” 

The bulky teen only raised his eyebrows, unimpressed, while the other flashed a wide and sarcastic smile and wiggled his fingers in goodbye. 

Deckard disappeared from the training room without another word. 

The two teens watched him go, then turned back to the group. 

For a moment, nobody moved. But then—

“Who are you?” Powder asked. 

“And what was that?” Ekko tacked on. 

“Deckard is a totally delusional ass. I’m pretty sure he was born spitting bullshit,” The shorter of the two said instead of answering. 

Caitlyn straightened up between Ekko and Powder. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but…” She pointed at the taller boy. “District Seven?” He nodded. Her gaze moved to the boy beside him and asked, “District Eight?” 

“Guilty,” He said, raising his hands in surrender. “But my name’s Mylo.” He shoved an arm against the boy next to him, though it didn’t budge him at all. “The big guy’s Claggor.” 

“Nice to meet you,” Ekko said slowly. Even if they had stood up for them, he didn’t trust anyone except for Powder. 

“Why are you down here?” Powder eyed them up and down curiously. She couldn’t say she remembered seeing them earlier in the day— maybe they’d been on the other side of the room. She had avoided the combat area in favor of hiding among the survival skills section, much to Ekko’s communicated distaste.  

Claggor gestured widely at the targets. “Likely for the same reason you are.” 

Caitlyn glanced between the two groups. Hesitantly, she gestured for Powder and Ekko to follow her. “We shouldn’t keep Viktor waiting. I bet he’s back by now.”

Ekko eyed the other tributes and found himself agreeing. He looked to Powder, making sure she was following. 

Powder nodded gratefully at the pair before meeting Ekko’s eyes, rolling her own at his hypervigilance, and following him and Caitlyn towards the door. 

“Be careful with those careers,” Mylo called after them. 

The group stopped just in the doorway. Though none of them turned around, their hesitation revealed their willingness to listen. 

When the pair refused to elaborate, only muttering quietly between themselves, Caitlyn let out a short huff through her nostrils and led them back towards their rooms. 

Powder bit her lip as a new voice hissed against the inside of her skull. 

Be careful with those careers.  

Chapter Text

An eleven. 

Powder stared at her twitching fingers, numb at the discovery. 

She’d scored an eleven. 

Back in the testing room, with the horde of gamemakers chuckling at her shaky hands and hesitant movements, she thought for sure she’d failed. The blueprints Viktor mysteriously procured (“Don’t you worry where I got them, Powder.”) were a lifesaver— for once, she finally understood where she had been going wrong in all her past builds. Even so, having to memorize the plans and never having a chance to actually test her results beforehand was mind-numbing. Her brain, torturously loud, had buzzed through the whole thing, nearly convincing her to throw the grenade into the audience of gamemakers and run for it. 

She hadn’t been allowed to blow the thing up— once the posted enforcers seemed to understand what she was building, they pulled her back and inspected it, only to lock it up and disappear with it. Powder had to explain to the gamemakers what her skill was without them ever getting to see it in action. Even with the enforcer at her shoulder piping up, “No, it was active. Yeah, she built a working bomb,” Powder still believed that the lack of fire and smoke and… well, explosions, would get her a low score. A low score fit for an outer-district tribute.

“Powder, this is wonderful,” Caitlyn beamed, a hand lightly on her shoulder. 

Powder, head full of cotton and eyes stinging from forgetting to blink, only stared. 

Caitlyn’s smile faltered. “Powder, are you alright? This is good, I promise.” 

She wondered if, way back in Twelve, Vi and Vander were watching. If they were surprised at her high score, her ability to take care of herself. If they were proud. 

If they were disgusted. 

She pushed their disappointed gazes to the back of her head and nodded. 

Though Caitlyn didn’t seem to believe her, she didn’t push. 

“These are the highest joint scores for Twelve in years. Possibly ever,” Viktor was saying when she turned to face him and Ekko. “I won’t say you two should be proud, but you’re doing very well taking care of yourselves. And each other.” 

An eleven for Powder and a nine for Ekko. 

Powder couldn’t recall if anyone from Twelve had ever even gotten higher than an eight.

“Should we talk about logistics for tomorrow?” Caitlyn’s voice pulled Powder back to earth again. Her eyes— sharp and clever, glanced in her direction. 

Powder squirmed slightly, uncomfortable with the knowledge that even Caitlyn, a girl she’d known less than a week, could see straight through her. Was she really so obvious? How long could she possibly last in the games, with everyone catering to her every little discomfort? Distracting her with schedules and blueprints and reassurances so she never paused long enough to spiral… Once she was in the games, how long would it be before she lost control? 

“Good idea,” Viktor agreed. He looked to the pair of tributes and said lightly, “The nice thing about tomorrow is you get to sleep in.” 

Ekko let out a tired chuckle. As much as he wanted to continue holding up the stone-faced persona he’d established in the training room and on the train ride over, he was exhausted enough to not care. In what he was sure would be his last few days, he wanted to say he’d laughed. 

“Right. Your day doesn’t start until noon. We’ll have lunch, talk about your interviews, discuss any personas you’d like to portray—” Caitlyn cut herself off when she saw the questioning glances shot between them. She raised her eyebrows in inquiry, giving them a space to voice their confusion.  

“Personas?” Powder asked. 

Caitlyn ‘ah’d and explained, “It’s just how you present yourself to the Capitol. Remember, it’s a show. They think of you as a character. You want to be the most likable one.” Powder and Ekko nodded in understanding, allowing her to continue. “After lunch, we’ll go to your stylists and they’ll make all their tailoring adjustments and prep you for interviews. Then…  showtime.” 

“That quick, huh?” Powder’s laugh was laced with nerves, but nobody called her out.

Viktor nodded gravely. “That quick. After that, we just make sure you get a good night’s sleep.” 

“Right,” Ekko muttered. The prospects of a ‘good night's sleep’ were just about as high as his chances of being drawn in the games were low. He could imagine the odds would only follow trends when it worked against him. 

Caitlyn’s voice just managed to filter through as she finished, “The next morning, we’ll escort you to the aircraft that will take you to the arena. You'll be on the launch tubes by the afternoon.” 

Powder whistled, some of her faux good humor returning. “Hear that, Ekko? T-Minus forty-eight hours.” 

Ekko glanced at the clock. “Forty-four and a half,” He corrected quietly. 

Powder only rolled her eyes and mumbled, “Nobody likes a smartass.” 

But forty-four and a half became forty-four, and forty-four quickly became forty-three, and forty-three became twenty-three until suddenly—

“Viktor, I think it’s time I take Powder down to Silco’s. You and Ekko can survive being around Renni for a few hours, right?” Caitlyn rose from her chair with practiced grace. 

As much as Ekko wanted to say Caitlyn blended into her gilded surroundings like every other Capitol citizen, he couldn’t without lying to himself. The way she dressed, the way she held herself, the way she spoke— it all left her standing just slightly to the left of normal. 

He thought back to Vander and Benzo, run down and tired after a lifetime of grief and struggles, and the way they blended effortlessly into the grey of District Twelve. Almost indistinct from the crowd anymore where once they were beacons of color and life. 

There, in the Capitol, there was an excess of color. Of life. It was overflowing from every single citizen in a way that insulted Ekko. In a way that insulted the districts. In a way that insulted the miners back in Twelve, who either submitted to a colorless life underground lit by dying bulbs or no life at all. And while every district citizen began to blend together over time, so did every Capitol citizen. Though at least, Ekko thought bitterly, they drowned in cascades of blues and reds and greens rather than a rain of dirt and ash. 

And through it all, there was Caitlyn Kiramman. There was always something just slightly off, and Ekko couldn’t imagine that he was the first to notice. Perhaps that was what Caitlyn meant, on that first day they met. “My mother thinks I don’t have enough allegiance to the Capitol. She’s scared for my future. I guess she’s hoping this experience will reinforce my belief in the games. In the system.” 

“And is it?” Powder draped herself over the edge of the table. 

Caitlyn looked down at her hands. “I… don’t imagine I’m supposed to answer until I mean it when I say ‘yes.’” 

She was closed off and careful with every little word like a true politician’s daughter, graceful in every movement, poised at every second. Yet— 

Ekko snickered. “Practiced answer.”

And yet, she was practiced. In all she did, there was a memory and a process. Not in a way that implied devotion— but in a way that implied necessity. 

Caitlyn Kiramman was no natural. She didn’t blend into a Capitol crowd and she didn’t fit the mold she was born into. And though Ekko could not see through her, he could at least see that much. 

“I’m sure we can survive, though I cannot promise we will do so happily.” Viktor dragged himself to his feet, wincing slightly. He leaned more heavily on his cane than usual, Ekko noticed— but Viktor didn’t acknowledge it, and only waited patiently for Powder and Ekko to finish scraping their plates. 

For the first time since that first night on the train, Ekko found himself alone with Viktor. 

Viktor, who seemed perfectly at ease standing in silence on the elevator ride down, but managed to make polite conversation for Ekko’s sake. How he and Caitlyn always knew when to distract him and Powder, he didn’t know. 

“Ah, Ekko,” Renni, Ekko’s stylist, was waiting for the pair when they showed up. “We’ll only be a moment.” 

She slipped from the room without another comment. 

The dressing room was perhaps one of the blandest rooms Ekko had seen so far in the Capitol. There was no gaudy furniture, only a single sleek armchair. In the center of the room was a raised circular platform, lit from the ceiling. One wall was, like many other rooms in the building, floor-to-ceiling windows. He dragged the chair over to Viktor and began a slow pace around the perimeter of the room. 

Viktor stared at the chair for a moment, brows furrowed, but sat. His eyes followed Ekko’s movements for a good thirty seconds before he asked, “What can I do to help you calm down?” 

Ekko paused— then slumped onto the raised platform, elbows on his knees and chin in his hands. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve ever been this worked up.” 

“How about we talk about something?” Viktor suggested. 

“Um…” Ekko rocked backward, then forward— and then stopped himself. “Sure. Okay.”

“Okay,” Viktor settled his cane between his knees and pursed his lips. “How about you tell me about you and Powder’s inventions back home.”

“Not much to tell,” Ekko muttered, distracted. 

Viktor glanced out the window, not arguing, but wanting to disagree. Instead, he asked, “Tell me about what you’re thinking right now. Get it out.” 

“Huh?” Ekko stopped. 

Viktor gestured at his momentarily still feet. “Something had you pacing. It is always best to talk about these things.” Ekko hesitated, and Viktor backtracked. “You don’t have to share. You don’t owe me anything. I am merely offering an outlet.” 

“I—” Ekko began against his will. Immediately, he cut himself off, unsure of why he was so quick to trust Viktor. In the end, his initial instincts won out, and he said slowly, “I think people put too much stock in family and romance. Family doesn’t mean anything if they don’t love you, and romance never goes anywhere without being built on friendship.”

Viktor nodded sagely. “Friends are hard to find in the world we live in. I understand why you hold so tightly to the ones you have.”

“Exactly— I love Powder. Why do we have to be siblings or— or lovers? Why can’t we just be Powder and Ekko and that be enough?” 

Viktor watched him closely. Slowly, and oh so carefully, he said, “I can talk to Caitlyn and we can figure something else out…” 

Ekko startled. “No— no! We’re doing what we have to do. I just… it’s so unfair we have to do it.” 

“You’ll drive yourself crazy thinking like that,” Viktor leaned forward and frowned. He knew from experience, after all. “You don’t have time to think like that right now. Of course it’s unfair, of course you shouldn’t have to do this. But you do. Until things change, that is something we have to live with.” 

“Until?” Ekko paused. 

Viktor froze. Carefully, he corrected, “Change is the natural state of being— a simple slip of a scientist’s tongue.” 

Ekko rolled his eyes at the cover up. “I don’t even know why I’d ever want to survive in a world like this. Why am I even trying to win?”

“Because you have people that care about you,” Viktor reminded sharply. Ekko couldn’t tell whether he was referencing Powder forcing him to play, or whether he meant the people back home. “They will always be what pulls you back from the ledge. Always. ” 

“You said you’ve lived this before,” Ekko recalled. He didn’t have to clarify what ‘this’ was. He asked carefully, “You weren’t able to save your friend?”

“No,” Viktor sighed. His shoulders tensed with the weight of bone-deep regret. “My best friend wanted to save me. I suppose she got what she wanted, in the end.” 

“It wasn’t what you wanted?” Ekko thought of Powder. 

“Of course it wasn’t what I wanted,” Viktor laughed humorlessly. “I guess she didn’t realize how challenging it was going to be. Nobody in that arena wanted me dead more than myself.”

“And you’re here anyway,” Ekko noted. 

Viktor nodded solemnly. “Well, once she died for me, it felt like salt in the wound if it was for nothing. I didn't know if I could dishonor her final wishes, so…” He gestured to himself, a slight undertone of bitterness sneaking into his words. “Here I am.” 

Ekko clenched and unclenched his fists, thinking. All the way back to Twelve, where Vi had gripped his back with trembling hands. 

“Ekko. I need you to do something for me.”

He was starting to doubt his choice— not because he believed it was bad. But because it hurt Powder. 

“Was it wrong for me to make a deal with Vi?” 

Viktor tilted his head to the side. “This is the deal to save Powder’s life, correct?” Ekko nodded and he only shrugged. “I cannot judge people’s choices when it comes to the games.” 

“Okay, then, what about your best friend?”

“What about her?”

“Did it hurt you when she picked you over herself?” Ekko almost regretted asking when Viktor’s expression fell. He supposed that one look was answer enough. 

“I… of course I was hurt,” Viktor managed. “Only one of us could live and I wanted it to be her. Of course I was hurt.” 

Ekko wondered if Powder’s ‘hurt feelings’ could possibly be worth her life. 

Viktor said, not without a reassuring turn at the corner of his lips, “Just don’t count yourself out of the running like I did. I can’t say Powder and Sky are similar, but they both love their self-sacrificial best friends. Sky took things into her own hands. Powder might do the same.” 

Ekko’s eyes fell to the floor, thoughts churning. So as long as he made it look like he was trying to win, would Powder be okay when he died?

At that exact moment, Renni bustled back into the room. “So sorry for the wait— Ekko, are you ready? Silco and I made something one-of-a-kind for you and Powder.” 

He stepped onto the platform wordlessly.

Viktor and Ekko didn’t talk for the rest of the appointment. When Renni addressed them, they responded only in short nods or headshakes. Ekko found himself dressed in a polished black suit with flame detailing on the cuffs. 

Renni seemed impossibly pleased with her work, and mentioned something about how famous the designs were going to make her. 

Only when the pair was walking side by side down to the waiting room behind the stage did he find it in him to lean over and mutter, “I thought Silco designed everything for us?” 

“He did,” Viktor confirmed. 

Ekko only gave him a look, as if to say, “Then what was she going on about?” 

“He asked for creative freedom, not the credit for it,” Viktor answered simply.  “He’d rather you two make a good impression than worry about fighting Renni on everything.” 

Ekko frowned at that. 

They stopped outside a discreet door, where Viktor flicked some dust off his shoulder and kindly straightened his tie. “Don’t mess with that,” He warned. 

Ekko nodded stiffly. 

“And remember what we talked about at lunch,” Viktor reminded. “Find a way to bring up being single and make sure the love confession looks reluctant.” 

Ekko nodded again. 

Viktor’s expression softened. “It is only a three minute interview. Powder is just on the other side of this door. Both of you have and will continue to survive worse than this.” 

“I don’t know if I can! I can’t be likable,” Ekko whispered sharply. “I can’t even have a friendly conversation with Caitlyn, and she cares whether we live or die!” 

“If you can’t have a conversation with someone from the Capitol; don’t. Pretend you are talking to somebody you can stand.” Viktor straightened up, a hand on his cane and the other moving in tune with his words. “Is there anybody back home you could picture?”

Ekko shrugged helplessly. “Uh, Benzo. I could picture him.” 

“Then do that. If you feel like you are about to lash out, take a pause. It is better to look like you’re carefully considering your words than to blow up. Maybe let Powder know that, too.” Viktor glanced at his watch and gestured to the door. “It would be unwise for me to keep you any longer. But you are smart, Ekko; it will be okay.” 

With every instinct in his body itching not to, Ekko pushed through the door and let it close behind him. 

The first thing he noticed was the long line of people. The tributes, he realized— all dressed in such gaudy garments that they could almost fit in with the Capitol’s citizens. Almost. 

The second thing he noticed was Powder. She stood at the back of the line, facing away from him. Her hair— it seemed she still wouldn’t let Silco cut it, no matter how much he fretted over the likelihood of another tribute grabbing it— was done up in an elaborate updo, much like the night of the tribute parade. Ekko couldn’t see much of a difference. Only that it looked heavy, piled up on her head like that. Her dress was much more simple than the other tributes’— a pleasant red that matched the detailing on his suit— but, considering she was practically Silco’s muse, there had to be something special about it. 

Through the wall, they could hear the show beginning. 

“Happy Hunger Games! And welcome to the 74th annual Tribute Interviews!” 

The following applause had Ekko’s head spinning. He could only imagine how many people were just outside, paying money to see the children they’d sentenced to death. He shook the thought off— it wasn’t going to help him make a good impression. 

“You look nice,” Ekko said, the sharp edge to his tone softening. 

Powder looked over her shoulder, unsurprised. Her smile was strained. “I feel like a fraud.” Her eyes flickered over him, and she seemed to remember herself. “Uh, you look nice, too.” 

Draped in the sleekest fabric they could have never imagined, the pair found themselves turning towards each other in the single file line. 

“Are you ready?” Powder whispered. 

Ekko swallowed thickly, eyes blinking rapidly to fight off rising nausea. “No. But you’re going first so I guess I don’t have to be.” 

Powder slapped at his arm, trying to summon a laugh but only managing a shaky exhale. 

“She’s here all the way from District One; let’s see if she really is as devious as her name— everyone, give a warm welcome to Sinn!” 

Raucous applause thundered distantly, and Powder could only imagine how loud it would be stepping onto the stage. She planted her feet shoulder width, thinking back on Caitlyn’s hand on her shoulder and soft voice— “This stance keeps you steady. Secure.” Fingers crossed it could fight off a fresh bout of dizziness. 

“Do we actually have to do this?” The words escaped Powder without her approval, slipping away from her in a whispered exhale. 

Ekko didn’t offer condolences or apologies. His hand slipped into hers, and the pair stood in silence. Together, the chaos of the crowds almost couldn’t touch them. 

“Now, Deckard, you volunteered to be here. Why?”

“Can’t imagine wasting your life to come here,” Powder muttered. 

Ekko squeezed her hand in agreement. 

“He wasn’t even volunteering for anyone,” She continued. “I don’t— I don’t get these inner district kids.”

“District is district no matter where,” Ekko reminded quietly. 

Powder grunted in reluctant agreement. 

Ekko’s attention drifted to the monitor in the corner. Finn— the host for as long as he could remember— was welcoming a new tribute to the stage, though he wasn’t paying enough attention to hear her name. He wondered what he and Powder would be doing that night if they weren’t reaped. Whether they’d be watching the games, or bullying Vi into taking them over the broken electric fence. He wondered, in that world, if they were any better off with two years left of chances to be reaped. And with still a lifetime of work left ahead of them. 

He didn’t choose to say his next words. They escaped him nonetheless. “Maybe in another life we’re happy. Safe.” 

Powder snorted, then glanced around to see if she’d been heard. The remaining tributes’ backs stayed facing them, and she settled back against the wall with a muted thud. “Isn’t that nice to picture.”

“Claggor, your district has a reputation for fighters, but you seem to be more of an intellectual. Tell me about that.”

Ekko tugged on Powder’s hand, dragging her attention back on him. “It is. So picture it. Whenever you need to. Picture a world where we’re happy and safe.” 

Powder’s index finger scratched at her thumb. “I… don’t think I even know what that looks like,” She whispered. Another secret between them. 

“It looks like whatever you want,” Ekko answered. “It’s whatever you want until we have it.” 

“Until?” Powder asked. Her eyebrows tilted in doubt. 

Ekko nodded confidently. “Until.” 

Before either could process it, Powder was being gestured to the doorway with no tributes in her way. She looked to Ekko for reassurance. 

He gave her a tense nod. You can do this. 

She clenched her fists, and turned to follow the man.

“Here at the Capitol, we all know her as the Girl on Fire—” Finn paused as a round of applause interrupted him. Only when it quieted down did he finish, “But back home in District Twelve, they know her as the industrious Powder! Please welcome her to the stage!” 

Powder forced herself to walk forward, each shaky step dragging her deeper into the blinding lights of the stage. She was only barely able to stop herself from shielding her eyes— or covering her ears, when the audience caught sight of her. The noise was deafening. Even as she pictured the ceiling caving in over them, she managed to make it to Finn’s side without incident. 

Her heart was racing in her chest and Powder knew herself well enough to understand she was about five seconds from tearing her hair out. She needed to calm down. 

Ekko had said to picture a safe world— a happy one. But Powder found herself drawing a blank. 

She was all too aware of Finn leaning in and saying something to her, but she had no idea what he could possibly be saying. She was butchering all her sponsorship chances, and Ekko’s, too, she needed to calm down, but she was two seconds from— 

Exploding. 

A sudden image worked itself into her brain, of one of her own bombs ticking, ticking— blowing the crowd to pieces. Those nonsensical colors would paint the walls like one of her and Ekko’s murals back home, and she would relish the light of the fire, so much more gentle than those incessant stage-lights—

She managed to take a deep breath. 

“Powder? Are you with us?” 

Powder turned to Finn’s inquisitive face. She managed a smile, so unnatural on her own face, though, based on Finn’s reaction, seemed to do the trick. “Sorry,” She turned back to the crowd and made a show of surveying it. “I’ve just never seen so many colors in one place.” 

Finn barked a laugh that prompted the audience to follow. “And what do you think? Are you a fan of it?”

“It’s a little overwhelming,” Powder forced herself to laugh.

Finn joined her, and the crowd did, too. He gestured to the seats, and Powder resisted the urge to throw herself into it like usual. She sat daintily, trying to imitate Caitlyn. 

Finn leaned towards her as she finished settling. “The entrance you made the other day, at the Tribute’s Parade? I don’t think anyone here has seen anything like it—” He turned to the crowd, “Have we? I don’t think we have.” 

Powder watched the crowd ripple. She looked for Silco’s face among them, but everyone blended together. “Well, I’d hope not,” Powder turned back to Finn. “Silco worked really hard to make it memorable.” 

Finn grinned and pointed out to the crowd— and there he was. Powder didn’t quite catch what Finn was saying, her eyes stuck on the one-eyed man. Silco gave her a reassuring nod as he waved to the crowd. 

Her lungs finally drew in a full breath of air. She turned back to Finn just as he began addressing her again.  

“Were the flames real? They looked so real.” 

Powder grinned and nodded. “They’re real. Ekko and I thought he was trying to burn us to death.”

Finn threw his head back laughing. Powder couldn’t recall a time anyone found her so funny— though she supposed it was mostly just a show Finn was putting on to endear her to sponsors.

She glanced back at Silco in the crowd, who raised his eyebrows and nodded again. 

Earlier in the day when Silco showed her the dress, she’d been surprised at its simplicity. Then, he’d told her to work a spin into the interview— and she’d understood. 

“I can show you right now,” Powder suggested. 

The crowd erupted into excited murmurs, and Powder didn’t wait for permission to get to her feet. She met Silco’s eyes from across the room… and threw herself into a twirl. 

The change was immediate. 

Flames erupted at her feet, licking up her skirt and swirling around her. She couldn’t help the grin that spread across her lips at the sound of shocked gasps, even a couple startled screams. 

These people, Powder thought. 

She stopped spinning when the room tilted and her feet began to stumble. Finn helped her back to her seat, shouting to the crowd all the while. 

“Silco should be proud! And you should, too— your training score? An eleven. An eleven for District Twelve; I can’t recall ever even seeing such a high score from District Twelve. Can you tell us about it?” 

“My skill?” Powder gave a little laugh when Finn nodded, and prayed it didn’t sound too nervous. “I’ll just say that it blew away the gamemakers.” She gave a smirk towards the crowd and added cryptically, “Well, it would have.” 

“It would have? What does that mean? Give us details,” Finn prompted. 

Powder shrugged with a big smile. “I don’t think I can! I’m hoping you’ll be able to see it in action, though. In the games.” 

“I hope so, too,” Finn said. He gave the crowd a moment to settle down, then allowed his expression to slip into something more somber. “Let’s talk about the Reaping.”

Powder nodded, shoulders rising just slightly. Caitlyn and Viktor had warned her this would come up— yet she still felt unprepared. 

“Your sister was reaped, and you volunteered for her. The first volunteer from District Twelve. Ever. Can we get a round of applause for that?” Finn turned to the crowd and, like every other moment in the night, the audience followed willingly. “Can you tell us about her?” 

Powder scratched at the already raw skin of her fingertips. No, why did she have to tell them about Vi? Why did they get to take that from her, too? 

But Caitlyn and Viktor said to be honest. Honesty will get you sympathy. 

“In this instance,” Viktor had joked. “Definitely still lie about being in love, though.”

“She’s taken care of me my whole life,” Powder said quietly. “I know she’s upset that I did this, but she would have done the same thing for me. We’re sisters.”

“She was upset with you?” Finn asked. 

Powder smiled sadly. As much as she was trying to ham it up, she really didn’t have to— tears were pricking painfully at the back of her eyes, and she could feel a pressure in her throat building. “She just wants what’s best for me.” 

Vi’s betrayed eyes flashed in the back of her head, and her hands fisted at her dress. 

“Is there anything you’d want to say to her? The night before you enter the games?” 

Finn’s voice just barely reached her, but Powder got the message. She glanced around for the nearest camera. In that lighting, its lens was almost the same stormy gray as Vi’s hard gaze. She pretended it really was. 

“I’m always with you, sis,” She whispered. 

The audience awww’d at her, but the sound disappeared in the rush of blood in her ears. Vi’s face was all too clear in her head, chin down and eyes glaring from under her lashes. Her knees had been bleeding the day of the Reaping, their mom’s dress not covering them when she’d fallen to the gravel walkway. There was probably still blood on the fabric of the dress— would it ever come out? Would Vi ever try? They’d never need that dress again, after all, now that Vi had aged out and she herself had been reaped. 

Would they keep any of Powder’s clothes? Would her nice dress that she’d grown out of just in time for the Reaping be folded neatly and set in that old chest, right next to her Ma and Pa’s old Reaping Bests? Would she become a distant memory that only served to make Vander go grayer, and Vi’s glare harden further? 

“That’s all the time we have, but I’m sure we all wish you luck, Powder from District Twelve!” 

She felt Finn’s hand pull her to her feet and raise her hand in the air. 

Like a victor. 

Bile began rising in the back of her throat. 

Powder didn’t remember getting off the stage or running down the hall. When she finally dropped to the floor, her head between her knees and hands pulling at her hair, she didn’t recognize the room she was in. 

She wanted to be at home. In her rickety bed, with Vi right next to her. With her voice in her ear, singing the old songs Vander taught them as soon as they could talk. She wanted to go home. She wanted her big sister. 

She didn’t want to die. 

Powder choked on a sob and felt her elegant updo unravel in her clawing hands. 

“Powder— breathe, you need to breathe.”

She remembered the feel of Vi’s hand between her shoulder blades. The steady warmth, the low murmur of her voice. “Breath, Pow Pow. You can do this.” 

She dragged in a gasping breath, half expecting the dusty air of District Twelve. 

“There you go, Powder. Come on, go again.”

She obediently took another deep breath. Her shoulders rose and fell in too-chilly air— and Powder remembered herself. She was far from home, deep in the heart of the Capitol and less than twenty-four hours away from entering the Hunger Games arena. 

So then why could she feel Vi’s hand on her back?

Shakily, and terrified her hallucinations had managed to cross the line into physical manifestations, she turned her head. 

Caitlyn gave her a small smile. “Are you back?” Powder sniffed, and nodded. “Do you want a glass of water?” 

Powder took in another trembling breath, and nodded again. 

Caitlyn crossed to the other side of the room and propped the door open, leaving herself fully visible as she searched for a cup. Powder glanced around and found it was one of the dressing rooms. She lowered her hands from her head and dropped them into her lap. 

Caitlyn returned quickly. Even in her pristine dress, she didn’t hesitate to drop onto the floor beside Powder. She handed over the glass and kept a watchful eye on the door as Powder took a grateful sip. 

“Ekko says you like to sing,” Caitlyn said suddenly. 

Powder looked up, surprised. “I guess so.”

“My father used to sing to me to calm me down,” Caitlyn’s voice was soft as her gaze at the recollection. Powder recognized the look; the same one Vander got whenever her ma or pa came up. Nostalgia, Vi would always say. I don’t know if it’s worse than just being sad.

“Would it help to sing?” Caitlyn asked. 

Powder frowned at the suggestion. Then, a laugh was pulled from her. She leaned forward, laughing, unable to stop as Caitlyn watched with concern lining her features. When she managed to calm down, she wiped at her eyes and nose. “I don’t think you know any district songs,” She chuckled. 

Caitlyn laughed along. She didn’t cringe in shame, or deny it. “Teach me?” 

Powder only hesitated for a moment— and only so she could pick a song. She settled for Vi’s favorite. After her parents died, Powder had lost any fondness for the song herself. But anything to feel closer to her sister.  

Caitlyn didn’t seem to mind when her voice came out a little shaky and quiet. 

“Forced into the ground

Away from the goddess’ embrace 

She breathed a breath into our lungs

And then we’re sent away 

Bloody palms and dusty hands 

Will dig well past defeat

Forced to work and forced to die

When the roof falls to its knees

Rubble rains in dusty teardrops 

Hands scratch at the walls

Miles below a breath to breathe 

And no voice left to call 

All of us are clawing to 

An unfair early end 

But Janna will find us one day

And we will breathe again

Trapped under the ground 

Away the goddess’ embrace 

But Janna will find us again 

We will breathe someday.” 

Caitlyn’s hand had long since moved away, allowing Powder her personal space. “You have a lovely singing voice.” 

“I guess,” Powder shrugged. Her hands fumbled at the slippery fabric of her dress, twisting it between her stinging fingers. “Vi used to drag me out to the square and have me sing. Sometimes enforcers would drop a couple coins in the tin can she’d set in front of me. It was funny— I didn’t quite connect it at the time, because I was just so happy someone liked my voice. But it was funny. Even the enforcers could spare some change just as a compliment to someone’s singing. But we’d take that copper home and treat it like gold— it would help get a meal, it was gold. To us.” 

She glanced at Caitlyn’s expression, and found it tight with suppressed empathy. Powder changed the topic. “That one’s my sister’s favorite.” 

“It’s a beautiful song,” Caitlyn answered. “I can see why she likes it.” 

Powder snorted and wiped at her eyes. “ You remind me a little of my sister.”

Caitlyn startled. “Oh.” She paused, and Powder almost started laughing again at the sight of a Kiramman being speechless. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” Powder drawled. She dropped to the floor, sprawling out. “It’s just funny– I can’t figure out if you and my sister would get along or if you’d hate each other’s guts.” 

“I hear I’m rather hard to get along with,” Caitlyn sighed. 

Powder sat straight up. “My sister’s a piece of work— trust me, you can’t find someone more stubborn and hard-headed than her.”

“This is sounding less like a compliment by the second,” Caitlyn chuckled. 

Powder waved a hand. “It wasn’t a compliment, it was an observation.”

Caitlyn fiddled with the ring on her hand, hesitant. “She seems like a good sister,” She said softly.

Powder was not venturing back into that territory again. She forced her cracking voice into something casual. “Eh, maybe you’ll meet her someday. If you get stuck as an escort for Twelve. She won’t be able to be reaped anymore, but if Ekko or me goes home, I bet you’d get to meet them.” 

“Then I look forward to meeting them.” Powder shot her a skeptical glance from under her lashes. Caitlyn doubled down.  “We’re going to get one of you home. I don’t mean to sound— scary or anything, but even if it can’t be you, District Twelve is going home.”  

“You might wanna lower your expectations,” Powder sucked in air between her teeth. “Prepare a little more for disappointment.”

“I won’t. I believe in us,” Caitlyn insisted.

“You seem like the kinda girl who’s never been really let down in her life.” 

“I’m let down that only one of you is coming home.”

Powder rolled her eyes. “And what are you gonna be if neither of us do?” 

“...I’ll cross that bridge if I come to it,” Caitlyn decided, drawing herself to her full height. Even sitting down on the cold floor she struck an imposing figure.  

“Careful,” Powder joked. “You know how the Capitol feels about district sympathizers crossing bridges.” 

Caitlyn snorted out a startled laugh. Powder’s eyebrows shot up to her head as Caitlyn slapped a hand over her own mouth. 

“I’ll never tell anyone,” Powder whispered with an evil grin and a hand over her heart. 

Caitlyn gave an exasperated smile and stood up, holding out a hand for Powder. “That’s very much appreciated.” 

Powder accepted her hand, and yelped in surprise when Caitlyn easily yanked her to her feet. 

“Jeez! Wasn’t expecting the head-rush,” Powder complained. 

Caitlyn gave her an ornery smirk, one that was entirely novel to Powder. “Payback for making fun of my laugh,” She said. 

Powder grinned and followed Caitlyn out into the hallway. The pair walked side by side for a few moments before they realized they never put the cup back— Caitlyn glanced both ways down the hall before sneakily setting it on the floor against the wall. They giggled and picked up the pace. 

The closer they got to the sound of milling people, the more nerves crawled under Powder’s skin. Had they all seen her flee her interview earlier? Would her score become meaningless after they witnessed her moment of weakness— and was that for the best? 

Nobody looked up when the pair snuck into the room. A monitor stood on the far wall, and it looked like recaps of the interviews were already airing. Stylists chatted leisurely with mentors. 

“I don’t see Ekko,” Cailtyn frowned as she scanned the room. “I imagine Renni already has him getting changed. She probably wants to auction the suit or something.” 

Powder hummed her agreement, though her gaze was already latched onto a single man. The same man, from that first night in the Capitol. He was nodding along to a stylist’s energetic gesticulation, though his gaze was distant and his stature communicated an untouchable ferocity. 

“Isn’t that the guy that was staring at Viktor the other night?” Powder muttered. 

Caitlyn followed her gaze. Powder could tell the exact moment she saw the man, and wondered what the sharp recognition meant. 

“How do they know each other?” She asked. 

Caitlyn shook herself and shrugged. “I guess they must have met as mentors. Maybe they’re friends,” She suggested. 

Powder squinted at the man. She didn’t like the look of him at all. “He looks like the kind of guy who’s proud to be a victor. Viktor would never befriend someone like that.”  

“Perhaps not,” Caitlyn murmured, distracted. 

The man glanced over before Powder could smooth out her expression. He caught an eyeful of her glare, and only raised an eyebrow coolly. 

Powder glared harder. 

The man glanced away, sighing, and excused himself from the conversation. Powder almost regretted antagonizing him when he began his approach towards her. 

(Almost.)

“District Twelve,” He said cordially. He towered over Powder and Caitlyn. 

Powder stared up at him and refused to be intimidated. She was pretty sure he had been standing with District Two on the night of the Tributes’ Parade, but hoped to strike at his ego. “I guess I don’t know which district you’re from.” 

Caitlyn elbowed her lightly. “This is Jayce. He’s a District Two mentor.” She stated the facts in a way that implied they hadn’t just been discussing him. 

“How do you know him?” Powder asked. 

Jayce shot her a warning look that Powder didn’t miss, and Caitlyn hesitated. “Um— my mother sponsored him during his games. That’s all.”

Jayce’s posture relaxed ever so slightly. 

Powder poked at his arm. “Jeez, what do they feed you in Two? This feels unfair.” 

Her brows snapped together when Jayce actually chuckled at her statement. 

“So I hear,” Jayce’s tone had shifted to something close to kind. 

“It must be a lot of work to maintain the physique of a boulder.” Powder wasn’t done in her attempts to antagonize him. He had to be the egoist she clocked him as, and boy, did she want to find his weak point. Maybe it was his status as a District Two mentor, maybe it was the way he looked at Viktor— but she didn’t like him. 

Caitlyn’s tone was exasperated when she said, “Powder, we should find Silco.” 

“Wait, I’m curious,” Powder squinted up at him and Caitlyn slouched beside her. “Do they send you extra rations every year to look like their poster boy victor, or do you do that for fun?” 

“Poster boy?” Jayce asked, unimpressed. 

“Yeah, you look like every other victor who tricks kids into volunteering. Deckard’s yours, right?” Powder thought back to the self-assured teenager who threw a spear at her. She wondered how different he’d be if he had different role models. People like Viktor. 

Jayce bit the inside of his cheek, but otherwise showed no signs of irritation. “Let’s not pretend to know each other,” He suggested.  

“All I’m saying is you look the part,” Powder raised her hands in surrender. “Bet that’s worth a ton around here.” 

Jayce stiffened slightly. “Yeah, well. Price for everything, right?” 

Powder frowned in confusion. Just as she opened her mouth to ask what the hell he meant—

“Miss Kiramman,” Renni seemed to appear out of nowhere. “Are you looking for Ekko?”

“Oh— yes, actually. And Silco,” Caitlyn seemed all too happy for a subject change. 

“Ekko’s gone back to the apartments looking for you and all Silco said was to go get some rest. I don’t think he cares what happens to the dress,” Renni rolled her eyes. 

Caitlyn drew herself up to her full height. “Ah— well, then. We should get going.” 

Renni turned to walk away, but suddenly whipped back around, startling the group. “Oh, and when you see Viktor? Tell him he’s wanted in Silco’s office.” 

“Right,” Caitlyn nodded. “I will do that.” She watched Renni go, making sure she actually retreated this time. “Well, it was nice to see you again, Jayce. I hope you’re well.” 

“You, too,” Jayce was cordial. He turned to Powder and nodded. “Good luck tomorrow. I’m glad the bomb worked.” 

Without another word, he stalked from the room. 

Powder watched him leave with a scowl. “How the fuck did he know about the bomb?” 

“I imagine most of the mentors do,” Caitlyn sighed. “Some of those gamemakers really can’t keep their mouths shut. I’m surprised the arena designs don’t ever get leaked, honestly.” She turned back to Powder, her expression softening. “If we head back now, I’m sure you could bully Ekko into making some sweetmilk.” 

“He figured out how?” Powder asked, already following Caitlyn from the room. 

Caitlyn shrugged. “I think Viktor showed him this morning while you were asleep. Apparently he has his ‘own superior recipe.’” She shook her head at the idea. “I wouldn’t know. I guess I don’t share his sweet tooth.” 

“Most people don’t. I hear his is unmatched,” Powder thought back to the rumors of the sole victor of her home district. As elusive as he was, there were a few facts that everyone seemed to pick up about him— one of them being his appreciation for sweet things. 

In all fairness, she couldn’t think of anyone in Twelve who would turn down sugar. 

When they arrived back at their designated floor, they shared a look and almost laughed at the sight that greeted them. In the dining room, with a pitcher of what was almost undoubtedly sweetmilk between them, the pair sat on the table side by side. Three legs swinged aimlessly and one was propped carefully in a chair. 

Viktor raised his mug and confirmed their suspicions. “Sweetmilk?”

“Please,” Powder slid over to the table, but not before gathering the long hem of her skirt carelessly in her fists to keep it from dragging around anymore. 

Caitlyn followed, though still hesitant to join the group. Viktor’s smile and choppy beckon eliminated her nerves and she moved to stand by Powder’s side. 

Ekko handed her a mug that she readily accepted. 

“How did it go?” Powder asked, glancing between them. 

Viktor finished a sip of his drink. “Both of you have done a wonderful job this week. Sponsors will not be hard to come by.”

“Definitely not,” Caitlyn agreed. 

"And everyone bought the love story, no question." Viktor raised his glass in a quasi-toast. "Here's to doomed romance, I guess." 

Caitlyn, Powder, and Ekko clinked their mugs against his. A comfortable quiet fell over them.

Ekko pointed at Powder’s dress. “Why haven’t you changed? That can’t be comfortable.”

“Silco didn’t make me give it back. Just wanted me to get some rest,” Powder explained. She was careful to leave out any mention of her post-interview breakdown. 

“Oh.” Ekko frowned. “Then what took you so long?” 

Powder paused. She should have known better than to think she could hide anything from Ekko’s sharp eye. 

“We got caught up with some other stylists,” Caitlyn said suddenly. “Even met another mentor. Powder tried to start a fistfight with him, which was nice.”

Grateful, Powder took the out. “Hey! I did not. I just don’t trust him.”

“Who?” Ekko asked curiously. “Someone we’d know?”

“It’s that Jayce guy from District Two. Remember? From the parade?” Powder rolled her eyes. 

Much to Viktor’s luck, she didn’t catch the way he became entirely interested in his mug.

He jumped when Caitlyn addressed him. “Oh— Viktor? Silco wants to see you in his office.”

“Right now?” He asked, and sighed when she nodded. “Alright. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He slid from the table, careful to steady himself with his cane before he turned back to the group. “Get some sleep. All of you.” 

“A bit hypocritical, isn’t he?” He heard Powder mumble behind his back. 

The trek back to the stylist offices was longer by himself and without anything particular to look forward to. Of course he was always happy to see Silco— but the night before the games, he was more than ready to collapse into bed and pass out before any nightmares caught up. 

He pushed the door to Silco’s office open and rolled his eyes at the lack of light. “You could at least prepare for company when you force them to visit.” 

His hand wandered along the wall, looking for the light switch. 

“You’re right, I should be more respectful of your time. You’re such a busy man, after all.” 

Viktor froze. 

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end at the familiar creak of the old voice— his hand flicked at the switch and he spun to face the desk. 

The sight of the old man was one that managed to haunt him anew each year. 

“Head Gamemaker Reveck,” Viktor acknowledged, voice tight. 

“Viktor,” The man spread his arms in a welcoming gesture. He remained seated behind the desk in direct opposition to his movements. His gaze flicked over Viktor, and he had to fight the urge not to cringe beneath the weight of it. It was just as sharp and dissecting as ever— since their first meeting eleven years ago, that had never changed. Reveck still looked at people like his eyes were a scalpel and his subject was a particularly fascinating specimen. Viktor hated to be one that the Head Gamemaker returned to year after year. He could never turn down another chance to tap on the glass. Or, more accurately, stick his hand inside the enclosure with a fistful of needles and a grin. 

Viktor cleared his throat. “Is there something I can do for you?” 

“How long have I been Head Gamemaker?” The man ignored his question. 

Viktor tightened his grip on his cane. They were both well aware of the year— he was reaped the same year Reveck was promoted. “Eleven years,” He indulged. 

“Right. We’ve known each other a long time…” He trailed off. He watched Viktor as if he was searching for something, waiting for something. 

Viktor took a calming breath and merely raised his eyebrows in question. 

Reveck sighed, disappointed in his lack of cooperation. “Viktor. How did your tribute learn to build a bomb?” 

Viktor stared, surprised at the question. He repeated it in his head over and over as if to make sure he’d heard correctly. Finally, he managed, “I imagine it’s because I showed her.” 

Reveck chuckled lowly. “I’m not aware of any reason for a District Twelve victor to have knowledge on bombs. Is there something the Council should know about?” 

“I know what you’re implying and it’s not fair,” Viktor said shortly. “She needed a way to defend herself. Nothing about this is nefarious.” 

“Perhaps,” Reveck’s tone implied doubt. He adjusted himself in his chair and asked, “And where did you learn to build a bomb?”

“There's only so many ways before they work. I figured it out.” 

“So resourceful,” Reveck practically purred. 

The corner of Viktor’s mouth twitched in an attempt to smile. 

Reveck rose from the chair soundlessly and glided painfully slowly around the desk. His finger traced over the wooden surface, drawing Viktor’s eyes to the bony appendage as he carefully stalked forward. 

“I’ve championed eleven victors so far, and I always have their best interests in mind,” He murmured. 

Viktor nodded along. Caught up by his inward disagreements, he only just managed to look up before the man was upon him.

“But you were the first, Viktor.” His spindly hands brushed lightly against his skin from temple to chin. “I created you. I do not suggest you continue to test me.” 

“It’s not about you; she needed a skill—”

“These are my games,” Reveck reminded sharply. “I will not let a reckless mentor and his tributes ruin them.” 

Viktor paled. “Are you not going to provide the supplies for her skill?” 

“Would you have her brave the cornucopia if I did?” Reveck searched Viktor’s eyes for the answer rather than waiting. He let out a low, grating laugh. “I’ll be keeping a close eye on your tributes, Viktor.” 

“You’ll be giving them a fair chance, won’t you?” Viktor spun around as he strolled away.

Reveck paused in the doorway. Slowly, he turned his neck to stare at Viktor over his shoulder. On catching sight of his expression, a malicious little smirk spread his lips. “It’ll be as fair as it is every year, Viktor.”

His arm reached out and flicked the light switch off. 

“Happy Hunger Games,” He hummed. 

The door shut behind Reveck, leaving Viktor stranded in all consuming darkness. 

- END OF PART ONE: THE TRIBUTES -

Chapter Text

- PART TWO: THE GAMES -

In Powder’s humble opinion, her breakfast tasted like sawdust. 

The scrape of metal on porcelain rang in her ears, blood pooled uncomfortably in her cheeks but noticeably not in her brain. She swayed slightly in her seat and the dining table and Ekko pushed her glass of water towards her without comment. 

Nobody had said anything yet. Powder wondered if she should be cramming last minute advice— shooting tips from Caitlyn or survival tips from Viktor. Maybe drafting another goodbye for Vi and Vander that she could have delivered. 

She was, in some distant conscious part of her mind, well aware that she had been chewing the same bite of oatmeal for a bare minimum of thirty seconds. Swallowing hurt her throat and only further upset her stomach. 

Without thinking about it, Powder pushed her bowl away from her and bit at her nails. 

“Understandable, but that’s not as nutritional as your actual breakfast.”

Powder looked up and met Viktor’s eyes from across the table. He didn’t smile— maybe not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t— and glanced to Caitlyn. 

She nodded knowingly and excused herself from the table. 

Ekko watched her leave, a curious tilt to his lips. Momentarily, he and Powder were both distracted from the nausea twirling circles in their stomachs. 

Viktor cleared his throat. “Neither of you had tokens from your district,” He said the statement more like a question, checking with them before he continued. They both nodded affirmation and he seemed satisfied. “If you are interested, Silco offered something.” 

Ekko and Powder shared a glance. 

Caitlyn returned to the room with a tiny wooden box. It was clearly old, but well-loved. Corners were chipped, the painstaking carvings had softened, but it was far from dusty and bore a new coat of polish. It was dainty in Caitlyn’s careful grasp. 

She took her seat beside Viktor. Her free hand reached out to move the vase from the center of the table, but paused as she turned to look at him. 

“Do the honors?” She asked with a thin smile. 

Viktor didn’t smile back, but his gaze softened nonetheless. He picked up the vase and, rather than throwing it or swiping it from the table, set it off to the side. “Only when it is necessary,” He leaned in and said it quietly, like it was a secret between them. 

Despite the circumstances, Powder and Ekko’s shoulders relaxed in amusement, even just slightly. 

Caitlyn set the box in the new space with such gentleness, Powder expected it to fall into pieces as she unlatched and lifted the lid. 

She and Ekko shared a look— and leaned forward to peer into the box, curiosity getting the better of them. 

A soft cloth, faded with age, was unfolded by Caitlyn’s shivering fingers. Cradled in the middle were two golden pins depicting a bird in flight. 

“They’re Silco’s. Family heirlooms from Twelve,” Caitlyn explained quietly. 

Viktor pushed the box towards them so they could get a closer look. “I believe he said they were courting gifts. One of his great-grandparents made them— a blacksmith with a talent in detailing.” 

“They’re pretty,” Powder whispered. Her finger traced the metal feathers of the pin closest to her. “You said they’re family heirlooms?” 

Viktor and Caitlyn nodded. 

“Why is he letting us borrow them?” Ekko asked. His hands stayed resolutely in his lap. “He knows the chances of them coming back, right?” 

Viktor’s expression tightened minutely. “He’s offering for you to keep them. He wanted you to have a piece of home, if you’d like it.” 

“To keep?” Powder stared, surprised. She looked back down at the pins. Her finger warmed the metal. 

“To keep,” Viktor promised. 

“These are mockingjays,” Powder lifted the pin into her hands, thoughts all the way back in her home district. “Remember?” She looked to Ekko. 

He nodded, a reminiscent upturn in the corners of his lips. 

“Vi took us into the woods and showed us,” Powder said, even though she knew Ekko remembered. “She kept whistling that old song the enforcers banned and hoping it would make its way into town.” 

From the corner of her eyes, Viktor shook his head fondly. 

“He’s really okay with it?” Powder asked, voice thin with hope. 

“He'd prefer it if you had them,” Caitlyn said. “He says they haven’t really been his since his family left the districts. They're yours if you want them.” 

Powder stroked the metal reverently. Something from all the way back home. 

Ekko seemed to understand and picked up her pin’s counterpart. 

Caitlyn folded the cloth neatly into place and closed the lid, sliding it towards herself. 

“Hold onto them. You won’t finish dressing until you’re under the arena,” Viktor reminded them. He glanced towards the clock on the wall and wasn’t able to suppress his grimace. 

Powder didn’t dare check the time. 

“Any last advice?” Ekko asked. He had caught Viktor’s change in expression as well. 

Viktor rolled his jaw, thinking. “Don’t jump the gun. Stay on your plate until the countdown is complete or they’ll blow you sky-high.” He frowned at his own wording, and continued, “Avoid the cornucopia. I don’t care what you see, it’s all there to lure you in. It’s not worth it. Turn around and run as fast as you can, as far as you can. Find water.” He looked between them and nodded. “All things you already know.” 

Ekko nodded solemnly. With a hesitant pause, he turned to Caitlyn. “Can you think of anything?” 

Caitlyn’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh— I’m just your escort.”

“And Viktor’s just a district kid with luck.” Whether it was good or bad luck went unsaid. “Can you think of anything?” Ekko repeated with insistence. 

Caitlyn glanced to Powder, then back to Ekko. “I—” Viktor took a deep breath beside her and she unconsciously copied. More steady, she clasped her hands and met their eyes again. “It doesn’t matter what you’re shooting or throwing. Feet shoulder-width apart, knees bent, weight balanced. Keep as much of your cool as you can. Aim for the center of gravity. Even if you don’t hit exactly what you’re aiming for, you’ll almost definitely hit something. Enough to slow them down or even incapacitate them.” She took another deep breath, and nodded at the pair. “And remember there will always be at least one camera on you. You can’t let your guard down. Not until you go home.” 

“Until?” Ekko cast Caitlyn a pitying smile— like he couldn’t quite believe she believed in them. 

Caitlyn raised her eyebrows in defiant challenge, but didn’t say anything. 

Ekko shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t know if your confidence is reassuring or insulting.” 

“It’s not meant to be anything— I just choose to believe it will work out,” Caitlyn stated. 

“Capitol kids,” Ekko muttered, pushing away from the table and standing. “I’m guessing it’s time to go?” 

Powder slipped her pin into her pocket as she got to her feet. Viktor and Caitlyn followed, sharing an anxious glance. 

“We’ll walk you to the launch pad,” Viktor said, and lead the group towards the elevator. 

Whatever Powder expected to feel on the way to the aircraft— it wasn’t nostalgia. 

Caitlyn and Ekko walked on either side of her, Viktor a few steps ahead. If she stared at her feet as she walked and pretended the slick gray floor was loose gravel, she could almost say their footsteps sounded like Vi and Vander’s on Reaping Day. 

The few minutes it took to get up to the roof were silent— silence in a show of respect, or mourning, or a lack of anything to say. Silence like Reaping Day, or a funeral, or the morning of the 74th Annual Hunger Games— though, in the end, Powder supposed the silence was all the same. 

When they paused outside the hovercraft, there was a long moment where the group of four simply glanced from face to face, drawing out the silence. 

Powder finally shook her head with a bitter laugh and elbowed Caitlyn. “Well, happy Hunger Games, I guess.” 

Ekko— if it wasn’t the morning of their death sentence— wouldn’t have played along. If it was still training, he would have told her to knock it off and focus. If it was during interview prep, he would have dragged her back on track, kicking and screaming. But on the morning of what could well be the last day of his life, Ekko indulged his best friend. They had done everything they could. He supposed now, it was up to the odds. 

“And may the odds be ever in our favor.” His smile felt completely false. 

Caitlyn and Viktor shared a quick glance. 

The former took in a sharp breath, steadying herself. Then, with a little shake of her head and a furious twitch of her nose, Caitlyn stated calmly, “Fuck the odds. You’re smart, you’re strong, and you’re sponsored. You can do this.”

Ekko’s eyes widened slightly at her harsh tone. 

Powder snorted and bumped her head against Caitlyn’s shoulder. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” 

She turned to Viktor, who was watching them with a determined set to his jaw. Powder didn’t mention it, though she couldn’t be fooled— she knew the look of someone who was holding onto composure with nothing but claws and teeth. 

“Take care of each other,” He said simply. “But if it comes down to the two of you…” His gaze flicked between them for a moment before he finished quietly, “Well, I don’t suggest sticking together anymore if there are only three of you left.” 

Ekko and Powder nodded. 

She decided, resolutely, to ignore the way sweat warmed her hands at the mere idea. 

“Goodbye,” Viktor added primly. Though he had given the pair of tributes many encouraging and affectionate touches in the week leading up, he did not reach out that day. He kept his hands to himself, as if already steeling himself to return to Twelve alone. Even so, he was genuine when he added, “And good luck.” 

Powder clenched her teeth as she looked from Viktor to Caitlyn. She wondered if she was just being overly emotional when she realized she was going to miss them. 

“Thank you,” Powder said quietly. “For… caring,” She nodded at Viktor. Then to Caitlyn, “And for believing.” 

There were no smiles. There were no ‘your welcome’s or ‘my pleasure’s. 

There was only an acknowledging nod from each. 

And then the sound of their footsteps walking up the ramp into the hovercraft. 

The tracker the Capitol attendant injected into their arms likely hurt more than Powder processed. She heard Ekko hiss through his teeth at her side, and felt the pressure and sting of a foreign object being pushed through her skin— but she didn’t flinch, or show any sign of acknowledgment. Her stomach lurched uncomfortably, and Powder realized the aircraft had taken off. 

The next time she’d be in the air, she’d be being lifted from the arena. 

Likely, as a corpse. 

Powder scratched at her fingertips until they bled. 

Ekko allowed her personal space until the craft jolted again. There was a distant hiss— the latch opening and the door allowing enforcers to enter. 

Ekko grabbed her hand and tugged her attention to him. 

“I’ll find you,” He promised.

“I know you will,” She whispered. 

With that, Ekko was escorted from the craft, away from her. As she numbly followed her own guard into the daylight— blinding, compared to the gray of the ship— she got her first sight of the arena. 

It was huge— Powder could hardly see the top of the dome, so high into the sky. 

Standing outside its walls, just a speck compared to it, she let out a shaky exhale. She was truly insignificant. She would be the seventy-fourth District Twelve girl to die in this exact way, and it wouldn’t matter, because she most certainly wasn’t the first— but she most certainly wouldn’t be the last. 

“There you are,” Silco opened his arms and drew her into a secure hug. Within his warm embrace, she could almost block out the fluorescent lighting of the dressing rooms beneath the arena. Apparently the Capitol hadn’t found it within their priorities to furnish a room they weren’t privy to. The crypts beneath the arena were just that— she was just below the belly of the beast, waiting to be digested. 

The launch tube loomed in one corner, jaw yawning open for her to step inside. 

Silco pulled back to look her over. What he saw only seemed to deflate him. 

“I think it’s time we got you dressed,” He said curtly. 

Powder nodded and allowed herself to be escorted to a divider. The package, stamped with a simple Twelve, held her uniform. The last outfit she expected to ever wear. 

The clothes were light, breathable: cargo trousers and a simple cotton shirt. Powder looped the sturdy belt around her waist and tightened it— skin and bones, she could hear Vi tutting— and carried the rest of the box’s contents to the bench Silco waited on. 

She dropped into the seat and slid her trembling hands into the warm sleeves of the first jacket and Silco crouched on the floor in front of her. Wordlessly, he slipped the leather boots onto her feet and did the laces, stopping every so often to make sure they were tightened properly. As he finished, she wrapped herself in the final layer— a black nylon jacket. 

“It's made to trap body heat and withstand moisture,” Silco noted. He took his seat beside her again and directed her to turn her back on him. 

She did so willingly, her limbs hollow and shaky. For a brief moment, she wished she’d listened to Viktor and finished her breakfast. For all she knew, she’d already eaten her final meal. She came back to herself as Silco began brushing out her hair. “What does that mean? It’ll be cold and wet? Has it been long enough since they did a snow arena for them to try again?” 

“No, I can’t imagine snow. Your clothes are too light. But I would expect some cold nights, at the very least.”

“Rain?” She asked quietly. Her knees drew to her chest, hugged against her. 

Silco hummed, “It’s possible. Rain, or maybe a lake. Viktor’s was a swamp. I don’t think it will be quite that much water, but it at least implies you’ll have access to a water source.” 

Silco sat behind her, separating her hair into two sections and gently coaxing them into tight braids. His hands were entirely careful and kind as he checked and double-checked for loose strands. 

“You’re sure you don’t want me to cut this?” Silco asked. The braids fell to her feet as she stood. “I could do it quickly.”

Powder shook her head no. Silco, unsurprised, raised his hands in surrender. 

He got to his feet and straightened the jackets on her shoulders, even zipping the first layer up to her chin. 

“My pants,” Powder mumbled suddenly. 

Silco stepped back with a frown. “Sorry?” 

Powder stumbled back to the divider and dropped to the floor to dig through the pockets of her discarded trousers. Silco followed her, watching with a reserved curiosity— that broke into a soft smile when her hand rose and revealed his mockingjay pin. 

“You accepted it?” 

She got to her feet and held it out to him. “We both did.”

Silco handled it delicately, and pinned it to the fabric of her cargo jacket. “It looks much nicer outside of its box,” He decided.

Powder glanced down at it with a rueful sort of smirk. “Yeah, well. It’s only getting a few days’ vacation. Then we’re both in a box.”  

Silco quirked an unamused eyebrow. 

She shrunk under his gaze, hating the way he saw straight through her. 

“Think you could eat some more?” He asked. 

Powder‘s gut gave another uncomfortable roll, and she shook her head no. 

“At least drink some water,” He guided her to a sparse table in the corner and cracked open a water bottle. He placed it into her hands with a stern sort of insistence, and she resolved herself to take short little sips until…

Silco settled her back onto the bench. Hushed, he asked, “Do you want to talk about anything?”

Powder glanced between him and the tube, her thoughts rising to a dull roar against her skull. She shook her head no. But then, in a moment of weakness, she found herself thrusting her own hand into his, desperate for some form of contact. 

It almost felt like being nine again, orphaned and dragged into her sister’s skinny arms. 

Silco cradled her hands in both of his, rubbing his thumb back and forth in a slow rhythm over her twitching skin. Powder took in another shaky breath, and slowly rested her head against his shoulder. 

She took another sip of water. 

And they waited. 

By the time a pleasant female voice filtered into the room and announced there were sixty seconds to launch, Powder’s whole body was trembling. 

Reluctantly, and with a bitter brand of gentleness, Silco helped her onto the circular metal plate. Without letting go of her hand, he checked the zipper of her jacket, her braids, her pin. When he seemed to run out of things to fuss over, he looked up at her. 

She stared down, eyes wide and threatening tears. 

Gods, she didn’t want to die. 

“Remember what Viktor and Caitlyn taught you,” His voice was steady— a lifeline among the sounds clawing for her attention in her head— and she managed to focus on his words. “I’ll see you on the other side of this. Whatever that means for us.” 

Powder let out a wet, surprised cough of a laugh. 

Silco’s lips quirked just slightly in the corners at her reaction. “Good luck, girl on fire,” He murmured. He leaned up, brushing a light kiss against her forehead. Another squeeze of her hand, with a silent sort of finality, and he pulled away. 

Powder’s hands clenched at her side, and Silco’s clenched just the same behind his back. 

A curved glass door slid closed in front of Powder. 

She was trapped in the tube. The air went stagnant, buzzing with an agitated expectancy and buzzing with possibility. She had half a mind to collapse to the floor and scream— she was locked in with every hissing memory and snarling idea, and she couldn’t breathe properly—

The plate jolted beneath her feet, and Powder was moving up. 

The last thing she saw before she was entombed in black was Silco motioning for her to take a deep breath. 

He disappeared from sight, along with any bit of light from the dressing rooms. 

For a moment, Powder wondered if she’d prefer to stay in the dark. To float in a colorless, soundless, empty void where nothing would happen ever again. And simply cease to exist. 

Before she could make a decision, a thin sort of sunlight was washing over her features and dragging her into artificial fresh air. 

She squinted, a hand shielding her eyes instinctually. 

Only when the blaze subsided, she blinked… and lowered her hand. 

Powder had been watching the games since she was a young child— not with interest and much to her parents’ dislike— but even so, she wasn’t prepared for the arena to look so real. 

The twenty four tributes were closed in on all sides by a dense forest. Mountains traced the horizon, and to the left were the beginning shores of a lake. 

For a moment, Powder’s shoulders relaxed. At the sight of aged pine trees, her thoughts fell solely on a shock of pink hair, a scratchy whistle, and a pair of skilled hands setting traps among the restricted woods just out of bounds of District Twelve. 

But then… 

A rhythmic booming marked each second and, finally, Powder’s attention was drawn to the center of the circle. 

The cornucopia— a huge replica of its namesake— was choked to overflowing with supplies. Anything and everything she could imagine to keep her alive was within and in front of its walls. Somewhere, she imagined the tools for a bomb to blow it all up… 

Boom. Boom. Boom. 

Above it, a countdown. 

Powder had less than a minute before—

Well. 

The end of everything. 

No matter how the games ended, no matter whether she survived— this arena was Powder’s final resting place. 

From her spot on the launchpad, Powder could feel Vi and Vander’s eyes on her. Even from thousands of miles away. 

Boom. Boom. Boom. 

Powder’s eyes snapped up to scan the tributes. There was only one gaze she needed to concern herself with anymore, and he was— 

Already looking at her. 

Ekko nodded tightly, knees bent and ready to run. 

Powder balled her hands into fists, fingernails pinching skin. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head fiercely— every screaming instinct in her mind dulled to an all consuming buzz to the pace of her pulse. 

Boom. Boom. Boom. 

She squeezed her eyes a final time, took a heaving breath, and opened them into fierce glare. She took a final scan of the tributes, gaze flicking from face to face. She found that each one blurred together if she didn’t think too hard about it. 

“Let’s have a fair fight, yeah?” She could almost hear Vi taunting her opponents from the makeshift boxing ring in the Hob. 

Powder felt a giggle rising in her throat and quickly swallowed it. 

Her gaze met Ekkos again. He was watching her with a concerned tilt of his brows. 

He raised them. Ready?

She gave a single nod. Not much of a choice. 

Twenty. 

Nineteen. 

Eighteen. 

She crouched, ready to run. Her skin was crawling, her eyes flicking from each little package the gamemakers had sprinkled around the Cornucopia. Some were close— she was fast, she could manage to snatch something before disappearing into the woods. She could. 

Fifteen.

Fourteen.

Thirteen.

She imagined Viktor, watching from wherever he was, reading her intentions immediately and shaking his head. She imagined him riding home alone. She pictured Vi meeting him in the street. Vander passing him on the way to the mines. 

Would it kill her to grab a couple things before she ran into the woods? 

She glanced at the tributes on either side of her. 

One caught her eye and bared his teeth. 

Well, that was that question answered, she thought wryly. 

Ten. 

Nine. 

Eight. 

Conflicted, she looked to Ekko again. 

Ekko clenched his jaw and shook his head at Powder— of course he had known what she was considering. With a stern jut of his chin, he indicated the woods behind her. 

Run. He was saying. 

Don’t forget what Viktor taught you, Silco had said. 

Don’t let the Cornucopia tempt you, Viktor had taught them. 

She clenched her teeth. Run it was, then. 

Four. 

Three. 

Two. 

Her palms were pooling sweat, her head was fuzzy and she wanted to go home. 

She wanted— 

“Let the 74th Annual Hunger Games begin. And may the odds be ever in your favor!” 

A shrill horn rang across the field and shocked Powder into stillness. 

Her hands clapped over her ears, and—

Fuck. 

Powder realized her mistake immediately. 

Each and every tribute was off their plate, shooting in each and every direction. 

She jumped off of her own and spun on her heel— she could only imagine Ekko’s annoyed but relieved sigh— and darted towards the treeline. 

If she didn’t think too hard about it, she couldn’t hear the first scream. 

She pushed harder and ran until the foliage behind her obscured the Cornucopia completely. She’d lost track of Ekko in the scramble, but she had no doubt he was close behind. 

“I’ll find you,” He had said.

And Powder trusted him. 

She ran until she couldn’t anymore, and then ran some more anyway. Only when the stitch in her side became too much and her breath came in short pants that pained her chest did she finally stumble into a brisk walk. Even as her feet ached, she kept moving. 

As surprising as it was, Powder didn’t find herself able to think about much of anything. It was for the best— it kept her from falling to her knees in a panic. But the buzzing behind her eyes and the rush in her ears was nothing short of numbing. 

She wondered how quickly night would fall. How soon she’d be hungry. She was already nursing a dry throat after running for so long, and there was no telling when she’d see Ekko again. How they would get supplies once they regrouped. 

Find water. 

Find water, that’s what Viktor had said. 

She let out a breathy laugh, grateful that some part of her brain was willing to offer helpful information.

The canons— each indicating a fallen tribute— didn’t go off until late afternoon. Only then, sweat dripping down her back, did Powder pause to lean against a tree and listen.  

Each fire of a canon was a physical pain in her chest. By the time they finally stopped, Powder’s knees were weak. She was sick to her empty stomach at the thought of eleven children already dead. 

Nearly half of the tributes. Just like that. 

She remembered Caitlyn’s words— remember there will always be at least one camera on you. You can’t let your guard down— and drew herself to her full height, a hand still clutching her stomach. 

Against every screaming muscle in her body, she continued walking. The sun was starting to get lower in the sky, low enough for her to start worrying about setting up camp. And where she would get water, if the lake by the cornucopia was the only source. And what she’d do if it was days before she saw Ekko again. Or what she’d do if she didn’t see him again at all. 

She shook the thought off in favor of scouting a camp. 

Even as far away from the bloodbath as she was, she didn’t want to sleep on the ground. Though the pine needles masked her footsteps and would favor her if she needed to sneak away, it would also mask the sound of any approaching enemies. She leaned against the thick trunk of a tree and stared up its dizzying height. 

Well. Vi hadn’t taught her to climb trees for nothing. 

In the end, she settled on a willow tree with the hope that its sweeping leaves would hide her in ways the night couldn’t. With nothing to weigh her down but the clothes on her back, she had no trouble scaling it. Vi used to compare her to a monkey for the way she could disappear into the leaves. She found sanctuary in the heights of its branches. 

For the first time since she boarded the train to the Capitol, Powder felt at home. 

She could almost feel Vi’s weight further down the branch, shaking it to startle her or snacking on bark or whistling old mining tunes. 

A chilly wind rustled through the air and she shivered, zipping her second jacket up to her chin. 

Her stomach was still unsettled, even hours after the games began. She forced her raw fingers to peel bark from the tree to snack on anyway and imagined Vi right beside her.

As always, she couldn’t help the slight scowl while chewing her first bite.

“Eh, still not as bad as Benzo’s cooking,” Vi would tease. 

Powder snorted quietly. What she would give to be eating Benzo’s food instead of hiding up a tree in the Hunger Games arena. 

She had absolutely nothing to her name anymore except her Capitol issued uniform and Silco’s family heirloom. 

Her adrenaline shaky hands reached under her layers of clothes to yank her belt off. It slithered from its loops with a quiet hiss that had her glancing at her surroundings. When nothing jumped from the deepening shadows, she looped the belt around the tree trunk and buckled it back around her waist. 

Skin and bones, Vi always said. But in this case, she guessed she was lucky she was thin enough for the belt to tighten around her without trouble. 

Safely secured to the willow, she pulled her hood over her head, bunched her braids behind her neck in a makeshift pillow, and relaxed against the tree. She peered at the sky and waited for night to fall. 

By the time the sun completely disappeared, there was still no sign of Ekko. 

The Capitol anthem and a flash of blue light pulled her from her thoughts. 

This was it— this would answer the question scratching at the base of her skull. 

The images of fallen tributes flashed across the sky— it could almost fool her as a sign of respect and loss, but the familiar tune of the Capitol’s music underneath it refuted the sentiment immediately. 

The first tribute was the girl from District Three, alerting Powder to the survival of the first four career tributes. Even though it was expected, Powder felt a guilty little twinge of disappointment. The next face was a boy from District Five— all of District Four and the District Five girl made it out, then— and both tributes from District Six. The District Seven girl followed. The District Eight girl took up the sky next. 

Powder gave a little hum of interest. The boy from Seven and Eight had made it out— she wracked her brain to remember who they were, and only managed to conjure that image of the bulky boy and his lanky friend from the night Caitlyn taught her and Ekko to shoot.

Be careful with those careers.  

Powder shook her head and forced their image away. More likely than not, she’d be forced to interact with them. She didn’t want to think about it yet. 

The District Nine boy followed along with both District Ten tributes. Her fingers twitched over each other, crossing for good luck as Twelve dragged closer and closer. The District Eleven boy flashed across the sky, leaving the District Eleven girl on her own. 

Then, the anthem ended. The blue light disappeared from the sky. 

Powder was left alone with the knowledge that her best friend was still alive. And for the first time in eleven years, both District Twelve tributes survived the first day. 

She was lulled into sleep by the feeling of her sister’s watchful gaze. 

**

Viktor let out a quiet sigh of relief as Powder drifted off. 

The camera switched to a view of the career group setting off from the Cornucopia for a night hunt, and he allowed himself to settle down on the couch in the penthouse common room. He had spent the full day at the Games Headquarters, manipulating sponsors into supporting Ekko and Powder. Though most victors didn’t really think of it as manipulation so much as salesmanship, Viktor took a quiet joy in successfully taking Capitol money for the districts. 

He’d never admitted to it, though. 

Well, to anyone except Jayce. 

Jayce had left Headquarters hours before Viktor had. He’d taken notice of him leaving— they’d met eyes from the corners of their own— but Viktor didn’t even consider returning to his apartment until Powder had belted herself to the willow and Ekko had found an old pine tree to hide in. He had waited another couple hours even after that, until the fallen tributes were projected in the sky and the pair started trying to get some sleep. 

By the end of the first day of the 74th annual Hunger Games, Viktor had been awake for multiple days, only taking a couple hour long naps throughout. (His plan had been to close his eyes for only twenty minutes and have Caitlyn wake him up, but then she kept letting him sleep until he woke up naturally. He’d stopped asking after the second time.) He found himself on the very edge of a crash and supposed it was best to take care of it while both of his tributes were safe and asleep up in the trees. Though he’d much rather have stayed in the Headquarters, he knew what a mistake it would be to work himself dead before they even really needed him. In the end, Caitlyn had coaxed him into going back and promised she herself was off to spend the night at her parents’. 

They had sponsors lined up, and Viktor needed to be clear-headed enough to decide when to cash in. Thus, he was convinced.  

No matter how reluctantly he dragged himself back, though, there was still the quiet hope he wouldn’t spend the night alone.

Once the games started, he and Jayce would spend every night they could together. They both had long days in the Games Headquarters, so the only time they’d manage to meet at all after the games began was during the nightly lull. 

But Viktor returned to his apartment, and there was no sign of Jayce to be seen. Even as the late hour ticked closer to early hours, he was alone in his common room. 

This, of course, only meant one thing: Jayce had an ‘encounter’ scheduled for the night. 

Viktor snatched at the blanket he’d dragged from his bedroom and curled beneath it. He could have slept in his own room— there was a television directly in front of the bed, after all. But for some reason he didn’t understand, ever since he was a child, Viktor found himself gravitating towards the sitting room. When he felt particularly helpless, alone, scared, he would drag the sheet from his bed and pass out on the floor. 

Growing up, both of his parents worked in the mines. He spent most nights alone— perhaps that was indicative of the isolationist behaviour that directed his entire life. Even once his mother passed from the gray and his father died in an altercation with an enforcer; and Viktor found himself moving into the Victor’s Village by himself; he slept in the well-furnished sitting room more often than not. Most of the year, his bedroom was left untouched. 

The habit had yet to die. He didn’t understand the instinct, but he knew it helped. 

He needed the extra help that night. 

Powder and Ekko had made it through the first day, but they were far from out of the woods. Powder had at least listened to his advice and avoided the Cornucopia, but Ekko had thrown himself directly into the bloodbath as soon as he saw Powder escape. He had narrowly avoided being run through with a javelin, and, though he was able to snag a full backpack of supplies, it had cost him his headstart— he’d been chased in the exact opposite direction of Powder and landed them a full day’s walk in opposite directions. The whole point of having them avoid the Cornucopia was so they’d be able to work together even though they didn’t have supplies. And while he had no doubt Ekko would be searching relentlessly, that didn’t ensure they would find each other before anything went wrong. 

Then, there was the matter of Head Gamemaker Reveck. Had he left any supplies personalized to their skills? Had he made good on his threat? Would it even matter, as the chances of Powder getting to search the Cornucopia for her supplies were so low he might as well just forget about it? 

 Finally, of course, there was Jayce. If he thought about it, Viktor knew— from experience— he would keel over and vomit. To avoid a mess for the avoxes to clean, he decided to dim it down to one fact: Jayce was unavailable for the night. 

Viktor settled against the cushions of the couch and willed sleep to take him, if only to prepare him for the next day. Though, a reprieve from his tumbling thoughts would be nice as well. 

He tried not to imagine the cool winds from inside the arena, where Powder and Ekko were trapped. 

He tried not to think of their district, where Twelve was trapped in the barbed wire confines, half underground. 

He tried not to picture where Jayce was scheduled to be for the night. Trapped. 

When that didn’t work, he resolved himself to focus completely on the way the career tributes danced and sang and trampled through the woods. 

With time, his eyes even began to droop. 

“Viktor?” 

Viktor startled, sitting up on instinct at the sudden noise.  

“Caitlyn?” Viktor frowned, rubbing his eyes and expecting her to disappear when his sight cleared. 

She didn’t. In fact, she walked closer and fluffed the pillow he’d been drifting to sleep against. 

“They’re still doing well. Actually getting some sleep,” Caitlyn stated. Her eyes were on the screen, where the cameras were still focused on the career group. Even so, it was clear she was talking about Powder and Ekko.

Viktor hummed in agreement. “They are practically on different sides of the arena, though. I don’t know how they’ll find each other.” 

One of the careers gave a loud whoop, and they trekked further into the trees. It looked like they planned to hunt through the night.

“I thought you were going home for the night?”

Caitlyn glanced down at Viktor. In the blue light, he only just caught the way her posture tightened. “I changed my mind.” 

“Why?” He asked. He pulled his legs to his chest so he only took up one cushion and patted the newly cleared space at his side. 

With an appreciative smile, Caitlyn took the seat. He gestured to the blanket, offering her some of its warmth, but she waved him off. 

The careers continued their hunting. The pair sat in silence. 

“My mother was proud of me,” Caitlyn finally whispered. 

Viktor turned his head just barely to look at her. 

Skin stark white, Caitlyn only stared at her hands. Her eyebrows were tilted in confused horror, her eyes distant in recollection. 

“Sorry?” Viktor asked. He matched her tone, voice hushed.

Caitlyn shook her head. “I… my mother was proud of me.” 

Viktor turned her words over in his head. When it didn’t add up, he cautiously asked, “Why is that a bad thing?"

"I never said it was," She responded. 

"Yet you are here, trying not to cry," He said slowly. 

Her eyes shot up to him, startled. The pair only looked at each other for a few moments before she gave a wet little laugh. “I forget how easy you read people,” Caitlyn mumbled, and rubbed a grounding hand down her face. Viktor wanted to argue that she wasn't being all that subtle, but she continued thickly, “My own mother still doesn’t even notice when she makes me cry.” 

Viktor squinted. “You’re avoiding the question.” 

Caitlyn’s lips fell into a straight line. 

“You don’t have to talk to me,” He added. With a shrug, he settled back against his pillow. “But you did come here for a reason.”

“I didn’t want to be alone,” Caitlyn answered. 

“So you left your home and chose me as company?” He asked. He pursed his lips and furrowed questioning eyebrows from where he lay. 

Caitlyn let out a short exasperated breath and slumped against the back of the couch. 

“Yes, I chose you,” She mumbled shortly. 

“And that’s all there is to it?”

“And that’s all there is to it.”

“M'kay…” Viktor trailed off, disbelieving. 

Caitlyn shot him a sharp glance, but it went unanswered. Viktor’s gaze was back on the television, watching intently. 

“You should be going to sleep,” Caitlyn said, a reprimanding edge to her tone. 

“I was, before you so rudely burst into our shared living quarters and kindly offered to keep me company,” He mumbled against his pillow. 

Caitlyn decided not to correct him on the events of the night. 

“Were you planning to sleep here?” She asked. 

Viktor shrugged. 

She frowned, sinking further into the cushions. “You’d probably sleep better in a bed.”

“Perhaps. But I have chosen to sleep here.” 

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“You just don’t want to admit you’re being impulsive,” She scolded lightly. 

Viktor humphed. “I am being impulsive,” He said defiantly. 

Caitlyn rolled her eyes. “Everyone I’ve met on this trip is the most stubborn person in the world.” 

“All of us? At the same time?” Viktor faked disbelief, though his tone was too exhausted to sound like more than lazy sarcasm. 

Caitlyn nodded. “At the same time.” 

Viktor hummed, halfway back to sleep. 

When Caitlyn glanced over, her shoulders slumped. “You really should go sleep in your bed. Don’t push yourself past your limit just because—” 

“I know my limits just fine!” Viktor exclaimed, eyes still shut. His severe expression smoothed slightly as he added, “I simply choose to ignore them.” 

“Exactly,” Caitlyn grumbled.  

Viktor snickered sleepily. “I am closing my eyes for a few hours before we return to the Headquarters. You should do the same.” He peeked one knowing eye open and added, “You do not have to go home. But I am staying right here.” 

Caitlyn gave a quiet nod of thanks. For a moment, she allowed the space to fall silent. She allowed herself to take a pause. She allowed herself a moment of peace. 

Her skin started crawling moments into the ‘peace.’

“I think I’m going to look over the sponsorship agreements again,” Caitlyn said. She glanced at Viktor— dead asleep— and tiptoed to their office. 

Nothing about the agreements were going to change. In fact, she already knew them by heart. But every moment where Caitlyn could take a pause was a moment Powder and Ekko shared in the arena— trapped and surrounded and only days, at most, from dying. 

She couldn’t stand to sit still. 

When she returned to the couch, she took her seat carefully, making sure not to wake her (finally voluntarily) resting teammate. She shuffled the papers and slipped a pen from the coffee table before her. 

Then, she caught the sound of footsteps. 

Caitlyn sat up straighter, peering down the curved hallway towards the elevator. She wished, with an internal curse, that Viktor hadn’t turned out every light on the floor. The only source of light was the television. It fluctuated between shots and refused to maintain a steady output of color, and the shadows around the room grew and shrunk with each new shot of the careers. 

The man that appeared at the end of the hallway appeared from nowhere— but froze, like an animal spotting a hunter. They stared, the shadows throwing their matching bewildered expressions in and out of relief. 

“Jayce?” She asked. Even out loud, she believed she was mistaken. But then— 

“Miss Kiramman,” Jayce said stiffly. 

“It’s Caitlyn.” The correction was instinctive enough that it overrode her confusion. 

They stared. 

“Wh—” her lips faltered around the question, ‘What could you possibly be doing here?’ and she sat, dumbstruck and speechless. 

Jayce glanced between her and Viktor— then slumped slightly in on himself. “I can’t imagine I’ll be able to get out of this one without explaining.” 

She tilted her head to the side, considering. Viktor remained dead to the world on the other end of the couch. “Um… no. Probably not.”

“Right,” Jayce muttered. He paused, his incredulous gaze lingering on her for a moment, before he shook himself. “There was something I needed to pick up from him. I think he tried to wait up for me,” He gestured to Viktor, asleep on the couch. 

“Were you at the Headquarters this whole time?” Caitlyn frowned. “I thought me and Viktor were the last team to leave.” 

“Uh, no. But I was busy. Came as soon as I could,” His tone left no room for question. 

Caitlyn eyed him suspiciously. “You’re a complete mess,” She eyed his ruffled hair and wrinkled clothes— but then caught sight of the bloodshot edges of his eyes. Immediately, she felt regret for her observation. He wasn’t a random stranger that snuck into the penthouse all of a sudden, but a reflection of herself less than an hour ago. “Are you okay?” Her voice softened considerably. 

Jayce glanced away, well aware of his appearance. “Peachy,” He mumbled. “Look, I just came to see him. That’s all.” 

Caitlyn bit at the inside of her cheek. An image of the pair, a respectable distance away but still alone on the roof together snuck to the forefront of her mind. In the end, she decided not to mention the change in his reason for visiting. 

“You’re friends, right?” 

Jayce looked up. “Huh?” 

“You and Viktor,” She jerked her head to the side, indicating her sleeping teammate. 

Jayce paused… then slowly nodded. 

She considered his words carefully, taking the time to turn them around and size them up thoroughly. 

Finally: “Then I think you’re welcome here.”

She settled back into her seat, unconcerned with continuing the conversation. 

Jayce’s anxious features flinched into a disbelieving scowl. He waited a couple moments— this girl could not be serious— but Caitlyn only flipped to her next page. 

Tentatively, Jayce took another step into the room. Caitlyn didn’t flinch— only glanced his way and flicked her eyes towards the empty chair beside Viktor. 

Jayce stalked over to the chair in question and cautiously settled into it. 

Caitlyn glanced his way again, offering a reassuring tilt of her lips. Viktor adjusted himself in his sleep, instinctively turning away from the blue light of the television. 

Jayce found himself relaxing. 

“Do people do this a lot?” Caitlyn’s voice broke through the silence. 

Jayce frowned, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. “What do you mean?” 

Caitlyn shuffled her papers and shrugged good-naturedly. “Breaking into the penthouse and waking him up because they’ve had a rough night?” 

Jayce glanced to Viktor. “I didn’t wake him up.” Then, the weight of her question hit him. He tensed up, sitting straighter in his seat. “Why do you ask?” 

“You’re the second one tonight,” She chuckled. 

Jayce racked his brain for an answer but still asked with a glare, “Who was the first?” 

Caitlyn looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. 

The slight motion seemed to slap some sense into Jayce. He gave a grunted ‘oh,’ and settled back into his chair. 

Above them, the television showed his pair of tributes— Deckard and Imogen— exclaim excitedly at smoke rising in the distance. He dragged his eyes away from the screen in favor of watching Viktor breathe. 

“I would offer to leave,” Caitlyn seemed to give up on the stack of papers as the careers only got louder. Jayce looked up from Viktor to her, but she was only stiffly watching the careers traipse through the arena. He stared and waited for her to explain. 

From the corner of her eye, she glanced to Jayce, then Viktor— then back to the monitor. 

“I’d rather not leave him alone and asleep with someone whose character I've yet to determine.” 

Jayce’s eyebrows raised ever so slightly. 

For a split second, he felt a twinge of annoyance. What, like he would ever hurt Viktor? 

But then, of course, the instinct quelled itself just as quickly as it came. 

Viktor had someone that would watch over him while he couldn’t. 

It was a relieving little revelation to have in the late hours of the night. And he’d take what he could get. 

“Thank you,” He muttered. 

Caitlyn frowned, and turned to look at him fully. She glanced over him and was almost able to fully hide her surprise at his slightly disheveled appearance. “What for?” She asked carefully. 

“Looking out for him,” Jayce said so quietly, he almost doubted she could hear him. “Letting me stay.” 

Caitlyn’s lips quirked into the shadow of a smile. “Well, he let me stay. And he seemed comfortable enough around you the other night.” 

“For all you know, we were up there so we could shout abuse at each other uninterrupted.” 

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, not even pausing to entertain the idea. “I don’t know why you’re thanking me for ‘looking out for him,’ then. Clearly it was a mistake to let you stay,” She said sarcastically. 

“Clearly,” Jayce agreed. “I mean, it was a bit naive to take my word at face value.” 

Caitlyn huffed. “I’m not stupid,” She said, with a bitterness that implied a repetition to the statement. “I can tell you two know each other. You’re in each other’s lives even if I don’t know why or how, or…” She trailed off at the sight of Jayce’s features hardening in defense. “I won't tell anyone.” 

“Because you don’t have anyone to tell,” Jayce muttered. 

Caitlyn blanched. “I— what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re a Councilor’s kid who apparently ‘had a rough night’ and instead of going home, went to watch the Hunger Games with a guy you’ve known at most, a little over a week. It’s not a big leap,” Jayce finished with a dismissive swipe of his hand. 

“Okay, and you’re a victor who came stumbling into someone else’s apartments well past midnight, looking like you just got out of a fight— and you didn’t deny having a ‘rough night.’” Caitlyn crossed her arms and turned to glare at the screen. “Not hard to figure out, either. And your reaction only confirmed it. I do hope, if you’re trying to hide whatever you two are doing, that you’ve hid it better than you have from me.” 

Jayce clenched his jaw. “Fair enough,” He grit out. 

Caitlyn shrugged. “I said I wouldn’t tell. Believe me or don’t, but I know the truth.”

Jayce rolled his jaw. Perhaps he’d never quite left the mindset of the arena behind, but all he could see was the challenge of an opposing tribute. One with leverage. 

He glanced at Viktor between them— Viktor, who trusted and welcomed Caitlyn. 

“Allies, then,” He said. 

Caitlyn looked up and met his scrutinizing gaze unflinchingly. She pursed her lips… then nodded. “Allies.” 

Above them, the careers found the District Three boy. His scream and the following cannonfire marked the beginning of their reluctant alliance. 

Chapter Text

“Powder! Come down!” 

The leaves of an old birch tree rustled above him and Ekko groaned. “I can see you, you know!” 

A pair of electric blue eyes peaked out. They lit up on meeting his. “Aw, man!” 

Powder clambered down from its heights, a reluctant smile playing at her lips. “How do you always find me? I thought for sure I had you that time.” 

“You always hide in the trees; how could you possibly ’have me?’” 

Powder jumped onto his back just as he turned away. Her arms tightened playfully around his neck and she exclaimed, “Like this!” 

“Hey!” A voice hissed. 

The pair spun around. Powder’s feet dragged along in the leaves, her arms still tight around Ekko’s neck.  

Vi flung her arms out. Her features were tight with reluctant anger. “I told you two to be quiet! You want to come out here, you have to follow the rules. What was rule number one?”

Powder slipped from Ekko’s back and moved to stand at his side. They both put their hands behind them and obediently recited, “Mouths shut, eyes open.”

“That’s right,” Vi crossed her arms. “Vander’d shoot me for bringing you two out here, especially if we were found out by enforcers. Do you want them to fix the fence?” The pair shook their heads. “Do you want to eat dinner?” The pair nodded. “Then help me with the traps. Quietly.” 

Vi turned her back and trudged deeper into the trees. Ekko and Powder followed, holding in giggles and ducking their heads to hide their laughter when their eyes met. Powder finally let out an audible squeak, her shoulder trembling. Ekko shot a wide-eyed look in her direction, then Vi’s. They both froze as the fourteen-year-old stopped in her tracks and turned around. 

She glanced back and forth between them, jaw clenched. Something in her eyes softened with sadness at the sight of them, and her shoulders slumped. 

“Look, I’m sorry for being harsh,” Vi apologized quietly. “But it’s dangerous enough for you guys to know someone who breaks the rules without you doing it, too. Do you understand that?” 

The pair nodded, eyes downcast. 

Vi let out a sigh. “Maybe someday you’ll be able to come play out here and be as loud as you want. But… today’s not the day, okay?” 

“Okay,” Ekko and Powder mumbled in unison. 

“Good.” Vi waved them forward to kneel around a trap. “Do you guys remember how to get your catch out?”

Ekko nodded excitedly, eager to show what he’d learned. He reached towards the trap, Powder and Vi leaning over his shoulders to watch— 

Snap!

Ekko’s head jolted up to scan his surroundings. 

The trees loomed above him, still and stoic. 

When he’d decided to use Vi’s trap designs inside the arena, he hadn’t accounted for the noise it took to disarm them. Catching a rabbit wouldn’t mean anything if he got killed immediately after. And his death wouldn’t serve anyone until it was just him and Powder left. 

He gave one last cursory sweep of the woods. In the early morning light, he could almost trick himself into believing he was simply helping Vi with the morning rounds.  

Thinking that way doesn’t serve anyone, either, He thought bitterly. 

He secured the rabbit in the loose plastic in his backpack and got to his unsteady feet. Only a day without water and he was already feeling the full effects. 

Without another thought about it, he hiked the pack higher up his shoulders and began his walk back towards the Cornucopia. There were high chances of him running into tributes if he continued on in that direction, but he hoped for confrontation. Maybe he would be able to knock a few more people out of the running before he found Powder. 

And anyway, it was the fastest route to the other side of the arena.

As the sun rose higher into the sky and the heat began to coax sweat down his neck and back, he resolved himself to take a break only once he was about halfway to the Cornucopia. 

If he wasn’t well aware of Powder’s ability to fend for herself, Ekko would have never been able to forgive himself for breaking off. The absence of her face in the sky the night before only proved what he already knew. Especially with the years of following Vi into the woods outside of Twelve, they knew more than most did about surviving in their set environment. She had probably already found a new water source and safe plants to eat. 

And another cannon hadn’t gone off since the night before. 

Unless he’d somehow missed it…? 

Ekko shoved the thought away, repeating to himself, thinking that way doesn’t serve anyone.

Perhaps the saying was going to become a habit. 

In what world would he have time to develop a new habit?

Thinking that way doesn’t serve anyone, He thought with a grim smirk.

By the time Ekko deemed himself closer to the Cornucopia than his resting place, the sun was well into the sky. He was surprised that he hadn’t run into any tributes yet. If they weren’t near him, then they were on the other side of the arena. 

Where Powder was. 

Ekko clenched his jaw and dropped to the ground, slinging his backpack off his shoulders. He needed to eat, or he wouldn’t have the strength to find Powder— but he could give her a hand at the same time as he helped himself. 

With skilled hands, he skinned and prepared the rabbit to roast. In the back of his mind, he hoped possible sponsors were watching. Caitlyn and Viktor had been so optimistic about their prospects, but every bit of help would count if they managed to survive long enough. With this in mind, he built a fire in the sturdiest base Vi showed him— they never lit them in the woods. Too much foliage, Vi would say. The enforcers’ll see us — and gently struck one of his precious wooden matches. He pinned his rabbit with a sharpened stick and rotated it slowly over the flame. It licked away at the raw meat, taking its time. 

Ekko swallowed down any guilt he felt for using all the skills Vi taught him. It was always so he could survive on his own, if need be— but Vi had begged him to use them to save Powder. Would she be proud he was doing so well? Or would she be cursing him for doing so on his own? And, maybe worst of all, did it matter? 

He could almost feel her gaze heavy on him, all the way in District Twelve, and hoped the cameras would stay on him long enough to redeem him. To prove he wasn’t thinking about himself. 

Only once the rabbit sizzled and darkened did he remove it from the spit. His movements were ginger with the hopes of not burning off his fingertips. He wrapped it in the plastic, hoping it would cool down enough to eat part of it before anyone found him. 

Finally, the finishing touch.  

He glanced around, checking if he was being watched. 

No figures emerged from the trees. No shadow shifted. 

He glanced at the thin, hazy smoke rising from the fire, and, without a second thought, stripped two handfuls of leaves from the branch over his head. He coaxed them gently into the fire, making sure they lit, and then swung his backpack over his shoulders and continued to the Cornucopia. 

He could almost imagine the Capitol crowd leaning towards their screens, confused and hissing to each other about what he was trying to do. But if he was right, and the Capitol was watching him, then he knew Vi would understand. 

The smoke from the fire, now burning fresh greens, was thick. It could be seen from nearly anywhere in the arena, almost like a beacon. 

Hopefully it would be enough to draw the careers to this side of the arena. 

Ekko trekked further towards the center of the arena with a slight crease between his brows. 

He’d managed to snag supplies from the Cornucopia. He’d escaped a chase without injury. He’d slept safely up in a tree, successfully hunted and cooked a meal, and was almost to the only known water supply in the arena. 

It was only day two, sure. But it was too easy. 

In Ekko’s experience watching the games, there were two types of arenas. 

There were the ones that were built with the impossibility of surviving naturally. There was the famous frozen wasteland when he and Powder were only two years old. There was the desert city from only a year ago. Both had one major thing in common: no food, no shelter, no supplies. The tributes had to rely on their own hands and their sponsors. It wasn’t self-sustaining. 

Ekko could say without consideration that he was uncomfortable. Dehydrated, hungry, and exhausted. But he wasn’t hurt. He wasn’t experiencing heatstroke, or suffering frostbite, or drowning. He hadn’t encountered any obvious threats except for other tributes. And he was surviving like he would with Vi. 

Which meant he was in the second kind of arena. One that sheltered the tributes and supplied them with natural resources, only to trick them later on. One like the fiftieth Quarter Quell, twenty four years ago— where the gamemakers built the arena with beautiful flowers and clear running water and tropical birds, only for it all to be poison.

All of his Capitol-created obstacles would likely be hidden in the mundane. He started a mental list in his head. 

He couldn’t trust any water source unless it had been treated with the iodine in his pack. 

He couldn’t trust any wildlife unless they were already dead in his snare. 

He couldn’t trust any plants unless he was absolutely sure they matched what Vi proved were safe. 

And of course, he couldn’t trust any tributes unless they were Powder. 

Ekko paused, stock-still when a foreign sound broke into his thoughts. 

It wasn’t the sound of tributes trampling through the trees towards the rising smoke. No, it was more of a light humming. Viktor had explained what the forcefields sounded like so they never ran into one and got electrocuted, but it didn’t sound like that— and he was far too close to the center for it to be a forcefield. The sound wasn’t smooth like Viktor described, it was more… jumpy. Inconsistent. 

He looked up, following a particularly loud swooping buzz— and immediately began to back away. 

Up in the tree was a nest. It could almost be a beehive, with its bulbous shape and shiny walls, but the insects crawling in and out had a metallic sheen— a byproduct of being produced in the Capitol. He could remember Vi pointing them out when they hung over his head in the woods and warning him, Don’t ever get close to those things. And she would grip his shoulder and steer him in the other direction, taking a wider loop than he imagined they’d need to avoid it. They say it hurts worse than dying… and then the venom still kills you anyway. 

There were always worse things than dying; Ekko knew that well. He also knew that, even so, there was still death waiting at the end of all that pain. Like surviving becoming an orphan, and still being doomed to death. Like winning the Hunger Games, and still knowing you’ll die. Like outliving a best friend. Like surviving in the Districts.

Like a tracker-jacker nest. 

Ekko knew better than to stick around one of those. 

Just another thing to add to the list, he thought stiffly, and continued to take careful steps backwards. 

How many nests were there? Had he fallen asleep close to one? Had Powder? 

He shook the thought off and, as silently as possible, retreated from the nest. 

Resolution enforced by the encounter, Ekko took his roasted rabbit from his pack and tore a piece off. He only hoped he could be sharing it with Powder soon.

**

“What was he doing, anyway? Doesn’t he know the fire’s alerting other tributes?” 

“Don’t be stupid, he was doing that deliberately.” 

“What, you think he’s trying to be found?” 

Jayce glanced at the other career mentors beside him but made no move to join the conversation. 

He was contentedly zoned out in his seat in the mentor observation room at Games Headquarters. It was a vast room— sleek silver tables and white walls. Just like nearly every room in the building, it was practically blank. The majority of color came from the large hologram screen displaying the games, the monitors for each mentor to send in gifts funded by sponsors, and the clothes each mentor wore. 

Most mentors kept to themselves, sitting as calmly as they could manage as they watched the games. If there was any talking at all, it was between mentors and escorts planning to send in gifts for their tributes. This applied to everyone— except, of course, career mentors. The career mentors, it seemed, never managed to grow out of their boisterous personalities.  

The camera changed again to focus on one of the outer-district tributes. She was doing fine enough, but the mentors beside him were still preoccupied. 

“ I wasn’t surprised he ran off on his own.” 

“Well, yeah. How would he win if he had to worry about that girl stabbing him in the back?”

“Wasn’t he supposed to be madly in love with her?”

“Kids’ll say anything to get sponsors. Looks like he should have invested more in survival skills.” 

The camera changed again just in time for the careers to catch sight of the smoke rising in the distance. 

“Oh— there they go. Gamemakers should probably prep a cannon for Twelve, huh?” 

Jayce had another long day in the Games Headquarters and another long night elsewhere before him. Then maybe, in the early hours of the morning, he could sneak back up to Twelve’s penthouse. 

He just had to get through the day next to the other inner-district mentors and the night with his client.

…It was only the afternoon. 

“What d’you think, Jayce?” Jayce turned to look stiffly towards the voice who called him. The woman— Jules, another victor from District Two— grinned. “Think it was a big hoax?” 

“What?” He asked, sitting up straighter in his chair. 

She rolled her eyes, unsurprised that he hadn’t been paying attention. “The District Twelve romance? The star crossed lovers?” 

Jayce glanced at the screen. The career tributes trampled through the leaves, expecting another kill to be right in their path. He turned back to Jules and shrugged. “Hell if I know.” 

Jules snorted, elbowing one of the District One mentors, Gustove. “Swear to the gods, it’d kill him to have an opinion on something.” 

“If only,” Jayce muttered under his breath. 

But then, the weight of Viktor’s gaze landed on the back of his neck.

Immediately, the sentiment revoked itself. 

Jayce wasn’t afraid to admit to himself that it was absolute agony to have Viktor a mere four yards behind him, and not be able to acknowledge him. It was pure instinct to look for him in a room, to turn towards him, to stand beside him— but it was an instinct well-trained and ignored. Though every muscle in his body screamed to crane his neck and catch even just a glimpse of Viktor, he knew it would have to wait. Until they were forced to interact and play acquaintances, or they met in the early hours of the morning. 

Whichever came first. 

“Hello? Anybody home?”

A heavy fist knocked against the side of Jayce’s head and he slapped it away, turning to glare at the offending fist. 

Gustove settled back into his chair, chuckling. “Not a thought in his head, is there?” 

“Not a one,” Jules smirked. “Blacksmiths.” 

Jayce gave an easy smile (“Do they send extra rations every year to like their poster-boy victor, or do you do that for fun?”) and turned back to the screen. 

His fingers drummed a directionless beat on the table in front of him.

Tap. Tap. Tap.  

He stole a glance at the clock and just barely held in a groan. 

Jayce wasn’t completely sure he’d survive the day. And he knew for a fact that he wouldn’t even see Viktor if anything happened to his tributes. 

His fingers tapped out a prayer for a slow day for Twelve. 

If he strained his ear, he could just hear Viktor and Caitlyn’s low back and forth.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

He glanced across the room as someone passed through. 

Margot met his eye. Her hand raised, pace never slowing and fingers wiggling in a wave. Though her stare, constantly predatory (Jayce couldn’t imagine his employer viewing people as anything but investments) didn’t linger on him, his did. Which meant he saw as her calculating gaze swept over the room— and paused on the back table. 

On District Twelve. 

She was gone with a quirk of her lips and a swish of her skirt. 

Jayce’s hard stare remained on the door she was disappearing through. 

“Why is Jayce giving that poor woman a death glare?” 

Viktor startled at the mention of his husband. His eyes flicked from the man in question, to Caitlyn, to the woman just exiting the room. When he realized he didn’t take in the question at all, he returned his gaze to Caitlyn, who waited expectantly. 

“Sorry, what?”

Caitlyn nodded at the doorway and repeated in a low whisper, “Why was Jayce glaring at that poor woman?”

Viktor rested his cheek in his hand with a sigh. “Are you determined to ask questions about everything?” 

“Are you determined to keep me from learning anything about him?” 

Viktor quirked his lips, considering. Caitlyn groaned. 

“I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal,” Caitlyn whispered. “Everyone has friends. Why is it a big secret?”

Viktor eyed her closely. 

Caitlyn stared back. 

His shoulders dropped with an exasperated exhale. “Hypothetically,” Caitlyn raised an eyebrow. Viktor glared and insisted quietly, “Hypothetically, let’s say someone survives the Hunger Games. Their new job as a victor would be, on surface level, to represent their district. But in truth, the whole point would actually be to give each district one of their own who survived and supports the games. To keep people from questioning the Capitol, or more drastically…”

Caitlyn’s eyes flickered. “Rebelling?” She mouthed. 

“Right,” Viktor whispered. ”And, hypothetically, let’s say a victor doesn’t do such a good job. Let’s say their district is getting restless. How do you motivate a victor to pull their act together?” Caitlyn only stared, and he lowered his voice further. “You take away the things they care about. Family? Friends? Lovers? Anything that will send a message: dead. They are able to keep us in line because they know what we have to lose. And they can take it. But…”

“If they don’t know what you have, they can’t,” Caitlyn breathed. 

Viktor nodded and leaned away, turning back to watch the games. 

Caitlyn sat fidgeting with the edge of her skirt, thinking. Finally, she leaned in with her eyes on the individual screen in front of them. “But why?” 

Viktor glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. “Why what?” 

“Why…” She paused. Then, in a disgruntled mutter, “Maybe I really am naive.” 

“Elaborate,” Viktor said under his breath. 

Caitlyn bit at the inside of her cheek. “I… don’t understand. Why this is the way it works. Why this is supposed to be good.” 

Viktor’s breath caught in his throat. “Be careful with thoughts like that.”

“I know,” Caitlyn whispered. “That’s why I’m telling you.” 

Viktor’s shoulders relaxed just slightly, and his lips twitched into a tiny sad smile. “I don’t think it was your mother's brightest idea to let us work together.” 

Caitlyn snorted, and clapped a hand over her mouth. 

Viktor’s shoulders trembled beside her and she slapped at him with the back of her hand. 

“It’s not funny,” She hissed weakly. 

Viktor took a deep breath and said, “I wasn’t laughing.” 

Caitlyn crossed her arms and turned back to watch the games. “I think my mother wanted me to work with Two,” She admitted. “But it would be too obvious that she was playing favorites, I guess. And then the District Twelve escort died and it all sort of… fell into place.” 

“Well. I can’t say I’m the best influence for someone of your standing. No answers I can give you will make you a better Capitol citizen.” 

“I don’t want truth based on the way things are, I think things should be based on truth.” 

Viktor squinted at her. “Noble sentiment. A bit rehearsed, but still.”

Caitlyn sheepishly admitted, “I think I read it somewhere. But it made sense to me.” 

“It makes sense to me, too,” Viktor comforted her easily. 

Caitlyn relaxed. “Thank you.” He nodded, and she settled back into her seat. A mere moment of silence passed between them before she asked, “So, why was he glaring?” 

Viktor clicked his tongue in amusement. “Do you know who she is?”

“No. Who?”

“Well, that was Margot. She…” He trailed off, glancing over Caitlyn. “She employs victors for some outside jobs. Jayce doesn’t like her.” 

“That simple?” 

“That simple,” Viktor lied smoothly. He wasn’t about to explain the inner-workings of the Capitol sex-trade to an eighteen year old. Especially not Caitlyn, who was just beginning to dig up the corruption of her homeland. 

Caitlyn glanced back over at him. “For the Golden Boy of Piltover, he seems to have a lot of trouble hiding his distaste for Capitol citizens.”

Viktor frowned and spared a short look at Jayce. His head was still angled towards the door, and the tight lock of his jaw was visible even from the back of the room. “Something’s wrong,” Viktor muttered. “He’s usually quite good at blending.”

“Could he… get in trouble? For doing a bad job?” Caitlyn asked, hushed and nervous. 

Viktor kept his eyes glued on the games. From the corner of his mouth, he said, “He’ll fix it. And if he doesn’t, I will.” 

The longer the day went on, the more Viktor realized he would be needed. 

No matter how hard he tried to relax and look natural, Jayce managed to make it through the entire day without unclenching his jaw.

“What happened? You’re so tense.”

By some miracle, the most noteworthy thing that ended up happening in the games was a District Four career ingesting some poisonous berries. Otherwise, it was a slow day. Jayce could only imagine what the gamemakers had planned for tomorrow— but he didn’t have to worry about that. 

Not from the comfort of the District Twelve penthouse.

Not from his husband’s bedroom.  

Viktor brushed the purposefully messy strands of hair away from his eyes and rested his chin on Jayce’s shoulder, gazing up at him. “What’s wrong?” 

Jayce glanced down at him and couldn’t help the way his muscles loosened. He winced, suddenly aware of the soreness in his jaw. With a wry smile, he raised a hand to massage it deftly. 

“You’re going to ruin your teeth doing that,” Viktor scolded lightly. 

Jayce huffed out a laugh and turned the full force of his skeptical gaze on Viktor. 

“I’m serious.” He didn’t waver, even under his stare. “You’ve really got to find some better habits.”

“I’ll get right on that,” Jayce mumbled. His eyes darted to the door again. The hand already at the small of Viktor’s back moved to his waist without thought. 

Viktor followed his gaze easily and sighed. “It really is just us tonight. Eh, well,” He cut himself off immediately and corrected, “Caitlyn is here, too, but she’s in her room. I think she knew you were coming again tonight because she practically dragged me here with the excuse that, ‘the couch is bad for my back and she can’t stand to listen to me complain about it any longer when there’s a simple solution’ or something.” He wagged a conspiratorial finger and added, “I know she was lying, though, because I complain about my back all the time and it’s never been a problem before.”

“She gave us an opening to be alone?” Viktor nodded and Jayce frowned. “How much does she know?”

“She suspects. I don’t think she knows anything.” 

“We need to be more careful, then.” Jayce shifted, about to climb out of the bed. 

A surprisingly sharp grasp tugged at his hand and pulled him back onto the mattress. Viktor smoothed the blanket over his lap, unbothered by his flailing. 

“Sit.” Viktor’s voice was soft but left no room for argument. 

Jayce arranged himself against the headboard, eyes on the television in front of him. 

Even on the nights they managed to find each other, the games loomed over them. Viktor refused to turn them off so he could be at the Games Headquarters within a moment’s notice. Jayce admired him for his dedication to his district. 

He hated the Capitol for reducing him to a mentor. 

Viktor let out a short exhale and tapped Jayce’s chin, who willingly turned to face him. He swallowed thickly as their eyes met— there wasn’t a world where he could hide from Viktor. And, more importantly, there wasn’t one where he’d want to. 

Viktor softened, already reading him. “Jayce. What’s going on in that remarkable brain of yours?” He pressed a kiss against the side of his head for emphasis. 

Jayce watched him pull away, features slack with something like awe. 

Viktor caught sight of his expression and shook his head, a fond but bewildered glower working onto his face. “Talk,” He said shortly. 

With a roll of his jaw, Jayce whispered, “She’s good in our corner. I won’t argue that. But she’s a councilor’s kid. I don’t like her having leverage, even if it is all based on suspicion.” 

"This is about Caitlyn?" Viktor's eyebrows raised in slight surprise. 

Jayce decided not to bring up Margot, and nodded. 

Viktor bit his lip as he settled in to listen. 

Jayce watched him closely. “You don’t agree,” He observed. 

Viktor shrugged, helpless. “Am I being stupid?” 

“You’re never stupid.” Jayce’s response was immediate. 

With a click of his tongue, Viktor waited for him to give a real answer. 

Jayce ran a hand through his hair. Reluctantly, he confessed, “I get that she’s just a kid and that you’re fond of her. But if it came down to it, and she was asked to pick a side? To share the dirt she’d found about the mentor she partnered with? What do you think she’ll do; lie for us? Or tell the people she’s been raised to trust anything they want to know?” 

“She doesn’t trust them,” Viktor defended. “That’s the thing, Jayce. She’s asking questions, she’s questioning the Capitol— she’s a smart kid with a good heart. We shouldn’t turn those kinds of people away!”

Jayce hummed, considering. His two loudest instincts— to trust Viktor’s judgement and to trust nobody but Viktor— had never been pitted against each other before. A reluctant alliance with Caitlyn was one thing. Viktor’s endorsement of trust was an entirely different beast. 

“You really trust this girl?” He asked. 

Viktor tilted his head. “I think we should give her a chance. A real one, not all this ‘expecting her to turn into her mother’ illusion of a chance.” 

“What does ‘a chance’ entail?” Jayce rubbed a hand down the side of his face. He was stressed, but couldn’t help the way Viktor’s presence made him feel. 

Like things weren’t so bad. 

Like they could figure things out. 

Like there really was hope to hold onto, and chances they could afford to give. 

The truth was Viktor was his guiding star. The sole point of light in a world gone dark. In a world he deemed entirely unfit to be watched over. He could be hidden by clouds and disappear in the scalding daylight— but somewhere, far away, he waited. Viktor guided and guarded Jayce in every way he could. Even though he was thousands of miles away no matter how close they managed to get, Jayce basked in the light he provided. Cherished it. Lived for it. He stared up into Viktor’s ever calming, ever hopeful golden presence and wondered how they could have possibly been doomed to the same world. How Viktor could possibly maintain his light after all that time in the dark. 

“Just be kind to her. Let her ask questions. She wants to know why things are the way they are, and… if anything, she’s sympathetic. And confused.” Viktor leaned towards Jayce. “She sees us as people. She wants to know why we aren’t treated as such.”

“That’s great and all. I just don’t understand— has she not been asking her family? Why does she turn to you instead of the people who raised her?”

“I don’t know,” Viktor admitted. “There’s some tension between them; that’s all I know. But everyone deserves a safe place no matter where they came from. You are mine, I am yours… she doesn’t have one. And I think that’s a shame.”

Jayce bit at the inside of his cheek. “And this is what you want?” He asked carefully. 

Viktor nodded. 

Jayce let out a long-suffering sigh. “Alright. I trust you.” 

“And I trust you,” Viktor answered without hesitance. 

With a disbelieving shake of his head, Jayce rested his temple against Viktor’s shoulder and muttered, “The things I let you get away with.” 

Viktor laughed quietly, petting Jayce’s hair. “The things I let you get away with. Like not telling me the real reason you almost shattered your teeth today.” 

Jayce faltered— he should have known better than to think he dodged the subject. But what was there even to say, really? All Margot had technically done was look around a room. 

“It won’t happen again,” Jayce promised. His lips skated across his jaw in a light trail of kisses. “This smile’s worth a lot, you know.”

Viktor hummed, not quite willing to reward the joke with a response. His fingers continued to card through Jayce’s hair, though his eyes drifted back to the television. 

The arena was quiet. 

“We should probably get some sleep,” Viktor murmured. “You’ve had a long day.”

Jayce almost laughed— Viktor including himself was a tried and true ploy to convince Jayce to do something. It always, without fail, worked. And gods, Jayce loved him. 

He settled down on the bed, taking his usual place closest to the door. As far as he knew, Viktor hadn’t yet cracked the mystery of why he was so picky about which side he slept on. Jayce hoped he wouldn’t— Viktor would likely find a way to stop him. 

“Goodnight, my Jayce,” Viktor whispered the words against the skin of his shoulder. 

Jayce held Viktor’s hand to his heart. “Goodnight, Vitya.” 

Jayce waited for sleep to find him, his eyes on the door and Viktor’s sleep-warmed weight at his back. 

“Fuck!”

He snapped up in bed what felt like seconds later. 

Viktor was already across the room, pulling on clean clothes and cursing the whole way. 

The low light of the room, the gray light of a sun not quite risen, was the only thing that allowed Jayce to witness the scene. That, and the flickering light of the television. 

Anxiety jolted him to wakefulness, and he turned to stare at the screen. 

The arena was on fire. 

The camera was focused on Powder. 

“Shit,” Jayce hissed. 

As he rolled out of bed, Viktor was already out the door. 

“Caitlyn!” 

“I’m up! Let’s go!” 

The pair hurried to the elevator, Caitlyn being mindful of his cane. She punched at the elevator button and sent them hurtling to the first floor. Their entire trip to Headquarters was a blur— Caitlyn’s heart pounded within her chest, clawing at her ribcage. 

She didn’t know Powder. She didn’t, if she was honest with herself. 

She still didn’t know what she would do with her death. 

“She’s doing well,” Caitlyn offered weakly. The huge screen in the mentor observation room showed Powder, still uninjured, weave around a falling flaming tree. “Can we help?” 

Viktor shook his head and took a seat. His features were drawn, resigned. But his skin, pale with nerves, gave away his true feelings. “There’s nothing we can do until the aftermath.” 

Jayce arrived quietly, a strategic amount of time after them. Viktor didn’t seem to notice, hands clutching the handle of his cane and eyes wide on the screen. 

The commentators shouted their excitement— but paused. 

“Wait— wait, wait, wait. Is there someone else caught in the fire?” 

Viktor and Caitlyn leaned forward. 

The screen split and, sure enough, another tribute was being herded in the opposite direction. 

Viktor shot to his feet, but ultimately swayed where he stood. Caitlyn joined him, hand clutching his arm. Neither knew who the comfort was meant for. 

“Don’t hurt yourself, Twelve!” Caitlyn’s head whipped towards the voice, and found herself assaulted by the sight of the District One mentor’s grin. “Next year’s tributes are gonna need a mentor, too!”  

Viktor didn’t deign to acknowledge the career mentors. He was fully focused back on the screen, though Caitlyn’s sharp stare remained on the mentor a moment longer. When she glanced away, she caught Jayce’s eye. 

He seemed to have more experience with this kind of interaction than Caitlyn, with the way he had thought to lower his head. Even so, his eyes, dark with rage, locked on hers. He gave a solid nod of acknowledgement, and turned back to the screen— but not before shooting another seething glare at the District One mentor. 

Caitlyn’s fury melted back to fear as she looked up at the screen. 

As much as she’d prayed to a nameless power, as much as she’d hoped with her entire being, Caitlyn couldn’t contradict the sight in front of her. 

Powder and Ekko were caught in the fire. 

**

Ekko’s train of thought didn’t consistent of much more than a long line of expletives. 

He had woken up before the sun rose. Packed everything in his pack and slid down the tree, and continued away from the Cornucopia. If Powder had managed to stay put, then he couldn’t have been further than a few miles. 

And then, out of nowhere, the trees had burst into flame. 

The day before must have been too slow. Too boring. Too easy, just as he’d thought. 

Of course the gamemakers would remedy that in one of the most startling ways imaginable. 

“Is anyone in the Capitol even awake right now?” Ekko shouted. 

A strange hiss echoed through the air, and he turned just in time to see and duck below a fireball. 

Hoping the Capitol would appreciate his good humor, he said out loud, “I’ll take that as a yes.” 

If the trap was meant for him, Ekko could only think of two reasons for it. 

Maybe he really had almost made it to Powder— but the Capitol was enjoying the star-crossed aspect of their romance too much to bring them together yet. If that was the case, then at least there were long term plans for them. 

Or, a worse idea to consider, the Capitol was trying to set up a confrontation. It wasn’t often they killed tributes with their traps— it was likely the fire was a way to herd him to a different death. 

Ekko realized with a jolt that he was being herded back towards the Cornucopia. 

“Oh, shit,” He muttered under his breath. 

Ekko could take a career. But could he take six? 

With a dawning realization of his impending doom, Ekko dodged another fireball. He had no choice but to follow the path the gamemakers paved for him. Even though it was leading him straight to the careers. 

He weaved through the trees, and hoped Powder was on the other side of the fire. 

Maybe she was still asleep. Maybe she’d awoken to the smell of smoke. 

There hadn’t been a cannon, so he was confident she was alive. 

Still. Ekko couldn’t help but worry. Especially as he came closer and closer to the Cornucopia, it was beginning to look like he’d never see her again. 

He hoped Viktor and Caitlyn would take good care of her if she got out. 

Until, he thought with a rueful shake of his head. Until.  

Powder was going to make it out. 

She had to. 

She would. 

In the complete opposite direction, Powder was darting through the same obstacle.

And she had it on pretty good authority that she was about to die. 

Even with that fact looming over her, she couldn't help but be frustrated at having to backtrack. She'd woken up early to move towards the Cornucopia, hoping to find Ekko. Instead, she was getting rerouted in the opposite direction by a wall of fire. 

She skidded to a stop as a limb snapped from a tree and landed in front of her, spitting sparks into the air. 

Looking around, the only way out was through. 

Powder gritted her teeth and leapt over the limb. The flames licked at her legs, heating her clothes like a hot exhale. 

The gamemakers wouldn’t kill her this way, she was sure of that. But she didn’t want to know what they were herding her towards— she guessed the previous day had been pretty slow. There hadn’t even been any faces in the sky. 

She would laugh if she had any breath to spare. 

The girl on fire. 

Janna, she’d kill Silco for this. 

Another hiss of a fireball, and Powder didn’t have the time to dive completely out of the way. 

Bubbling heat sliced through her pant leg and into her skin. Powder couldn’t help the cry of pain that escaped her. 

She hoped Vi wasn’t awake yet. Looking at the gray sky, she knew it wasn’t likely. 

Even as seething heat snapped up her limb in waves, she staggered on. The smoke from the fire, even in the simulated fresh air, was starting to get to her. Her shaking hand raised the cotton shirt over her mouth, mimicking Vander when he walked outside the mines. It wasn’t much, but it was something. 

Her lungs seized, and in her moment of total breathlessness, she lost her footing. 

Powder’s ankles interlocked and she went tumbling. An incline draped in leaves rolled her down, down, and out of the smoke. 

But Powder didn’t have the time to notice. Not as her head knocked against a tree with a sickening crack. 

Powder’s eyelids burned red, the sun making it through the skin. She squinted, hoping it would subside, but found her only option would be to block out the light manually. 

Her fingers twitched, but refused to move. 

An exhausted groan escaped her chest as she tried again. 

A shadow crossed over her eyes, and Powder sighed in relief. 

…A relief that lasted mere seconds as her brain, working half as quickly as usual, informed her that she’d yet to move her hands at all. 

Even in her state, her bloodshot eyes flipped open. The trees spun in dizzying circles above her head, around, around, around… Only once the earth stopped tilting and twirling was she able to come to terms with the sight she was confronted with. 

Two heads loomed over her.

Chapter Text

Powder scrambled backwards on her elbows, kicking up leaves and making no headway before her vision warped, turning her stomach in nauseating circles. She turned on her side and heaved. Even with her furiously contracting muscles, she only managed to choke up a stinging string of bile. There was nothing left in her stomach to get rid of. 

“Yeah, you thunked your head pretty good. I wouldn’t be trying to move yet if I were you.”

Powder jerked upright and swayed heavily. 

“Or keep trying to sit up. That works, too, I guess.”  

She held her head steady between her hands and stared at the figures until her vision cleared. Finally, eight figures merged into four, then four back into two. 

“It was Powder, right?” 

Powder only stared, positively bewildered. 

Claggor stretched out his hand to help her up. 

She blinked at it lamely. 

Why weren’t they attacking? 

“Uh… did you want us to?” Mylo crossed his arms and popped his hip to stand more comfortably. 

Powder shook her head, but winced with the movement. Her fingers trembled as she raised them gingerly to the aching side of her head. It was warm and sticky, and Powder knew better than to try applying pressure. She was nauseous enough without aggravating what was surely a nasty concussion. 

“Did you see the fire?” She asked. Her words slid together, slippery like Jericho’s mystery meat special at the Hob. 

Claggor scratched the back of his neck, finally withdrawing his outstretched hand. “Saw you fly out of it.”

“Wouldn’t call that flying,” Mylo mumbled to himself. 

“Why aren’t you trying to kill me?” She asked. This time, she meant to speak the question aloud. Her tongue was heavy, and the words came out slower than she’d have liked. 

Claggor gave her a sympathetic smile. “No offense, but I don't think there’d be much ‘trying’ involved with you in this state.”  

“Exactly,” Powder looked between them. Adrenaline pricked at her fingertips— she was too vulnerable, she couldn’t even move without her head spinning, and for some reason her thoughts were moving so sluggishly that—

“Typical side-effects of nose diving into a tree trunk. Or at least, that’s what I hear. Proud to say I’ve never done it myself.” Mylo crouched to her level. “Want some water?” 

—That absolutely nothing made sense. 

“You have water?” She watched Claggor rummage through a backpack and pull out a metal bottle. “Why are you letting me have some?” 

The suspicion was apparent in her tone. Claggor unscrewed the lid and held it out to her, though he remained a benign distance away. “Look, if we were gonna kill you, we already would’ve.” 

Even with the throbbing of her head, the logic wasn’t hard to follow. 

She took the bottle and, with reluctant resolve, raised it to her lips. Claggor and Mylo busied themselves with their pack and allowed her a moment to herself. 

The water was warmer than cold and had the distinct metallic edge of iodine. It was her first sip of water since Silco helped her onto the launch plate, and it was the best thing she’d ever tasted. 

“Hey, make sure you don’t drink too much at a time, or—”

Mylo’s warning was cut off by a spluttered choke from Powder. 

“Or that,” He finished, a resigned sigh escaping him. 

The pair seemed to give up pretending to be busy, and instead dropped onto the forest floor to wait for her. 

“Where did you get water? Was it in the packs?” She gestured to the neon orange backpack between them. 

Mylo snorted and shook his head. “No. Bastards left an empty bottle in it. We had to find the water ourselves.”

“Find?” Powder’s thought began to work a little more coherently. “So there is a source away from the Cornucopia?”

“Yeah. A river. Not far from here, actually,” Claggor gestured vaguely behind them. 

Powder leaned sideways slowly so as not to jostle her injury. Peering around Claggor, she only saw a stretch of trees matching that of every direction around her. 

Claggor caught her frown and offered, “We could show you.” 

Powder sat back straight. “What?”

“Yeah, you could tag along,” Mylo agreed. “Who’s to say careers are the only ones allowed to make alliances?” 

“You want to form an alliance? With me?” Powder asked slowly. She was almost embarrassed, afraid she was mistaken. 

Claggor offered a kind half-smile and gestured between himself and Mylo. “We’re already in one. I don’t see why we can’t all stick together for a while.” 

A while. 

Right— just until they split up so they didn’t have to kill each other. 

Powder wondered immediately where Ekko was— 

“But maybe you’re waiting for your boyfriend?” A teasing voice broke into her thoughts

—And if maybe, Mylo was a mind reader. 

“We’re not dating,” She mumbled, suddenly very interested in her fingernails. “And I haven’t found him yet.”

“Well, that much was clear,” Mylo snorted. 

“Why are you looking for him if you care about him? Wouldn’t it be better to stay split up?” Claggor frowned from where he was tugging up and shredding pieces of grass. 

Powder’s mouth was already dry again. She licked her lips to no avail, thinking of the entirety of Piltover leaning closer to the television for her answer, and managed, “We just… want any time we can get. Until it isn’t an option anymore.” 

Mylo whistled and leaned back on his arms. “Real tough luck. Seriously, how many people get sorted with that one person? But I guess you chose to be here. So, more your sister got sorted with your one person... but that would've sucked, too.” 

“That one person?” Powder asked skeptically. “What, their best friend?”

Claggor brushed off his pants as he stood, but Mylo only leaned forward closer to her. “Don’t pretend you don’t get it. The one person? That Ekko kid is yours, right? Don’t tell me he’s actually just your best friend?” 

“Why’s it matter to you?” Powder glowered. 

Mylo raised his hands defensively before standing beside Claggor. “You coming? Or are you gonna hang around waiting for your not-boyfriend?” He glanced over her expectantly. As he did, his eyes caught on something. “Oh, hey— I think your pants got a little, uh…” He waved his hand in the general direction of her leg. “Singed.”

Without thinking, Powder glanced down at the aforementioned leg. 

The sight that greeted her had her hoping Vi was out hunting. 

Her head went reeling again, but even her unsteady vision couldn’t keep the image out of her mind. Her own right leg; vibrant red against her usually pale white skin and swathed in sweat and already rupturing blisters. Fainting would only make her look weak— so she took in a deep, steading breath, just like Vi taught her all those years ago. 

“I’m starting to think they liked the sight of us on fire too much,” She wheezed.

Mylo and Claggor shared a look. 

“We don’t have anything that’ll help with burns… but maybe if we get you to the water?” Claggor suggested slowly. 

Powder glanced down at her leg— no charring or blackened skin, at least there was that— and said wryly, “I guess you’ve just decided to take me in at this point.” 

“You make it sound like we’re kidnapping you,” Mylo rolled his eyes. 

“Aren’t you?” Was her dry response. 

Claggor shrugged. “Just trying to help. You in or out?” 

Powder considered her options. 

On one hand, she needed to find Ekko. He was out there, alive— definitely searching for her. How could she not return the favor? Viktor had made it clear that nobody in the arena was to be trusted except for Ekko, and he was a decent authority on the subject.  

On the other hand, she was incredibly injured and dehydrated. She would never find water in time without help and she had a hand outstretched right in front of her, offering to bring her there. She couldn’t very well find Ekko if she was dead…

She could almost see Viktor rubbing his temples from the mentor observation room. 

Even with Claggor and Mylo supporting her weight on either side, the walk to the river was torturous. Her right leg was stiff with pain— with each step, needle-like shots of agony tore from her foot and up to her thigh. Her head pulsed in time with the burn. A quick, thready pace that left her aching and her chest heaving. Still, the first view of rushing water was nearly enough to make her forget, or at least stop caring about the pain. 

“Oh, thank Janna,” She collapsed just at the edge and immediately dipped her hand into the current. It pushed against her and she let out a strained giggle of relief, relishing in its cool comfort. 

She allowed herself a moment to collect her breath. As soon as she was steady, though, she cupped the water in her hands and carefully drizzled it over the burn. Only within the single split second where the drops first hit her skin did she experience any relief. Multiple handfuls later, she edged closer to the water, prepared to drown the injury. 

“Can I take a look?” 

Powder looked up. Mylo was watching her with something like restrained pity behind his eyes. Claggor was a few feet behind him, kneeling beside the river and refilling their bottle. 

“I’ve seen some nasty burns in my day, you know. Textile factories— they’ll getcha.” Mylo peered over at the injury, but made no move to step closer. 

Powder held the ripped edges of her pants back in invitation. He crouched beside her and looked closely, though his hands stayed in the grass to keep him from tipping over. 

“What’s the diagnosis, doc?” She asked quietly. 

Hopefully the Capitol sponsors would forgive her injury for her good humor.

“Yep,” Mylo nodded. “It’s definitely a burn.” 

Powder’s jaw dropped open just slightly and she scowled at him. He looked up, face straight— before he broke into scratchy laughter. 

“I’m just kidding. But there’s not much you can do except try to clean it and keep it from getting infected. I’d have thought you’d have sponsors to fix shit like this, though.” He fell backwards out of his crouch to sit on the ground. 

“I thought so, too. But maybe Viktor and Caitlyn are saving it for more important stuff,” Powder’s fingers hovered just over the burn, feeling the feverish skin radiating heat. 

Claggor appeared at her shoulder and set the bottle at her side. “Should let the iodine sit for thirty minutes, but after that you can have some more.” He dropped into the grass behind them and added, “Some mentors are pretty bad at deciding what merits a gift and what doesn’t. Maybe yours just doesn’t realize how bad the burn is.” 

Powder immediately snorted. “Yeah, right. Viktor’s smart; he knows what he's doing. Trust me.” 

“Maybe your friend needed something else more,” Mylo frowned. 

Powder’s stomach lurched slightly— Ekko, in enough trouble to take priority over her burn? He’d have to be bleeding out, he’d have to be… 

She shook the thought off as Claggor wordlessly pointed into the sky. 

A little parcel attached to a white parachute floated down to her side, chirping electronically the whole way down. 

“I stand corrected,” Mylo said. 

Powder unscrewed the lid hurriedly and extracted a little metal tin with a note attached. 

Tread more carefully. 

Whether Viktor meant it literally or figuratively, she didn’t really care yet. Powder stuffed it into her jacket pocket and popped the tin open. Immediately, the harsh scent of medicinal cream met her nose. It made her head ache again, but all she could do was grin and raise it towards the sky in a little toast. 

“Thanks, Viktor and Caitlyn,” She said, and then slathered her leg in the balm. 

The effect was nearly immediate. It cooled the skin, drawing the fever from her leg and calming the incessant pain. She could only imagine how much it would cost— it was a fancy Capitol medicine, the kind of thing district citizens could only ever imagine, and only ever experience from within the arena. 

An anger she would usually feel for the Capitol— what, they just had this kind of thing lying around, but none of the laborers had access to it?— seemed to dissipate with the aches. 

Even with two tributes from other districts sitting right beside her, Powder felt nothing but an intense relief. 

Or at least, a relief deep enough to momentarily distract from her throbbing headache. 

**

Ekko couldn’t breathe. 

Part of that had to do with the scare he’d just had— a however-mile-long race through the woods with a wildfire hot on his trail.

Part of that had to do with his body being— entirely and completely out of the blue— submerged in water. 

He kicked wildly, head breaking the surface with a loud splash. He let out an equally noisy gasp for air and gulped until he could breathe again. 

Only then did he wipe a hand down his face and scan his surroundings. 

Of course, He thought bitterly.  

He’d managed to make it back to the Cornucopia— undoing all of his progress for the day and part of the day before. The lake had caught his fall when he’d stumbled past the treeline. 

The gamemakers wanted him there for some reason… Ekko just hoped he’d have a minute before the careers found him. He needed a moment before he could fight— or run again, if it became necessary. 

The careers traveled in packs, so… 

He took in another deep breath and willed his legs to be still. From underwater, they twitched uncontrollably; sore and adrenaline-overridden. In all likelihood, he’d be running again soon. 

Part of him wanted to get a headstart. Maybe if he played it smart, he didn’t have to encounter anyone at all. That would show the gamemakers. A different, much louder part of him wanted nothing more than to sink into the bottom of the lake and remain there until the next sounding cannonfire was his. The loudest part of him sounded a lot like Vi and Powder teasing him for being tired after a boxing match. 

Oh, get up, you big drama queen.

Yeah, walk it off!

He heaved a deep groan, just as he did that day— Powder giggled and Vi rolled her eyes— and dragged himself onto the grass. 

Water dripped into his eyes and weighed down his clothes (Janna, everything was soaked). His face dropped against the ground as he paused, closing his eyes to think if he’d been hurt. 

Besides the ache in his muscles and the exhaustion in his bones, he imagined his only problem was a slight melting of the soles of his boots. Otherwise, he seemed unscathed. 

Ekko was pushing himself to his feet when he finally heard them. 

“...Just keep missing them, I think. It’s only a matter of time, though.”

“Okay, but I call dibs on the next one.”

“You can’t call dibs before you even see one!”

“Hey— is that District Twelve?”

Ekko already knew who was approaching. He heaved in a deep breath and, just as the career pack started letting out whoops and hollers, took off back in the direction he came. 

The gamemakers must hate him, was the only thing Ekko could think clearly. 

Five careers versus one outer-district tribute. 

There was a certain point where thinking about his odds did nothing but piss him off. 

Ekko was at that point. 

“Hey, Twelve! Twelve!”

“Come back here!”

“I call dibs!”

“Earn it first!”

The careers were faster than him. Even with his headstart, it was clear they were gaining. 

Probably because they weren’t just chased by a fire, He scowled. 

No, they likely spent the morning leisurely hunting for tributes and, unable to find anyone, never had to exert themselves at all. Ekko had the disadvantage to a laughable point. 

He couldn’t outrun them. 

But, maybe… 

He thought of Powder, high in the trees outside District Twelve. Grinning— it’s not as high as it looks, come on up!— and racing from branch to branch. 

Maybe he could outclimb them. 

His eyes darted from trunk to trunk, trying to scope out a set of stable branches before stopping. They landed on one right in his path. 

The careers were close enough behind that he could hear the crunch of each individual step. He could hear the weapons they were prepping to use. And he could hear each and every taunt thrown his way. 

Scaling the tree proved rather easy, even with his sweat-slick hands. By the time five bodies crowded the base of the tree, Ekko was already twenty feet from the ground. He let himself pause for a moment, catching his breath. Their eyes met. 

Ekko cleared his dry throat. “Nice morning, huh?” 

The careers glanced between each other, equal parts bewildered and amused. They knew what he was doing— endearing himself to sponsors was the only possible way to get out of this anymore. He would only survive as long as he was entertaining and, unfortunately for the careers, he was good at the game. 

“Nice enough,” Deckard called. He gestured at the water dripping from his clothes and asked, “Get some rain?”

“And fire,” Ekko quipped. He gave a little what-can-you-do shrug and added, “Guess the weather’s a little fickle here.” 

“Can solve that,” Deckard gestured to his javelin. 

Ekko squinted at it. “Eh, I think I’m good. Thanks, though.” Then, with a taunting smirk, he suggested, “Why don’t you come up here, though? Air’s a lot clearer.”

“I think I will.” Deckard attached his javelin to his belt and stepped to the tree. He only managed to pull himself up onto the first couple branches before one snapped under his feet. His skin scratched against the bark, drawing out a startled huff. 

“Hey, it’s okay! Take your time,” Ekko grinned when he received a glare. 

Deckard steadied himself and continued climbing. When he started to make progress, Ekko only darted even higher. The limbs got smaller and lighter the higher he got, but he had years of experience. Powder was thousands of times better than him, but he could still hold his own. 

Deckard, on the other hand, had no idea how to distribute his weight. A mere fifteen feet in the air was when he put his trust in a thin limb. The subsequent snap and thud on the ground convinced Ekko to stop climbing and watch. 

Deckard winced as he sat up. 

“Aw, don’t take it too hard, Two,” Ekko cupped a hand around his mouth. “You were probably just sick the day the career academy covered climbing.” 

Deckard brushed a hand against his head and shot a scowl upwards. The District One girl— Sinn, if Ekko remembered right— dragged him to his feet. 

“We don’t need to get up there to get him,” She said. Elbowing the District Two girl, she added, “Try the bow, Imogen.”

Imogen slung the bow from her back and slipped an arrow from the quiver at her back. It took a couple tries to line it up with the string— in that time, Ekko lost any nerves he had about being shot. 

Suspicions confirmed, the arrow thunked shakily into the bark, almost ten feet lower than him. 

“Say, what did that school teach you?” He mused aloud. 

Sinn snapped out, “Shut up, Twelve!” 

“Just asking,” He said innocently. “Hey, why don’t you throw some food, too? That’d probably hurt me real bad.” 

“Why don’t we just wait him out?” The District Four girl asked. She crossed her arms and glanced up at him. “Like he said, he needs food. And water. He has to come down at some point.” 

Ekko’s stomach lurched. She was correct, of course. 

Perhaps that last joke was a little too close to the sun. 

“Well, it’s only noon,” The District One boy said, staring into the sky. “A few of us can stay while the others keep hunting.”

Deckard considered him. Finally, he shrugged. “Fine. Imogen, Hazel—” He pointed to Two and Four, “Come with me. We’ll come back tonight to switch with Sinn and Nico.” 

The District One boy— Nico, apparently— slumped against the base of the tree. Sinn seemed upset at being put on guard duty, but she didn’t comment. 

Ekko didn’t have anything he could do except wait. His backpack only had so many supplies— a sleeping bag, dried beef strips and crackers, leftover rabbit from the day before, a pack of matches, a coil of wire, iodine, and a bottle for water that he hadn’t had the time to fill. 

Ekko rubbed a stressed hand over his mouth. “I think I might be fucked,” He muttered.

Maybe there was something Viktor and Caitlyn could do? 

But, no. He was on his own. 

A soft humming managed to steal his attention, and Ekko looked up. 

And promptly froze. 

In his haste to escape the tributes, one of his most basic rules slipped his attention. 

He hadn’t checked the tree before climbing it. And now?

He was trapped— careers fifty feet below him, and a tracker-jacker nest only ten above. 

**

“How was he supposed to get away from them? He’d just run from a fire for almost a full thirty minutes!” Caitlyn was clenching and unclenching her fists as she glared at the sight of Ekko trapped up a tree. 

Viktor was white-knuckling his cane, but answered steadily, “The fire was just taking him where the gamemakers wanted. It was a means to force him into fighting the careers.”

Caitlyn dropped back into her seat and gritted out, “This is rigged!”

Viktor looked at her sideways, as if to say, “Yes. And that’s exactly the point.”  

“There has to be something we can do! We sent Powder the burn creme, we could…” She hesitated. What could they possibly be able to buy him that would get rid of the careers?

Instead of arguing or correcting her, Viktor only shook his head solemnly. “He’d have to take out District One,” He gestured at the pair of tributes posted under the tree. “Even if he could take both of them from a tree, none of our sponsors are rich enough to donate the funds for a weapon.” 

Caitlyn fisted her skirt. “So, what? We give up?”

“No,” Viktor held his head higher. Eyes still on the screen, he muttered, “We think.” 

Ekko seemed to have the same mindset. He stared upwards, a grim furrow between his brows. 

“Maybe he has a plan,” Caitlyn said. 

Viktor’s eyes squinted just slightly. “Maybe,” He agreed. 

The commentators didn’t, however. 

“Wait, right there over Ekko’s head— is that—?”

“Oh, yes, indeed. That’s a tracker-jacker nest.”

Viktor cursed under his breath and sat straighter in his seat. Caitlyn looked between him and the screen. 

“What does that mean?” She asked. “They don’t attack unless provoked— he'll be fine, right?”

“It’s very easy to provoke them,” Viktor muttered. 

Caitlyn hated not knowing what to do and being unable to help. Viktor appeared to be in a similar state, though. She found it wasn’t much of a comfort. 

The pair fell into an uneasy silence. Ekko peered down at the ground again— before his eyes lit up. He swung his backpack around and began digging. 

Caitlyn leaned forward. “He has a plan!”

“We’ll see,” Viktor said, voice low. 

Ekko produced a coil of wire from his bag. He frowned as he looked it over— but dragged himself into standing despite whatever reservations he had. As he began climbing ever higher, the other mentors in the room began to murmur in confusion. 

“What’s he doing?”

“Getting awfully close to that nest…”

“Maybe it’s on purpose.”

“Yeah, maybe he’s just too scared to face One!” 

Ekko stopped climbing when the branch holding the nest was chest-level. Pulling the wire taught, he pressed it against the limb and began sawing back and forth. 

“What’s he doing?” Caitlyn breathed. 

Viktor’s eyes widened. “He’s going to drop it on the careers.”

“He can do that?” She whipped back to the screen, and, sure enough, the wire wasn’t enough. It rubbed against the bark, but only stripped the outermost layers off. 

Viktor’s lips tilted. “It was a good thought.” 

“There has to be a way to help him,” Caitlyn insisted again. “We— Viktor!” She leaned in and excitedly suggested, “We could send him a knife! Or something to saw that branch!” 

Finally, Viktor turned to look at her. It was clear he was tired and frustrated, but he kept his tone gentle. “We don’t have the funds for a weapon. All of the richest sponsors picked career tributes again. It doesn’t matter how well we present ourselves, Caitlyn, that’s never been an option. We work with what we have.” He turned back to the screen with a grimace. 

“He doesn’t have anything to work with!” Caitlyn’s tone was hinting at genuine distress. 

Viktor bit the inside of his cheek. “Nobody from Twelve ever has. We just need to rethink this.” 

Caitlyn turned back to the screen, vibrating with anxiety. Ekko was getting more frustrated as the wire only slid against the branch. It was barely leaving even a scratch. 

The nest was Ekko’s only weapon. There was no way to wield it without a knife. 

A knife that they had no way to get without a big sponsor. 

A big sponsor that they had no way to get without a good reputation and a history of victors.

Victors, who they could never get without a big sponsor. 

A big sponsor, who stood between Ekko and a knife. 

“That’s it!” Caitlyn slammed her hands against the table and shot to her feet. All eyes turned on her, but she didn’t stop to meet any of them. Without another word, she rushed from the room. 

Vaguely, she heard Viktor call after her retreating form and someone cackle, “Poor kid can’t stomach it, huh?” 

But it was the furthest thing from her mind. Her sights were solely set on the hallways in front of her, and the way they led her right outside, down the street, across the city, and up to the front steps of a mansion. 

She knocked insistently until it opened. 

The maid took one look at her and gestured inside, leading her to the sitting room. 

Caitlyn paused in the doorway, scanning the room for one face—

“Ah, Caitlyn! I wasn’t sure when we would see you again! When you ran off the other night, we thought you would spend the rest of the games holed up and working!” 

Caitlyn watched as her mother stood and left the group of Councilors gathered to watch the games. Her childhood home was exactly as it always was: grand, spotless, and filled with important people. 

“Mother, please,” Caitlyn skipped any pretense. “I need your help.” 

Councilor Cassandra Kiramman frowned. “This doesn’t have anything to do with your tribute, does it?”

Caitlyn glanced at the screen on the wall and grimaced. Ekko had his head against the tree, panting and losing hope. 

She turned back to her mother, eyes wide and answer enough. 

Cassandra sighed. “Caitlyn, you know I can’t do anything. It would be biased to support my own daughter’s assignment.” 

Caitlyn wanted to gag at the term, but held back. “Then don’t think of me as your daughter. Let me pitch it, just like anyone else would.” 

“I’m already sponsoring Two,” She gave a sad smile. 

“But you could switch,” Caitlyn argued. “There’s a precedent!”

Cassandra watched her, pity in her eyes. Only, she wasn’t upset that the people relying on her daughter were in peril— rather, her daughter’s job was in jeopardy. She scrutinized Caitlyn closely, but only learned how much it mattered to her. 

She softened. “Alright. Give me the elevator pitch.” 

Caitlyn’s shoulders fell in relief, but only for a moment. She straightened and began confidently, “Ekko and Powder deserve to win— and I know this because I know them. Maybe not much, but enough that—”

“I thought this was just about Ekko?”

“I’m pitching Twelve. As a team,” Caitlyn held her head high. Her mother gave a nod for her to continue.    

Weaving her pitch was easy— perhaps the first time she was able to put what she’d learned at the academy to use. Her mother was a Councilor; it was clear she saw through each and every point as a targeted argument. Even so, she allowed Caitlyn to speak, and only interrupted to ask clarifying questions. If it was truly an elevator she was making the pitch in, it would have to be an incredibly slow one. As much as she butted heads with her mother, at least she offered this. 

“And, they’re from District Twelve. Imagine the kind of success story this could be!” 

“I hope you aren’t saying I should support them because they’d be underdogs,” Cassandra raised an eyebrow. 

“Isn’t that why you’re so proud of sponsoring Jayce from District Two? A fourteen year old with a low test score? That doesn’t sound very promising,” Caitlyn crossed her arms defiantly. 

Cassandra stalled, a small smile fighting at the edge of her lips. “Yes, I supposed that worked out in the end. But, Caitlyn— don’t you remember why we sponsored him?” 

“I… no, why?” Caitlyn shifted on her feet. 

Cassandra smiled fully, her mind years behind in an old memory. “Well. You were only four, so that’s understandable. Do you remember that story your father used to read you before bed?” 

Caitlyn’s eyebrows quirked together, bewildered. “Um…” The hazy image of her childhood bedroom flashed in the back of her mind. 

The thick blankets, the soft light, and her father in the chair beside her bed with an old book in his hands. 

It was a book she’d grown very fond of as a child. One she’d made her father read chapters of every night. Even when they finished the book, she’d only demand they start over from the beginning. 

She had heard it a million times, yet it felt so distant. 

With her mother taking the reins of the conversation, Caitlyn felt herself losing authority and her chance to help. Indulging her mother was her best bet. 

“Vaguely. The one about the blacksmith and the angel?”

“That’s the one,” Cassandra said fondly. “Well, you learned that Jayce apprenticed in a forge and you were so sure that he was the man in your storybook. You adored him and— oh, your little face when he started freezing… well, I felt awful not sponsoring him. It was the first time you were really watching the games, so I wanted to give your tribute a fighting chance.”

“Wait— what?” Caitlyn took a half-step backwards. 

Cassandra nodded, mistaking her horror for mere surprise. “You saved his life.” 

“I—” She froze. 

Jayce from District Two— saved by her? 

Jayce, the mentor who watched the games with a critical eye, head always tilted just slightly towards the back of the room. Who snuck into the District Twelve apartment, happy to sit in silence while Viktor slept and she looked over documents. Who allied with her because he saw anyone who knew about his friendship with Viktor as a threat— and, after her conversation with Viktor, was right to do so. Who was good at blending in, but had trouble when he was tired or angry. Who had gone into the arena as an energetic, charismatic fourteen year old boy, and come out a grim-faced and quiet man. 

Jayce, who was a whole person with thoughts, and wants, and feelings. 

Who apparently owed his continued existence to a spoiled Capitol girl with connections and an obsession with an old bedtime story. 

No, Caitlyn refused to believe that. 

When she’d cried until her parents sent the weapon that promoted Jayce from tribute to victor, she hadn’t saved his life. She’d only signed the death warrant for anyone that was killed by the crush of his hammer. 

The blood of faceless tributes had been on her hands since before she understood what it was. Perhaps their blood had been on her hands before she was born. Perhaps she’d inherited it along with her last name. 

By keeping Ekko and Powder from death, she wasn’t saving their lives. She was only condemning the others, who were, Caitlyn thought numbly, just as young and human as her own tributes. As herself— or as Jayce, or Viktor, or her own mother who sent them all into the arena. 

She was killing for Powder and Ekko— for a cause. 

Did that make her like her mother? 

Or did that make her like Jayce? Or Viktor? 

And which one was right? 

No— she didn’t have time to think like that. She didn’t have time for questions. She had been given a duty. Powder and Ekko were her priority. The other tributes had their own mentors to look after them— whole teams, even. Powder and Ekko had her and Viktor. 

And gods save her, if Caitlyn had blood on her hands because of her last name, she’d at least make sure she got some good use out of it. 

Gears turning, she purged on.

“But then… you listened to my advice. Because of my suggestion, you became a regular sponsor for District Two. So much of their successes can be linked directly to our family’s support— imagine if I had picked someone from a different district! Maybe they would have more victors, or at least finalists!” 

Cassandra gave her a wry smile. “Maybe so. But this is the difference between Two and Twelve, Caitlyn. One has a history of success, and one doesn’t. Whether that’s swayed by us, well—”

“What, so just because the people before them died means they deserve to, too?” Caitlyn snapped. 

Cassandra gave her a sharp look. “Caitlyn,” She warned. “This kind of talk is exactly what got you this assignment. If it’s doing the opposite of its purpose, then I can leave Twelve without an escort—”

“Mother, no— please, just listen,” Caitlyn backtracked immediately. “It’s my first time being involved in something… bigger than myself.” She picked her words carefully, hiding her disgust for them behind a well-practiced facade. “This isn’t just about me, or about winning the games. It’s about our family name. Our reputation. It’s already strange enough that I’m escorting instead of studying politics. If I succeed in this, the strangeness becomes something to celebrate. If I don’t…” 

“Oh, Caitlyn,” Her mother softened. For a moment, it was nice to know she was still capable of that. 

This was the woman that would approve of Viktor and Jayce being tortured for leverage against each other? That was her mother? 

“Mother, you supported me as a child on a whim. Please. Support me, just this once, as an adult who believes in this cause.” 

Caitlyn watched her mother consider her words, muscles tight in anticipation. On the screen behind them, Ekko had settled into the branches. He seemed resigned to simply eating a dry meal and waiting. For help he didn’t even know was coming. For help she was desperate to provide. As soon as Cassandra drew herself to her full imperious height, Caitlyn’s heart stuttered— 

She’d seen the move used before, against politicians and investors and even her father. 

She’d seen it only after a successful compromise. 

Caitlyn threw her arms around her. “Oh, thank you, thank you!” 

Cassandra held her gently and chuckled. She brushed Caitlyn’s hair back and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “You will do great things for Piltover one day, Caitlyn. You just need the chance.” She pulled back and gave a little smile. “Maybe the same can be said for Twelve and your tributes.” 

“I’m sure of it,” Caitlyn smile weakly, stomach turning in apprehension. With another quick glance at the television behind her, Cassandra pushed her away. 

“Go back to work, Caitlyn. I’ll have your father send our information.” The dismissal was clear, but Caitlyn hesitated. 

“We need enough for a knife,” She said to her mother’s retreating back. 

Cassandra paused under the archway to the sitting room. Looking over her shoulder, she gave a conspiratorial little smile. “We’re sending our information, not a donation. Take what you need when you need it.” 

And with that, Councilor Kiramman joined the rest of the Council in her living room. 

Caitlyn remained in the hallway, shell-shocked. 

**

The arena was welcoming night back into its walls. 

Ekko was positive about his impending demise— unfortunately, he was raised to have a relentless personality. Relentless in everything, even misplaced hope. Rather than climbing down and giving up, or startling the tracker-jackers into giving him an excruciating though admittedly quick death, he simply picked a branch, settled into his sleeping bag… and waited. 

Waited for… help? A plan? He wasn’t sure, but he waited nonetheless. 

His knuckles and palms were bloody from the coil of wire, tight in his grip as he’d attempted to saw the branch down. It hadn’t even come close to working. Still, Ekko hoped that his attempt would have at least tempted Viktor or Caitlyn to send him something. A blade was out of the question— no matter how far he and Powder had come, they would never get a sponsor with the finances for donating anything close to a weapon. But maybe they could have sent something else? Some hot soup for him to dump on the tributes below him, to distract them even momentarily? Something with a little weight that he could throw onto their heads? 

But, no. 

Ekko found himself accompanied by nothing but the weight of the pack in his arms, the setting sun, and the low murmurs of the careers below him. 

True to his word, Deckard returned with Imogen and Hazel to switch with Sinn and Nico. 

“Still up there?” Deckard grinned as he peered up into the heights. 

Ekko barely resisted a scowl, instead giving a light, unbothered wave. 

Deckard chuckled and dropped to the ground. Hazel and Imogen waved their goodbyes to the District One careers who were already disappearing into the forest, thrilled at the thought of a hunt. They discussed the oncoming darkness and decided to build a fire. 

Ekko rolled his eyes at the audacity, well-placed as it was. 

Below him, they chattered lightly; eating prepped food from the Cornucopia and guarded by their career status. The smoke rose into the sky, but even if anyone did approach, the sight of the group lounging around it would surely send them running. 

Disgruntled, he settled only further into his sleeping bag and stared up into the sky. Soon the anthem would play and display no fallen victors— and it would likely be the last time he saw it. In all likelihood, he would be on the screen the next day. 

In the distance, a bird tweeted its agreement. 

He glanced down again towards the crackling fire and hoped, dully, that Powder wouldn’t be too upset that he never found her. 

The bird tweeted in agreement again. 

He rolled his eyes, but it only tweeted again— and closer. 

Ekko jolted up. 

No, that wasn’t a bird— that was the chirping of a sponsored gift. 

Was it too much to hope it was for him? Was it too naive to hope it was more than a nice last supper?

The careers didn’t hear it fall from the sky, or see it land directly in his lap. 

For a moment, the most Ekko could do was stare at the silver case in shock. 

Then, with slow movements, forcing himself not to hope too much, he unscrewed the lid. A little slip of paper sat at the top. 

Cut straight. 

Ekko’s breath caught in his throat. Beneath the slip of paper was the giveaway glint of metal— but it couldn’t be.  

There was no way they found out how to send him a blade. 

With shaking hands, he lifted the paper and, sure enough, a sleek serrated knife sat beneath it. 

How…?

He glanced down again— he could feel the eyes of Piltover on him, and wondered if the careers would sense it, too, and catch him. They sat on the ground eating, none the wiser. 

Ekko had questions for Viktor and Caitlyn. Thousands, in fact. He wondered if he could tell Powder to ask all of them for him when she got out. Maybe there wasn’t even a big secret to their cleverness, to their defying all odds— perhaps it could all be put down to Viktor’s stubbornness and Caitlyn’s optimism. Maybe they’d just willed a big sponsor into existence. 

But now wasn’t the time. 

No, he had to jump on the opportunity while he had three entire careers below him. This could end the games quicker. This could save Powder. And give him the time to see her again, he thought. Though, that was perhaps his most selfish motivation. 

He slipped from his sleeping bag and packed everything in his bag, the blade sitting on top. He sent a grateful smile up to the sky. Then, one eye on the guards below him, he tightened the straps over his shoulders and climbed back up to the nest. 

In the darkness, it was impossible to see any of the tracker-jackers. Only glimpses of them, when they sped through a blade of moonlight, were able to be identified. Ekko steadied himself in the branches with another look down. The ground, though far away, left him with a clear enough view of the careers. 

Reassured— they expected retaliation just as little as he had— he lifted the knife from his bag. Reverently, he observed it in the low light. 

If he played everything smart, he’d make it out. Against all odds. 

He gripped the knife securely in his hands and rested it against the stripped bark he’d left earlier. Slowly, carefully, he dragged it through the wood. 

The blade sunk and cut. 

He just managed to resist laughing, and instead set his brows in a deep furrow and began to saw slowly back and forth. With each stroke, a gritty scratch hissed through the air. 

“Hey, do you hear that?” 

Ekko continued sawing, unaware of the conversation below him. 

“What does that sound like to you?” 

“How should I know?”

“Hey, you don’t think he’s doing something, do you?” 

The three careers squinted upwards into the darkness. 

“Hey, Twelve! Sittin’ pretty?”

Ekko startled, the knife slipping through his fingers— 

His hand snatched it from the air just before it could go careening through the branches. 

He let out a strangled gasp. 

“What’s that?” Deckard called. 

Ekko clutched the knife in his hand, even though he’d caught it by the blade. 

“Nothing!” He steadied his voice, though just barely. “Just talking to myself.”

A drop of blood dripped through the branches, down…

Down… 

Down… 

And landed in Imogen’s hair. 

She flicked at the spot. “Wait, is it raining?” 

“Raining?” Hazel glanced around with a raised brow. “Does it look like it?” 

Imogen rolled her eyes and laid sprawled out on the ground. “Whatever. I just thought I felt something.” 

Deckard and Hazel turned away from her and continued chatting. Above them, Ekko picked up the knife with his other hand and pressed the injured one against his jacket. Taking in a deep breath, he secured the knife back in the deepening notch. With gritted teeth, he dragged it against the bark. 

“I swear I hear something!” Imogen exclaimed. 

Ekko froze. 

They would leave if they realized what he was doing. 

They would leave, and he could get away. 

But if he didn’t drop the nest, there were just as many people standing in the way of getting Powder home. 

He was just as bad as the careers if he dropped it. 

He was just as much a killer as all of them, no matter what his motivation was. 

But then, wasn’t it worth it to sacrifice his own morality to allow Powder to keep hers? 

Wasn’t playing into the Capitol’s game worth it, at least for his best friend? 

He looked towards the buzzing nest and bit at his tongue. 

They say it hurts worse than anything… and then it still kills you anyway.  

Vi was always so serious about the nests. She wouldn’t wish the tracker-jackers on anybody, but… had she been in his situation, wouldn’t her wishes change, too? 

His decision wavered. The knife in his grip weighed much heavier than it had when it arrived. 

Unbeknownst to him, the cut in his hand continued to drip. 

Imogen flinched, wiping a drop from her nose. “I swear, it’s raining! I keep getting these—” Another drop slid down her cheek and she sat up, wiping it away. “See! I—”

“Uh, Imogen?” Hazel leaned forward, squinting in the firelight. “That’s—” She cut herself off, sharing a look with Deckard. 

The pair processed it in tandem. 

“Hey, Twelve! Everything alright?” Deckard teased. 

Hazel rolled her eyes. “Probably just taking the easy way out.” 

“And how would he be doing that? If he had weapons he would be trying to use them,” Imogen crumbled leaves into the fire. 

“I wouldn’t wanna fight us, either, no matter what weapons I had.” Hazel tossed her an easy smirk. 

Above them, the Capitol seal lit bright blue among the synthetic stars. 

Though there were no tributes for the day, the entire anthem would play. 

“Hey, Twelve! Excited to be up there tomorrow?” Deckard shouted. 

Imogen giggled and added, “Hey, maybe that girl you like so much can join you! Wouldn’t that be cute?” 

The pair chuckled and lapsed into silence. 

The anthem ended. 

Somewhere above them, a dull scratching cut off only seconds after. 

They glanced at each other, debating whether it needed to be addressed. 

The night was nearly dead quiet, save for the snickering of their campfire and the chirping of crickets. 

And then, there was the snap of a branch up in the trees. 

Imogen snorted, looking to her teammates. “What, did he fall?”

Before either could respond, a silvery flash dropped from the tree, and landed right at her side. 

**

Viktor had thought he was hallucinating when he saw information for the Kiramman’s unlimited financial support come through. Then Caitlyn had rushed into the room, short of breath and grinning.

“Send the knife,” She’d said between pants. 

Viktor had only stared at her. “What happened?” 

“Aw, look! She’s back,” Someone had teased her from across the room. 

Caitlyn had ignored them, her smile never wavering. Instead, she only leaned over their screen and started preparing the gift for Ekko— a gift they could afford now. 

Viktor had leaned in, starry-eyes and the starting tilt of a smirk. “What happened?”

“Oh, you know,” She had sat down in her chair to let Viktor take over. “A bit of schmoozing, a bit of shameless nepotism. Apparently it really is who you know.” 

Now, they sat side by side and watched as a tracker-jacker nest exploded in the careers’ campsite. 

Caitlyn’s hand shot to Viktor’s shoulder, clutching at it and staring in horror as the insects enveloped the District Two girl. Imogen was her name. 

Was. 

Though this was what she’d wanted, though this was what she gave Ekko the knife for, it still left her with a buzzing in her brain and a turning in her gut. 

Was she Jayce, or was she her mother?

The District Two boy and the District Four girl sprinted back towards the Cornucopia, likely to the lake. Not a single glance over their shoulders was spared. No, Imogen writhed on the ground on her own. 

The buzzing of the insects swarming her was sickening. From the corner of her eye, she saw Viktor’s jaw tighten. He glanced her way, and silently placed his hand over hers on his shoulder. 

Caitlyn forced herself to watch. This girl’s death was on her, after all. The least she could do was bear witness— and the guilt. 

A throat cleared behind them. “Mr. Viktor?”

Caitlyn tore her eyes away only to glance at the man behind them. By the looks of his uniform, he was one of the assistants for the gamemakers. 

“Yes?” Viktor turned to face him, though his eyes kept gliding back to the games. Subconsciously, he tried to keep tabs on Ekko. 

“I’m afraid you’re needed elsewhere,” The man stated. 

At that, Viktor frowned. “Sorry?” 

“You’re needed.” 

Viktor gestured towards the screen. “Yes, I know.”

“Elsewhere,” The man repeated. 

The hand on his cane clenched once, white knuckled and nervous. 

With a final glance towards Ekko and Caitlyn, he dragged himself onto his feet, reluctance clear in every movement. “Very well. Where am I needed?” 

The man beckoned him to follow. “Your presence has been requested by Head Gamemaker Reveck. Follow me.” 

Caitlyn frowned— what could the Head Gamemaker possibly want from him?— and rolled her jaw as the man placed a patronizing hand on Viktor’s back. Viktor allowed himself to be led away. 

Suddenly, she was very alone in her guilt. While Viktor was at her side, she could at least pretend the killing was a team effort. 

Killing— what would her mother say? 

But then… 

She glanced across the room, to the man whose tribute she’d just killed. 

Yes, killed. 

What would Jayce say? 

Who would she believe? And who would be right?

The man’s hard gaze was on the hallway. Though his tribute was magnified on the screen, thrashing and wailing and dying, his eyes were focused on Viktor’s retreating form. 

Maybe he blamed Viktor. Maybe he just couldn’t bear to watch her die. 

Maybe his priorities lay outside the murder within the games— murder, she could almost laugh imagining the look on her mother’s face— but on the man who was endangered by his care. 

She’d have to imagine the look on her mother’s face, but she didn't have to imagine Jayce’s. His glare was nothing short of hateful— hard on the now empty hallway and brimming with something more fragile than mere anger. 

Something’s wrong, Viktor had murmured. He’s usually quite good at blending. 

Jayce paused, his eyes moving towards hers as if they’d sensed her staring. 

She didn’t look away— not until Imogen gave a particularly desperate wail. Only then did she blink tears from her eyes and stare into her lap. 

Three things, then, were true. 

Viktor was right— trustworthy. 

Jayce was good at hiding— usually. 

And something— everything, perhaps— was definitely wrong. 

A cannon boomed, but Imogen’s swollen body stayed swarming silver. 

Chapter Text

Caitlyn’s footsteps echoed back and forth across the sleek sitting room floors of the District Twelve penthouse. 

She paused, only to look towards the hall leading to the elevator. 

It remained empty. 

She let out a nervous exhale and spun on her heel, back to tracing her own footsteps. 

“Can you stop?” 

Cait crossed her arms and spun to face the voice. “How are you not panicking?” 

Jayce exhaled sharply, hands clasped and elbows on his knees from where he sat on the couch. “Viktor can take care of himself. He’s handled Reveck before and he can do it again.” 

“Okay, has he handled himself for this long, though?” Caitlyn gestured to the night sky outside the window. “He’s been there since noon— does this honestly happen? Regularly enough for it to be normal?” 

Truthfully, no. 

The longest Viktor had ever had to hold his own against Reveck was from inside an arena— after that, he only suffered the Head Gamemaker’s presence for no more than an hour at a time. 

Jayce knew that. Caitlyn didn’t need to. 

“Nothing about Reveck is regular or normal, but that doesn’t make any of this surprising.”

Caitlyn stared, a scowl forming. “You’re avoiding answering.” 

“What?”

“You aren’t giving me a real answer— what, do you think I can’t handle the truth?” Caitlyn began trailing back and forth again, steps quicker and loud. “Because that implies that the truth is bad and that something is wrong, and I can handle it, but I need to know what I’m supposed to be handling— ”

“Yeah, making a real convincing argument, kid,” He waved a hand at her continued pacing. 

“Why won’t you tell me what's happening?” She rounded on him and took an accusing step forward. 

“Can you at least stop pacing?” 

“Tell me!”  

Jayce threw his arms up in exasperation. “So sorry for trying to keep you calm! You’re wearing a hole in the floor; I’m just trying to stop you from making a surprise entrance into District Eleven’s sitting room!” 

“So it is bad,” Was the only response Caitlyn gave. She dropped into a chair gracelessly and began folding the hem of her skirt between her fingers. “They aren’t— doing anything to him, are they?”  

A sterile white room with a table in the middle, Viktor strapped down and struggling, just managed to slip into the back of his mind. 

Jayce blinked the image away. “Who put that idea in your head?” 

“I don’t know how this all works yet,” She breathed out. “But what if he’s in trouble for something? What if he’s— not doing a good enough job as a victor? If they don’t have anything to take from him, do they just hurt him instead?” 

“What are you—” Jayce’s expression dropped in pure bewilderment. Across from him, a Capitol girl was genuinely distressed over the thought of a District Twelve citizen being hurt. Was it because she was fond of the Viktor she’d come to know? Because she felt complicit in the Capitol’s decisions— and didn’t agree with them? Or something else entirely? 

Viktor had asked him to give Caitlyn a chance… and he wouldn’t deny the request. No matter how odd it felt to raise his hands in placation and smooth out his expression into something calming, he did. 

“Slow down,” He said. “Breathe and try again.” 

Caitlyn sucked in a deep breath, fingers tightening around the skirt. After a moment, she exhaled. Though her eyes remained on the floor for another moment longer, Jayce could tell it had, at least somewhat, worked. 

“Viktor told me a little bit,” She said. Her voice was so quiet Jayce had to lean forward. With a glance up that catalogued his movement, she stood suddenly. 

Before he could process anything, Caitlyn was sitting on the couch beside him and leaning forward. “Viktor told me a little bit about being a victor,” She whispered. “I kept pestering him with questions and he answered a few. Like why this— why…” She waved a hand towards him, “Why this is a secret.” 

Jayce squinted, though he didn’t pull away. His instincts tugged painfully at his brain— why would Viktor, after years of keeping any sign of their association entirely to himself, offer the information freely within the first couple of weeks to a Capitol citizen? A Councilor’s child, nonetheless? 

There was no question of betrayal. Viktor believed it was the right thing to do.

“Just be kind to her. Let her ask questions. She wants to know why things are the way they are, and… if anything, she’s sympathetic. And confused. She sees us as people. She wants to know why we aren’t treated as such.”

Surely sympathy wasn’t enough to gain Viktor’s trust? 

No, there was something more there. Viktor was smart and Jayce trusted him completely. He just needed to see what Viktor had. Then maybe his mind wouldn’t continue getting caught in a loop of, ‘She’s just a child— but she’s a Councilor’s child— but she’s just a child— ’

“I didn’t know,” She whispered when the silence stretched too long. 

Jayce looked up. “Sorry?”

“I didn’t know,” Caitlyn repeated. For a few seconds, they only stared at each other. Caitlyn shifted guiltily and added, “If half of the things Viktor told me are true, then nothing I was raised to believe is.” 

And… 

Fuck. 

Growing up only to learn he’d been living a lie? 

If Jayce didn’t know how that felt, then surely he didn’t know anything. 

With a softness entirely novel to him outside his moments with Viktor and his mother, he asked, “What made you realize?” 

Caitlyn’s icy stare flicked towards him, then fell back to the floor. A shuddering breath in, and she admitted, “It’d always felt sort of unfair calling it a game, but I was able to ignore it. For the most part. I suppose it really clicked when… Powder’s sister. Vi. And Viktor, and Powder, and Ekko, and then… everything after. A drop of rain and then a waterfall.” She gave a laugh more similar to a stifled sob. “It was like— I was finally face to face with everything I learned. This was the girl chosen to make up for her ancestors’ foolishness, only she was just… just a girl. Like me, or my classmates, or… gods, and then Powder. And the way she screamed. And then they were both screaming and crying and, and it just hit me for real. ‘Oh my gods, I’m killing them.’” 

“You didn’t kill anyone,” Jayce said, clutching his fists with the hopes of grounding them. 

Caitlyn shook her head. The way she stared at her hands, Jayce half expected to find real blood on them. “I can take the truth. I know what I’ve done.” 

Jayce scoffed lightly. “No offense, kid, but I don’t think you do.” 

Caitlyn rounded on him. “I may be younger than you, but that doesn’t make me stupid!” 

“I never said that. I said you’re a kid. And that you don’t know what you’ve done.” 

“I’m not naive!” Caitlyn exclaimed. The way her eyebrows tilted, Jayce was sure she was trying to convince herself.

Jayce sighed and rubbed a hand down the side of his face. “Right. And how old are you again? Twenty-one? Twenty-two?” 

Caitlyn crossed her arms and grumbled in defeat, “I’m eighteen. But don’t think that proves anything.”

Jayce’s expression faltered in surprise. 

It was clear she’d expected him to laugh and use it to his case, but instead he squinted at her flatly. “You’re eighteen?” He paused when she nodded, suspicion turning to disbelief. “Actually?”

“Yes,” Caitlyn answered, her sharp edge softening in confusion. “I thought that’s why you were teasing me.” 

“I thought—” Jayce cut himself off with a firm shake of his head. 

Originally he’d thought it was a simple matter of a Councilor giving their child a head start in a field of their choice. Or maybe even sending in a spy. But if she really was only eighteen, then she was only just barely an Academy graduate. 

So was it a punishment? The way she talked, always having doubt about the games— surely that hadn’t gone unnoticed? And maybe that would explain why she’d been paired with Twelve, of all districts. 

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow. “You thought what?”

“Why are you escorting tributes as a teenager?” Jayce ignored her question in favor of asking his own. 

With a wince, she said, “I guess I misunderstood a lot of things. Or maybe I understood them, but I wasn’t supposed to.” 

Jayce only frowned at the cryptic response. 

“In my final year at the Academy, we were supposed to give presentations on the strategies employed by the Capitol during the Uprising. I was supposed to do the Bombing of District Thirteen,” She fidgeted with her hands, twitching towards her skirt but just barely held back. “I asked my mother some stupid questions about it. I guess I didn’t realize I was talking to Councilor Kiramman instead of my mom.” 

“What did you ask?” 

Jayce could think of very few questions that would get a Capitol citizen in trouble. But it was likely a Councilor would hold their children to a high standard, he supposed. 

Viktor had said Caitlyn didn’t think of her own home as a safe space. That he was hers. That Jayce could be, too. 

Viktor had been his first safe place, too, after he’d come to terms with the reality of Piltover. 

“I showed my mother the list of casualties from districts. Even just from Thirteen, there were— three times as many citizen deaths as Capitol citizen deaths. And across all the districts, the casualties were astronomically higher than even the Capitol’s military.” Jayce gave her a look, prompting her to continue. She swallowed and mumbled unintelligibly. 

“What?” He leaned closer. 

Caitlyn grimaced and cupped a hand around her mouth. Right beside his ear, she whispered, “I asked why, if we were trying to create balance and had caused the majority of death, why… we didn’t send tributes, too.” 

Jayce pulled back, eyebrows shooting up his forehead. “You what?” He hissed. “What are you, crazy?” 

Such an innocent, insolent question. Fucking hell, he wondered what Councilor Kiramman’s face had done when her own daughter asked it. 

“My mother seemed to think so,” Caitlyn muttered. Eyes far away in some memory, she added, “Gods, she lectured me that night. Had plans to send me away by the next morning. Apparently being closer to the games will teach me their worth.” 

Jayce wasn’t behind enough to ask if it was working. 

No, the fact that they were sitting side by side, waiting for Viktor together was answer enough. 

Caitlyn was on the wrong track. 

Or the right one? 

Jayce couldn’t be sure— only that one was likely to keep her alive, and one was likely to keep her from losing her humanity. Which one was ‘right’, he guessed, would depend on who was asked. 

He had never been asked by someone who didn’t already have an opinion formed on the matter. His mentors from Two, the Council, his clients— all believed solely in the sovereignty of the Piltovan government and the Hunger Games. And they would never have asked for his thoughts. By the time he’d met Viktor at eighteen years old— gods, he had been Caitlyn’s age— Viktor already believed entirely that someday Piltover would burn and that he’d smile as it happened. When he’d asked Jayce for his opinion, it hadn’t been to help him form his own ideas. Only to understand him better.

But there sat Caitlyn Kiramman, with a frown and a question— 

“Who is right?” 

And Jayce didn’t fucking know — he only knew what he believed. 

“I can’t tell you who’s right,” he said slowly. “Only that I’m a person and you’re a person. And your mother is, and Viktor is. And Powder, and Ekko, and Powder’s sister, and— Imogen.” Caitlyn stiffened at the name, but he continued. “Everyone in the Capitol and the districts. I guess beyond that, it’s whoever holds the power that decides what that means.” 

“You truly think it’s that malleable? That morality hinges on the outcome of war?” 

Jayce sighed. He could practically hear Viktor’s voice beneath hers— ten years younger and brand new to him as he asked, “Oh, so it’s true because it’s what you’re told?”  

“I don’t think that,” He admitted. “At least, not anymore.” 

Caitlyn put her chin heavily into her hand. “Interested in sharing what you do think?”

Strangely enough, Jayce found that he was. 

“I think that you and I are very similar,” He began. Caitlyn’s eyes widened just slightly and he smiled ruefully. The first time he’d smiled all night— maybe at all, around her. “I was fourteen when I realized what you’re realizing now. Only I realized it after killing someone.”

“I killed someone today,” Caitlyn whispered. 

Jayce shook his head. “You saved Ekko today. What I did was push someone into a rock and watch them bleed out.” Caitlyn shivered and for a moment, Jayce was back in the arena. His own lips already blue and trembling. He had only stayed until the cannon went off, but it might as well have been hours. As far as he knew, maybe it had been.  

Hours, as the snow ate the blood he spilled. 

It didn’t matter how long he stayed there, though, as the image was still imprinted on his eyelids. In a way, Jayce was still standing there staring. 

“And I didn’t let myself really think about it until I was heading home. Well— no, that’s a lie. I thought about it all the time. But I didn’t feel any of it for years.” Jayce confessed. The only person who knew was Viktor. Part of him felt insane for even entertaining telling this much to Caitlyn, but the other part was so happy to be listened to. To be used for a good cause. “I won, and I knew that I had just… but I didn’t let myself feel it. Because once I did, I knew I would feel so incredibly stupid, and guilty… and naive.” 

From the corners of his eyes, Caitlyn’s shoulders dropped. 

“Viktor says I can't be held accountable for anything I did in the arena, and I don’t think he can be held accountable for anything he did, either.” Jayce stared down the hallway, willing the man in question to appear. He didn’t, and he turned to face Caitlyn head on. “I think if you do something under influence or duress that you wouldn't have done otherwise, then it isn’t a real part of you. I think you didn’t kill anyone, and I think that Viktor is okay. And I hope that someday things will be different. But I don’t know if I think they will.” 

Caitlyn stared at him, eyes wide. 

Well, he could only imagine Viktor would be proud of him. And hope that Caitlyn truly was as trustworthy as Viktor believed. If not so they could survive, then so he could pretend to be annoyed as Viktor gloated about being right again. 

Wherever Viktor was. 

He just hoped it wasn’t anything similar to what Caitlyn feared. 

“I think I’m just as bad as the rest of them.”

Caitlyn’s admission came out hushed. Terrified. 

Who ‘they’ were was clear without clarification. 

Jayce tilted his head to the side, considering. “I don’t think you’d be here if you were. I don’t think you would have asked any of those questions that got you in trouble. And I don’t think you’d still be asking them, if you were.” 

“Asking questions can’t be enough,” Caitlyn shook her head. Her tone was conflicted, and damn near pleading. Jayce half-wondered if she just wanted to be yelled at— to be told she was evil and cruel. 

“Maybe not. But until there’s something more you can do…” Jayce shrugged. “Do what you can. And for now, I think that’s asking questions and helping Powder and Ekko.” 

Caitlyn nodded silently, gaze returning to her lap. Every so often, it would flick to the hallway and scan. 

“He's going to be fine,” Jayce said. 

Though he told himself it was to reassure Caitlyn, there was a piece deep inside him that needed to say it. That needed convincing. 

“What could he want from Viktor?” Caitlyn retorted shortly. “I can’t think of any reason he’d need to talk to him.” 

“He doesn’t need to, he wants to. He’s always tormented Viktor,” Jayce muttered. 

“What?” Caitlyn leaned in closer, searching his expression. “What for?” 

Jayce’s answer was simple, but laced with tension. “Viktor was his first victor, but he wasn’t supposed to win.” 

“Wasn’t supposed to?”

“He was Reveck’s first ‘failure’— Viktor surviving almost lost him his job right out the gate. It stuck with him,” Jayce gritted out. “As far as Reveck’s concerned, Viktor isn’t a victor until he’s found a way to put him in his place. Been trying for a decade now.’’

“What does ‘putting him in his place’ look like?” Caitlyn’s eyes glazed over as she pictured all the possibilities. 

Jayce cut her off before she could get too far. Tone gruff and dark, he said, “It looks like Viktor going home to Twelve alone, losing the last thing even close to resembling family, and then bringing two kids a year to the Capitol and going back without them. It looks like Twelve lasting even shorter in the arena than they ever did in the past. And someday, I imagine Reveck hopes it’ll look like Viktor dead.” 

Caitlyn sucked in a startled breath. Even the vivid images she was left with couldn't silence her questions. Not when she finally had someone with so many answers. “But then, why are Powder and Ekko…?” She trailed off. 

Jayce gave a helpless shrug of his shoulders. “Keep viewers engaged? Some kind of long term plan to kill them off after giving Viktor hope? I don’t know, but I guarantee this sponsorship from your mother is pissing him off.” 

“Oh,” Caitlyn sat up straighter. “Do you think that’s it? Is he being punished for my— oh, gods… ” A trembling hand covered her mouth and Jayce wondered if she was going to be sick. 

“You saved Ekko. You didn’t kill anyone. You didn’t hurt Viktor.” Even with his insistence, Caitlyn’s cheeks were entirely devoid of color. 

She shook her head, silently letting him know he’d misunderstood her reaction. 

Mouth still covered, she asked, “He’s looking for Viktor’s weakness?”

Jayce nodded. 

Caitlyn clenched her eyes shut and paused, visibly trying to steady herself. Finally, she whispered, eyes still tightly closed, “Jayce, he’s looking for you.” 

“I know,” Jayce said. 

They’d managed to hide their friendship for ten years— and their marriage for seven of them. As far as Jayce was concerned, Reveck would only learn of Viktor’s husband over his dead body. His own, or Reveck’s— he wasn’t picky, though he’d admittedly enjoy the latter more.  

“Just keep this between us and me and Viktor’ll last a little longer.” Maybe it was the tone of his voice or the content of the joke, but it fell flat either way. 

Caitlyn nodded firmly, eyes red rimmed but no less determined. When they met Jayce’s, she paused. Her mouth opened and closed once. A question sat at the very tip of her tongue, too reluctant to leave right away. 

Finally, with a downward tilt of her head, she asked, “Jayce? Can I ask you one more thing?”

Not much more he could do to jeopardize himself, he supposed. “Sure, kid.” 

“Did my mother ever tell you… did she say why she sponsored you?” 

Caitlyn watched him closely, shoulders rising to her ears and chin lowering in penitence. Apology and regret was evident in her posture. 

That was right— she had been tiny when they first met. When she’d saved him with her love for a bedtime story. 

“You didn’t know,” He concluded aloud.

She tensed. “You did? ”

“It was one of the first things Councilor Kiramman told me when we met.” Jayce thought back to that day. It was the same morning he was released from the hospital— he’d only been there for a couple days as he recovered from severe hypothermia and near frostbite, not even to mention all the surface level injuries. Back in Two, people died from hypothermia and botched amputations in attempts to treat frostbite. In the Capitol, he was better than before in a single forty-eight hour cycle. He survived the games, and he got the treatment worthy of a victor. 

That morning, still marveling over the returned color in his fingers and the missing blood that should have been coating them, he met his gracious donors. Councilor Kiramman insisted on introducing him to ‘his true savior.’ And then he had been face to face with a wide-eyed Caitlyn Kiramman. 

She had handed him an old book, worn with use, and excitedly explained that he was just like the blacksmith in it. That she hoped he would find his angel now that he was safe again. And that she wanted him to take her book with him, even though she loved it so dearly. 

He had, even though Councilor Kiramman tried to convince her otherwise. 

“I still have the copy you gave me,” Jayce added. 

Caitlyn buried her face in her hands and shook her head. “Gods, Jayce, I’m so sorry—”

“I survived that arena because of it,” Jayce answered easily. It wasn’t quite as simple as he was making it, but at the moment, he was sure simple was what Caitlyn needed. 

“You were only in it because of my mother’s decisions!” 

“That’s why I’m not saying ‘thank you.’ But you still saved my life.”

“Even if I did, I killed everyone else to do that!”

A piece of Jayce argued that she knew nothing of killing. That she had no idea what it was like to take someone’s life. The other piece of him had spent long hours in the mentor observation room making decisions for his own tributes that would implicitly lead to the death of others. And he knew what it was like to feel the guilt for deaths he hadn’t necessarily caused. 

“So did I!” Jayce exclaimed. He took a deep breath and lowered his voice again, palms together for emphasis. “Caitlyn, if you are guilty for killing everyone in that arena by liking me as a four year old, then imagine how guilty I am. I’m a victor and this is my ninth year mentoring!” 

Caitlyn faltered. “You did what you had to, you—”

“If I’m not guilty, how could you be?” Jayce’s hands splayed out in frustration. 

“I don’t know! I don’t…”

Jayce shook his head and held up a silencing hand. “That book saved my life. And it led me to Viktor, too— and kept me with him. And then he saved my life about a thousand more times, so don’t apologize. You didn’t kill anyone.” 

“How did a book lead you to—”

The elevator chimed. 

Without thought, both of their mouths snapped closed. Their heads whipped towards the hallway, eyes sharp and ears pricked. 

Footsteps, slow and shuffling and accompanied by the tap of a cane greeted them. 

Caitlyn let out a relieved exhale and glanced at Jayce, eyes bright. 

The corners of his eyes crinkled just slightly. 

Then, of course, Viktor appeared at the end of the hallway. He was frowning at the floor, deep in thought, but startled and looked up as if he could feel the weight of their gazes. 

Viktor paused, glancing between them with wide eyes. Then, with a huffed laugh and the smallest quirk at the corner of his lips, he muttered, “I really should have known.” 

Caitlyn stood at the same time as Jayce, and faltered on a step forward. She glanced at the man at her side, waiting for him to approach Viktor— after all, who was she to stand between them? Didn’t Jayce deserve to check on his friend first? Wouldn’t it be entirely presumptuous to take the lead? But Jayce only clasped his hands behind his back and tracked Viktor’s movement, noting the way he leaned a little more on his cane than he had in the morning. 

Gods, had that only been that morning?

Caitlyn shook the thought away and flexed her fingers, feeling adrenaline tremble through her. “Is everything alright? What happened?”

Viktor waved her off calmly. “Nothing out of the ordinary. And nothing you need to worry yourself with,” He finished, squinting knowingly. 

Caitlyn scoffed quietly, but held her tongue in the end. “I guess…. I’ve asked enough questions for the night.” Jayce snorted at her side and she crossed her arms, deliberately avoiding eye contact with either man. “Before I go to bed, I should let you know that Powder is firmly allied with Claggor from Seven and Mylo from Eight, and Ekko didn’t make it out of his encounter with the tracker-jackers completely unscathed. He got stung three times and he passed out in some underbrush. I… think he’ll be fine, but I don’t know how long he'll be out.” 

Viktor nodded, lips pursed in consideration. “Thank you, Caitlyn.” 

“Of course. I care about them, too.” She paused… and turned to Jayce. “Thank you. For everything.” 

Jayce shook his head and assured, “Nothing to thank me for.” 

It was clear she wanted to argue with the way her brows pinched together. Instead, she only glanced between the pair, nodded once with satisfaction, and left for her room. 

Neither man spoke as Viktor turned towards his own room. Jayce followed a respectable distance behind. Even once they stepped inside and Jayce closed the door behind them, he only stood in front of it like a guard and watched Viktor get ready for bed. 

“Did he hurt you?” Jayce asked. 

Viktor shook his head as he set his nightclothes on the bed. “Of course not.”

“Did he threaten you?”

A little raise of his eyebrows. “Of course he did.”

“What did he want?”

Viktor sighed. “The same thing he always wants; to get under my skin.”

“Was it about the Kiramman sponsorship?”

“You don’t need to guard the door, Jayce,” Viktor beckoned him further into the room and slipped into his nightshirt. “Yes, naturally. It’s never been so hard to kill the District Twelve tributes. I think a win for me would kill him.”

If only it were that easy. 

Jayce sat on the edge of the bed, playing with the hem of Viktor’s shirt as he finished changing. “Is there anything else I should know?” 

Viktor looked down on him, eyes twinkling. “Only that I am so very proud of you.” He leaned down, pecking a kiss to his cheek. Right beside his ear, he added, “Because I was right and I knew you could give her a chance.” 

Jayce groaned and planted his face into Viktor’s chest, arms wrapping around his waist. “I knew you were gonna say that.” 

“Oh, and you’re so full of surprises, aren’t you?” Viktor teased. 

Jayce pulled back to frown up at him. “Well, you don’t like surprises. So I’d hope not.” 

Viktor laughed softly and Jayce wished it would last longer. Arms winding around his neck, he quirked his brows in question. “What did you talk about?” 

Jayce exhaled slowly, trying to remember from the beginning. “Uh… she thinks everything she’s been taught is a lie, she thinks she’s complicit in the death of everyone in my games— she found out about the book, I guess she really didn’t remember—” Viktor nodded along as he spoke, entirely focused. “She’s scared she’s just like everyone else in the Capitol, she’s scared for you and me, and— oh, gods, Vik, did she tell you the question she asked that got her this job?”

“I should have known it was her poking around that got her into trouble,” Viktor muttered to himself, then shook his head. “As curious as I am, she only told you.”

“You’re my husband; anything I learn is getting back to you,” Jayce shrugged. 

Viktor pursed his lips, but didn’t say anything. 

Jayce correctly understood it as a cue to continue. He pulled Viktor ever closer and lowered his voice, Viktor furrowing his brows in suspicion. “She asked why the Capitol doesn’t send tributes, too.” 

Viktor paled and stood up straighter. 

Jayce nodded quickly, confirming the statement before he could ask. “I know. She asked her mother. She—” His shoulders slumped slightly in realization. “You were right. She doesn’t have anywhere else to go about this.” 

Viktor zoned out. “Jayce, I think we might need to keep an eye on her,” He mumbled. 

“Yeah,” Jayce agreed lowly. 

For a moment, the pair settled into silence. Viktor pulled back to put away his clothes, Jayce shucked off his own uncomfortable button-up, and finally they crawled into bed together and flicked the television on to the games. The careers were at the Cornucopia, cataloguing their supplies. 

“Can you stay tonight?” Viktor asked quietly. 

Jayce hummed his affirmation and settled in on his stomach, arms around Viktor’s waist and head in his lap. Viktor’s hands fell into his hair, scratching his scalp slowly. As he watched the tributes within the walls of the arena, his chest ached. One of his own tributes down and at the hands of Viktor’s own tribute. The fact didn’t hurt him in the same way he knew it was hurting Viktor. 

Either way, a little girl was dead.

“You don’t need to feel sorry,” Jayce said— right as Viktor murmured, “I’m sorry about Imogen.” 

His hands stilled in Jayce’s hair. 

Jayce raised his head to look at Viktor, exasperated. Viktor’s lips parted slightly, a deer caught in headlights. 

After a moment, they both fell into tired giggles. 

“I can't help it,” Viktor said shortly, hands carding through his hair again. 

Jayce laid back down. Though his eyes were on the television, he was more focused on the rhythm of Viktor’s hands and the stroke of his own thumbs against Viktor’s skin. 

“I know,” He said. “But you have enough to think about without feeling guilty for something that isn’t your fault.” 

“I imagine that’s true for everyone,” Viktor said. His hands trailed down to Jayce’s shoulders— and froze at the familiar feeling of raised skin. Fading scratches littered his back. 

Jayce tapped him comfortingly, pulling him away from thoughts about their origins. 

Viktor clicked his tongue and covered the marks with his own hands. He stroked over each individual scratch and Jayce went limp in his arms, the feeling of unfamiliar nails fading away to the soft drag of the pads of Viktor’s fingers. 

Neither spoke of Jayce’s paid encounters unless it had to do with the information Jayce received in payment. He was long past asking for money, and instead left every meeting with some kind a weighty secret. Viktor learned every detail of that aspect— after all, Jayce told him everything— but they never spoke of the leftover marks or the physical pain. 

Jayce didn’t want Viktor to know, and Viktor didn’t want Jayce to think on it more than he had to. 

“Are you waiting for them to show Powder and Ekko?” Jayce asked. His lips brushed against Viktor’s leg as he spoke, and it prompted him to turn slightly sideways to press a kiss in the same spot. 

Viktor’s eyes were back on the screen. “I just want to check. I’m sure they’re fine.” 

Jayce hummed in agreement, the light stroking on his back lulling him into the fuzzy space between sleep. Viktor glanced down as Jayce got heavier in his lap and his lips twitched into a slight smile. 

Reveck was on a warpath with Viktor, and he couldn’t help but wonder if their time was coming to an end. If Reveck came anywhere near finding Jayce, Viktor would surely do anything to keep the consequences from touching his husband. What that meant for him, he wasn’t sure yet. He only hoped that whatever happened to him wouldn’t leave Jayce too affected. 

Jayce was his world. The steady ground beneath his feet that kept him from drowning in a time so dominated by shadows. Viktor had relied on him so long— had lost his footing to be caught by Jayce, had been protected and cherished. Though Viktor was pushed often, his Jayce had yet to give way beneath him. He remained a steady figure in his life, and Viktor remained upright. He was both the stability Viktor needed to survive, and the security Viktor knew would be the death of him. He needed Jayce. It would kill him. Even so, he would die willingly— if only to feel the man’s presence a moment longer. 

To lose Jayce would be to lose everything. Years ago, Viktor might have scoffed at himself. But he meant it entirely. 

The world dozed in his lap and Viktor brushed his fingers through his hair. 

By the time he was finally able to determine the relative safety of Powder and Ekko— Powder, who was camping up in a tree near Claggor and Mylo, and Ekko still out cold in some bushes— Jayce was dead asleep. 

“Jayce,” Viktor whispered. He tapped at the man’s lax face until he stirred. “Jayce, scoot over.” 

Jayce flexed his hands around Viktor’s waist, stretching and stumbling back into wakefulness. “What happened? Are they okay?” He mumbled. He stared up at Viktor, eyes heavy with sleep but still determinedly open. 

Viktor rolled his eyes fondly and pushed at his shoulders. “They’re fine, my Jayce. Roll over.” 

Jayce got up without question and settled onto his side, facing the door. “Going to sleep?” 

“Going to sleep,” Viktor confirmed. He brushed his lips gently against the red scratches in his line of vision and burrowed into his back. Arms winding around the man before him, he relaxed for the first time that day.

His hands were enveloped by Jayce's, who dropped little kisses across his knuckles. 

The pair protected each other, thinking the other didn’t know what they were doing. Viktor wrapped his arms tightly around Jayce and cradled him close, as if his grip could keep Jayce from being pulled away. Jayce laid in front of Viktor with his eyes on the door, his huge frame blocking the other from sight— as if it could keep him from being found. Neither quite understood how incredibly transparent their actions were to the other. 

Neither wanted to think about how long it could last. 

**

Powder woke up to arguing. 

“Should she even be sleeping up there? Doesn’t she have a concussion? What if she falls?” 

“I don’t know, but I don’t want to wake her up.”

“Isn’t it bad to sleep with a concussion? What if she’s dead?” 

“Oh my gods, Mylo, we didn’t hear a cannon. Just let her sleep!” 

“We can’t just stay here all day!”

“It’s—” A long pause. “I don’t know what time it is. But it can’t be later than noon.” 

Powder shot up, the belt digging into her middle and keeping her from falling. Below her, two voices let out twin surprised shrieks. 

“It’s noon?” She called, voice groggy with sleep. 

“Or something like it,” Claggor answered. 

Behind him, Mylo muttered something to himself that caused Claggor to let out a muffled laugh. 

Powder peered down through the branches and found them squinting up at her, packed and ready to leave. Her vision blurred slightly and her head throbbed, but she found that the water and a good night’s sleep had renewed her energy and given a little more strength to her body. 

“Where are you going?” She asked. 

Mylo shrugged and scanned their surroundings. “Dunno. Thought we’d go sightseeing, maybe find a little place to eat, check out the local cuisine. Y’know, whatever’s around.” 

Powder stared at him, still trying to wake up. 

“I’m kidding,” Mylo said unnecessarily. 

With a scowl, Powder unbuckled herself and climbed down through the branches. 

“I know that,” She said, feet hitting the ground. 

Claggor hiked the backpack further up his shoulders and asked, “Anywhere in particular you wanna go?” 

Powder shook her head. “I just wanna find Ekko.” 

“Fair ‘nough,” Mylo mused, scratching his chin. “Any direction giving you a good feeling?”

“Nowhere here gives me a good feeling.” She dropped to the ground and pulled out the medicinal cream. Though her leg didn’t hurt nearly as bad as the day before, it tingled, like thousands of little needles dipping in and out of her skin. She pulled back the torn edges of her pants and startled at the sight of the wound. 

Where the day before, it had been bright red and painfully raw, it was already smoothing. The bubbles of skin were fading, turning to a healthier shade of merely irritated pink. 

“Woah,” Claggor said, leaning over. 

Mylo nodded in agreement. “How is that possible?” 

She ran a finger across the skin, entranced. 

“I wonder what else they can fix this easily,” Powder said slowly.  

Claggor let out a disgruntled sigh at the thought and Mylo pulled back with a muttered, “Probably better not to think about it.” 

Powder couldn’t help but agree. She ended up pushing the thought from her head and slathered the ointment across the wound. 

“Well. I guess we can just start walking,” Claggor said. 

Powder slipped the container back into her pocket and stood. “As long as we can come back here for water.” 

Claggor and Mylo nodded their agreement and together, the trio trekked into the woods. 

“So,” Mylo said, after less than one minute of silence. “What’s District Twelve like?” 

Powder snorted. “Grey.”

“Hm. Specific,” Mylo said. 

With a roll of her eyes, Powder continued, “Well, the air is thick enough that inhaling it basically counts as rations. You can barely see the stars at night because of the pollution from the mines. And almost everything is grey.” 

“Yeah, you mentioned that the Capitol is colorful during your interview,” Claggor recalled. “I guess it makes sense that the mining district doesn’t have much of it. If it makes you feel better, most of the color in Seven is just the trees. It isn’t ugly or anything, but it’d be nice to see some more.” 

Powder wanted to mention the trees over the fence at Twelve— the wildflowers that grew along the fence and the crystal water of the lake beyond it. She wanted to tell them about Vi and the little traps they would make and the games of hide and seek with Ekko. 

She kept her mouth shut. 

“All the colors in Eight are just from the fabrics in the factories,” Mylo said bitterly. “And I worked in one that made enforcer uniforms, so. Just a whole lotta navy and white for me. Still not as bad as grey, though, I guess.” 

Powder shook her head. “I think maybe it just sucks in different ways,” She mumbled. Then, “So, you guys already work?” 

“Yup,” Mylo popped the ‘p’ and turned around to face the pair as he walked backwards. “So, wait. I heard that Twelve doesn’t actually have to work until they’re eighteen. Is that true?” 

Powder nodded. “Yeah, we have to go to school.” 

Claggor and Mylo exchanged bewildered glances. 

“What does that do for you?” Mylo asked, scratching the back of his head. 

Powder thought back to what her teachers always said.

‘We want to make you productive members of society,’ the instructor would say. The, ‘productive to the Capitol’ went unsaid, as did the, ‘you’re too weak to work in the mines or you’d be there now.’ 

Vi skipped more classes than she attended to spend time in the woods, and she was the best person Powder knew. Besides Ekko and Vander, at least. Vi believed completely that the school was a half-assed attempt to brainwash all the kids into mindlessly doing the Capitol’s bidding and Powder, after years of faithful attendance, was in agreement. At least, about the half-assed part. None of the instructors ever taught the Capitol-propaganda curriculum in a way that could be described as unironic. 

“Hell if I know,” She answered. 

Claggor shook his head. “What do they expect you to do if you get reaped? Defend yourself with your times tables?” 

Powder snorted and clapped a hand over her eyes. “Something like that.” 

“Hey, that reminds me,” Mylo pointed at Powder, who peeked between her fingers. “How the hell did you get an eleven?” 

She raised her brows questioningly. 

“The training score,” He clarified. 

“Oh, yeah,” Claggor turned to watch her with interest. 

With a slight tilt of her head, Powder tried, “Uh… wowed them with my math facts?” 

Mylo gave a low chuckle. “So it’s something suspicious, eh?” He spun around to take the lead, his back to her, but peeked over his shoulder to say, “Hey, no judgement. I won’t tell.” 

Powder looked over at Claggor, who rolled his eyes and grinned. 

“I think there might be a few too many eyes on us for that to matter,” Claggor called. 

Mylo turned around, but only to give an exaggerated scoff. “Please, they never show tributes talking about their districts. You think anyone’s seeing this?” With that, he turned back around.

Claggor’s lips quirked in agreement. 

The realization made her smile for a moment— the Capitol couldn’t take the short peace she had and market it. But then, the smile fell as she realized that Vi and Vander wouldn’t see the only time she was genuinely okay. They wouldn't know that she at least didn’t die alone. At least, not right away. 

“Who do you guys have waiting at home?” She asked. 

Mylo stumbled over his feet, and then quickly righted himself. 

“Oh,” Claggor frowned. “Well. Just friends, I guess. Which isn’t nothing, but. You know. Nobody that relies on me or anything.” 

“Same here,” Mylo agreed, voice tight. 

Powder glanced between them. “What are they like?” 

“Oh, I dunno…” Mylo’s back remained to them. “Scrappy.” 

“Hm, specific,” Powder repeated. 

Mylo huffed at his own words used against him and turned around reluctantly. “I mean, what is there to say? We wake up, we eat, we go to work, we eat, we go to bed. Sometimes we have a few laughs throughout the day. I dunno, they’ll keep doing it without me.” 

“Why’re you so sure you’re not going home?” Powder asked. 

Mylo glanced at Claggor and finally rubbed the back of his neck with a nervous chuckle. 

“Uh. Well…” Mylo trailed off. 

Claggor cut him off and said shortly, “It’s just not gonna happen.” 

“What?” Powder looked between them. “Why not?” 

“We don’t wanna kill anyone,” Claggor shrugged. 

Mylo nodded in agreement. “Yeah. We don’t wanna play the game.” He jabbed a thumb at himself and then Claggor and joked, “That doesn’t exactly make us victor material.”

Powder stopped walking, and the pair paused with her. 

“Why are you helping me, then?” She asked. Horrified, she continued looking back and forth between them. “I’m just making your chances worse!” 

Claggor watched her, eyes wincing in sympathy. Mylo stretched languidly and did his best to appear casual. 

“Not to freak you out or anything, but we wouldn’t have just offered help to whoever we came across first. But it was a little different when the girl we ran into was willing to volunteer for her sister.”

Powder stared at Claggor, lips parted. 

Mylo nodded solemnly. “That means something. At least, it does to us.” 

She knew they would have to part at some point. But she didn’t think she would have to feel their deaths on her conscience— they were willing to sacrifice their chances for her? First Ekko, and now them? 

“That’s…” She shook her head. “I don’t want you to do that.” 

“Do you wanna split up?” Mylo asked. 

“No,” Powder said immediately, then paused. “I… I don’t know.” 

“We’re probably not leaving this arena no matter what,” Mylo said, a little too flippantly to be believed. “Whether you’re the last person we see or not.” 

Powder clutched at her own arms, her head spinning. “Doesn’t make me feel any better,” She mumbled. 

“How about this?” Claggor suggested gently. “We help you find Ekko, and then we part ways.” 

Her fingers stung and she realized that she had begun peeling the skin from her fingertips again. With a wince, she stuck the bloody finger in her mouth. 

“I dunno,” She whispered, gaze going distant. 

The trio stood, Powder staring at the ground as Claggor and Mylo shared concerned glances. 

“You don’t need to decide right now,” Mylo said slowly. He looked up at the sky and said offhandedly, “It’s about lunch time, anyway. We should stop to eat.” 

Powder nodded silently. She dropped to the ground, lost in thought. Claggor dropped the backpack and dug through it, pulling out food and splitting it up evenly between the three of them. 

“This is the last of it,” He warned. 

Powder bit roughly into the dried beef strip and said absent-mindedly, “I can show you guys how to hunt.” 

She needed to repay them somehow. 

Mylo raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Oh, hey, is that your eleven? Are you a prodigy at hunting?” 

The outlandish comment pulled her out of her head. “What? No.” 

He grinned and tossed a cracker into his mouth, pleased with himself. She realized, with a start, that his goal had only been to bring her back.  

She turned back to her meager meal, unsure how to feel about being so easy to read. 

“What's that?” Claggor asked, pointing at her jacket. 

Powder glanced down and found the golden pin gleaming on her chest. “Oh. It’s my district token. A mockingjay.” She stroked over the wings lightly and felt her heart twinge at the thought of Silco. “What are yours?” 

Claggor held up his wrist, where a shredded strip of green fabric was wrapped and tied. 

Mylo wordlessly pulled a leather corded necklace out from under his shirt. 

Both immediately tucked them back under their clothes, and neither tried to explain. 

She supposed that was fair. 

As they finished lunch, Powder found herself clasping her hands in her lap and setting them both with determined stares. “I want to stay in this alliance,” She said. They both smiled, but then she added, “But you have to promise that you’re going to try to win.” 

Claggor and Mylo’s expressions faltered in confusion. 

“Why do you want us to try?” Mylo asked. “You have a sister at home.” 

Powder crossed her arms defiantly. “Just because my family back home shares my blood doesn’t mean they love me any more than yours.” She thought back to Ekko and Vi’s deal, to Benzo who didn’t know. To the nameless faces who sent Mylo and Claggor away, and the resignation they must have felt when they decided to help her. 

“You’re helping me. I’m helping you,” She said, leaving no room for argument. 

Claggor began packing their things. “Fine, I guess. But what do you think is going to happen if the final four were us, and you and your boy?” 

“I wouldn’t hurt you,” Powder stated. And she meant it. 

Mylo watched her, slightly amused. “Maybe not. But don’t be mad when your boyfriend offs us three to send you home.”

Claggor winced and, before she could react, added, “Look, we aren’t gonna win. Nobody does if they don’t want to. And most people who do, don’t either.” 

“63rd Hunger Games,” She said simply, shaking her head and crossing her arms. 

Claggor and Mylo only stared. 

“Fine,” She glared. “We’ll split up. After we find Ekko.” But no, that wasn’t enough. “And after I teach you to hunt.” 

Claggor and Mylo shared a glance, then nodded. “Deal.” 

Powder stood a little taller. “Right. Let’s go, then.” 

They continued further into the woods, passing the water bottle back and forth and keeping an eye out for Ekko or any careers. Powder showed them how to build a simple snare and when they easily replicated it, showed them a more complicated trap. 

“Do you wanna try to build a trap for a person?” She asked. 

The pair shook their heads. 

“Oh, right,” She stepped away from the tree she was looking up into. “Well, do you wanna learn how to climb trees?”

“I know how to do that,” Claggor deadpanned. 

Mylo snorted. 

“I was talking to you,” Powder said, and Mylo immediately frowned. 

“Hey, ouch,” He said. “‘I’m trying my best! Never even seen a tree with this many leaves before I came here.” 

“Maybe you should get some practice, then,” She retorted, shaking her head at Claggor. 

Mylo spread his arms out and spun in a slow circle. “What, in this outfit?”

“It was made specifically for this kind of shit,” Claggor huffed out a laugh. 

“Right, but these are brand new.”

Powder couldn’t help it. A string of giggles escaped her, even as it jostled her head and spiked the pain. 

Mylo pointed at her. “Powder gets it. Also, I’m pretty sure the likelihood I know someone who made the fabric for these is pretty high, so this is like a whole token.”

“Just say you don’t wanna climb a tree.” With a rueful shake of his head and a smirk, Claggor shoved at his shoulder. 

Mylo stumbled and yelped, “If someone has to climb a tree, why can’t it be you?”

“Nobody has to climb a tree,” Powder reminded them. 

Claggor hummed, “Eh, but if anyone was going to, it should be him. He kinda sucks at it.” 

“He really sucks at it; don’t think I didn’t notice last night,” Powder whispered. 

Mylo scowled and threw his arms out. “Hello? I’m right here!” Then, muttering, “What, like a tree is gonna save my life?”

“We’re just saying you could learn something new,” Claggor rolled his eyes at his dramatics. 

Mylo ignored him, only turning to Powder and snarking off, “Never thought I’d see someone from the lumber district argue so much about climbing a tree.” 

Powder chuckled and shook her head, rubbing at her temple. “Gods. You really could just say you don’t wanna do it.” 

“I could,” Mylo conceded. 

Claggor shoved him away again, then turned to Powder. “About how long does it usually take to catch anything?” 

“We can check all of the snares on the way back to the river tonight, but I wouldn’t expect anything until tomorrow morning,” Powder said, watching Mylo steady himself against the tree. 

“Hey, what’s the likelihood the careers know any of this shit?” Mylo held his hands up, looking back and forth like he’d just had a revelation. 

Powder and Claggor turned to face him. “What?” They asked in unison. 

“Well, they’re inner-district. They have real houses and nice— nicer jobs.” He leaned in conspiratorially and posited, “They have the upper hand, but what if we fixed that? They probably don’t know all this shit,” He repeated. 

“Okay, and what are you suggesting?” Powder frowned, genuinely lost. 

Careers had the upper hand every year. How did he think he was going to fix that?

Mylo grinned like he’d been waiting to be asked. “They don’t actually do anything, do they? They just swarm around the Cornucopia with everything neatly provided inside.” 

“Like a nest,” Claggor scowled. 

Mylo grinned, snapping his fingers in agreement. 

Powder glanced between them. “What, like for birds?” 

Mylo snorted. “What’s up with you and birds?” He gestured to the pin on her jacket and, without further comment, explained, “No, like tracker-jackers. They have a lot of those nests in Seven, apparently.” 

Powder winced at the name. Oh, she knew about tracker-jackers. Vi was always so careful about them in the woods outside Twelve, and she was half-sure she’d heard the distinct metallic buzz at one point from inside the arena. She couldn’t be sure, though. 

Claggor nodded. “Yeah. The Cornucopia is the careers’ nest. I wouldn’t kill them, but maybe we should take away their nest. Put us all on even footing.”  

“Yeah, that’s fine, but what do we do when they’re out of ‘the nest?’” Powder asked. She didn’t want to experience a swarm of tracker-jackers, no matter how metaphorical it was. 

“Let them off themselves,” Mylo answered easily. “They can’t survive without all their pre-made food and fancy weapons.” 

Claggor shook his head. “It’s not that simple. One of us would have to go in and destroy everything. There’s no telling how long it would take to make sure it all gets tampered with.” He set his jaw and said, “I can do it.”

“What?” Mylo punched his shoulder. ”Don’t be stupid. We’ll find another way.” He clasped his hand, subtly rubbing at his knuckles. Then, he turned to Powder. “Any ideas, Mockingjay?” 

Powder clicked her tongue at the nickname. But then, she frowned. “Wait. Yeah, actually, I do.” 

Claggor and Mylo watched her expectantly.

She turned to them, eyes wide. “I need to search the Cornucopia. I think there’s something in there that could help us.” 

“Huh? What?” Mylo asked curiously. 

Her mind fell back to Ekko, somewhere in the arena looking for her. Well, this plan benefited everyone... right? Ekko would know it was her, and Claggor and Mylo would end up with the higher chances they deserved. If she and Ekko couldn't go home, she wanted it to be one of them. 

Powder quirked her lips in a mischievous grin. “We gotta go get my eleven training score.” 

Chapter Text

“There it is,” Mylo murmured. “The tracker-jacker nest.”

Powder snickered at his dramatics. “The lion’s den,” She added. 

Claggor, looming behind them, agreed quietly, “The Cornucopia.” 

The supplies surrounding it had been thoroughly picked through and sorted, but there were still plenty of boxes left behind. To their luck, the careers were missing. Even so, the trio crouched at the treeline to scout the area, obscured by the foliage. 

“So,” Mylo stood to his full height and crossed his arms. “Wanna explain what we’re looking for?” 

Powder scratched at her fingertips and glanced over her shoulder at the pair. “We can’t look yet. Claggor was right; it would be too risky to go in without a diversion. But— and I can’t be totally sure!” She clarified sharply, then continued, “…I think there might be a bomb for me in there. Er— the supplies to build one.”

“A bomb,” Claggor repeated. His eyebrows twitched slightly together as he tried to decide if he had misheard.

“That’s my eleven,” Powder nodded, glancing between them. “I built a bomb.” 

Mylo’s jaw was slowly lowering in bewilderment. “Are you messing with us?” 

Powder shook her head no. 

“You’re from Twelve—” Mylo cut himself off, shaking his head and holding his arms out for balance. “No offense, but… how? ” 

“There’s only so many ways before it works,” Powder lied. She wasn’t entirely sure how big of a risk it had been for Viktor to get her those blueprints, or even where he got them. It was best to just play it safe: endear herself to viewers and leave Viktor out of it. Ticking off her fingers, she listed the basics from memory. “You just need a vessel, shrapnel, some kind of slightly volatile substrate, and an activator.” 

Mylo only continued to stare, wide eyed. “Blink twice if you’re a terrorist.” 

With a scoff, Powder got to her feet and turned around fully to face them. 

Mylo kept his eyes on her as he leaned towards Claggor, muttering, “What does three blinks mean?”

Claggor visibly just barely resisted the urge to shove him. “And you think they left the supplies in there?” 

“I think so.” Powder thought back to the set of Caitlyn’s features as she stated, ‘They just want a good show.’ Wasn’t that the whole point of the skills? “I don’t see why not.”

“You don’t?” Mylo asked incredulously. 

Well. She could. But at the same time, “It’d make a good show.” 

“Sure, but compared to the skills other people had—” Mylo twisted his lips, agitated. “I don’t know that they’d let you have that. Not that I give a shit, but wouldn’t it be super unfair?”

Powder stared. “I don’t think they’re that worried about that,” She deadpanned. 

Mylo’s eyes flickered over her shoulder at the Cornucopia. He scratched at his chin and muttered, “Fair.” 

“So are we doing this?” Without offering his opinion, Claggor looked back and forth between them. 

Powder hesitated. 

She pictured Vi, who would have told her to knock it off and stay safe in the woods. Vi, who, had she been the one in the arena, wouldn’t have given a second thought about the risk. 

Only it wasn’t just her own life she was risking with this plan.

“We’ll only do it if both of you want to,” She said slowly. 

Mylo had his sights set on the Cornucopia, tracing the gap in his teeth with his tongue absentmindedly. “We’re just bodies in the careers’ killing spree unless we even it out.”

“And people would be satisfied with that,” Claggor finished. With a furrow of his brow, he gave a single nod and turned to Powder. “What do we need to do?” 

**

The 74th Annual Hunger Games was down to the last ten tributes— which didn’t really mean anything. Except that one mentor from each district with a surviving tribute had to do an interview to be aired alongside the live games. 

Viktor, being the only mentor from Twelve, hated his fucking life. 

“Thank you for coming in,” The woman said, sickeningly sweet. She was dressed in blinding shades of white and pink from head to toe— quite literally, in fact. Her hair had dyed an electric shimmering pink, and her skin a muted but corresponding shade. 

Viktor smiled, teeth clenched to keep a slightly manic laugh from bubbling up his throat. “Of course,” He said tightly. He sunk into the too-comfortable chair and winced slightly at the camera-ready lighting. 

The fact he was doing the interview at all had to be some kind of statistical anomaly— he’d never had to do one before, and he hadn’t had a mentor to do one for him. 

Was he truly the first District Twelve mentor to do a Final Ten interview?  

Viktor shook the unhelpful thought away. 

This was the first time any of his tributes had even come close to the Final Ten. The dread of being projected in front of the entirety of Piltover waged against the disgust for having to further market two teenagers as products.  

And he wasn’t exactly aided by the knowledge that his performance in the interview could seriously affect Powder and Ekko’s fate. 

He was being introduced to a new brand of guilt. He already brought children to the Capitol, offered them the choice between training and painless suicide, escorted them to the arena, and watched them die. Now, he also had to publicly endorse the games— something he’d never been faced with the decision to do— and play like the victor he was supposed to be.

All that to say, Viktor was sick to his stomach. 

Jayce, so in tune with his husband and the inner-workings of the games, had woken him up with the first rays of sunlight to coach him through the basics. He’d been doing these same interviews for years and wanted Viktor to have the best possible chances of success. 

Ten tributes left, He had explained after kissing him awake. You have an interview today. 

Never once did he mention that they were down to ten because one of his own tributes had been killed. 

Even with the couple hours of practice, he felt unprepared. Jayce had to leave for the mentor observation room rather quickly, knowing he would have the District Two interview early in the morning. Viktor had stayed back another thirty minutes, trailing about his room and rehearsing the answers to the questions Jayce prepared him for. District Twelve wouldn’t be interviewed until last— late enough that he had the time for his anxiety to bubble into an all consuming boil. Caitlyn had spent the day at his side in the observation room, one eye on the games and the other on him. She hadn’t attempted words of comfort except for one, “I’m sure you’ll do well, Viktor.” The rest of the day was spent in anticipation, side by side as they watched Powder trek through the arena with her allies. 

Viktor’s hands were trembling in his lap. He didn’t know if anyone had ever expected to champion a District Twelve victor— let alone see them on the television again supporting their surviving tributes. This year was the first time anyone was seeing him again since his own games— and this interview the first time he’d have to talk for them since then. He could only hope that his slightly healthier appearance would keep him from immediate dismissal. 

“Alright, and would you like anything before we begin? Water?” The woman— shit, had he missed her name? — asked. 

Viktor’s mind flashed to Powder and Ekko, with no water but what they could find. “No, thank you.”

Silco, who had been called in to prep him for the camera, shot him a knowing look. 

Viktor avoided his eyes. 

Without a word, Silco looked away and carefully pulled at the curling tips of his hair, trying to coax it into compliance. 

The knowledge that he would be broadcasted across the whole country in mere minutes was bad enough without having Silco just a few feet away. Silco, who would catch each and every lie he told, would know how uncomfortable and evil he was going to feel for playing the cooperative victor. Who likely never thought he would have to style Viktor ever again. Or at least, not with him sitting so still and obediently. 

The memories of being on Twelve’s style team, pre-promotion, for a stubborn seventeen year old Viktor were distant. The man in the chair wasn’t the same as the boy from all that time ago.  

Viktor had hated the interviews at seventeen years old, as well. Knowing he was just being used for entertainment until he died hadn’t made him the most popular tribute— although, when he’d accidentally won, it had earned him endless respect back in Twelve. He had never expected to be back in front of the camera. To have to kill his tiny on-screen rebellion. 

But here he was, about to endorse the games for the first time in his entire life. With his thoughts on Ekko and Powder, on two scrappy kids with a chance, he found he couldn’t think of anything he wouldn’t say to up their odds. No matter how much of himself he lost in the process.  

Silco pulled back, a critical green eye glancing over him before nodding and sinking into the shadows. 

“Camera up. Live in ten, nine, eight…”

Viktor took a deep breath. He was in a stupid five minute interview, not the metal plate in the arena. 

“Five, four…”

The person behind the camera fell silent, mouthing the numbers and counting on their fingers. 

Viktor closed his eyes and took another deep breath. He pushed away every image of swamp water and suffocating air along with the crisp clean of the interview room, and instead pictured the sleep-warmed sheets of his bedroom that morning. He replaced the woman with Jayce, and opened his eyes. 

He managed to pull his features into something pleasantly composed. 

It’s just an interview, V. Jayce had dragged him upright out of the blankets only to wrap a sheet around his shoulders. Neither acknowledged that it was so much more than that. I wanna make sure you talk so well that everybody’s too busy obsessing over Powder and Ekko to look your way. For that to happen… you need practice. And lots of it. 

“...The final mentor interview of the day. We’re here with Viktor, our sole mentor from District Twelve and the victor of the 63rd Hunger Games! Viktor, it’s been a long time since you’ve been in the public eye. How does it feel to be the mentor of two of the most popular tributes after ten years without success?” 

Just answer everything like we practiced. Pretend we’re just practicing. 

Viktor could almost feel the millions of eyes when the shot switched to him. Somewhere among them, he knew Jayce was watching. Probably back in the mentor observation room, perfectly maintaining his stoic facade. Caitlyn wouldn’t be far behind, likely fidgeting with the hem of her skirt in second-hand anxiety. 

Chin up, Jayce had directed. He had tapped under Viktor’s chin from where he sat criss-cross in front of him. Oh, come on, you know how to look confident. Without glaring at me.

He smiled at his lap, then kept it in place as he raised his eyes to meet hers. 

Gods, he had no idea who the fuck he was even being interviewed by. 

Just stay calm. Be your charming, clever self. 

Nobody likes my charming, clever self, Jayce. 

I do. 

That is not the point you think it is. 

Fine— be your charming, clever self if you could manage some basic friendliness. 

“If I liked surprises, I would say this is a pleasant one,” He squinted, hoping it looked playful instead of pained. 

The woman laughed, bright and liberal— Viktor knew it wasn’t that witty— and fanned herself with a hand. 

“Oh, we’ve missed your sense of humor!” 

His sense of humor? 

Did she mean his blatant disrespect masked as simple sarcasm? 

He guessed he had missed that, too. Even if the Capitol could be fooled into believing his intentions were innocent, the districts knew better. And their opinion of him was the only one he cared for. He hoped Twelve knew he was only doing this for them. That he would have done this for any tributes had he had the chance— but only for the tributes. Never because the Capitol told him to. 

“We don’t have to call it a surprise, just… excitingly unexpected.” The woman said it with a sly smile— like it was an inside joke between the two of them… and the rest of Piltover. 

He played along. “I think I can work with that.” 

“I think you could work with anything,” She exclaimed, gesturing widely to him. “I mean, you look amazing, Viktor. Last time we saw you, you were practically a bag of bones! What’s your secret?”

Don’t give me that look, Jayce had complained. They’re going to say something like that. You need to be ready to answer. 

Viktor worked hard to keep his features amused. “I think you’ll find that not starving does wonders for the human body.” 

They shared another laugh, and Viktor snuck a glance towards Silco’s shaded corner. 

The man gave a single encouraging nod. Or at least, Viktor was pretty sure he did— he looked away too quickly to know for sure. 

“Now, Viktor,” The woman leaned in, and he caught the subtle cue. 

Already, they had arrived at the business part of the interview. These questions had right and wrong answers— answers that he, as a victor, needed to pose as his own opinion while secretly enforcing the Capitol’s agenda.

Viktor often wondered what the point was, when the Capitol citizens were the only ones fooled by the act. 

The woman continued, “You have two promising tributes in the running this year. I mean— training scores of eleven and eight? They’ve already made history for their district.” Viktor nodded along, waiting for her to get to her point. “Did you know Powder and Ekko before the Reaping?”

“No, we met after.”

“Did you all get along? They speak very fondly of you, even from inside the arena.” 

What, the one time Powder talked about him and basically said he ‘wasn’t stupid?’  And anyway, he hardly knew them. It was unfair to talk about them like that— and yet. He had to, didn’t he?

“Friends are hard to make as a victor, especially from the outer-districts. But I don't know what else I would say we are to each other,” Viktor lied. He couldn’t very easily say, ‘they’re the poor kids whose survival you tasked me with.’ No, the Capitol would want something pleasant, something to be invested in. Something like friendship, and family, and romance. Or at least, the commercialized versions of those things— to be boxed, sold, and consumed. 

The woman clicked her tongue, a hand moving over her heart. Viktor didn’t know if she was faking finding it cute or if she’d really fallen for it. She was either a much better actress than him, or a much worse one. “That’s so perfectly adorable. What can you tell us about them?” 

Don’t talk about the things that make you like them, talk about the things that would make the Capitol like them.

Jayce, I know how to play to my audience.

Prove it. What would you say? 

“I’ve never met anybody like Powder and Ekko. As individuals and as a team. I knew from the moment they sat in front of me and said they wanted to send each other home that they were one of a kind— and they only proved their potential to me more and more with each day of training,” He said. “They are smart, they are determined— and they genuinely love each other. It is a devastating position for them. To be pitted against each other. But they’ve taken it on without so much as a flinch.” 

“Wonderfully put,” The woman smiled. “Going back to their love for each other—” Viktor nodded, shoulders rising ever so slightly— “After Ekko’s confession during the interviews, I think the entirety of Piltover was moved. ‘I’d follow the girl I love anywhere, and that didn’t exclude the games’? I think everyone wishes they could have seen Powder’s reaction.” 

Viktor chuckled and shook his head. “There’s not much to say. I think he just needed to say it aloud, at least that once. But Powder… I don’t think they ever talked about it. I don’t think they needed to. There’s a mutual understanding; there’s love between them, no matter what kind.”  

Perhaps that was a little too close to what he admired about them, but it seemed to do the trick. 

If the woman across from him suffered any more star-crossed blows, she probably would have fainted. She seemed to believe the same and quickly moved on. 

The rest of the interview proceeded without any questions that startled Viktor too badly. They remained firmly within the bounds of what Jayce told him to expect. He had a prepared answer for everything— at least, until the woman grinned and asked, “Why do you want them to win?”

 And, Viktor did have an answer. One he hated. One that Jayce had forced him to rehearse over and over until it was believable enough. 

Never, ever say ‘they don’t deserve to die.’ Always play it so it sounds like the Capitol is gaining an asset if they win. I mean it, V, don’t tie morals into this. It doesn’t serve anyone.  

“District Twelve isn’t as helpless and heartless as everyone believes. Powder and Ekko are proof of that. No matter which of them survives, they will make us proud.” 

Don’t beat yourself up over any compliments that reflect poorly on your past tributes. They’re dead and— I’m sorry, but you can’t hurt them. And feeling guilty won’t bring anyone home.

He only hoped Twelve would see the statement for what it really was. See him for who he really was. 

Especially when he gave a little laugh and added, “And, besides. Even if the careers won’t give someone else a chance at winning, I think it’s about time someone took it anyway.” 

His interviewer let out a startled string of agreeing laughs. 

These interviews are another chance to make people want one of them to come home. Even if it’s fucking stupid, don’t waste it.

Viktor hoped he hadn’t. 

As soon as the woman wished him and his tributes good luck and signed off, Viktor was up and out the door. He didn’t wait to be dismissed— only lunged from his seat without a glance at anyone in the room and tapped down the hall until he could find an alcove to calm down in. He hid his face in one hand, the other keeping his cane in a death grip. Hidden in the shadows, Viktor allowed himself to pause. If only for the sake of collecting himself before returning to the mentor observation room. 

You’re gonna do just fine, V. I know it, Jayce had said and wrapped him up tight in his all encompassing grip. With a final deep inhale into his hair, he had pulled away. I have to go.  

Viktor imitated the memory with a shaky lungful of air. He had to go, too. For all he knew, his interview had been aired live while Powder or Ekko ended up in mortal danger. The irony of the thought wasn’t lost on him— sacrificing his beliefs for the sake of people who could have died during the act. After everything, it had better have been worth it. It had better bring someone home.  

He steadied himself with his cane and stepped back into the hallway. 

“‘There’s love between them, no matter what kind,’” A voice purred the quote from behind his back. 

Viktor scowled and turned to face the speaker. 

“That’s precious, Viktor.” 

His scowl only deepened at the patronizing tone. “Hello, Margot,” He said, watching her slink towards him. “What, have you been following me?” 

“You seemed like you could use some privacy,” She flashed a self-satisfied smile. 

Viktor let out a short exhale. “And so you stood right outside?”

Margot only shrugged. With an unimpressed raise of his brows, Viktor turned away and began down the hallway. 

Her near-silent footsteps followed. Vaguely, Viktor wondered how she always managed to sneak up on people when she only ever wore heels. 

“Your tribute seemed to have a lot of nice things to say about you,” She said, falling into step beside him. 

He scoffed lightly. “Powder said I was smart one time. I can’t imagine what your life is like for that to be such a big compliment.” 

Margot let out a low laugh. “People think it was endearing, is all I’m saying.” Viktor should have known his attempts at cutting remarks would only be met with amusement. Margot always did prefer her conversations to be had with a sharp tongue— or a smooth one. Viktor, of course, only offered the former to people like her. 

“And you feel the need to pull me aside and tell me… why?” He slowed to a stop and turned to face her fully. 

She straightened up, smiling. “Nothing, Viktor. Just take the compliment.”

“It wasn’t a compliment, it was an observation about what you believe to be a compliment.” 

“There’s that sparkling wit again,” Margot teased. “Nothing gets past you, does it?”

Viktor glared. “What do you want, Margot?” 

“Nothing. Your tributes are cute, is all…” She trailed off, watching his expression closely. 

He couldn’t help the way it twisted in disgust and fury. “You stay away from them, you—”

“Ah, Viktor. I’ve been looking for you.” 

The voice startled Viktor into silence, both his and Margot’s heads snapping towards it. Neither expected the smooth voice to be coming from an approaching Silco. His green eye flashed as it glanced at Margot. 

“I’m afraid I need to steal him away for awhile,” Silco said, voice clipped. 

Margot looked between them. “Of course,” She answered, lips twitching up in the corners. “I wouldn’t dare to keep him all to myself.”

Silco’s answering smile was entirely forced and not even close to convincing. Before the firm hand he placed on Viktor’s shoulder could guide him away, Margot trailed her fingers down his other arm. 

“Things are looking up for District Twelve,” She grinned— and prowled down the hallway. 

Before Viktor could watch the stiletto of her heel fully disappear around the corner, a sharp tug drew his attention back to Silco. The man wordlessly tilted his head in the other direction. As a pair, they began the walk back to the mentor observation room. 

Viktor guessed he couldn’t blame Silco for feeling the need to escort him the whole way. 

Outside the windows, the sun was fully set. Inside the hallways, the sleek walls and flooring shimmered with the lights of a sleepless city. 

“You know not to let her corner you, Viktor,” Silco murmured. 

Viktor huffed out a breath. “I didn’t really have much of a say in the matter.” 

“Even so,” Silco frowned, glaring at the end of the hallway. “Don’t entertain her if she approaches you again.” 

Viktor gnawed at the inside of his cheek. “She’s never bothered me before. Now Powder and Ekko are in the spotlight, and she’s following me, talking about how they’re cute— ” He cut himself off, not noticing how Silco tensed at his side. His thoughts were on his husband, on the years and years that he’d been forced under Margot’s employment. On the way it beat Jayce down, made him hate himself and his own body. Made him change, darker and sadder with each year that passed. The things he’d seen and learned during his time at Jayce’s side— he wasn’t sure he could bear it to see Powder or Ekko go through the same thing. 

“Calm down, Viktor,” Silco’s voice was smooth and low. 

Only then did Viktor realize he was hyperventilating again. 

He forced himself to take in a deep breath, to focus on Silco’s hand rubbing grounding circles into the spot between his shoulder blades. Silco had years of experience talking Viktor down at a moment’s notice. That night was no different, though this was a new fear Viktor had never had to panic over. 

“What should I do?” He whispered. 

Silco clicked his tongue. “I don’t know,” He admitted. “Let’s focus on getting one of them out first. We’ll figure everything else out after.” 

“We need to be ready— we can’t just wait until these things corner us,” Viktor argued. 

Silco shushed him. His green eye darted along the empty hallway. “Calm down, Viktor. You can’t be this worked up inside the observation room.” 

Viktor let out a frustrated, knowing sigh. “I know.” Horrifyingly, he found tears pricking at the backs of his eyes. 

With a sympathetic frown, Silco led him off to the side. He petted Viktor’s hair back from his forehead, avoiding meeting his eyes to give him a semblance of privacy. 

Viktor, cheeks flushed in embarrassment, swiped at his eyes and sniffed. “This is humiliating,” He mumbled. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve been doing this for forever. I should know how to cope.” 

Silco shook his head. “No, you’ve only figured out how to live with losing. Now you’re ‘winning’ and you’re back at square one.” He watched Viktor closely, then. “It’s a whole different game when you actually have to play it. It’s a whole different guilt.” 

Viktor scowled, lip curling in disdain. “I hate this. I hate everything, I think.” 

“No, you don’t,” Silco smiled sadly, smoothing back Viktor’s hair again. “You just wish you could. It would be easier.” 

“It would,” Viktor whispered. 

Silco opened his arms and Viktor leaned into him. 

In past years, they were able to spend nearly every day of the games together. Viktor’s tributes wouldn’t make it through the first day and he’d be asked to leave the observation room. Jayce would spend his days in that very room, and his nights Janna knew where— they could only manage to meet in the early morning hours. So Viktor would spend his days with Silco. 

This was the first year they didn’t spend nearly every day together. Silco was promoted and Viktor was joining the ranks of ‘successful’ mentors— neither had the time they used to. And though they would both say they’d prefer a life returned home to Twelve over their long days together, it didn’t make that new void any less strange. 

Silco’s grip on Viktor was unchanged, though. At least that couldn’t be changed. 

“Thank you.” Viktor’s eyes clenched shut, momentarily relishing in the oblivion that came with it. His arms tightened just slightly around the man’s back. 

Silco nodded, rubbing soothing circles between his shoulder blades again. “There is nothing to thank me for. There is no price to friendship.”

“On the contrary,” Viktor pulled back. ”In my experience, friendship can cost everything.” 

“But it is freely given, is all I mean,” Silco flicked at the side of his head. 

Viktor swatted him away, a split-second of good humor reflected in his eyes. It was gone more quickly than it came. 

He sniffed again, and raised himself to his full height. Clearing his throat, he said thickly, “I need to get back. Check on Powder and Ekko. And Caitlyn. She’s alone in the observation room right now.” 

“The words of a man who truly hates everything,” Silco teased softly. 

Viktor shot him a half-hearted glower, and allowed himself to be escorted all the way back without comment. The pair parted at the doorway of the observation room with a nod that said everything they needed to. 

Viktor settled into his seat beside Caitlyn, and they planned to stay later than usual. 

**

“Good morning…!” 

Powder slid down the tree and landed with a near silent thud.  

“Big day,” Mylo continued. 

It was early morning— early enough that the light was gray and just barely there. The grass was slick with morning dew, and the air silent with anticipation. 

“Really big day,” Powder corrected.

Claggor unceremoniously tossed the backpack into Mylo’s chest. “So let’s get going,” He said. 

The plan was simple. Enough. 

While Claggor and Powder made their way to the Cornucopia, Mylo would trek as far as he possibly could until noon. At noon, he would light a fire composed mostly of greens to ensure the smoke was thick enough to act as a beacon. Then, he would light two more— a trail that would lead farther into the arena, away from the center. The careers would, hopefully, take the bait. Mylo would take the long way around the Cornucopia to avoid confrontation, and wait at the base of the mountains at the edge of the arena. 

Meanwhile, as soon as the careers were five minutes out of sight, Powder and Claggor would search the Cornucopia. Once they found the bomb, they would stack everything as best as they could and set it off— destroying the careers’ life support and effectively leveling the playing field. Then, they would meet Mylo at the mountains and continue their search for Ekko. 

Simple. Enough. 

“We’ll see you in a few hours,” Claggor nodded at Mylo. 

Mylo shot him a cocky grin. “Not if I see you first.” 

“If you meet any trouble, just, I dunno…” Powder pointed up towards the sky. “Climb a tree, or something.” 

Mylo shot her a glare. 

With a short, amused shake of his head, Claggor made sure Powder was at his side, and began walking. 

Powder turned as she followed, sending Mylo a playful salute. He returned it, and began in the opposite direction. 

Powder fell back into step with Claggor. 

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” She asked.

She knew he understood the risks of their plan fully— and that the entirety of it relied on her supplies actually being there. Worst case scenario, they had decided they could throw as much as they could into the lake. No matter what, they were going to at least limit the careers’ supplies.

Claggor nodded stiffly. “Yeah. Let’s hope they gave you that eleven because they wanted to get everyone excited for your skill, and not to put a target on your back.” 

Powder let out a nervous laugh. 

Both were far too anxious to try for further conversation. 

It took hours to reach the Cornucopia. By the time they did, it was well into morning. They still had hours to go before Mylo was far enough to set their diversion fire. The glint of the metal through the trees alerted them not to go any further— instead, they settled down into the bushes and waited for noon. 

By the time it came, they were both entirely pale with nerves. 

“Let’s go,” Claggor whispered, glancing at the sky. 

Powder looked up as well. On seeing the sunlight filtering through the trees from directly above them, she gave a terse nod. 

And they crept towards the clearing. 

The first thing they noticed was that it was empty. 

“Where are they?” Powder murmured. 

Claggor pointed off into the distance where a thin trail of smoke was rising. 

“I never heard them. Do you think they were already out there?” Powder asked. 

He frowned. “Let’s hope not,” He said, his voice low and grave. 

For a long moment, neither moved. They scanned over the field again, expecting someone to appear and chase them down— but nothing changed. The trees remained still, the clearing remained empty, and, most notably, the Cornucopia remained full. 

“Let’s just go for it,” Powder said finally, the words coming out in a rush. 

Claggor nodded in agreement. 

Even so, they scanned the clearing a final time, tense in the stillness. 

Then, without allowing themselves to consider it any longer, they looked at each other, nodded a single time— and sprinted out into open air. 

When they reached the yawning mouth of the Cornucopia, they were completely out of breath. Both weren’t new to running or exercise. Their hearts were pounding with unease. 

“Holy fuck,” Claggor muttered, catching his breath and staring at the structure in disbelief. “We’re here.” 

Powder was in a similar state. Up close, the Cornucopia was even more intimidating than she could have imagined. And— never, even in her wildest dreams— would she have imagined getting this close. 

“Start with the smaller boxes,” She said. 

Claggor nodded in agreement. 

And they got to work.

Box after box was unpacked and rifled through— boxes with food, boxes with weapons, boxes with tents, and sleeping bags, and flashlights. Each box that Powder opened was another blow— of disappointment, on not finding her bomb parts. And each item she found inside was yet another log added to the simmering fire in her gut. So much work, wasted. So many survival items that could go to good use in the districts. So many lives, tossed away. 

The amount of lives even a few packs of the dried meat and fruit could save, just back home in Twelve. The amount of people who would benefit simply from a sleeping bag. 

And she was about to blow it all up— and that was still the best turn of events. To waste all these life-saving materials. 

Powder felt her skin crawling with the thought, and pushed it down deep. She opened another box. And then another. And then another. 

On and on, until they saw the smoke from a second fire off in the distance. 

“We’re running out of time,” Claggor warned. 

Powder swiped at the sweat on her forehead. “I know,” She said tightly. “You can go, I can—”

“No. We’re doing this and we’re doing it now,” He answered. Without another word, he flipped open another box and frowned at its contents. “Does this look like anything to you?” 

Powder leaned over sharply— and let out a startled laugh. 

“Shit, this is it!” She exclaimed. 

Inside of the black case was a foam surface, keeping all its contents separated and in place. There was a metal canister, two vials of chemicals— unlabeled— and all the pieces to put it together. 

“This is it?” Claggor asked, eyes wide. 

Powder nodded, fingers tracing over the contents. “We can do this! We can do this— start putting everything in a pile while I put this together.” 

Claggor turned on his heel and began gathering all their discarded boxes. 

Powder could hardly believe her luck. 

After everything— Viktor’s warning not to go to the Cornucopia, the secrecy surrounding her skill, the copious amount of boxes with other contents— she was almost sure her supplies weren’t going to be there at all. 

Half-convinced she was dreaming, Powder’s hands trembled as she assembled the bomb. One vial of chemicals clicked into the base, the other clicked into the lid. 

“How does that work?” Claggor asked, huffing as he piled everything onto each other. 

Powder connected the two pieces without locking it. “Once I lock these two pieces, I’ll twist the lid. It acts kind of like a timer, I guess. It’ll spin around, which opens the vial of activator: the chemicals mix, and… I bet you can guess the rest.”

Claggor wiped sweat from the back of his neck. “I think so.” 

“Is it ready?” She asked. On turning, she found the pile of supplies stacked up in the mouth of the cave. 

Claggor nodded. “Where do you wanna put it?” 

“Center of gravity,” She answered. 

With a nod, he helped her climb up into the pyramid of boxes, one hand in hers, her other fully occupied with the two pieces of the bomb. 

Powder pushed one of the boxes slightly to the side, creating a small crevice the perfect size for her explosive. “As soon as I set this,” She breathed out shakily, “You have to run.” 

“We run together,” He said determinedly. 

Powder shot him a look over her shoulder. “I wasn’t saying leave me to die or anything, just— I don’t know how big this explosion’ll be. And I don’t know how fast it’ll go off.” Claggor appeared unbothered, and she rolled her eyes. “Just run when I say.” 

“The third fire’s up,” Claggor said instead of replying. 

He was right. Off in the distance, the third line of smoke was reaching into the sky. They were out of time— and that was if the careers were still taking the bait. 

“On the count of three,” Powder said, whipping back to the halves in her hands. Her voice came out strained and higher than usual. 

Claggor didn't call her out on it. He seemed nervous enough himself, constantly glancing off across the clearing in lookout. 

“One…”

She locked the two halves into place .  

“Two…”

She twisted the lid as far as it would go, a series of mechanical clicks whirring as the bomb armed. The only thing between them and its countdown was her own grip on the connected halves. 

“Three!”

She stuffed the bomb securely between two boxes, immediately spinning and jumping from the pile. Claggor caught her by the forearms and, without giving her a moment to hesitate, dragged her towards the treeline. She stumbled momentarily, but managed to meet his stride as he bolted across the clearing. 

Ticking echoed in her ears, the bomb alerting the arena to its activity. Back between the boxes, the top half would be spinning, the lid on the activator vial being unsealed, the chemicals about to mix to create an explosive reaction. 

They weren’t close enough to the treeline. 

Powder willed herself to run faster— but it didn’t happen fast enough. 

She was running, and then— and then, she was flying towards the treeline, heat at her back and ears ringing. 

Tumbling through the underbrush, she made it across the treeline. 

Powder wasn’t sure how long she laid there, staring into the spinning sky. 

The side of her head ached. 

Her stomach was churning, bile sliding up her throat. 

Her ears were ringing— so much so that she didn’t notice the voice calling her name. 

Not until Claggor loomed over her, wincing slightly, but clearly repeating something over and over, eyebrows tilted in concern. 

—owder. Powder. Powder?

She groaned and sat up. One of her hands went to the side of her head as it flared up, white-hot with the movement. 

Claggor’s mouth continued moving with words that couldn’t reach her. She’d never been good at reading lips. Especially when her gaze kept drifting to the sides of Claggor’s head, where she could see the thinnest whisper of blood trailing from each ear. 

“We gotta go,” She said. Even unable to hear her voice, she knew he was speaking too loud. 

She wondered, briefly, if they were shouting back and forth.

Claggor frowned and offered her a hand. Gently, he helped her to her feet, careful of jostling her too much. A quick glance at her fingers was enough to reveal that her head wound had been irritated. Blood, thick and cakey on her raw fingertips, was enough to momentarily distract her. 

A tug at her hand drew her gaze back up to Claggor. 

He mouthed something, slow and enunciated. 

We have to go. 

She nodded slowly. “Did we do it?” 

Claggor put a guiding hand on her shoulder and grinned a bloody-toothed grin. 

Powder didn’t need to hear to get the message. 

They set off towards the mountains at the quickest pace they could manage. 

After the first successful bomb Powder made, she never stopped to realize she hadn’t seen it in action— and that she hadn’t felt the itch to. 

**

Mylo was getting pretty sick of walking. 

He had made it long past the Cornucopia by noon and managed to set all three decoy fires without coming into contact with anyone. He’d been waiting for some kind of gigantic, echoing boom that he would alert him to the success of their plan. Keeping the excitement of an anticipated success down— there hadn’t been any cannonfire, Powder and Claggor were at least still alive— he had to force himself not to run across the arena and ask them everything. The curving arc he was taking towards the mountains to ensure he avoided the middle of the arena was taking entirely too long in his opinion. Still, he persisted. 

At least, until he heard voices. 

“... Another stupid fucking trick— just like on the second day, remember?” 

“Even if it is, someone still had to light those fires. They didn’t just set themselves up and burst into flames!” 

“Someone is around here. Whether it’s a diversion or not, someone’s around here.” 

Careers. 

Shit. 

Mylo glanced up, momentarily entertaining Powder’s joke of climbing a tree. Maybe he’d somehow improved in the past day without ever actually practicing. 

But, no. 

He wasn’t stupid, and the voices were fast gaining. 

If he ran, they would hear him. They outnumbered him, even without that District Two girl who had died two days before. They would catch him. 

So, then, he could hide… and hope they passed through quickly enough that he didn’t do anything to reveal himself. 

Mylo wasn’t helpless. He could figure it out. 

Careful with each step, he crept through the trees towards a clump of bushes. 

Snap!

Mylo froze— just out of sight, so did the Careers. 

He raised his foot from the twig he’d stepped on, wincing and waiting. 

“This way!” One of the Careers shouted. 

Mylo jerked forward, prepared to run for his life when—

Off in the distance, an all-consuming, earth-shaking roar tore through the air from the center of the arena. It left the ground trembling, and birds taking off in fear. 

In the chaos of it all, Mylo didn’t hesitate. With the noise as his cover, he sprinted farther into the woods, tearing through bushes and underbrush and—

And tumbling to the ground when his ankle caught the edge of a tree root. 

He went crashing down into the greenery. He went completely still, surrounded as he was, when he heard the careers gaining. 

They were shouting back and forth about the explosion— Mylo grinned to himself, mentally slapping Powder and Claggor’s backs— and settled further into the ground as they passed. 

Something solid and eerily warm pressed into his leg. 

Mylo froze, eyes wide. 

Only when the careers disappeared, successfully drawn away to the center of the arena, did Mylo shoot into a sitting position. He squinted, sifting through the leaves— and found a uniform-clad body laying inside it. 

He scrambled back, eyes wide. 

It didn’t rise and attack. In fact, it barely moved save to breath slow, dragging inhales and exhales. 

A sheen of refracted light caught Mylo in the eye, and he flinched, a hand raising to block the shine out. Peeking between his fingers, he peered at the source. 

A tiny golden pin with a bird in flight depicted winked back at him— and he startled upright. 

“Hey—” He scooted over and dug through the branches to see the body’s face. The familiar features that greeted him made him freeze. “No fucking way.” 

Laying in the underbrush was Powder’s boy. Ekko. 

Mylo slapped a hand over his eyes, shaking his head and grinning. “Gods. Powder’s gonna lose it.” 

He crouched back down, checking his fever. The heat radiating from his skin made Mylo wince— he likely had some kind of infection. Not a good sign. 

His eyes raked over him, looking for blood or any sign of a wound, but stopped suddenly. At Ekko’s neck, there was a swollen welt. The skin was irritated and untreated. 

Mylo recognized it immediately. 

After all, when Claggor was teaching him survival skills back during training, one of the first things he’d shared was how to identify and treat track-jacker stings. 

“You are one lucky bastard, huh?” Mylo muttered to himself. 

He listened for the careers. When he found that they truly were alone, he dragged himself from the bushes and upright. Scanning the trees with a critical eye, he looked for the one Claggor taught him to be an antidote. 

Chew up some of these and press them on a sting, Claggor had instructed. It’ll draw the venom right out. 

With a triumphant grin, he shredded a handful of the leaves from a branch and trekked back to where Ekko was dead to the world. As he walked, he tossed a few of the leaves into his mouth and began chewing. 

“Crazy coincidence; you must have crazy luck,” Mylo mumbled, mouth full. “But, then, well… I guess you’re here. So. Maybe your luck is shit, actually. Just as much as all of ours.” 

Ekko didn’t answer, of course. That didn’t stop Mylo. 

“Your girlfriend is insane. She built a bomb. I guess you probably knew she could do that, but still.” He spat the mouthful of leaves into his hand and leaned over him. “How weird would it be if you woke up right now?” 

Without further fanfare, Mylo pressed the leaves into the apex of the swelling. Only after making sure they wouldn't move did he look him over for more. 

There ended up being two more stings— one on the back of his hand, and the other just hidden by the collar of his shirt. He treated both just as Claggor had taught him. 

He scratched at the back of his head, wondering how feasible it was to try moving Ekko. It would make him even later to meeting Powder and Claggor at the mountains… but what if Ekko woke up while he was gone to fetch them? 

He attempted to lift Ekko and immediately set him back down, wiped his hands, and resolved to bring Powder and Claggor back to the place as soon as he found them. 

To the mountains it was. 

“Be right back,” Mylo hissed to a sleeping Ekko. 

With that, he jogged off towards the craggy formations in the distance. 

Powder was going to freak out when he told her. He found that, despite knowing her so little, he was excited to share the news. 

The likelihood of him or Claggor surviving was already so low— and their chances would only worsen when Ekko and Powder reunited. Part of him was sure it was a bad idea. What, did he have no sense of self-preservation? He had managed to keep himself alive his whole life, it wasn’t like he’d simply forgotten how. 

But, then, there was another part of him. A softer part. A part that hoped the wide-eyed asshole girl with long blue braids would make it home to see the sister she loved so much she’d die for. 

If he couldn’t win, and if Claggor couldn’t win, he wanted it to be Powder. 

And deep down, he kind of wanted it to be her even considering his own life. 

In the end, that line of thinking felt a little too self-sacrificial and optimistic to really consider. And thinking about the three of them like there weren’t seven others inside the arena had to be a surefire way to jinx their chances. 

The closer to the mountains he got, the less he let himself think about it. 

Surely he could give himself this. 

Just this— a moment with two people he admired where they could celebrate what could be one of the final successes of their lives. A success that had to be novel, not only in its execution but in its victorious results. 

He broke through the treeline and found two figures standing at the base of the mountains. 

He grinned. “Claggor! Powder!”

Neither turned to face him. 

Mylo frowned and started to walk towards them. “Hey, guys! You’ll never guess what I found.” 

Still, neither turned to look at him. 

He threw his arms out. “Hello? Are you guys messing with me, or—?”

Before he could finish, a deafening crack rang through the air. His arms froze in place, eyes shooting up towards the sound. 

Claggor caught the tail end of his movement and turned to face him. His eyes lit up. “Hey, Mylo—”

But Mylo didn’t have time to think about how strange he was speaking. Too loud, like he didn’t know how to control his volume. 

Powder turned to look at him, just registering his presence. The side of her head was flush with freshly dried blood, and though her eyes were wide as always, they were hazy and tired. 

“Shit— Claggor, Powder! Get out of the way!” He scrambled forward, pointing up at the mountain. 

Claggor furrowed his brows in alarm, reading the distress in his features— and spun just in time to grab Powder’s arm and yank her farther from the base of the mountains. 

They barely made it two steps away before the tumbling rocks rained down on them. 

Chapter Text

The District Twelve mine collapse happened on a Tuesday.  

Powder remembered the moments before with disturbing clarity. 

She was at school, sitting at her desk near the back of the classroom. Ekko was near the front because their teacher didn’t let them sit by each other after one too many disturbances. They were working out a new way to send messages from across the classroom— their instructor had caught them tapping military codes into their desks after only two attempts, so that was a bust. As he droned on about coal production and the wonderful lives they could look forward to— he was just as enthusiastic for their futures as the students waiting to experience them— Powder scribbled out another code idea on the edge of her notebook paper. 

Without warning, there was a rumble and snap of earth from across the town square. Deep and groaning, like a giant opening its maw— and then snapping it shut, leaving nothing behind. The silence in the streets outside that followed was almost more sinister. 

Then, someone screamed. 

Powder wasn’t alone when she stood from her desk, craning her neck to look out the window. 

The streets, usually so sparse with people during midday, were rapidly filling. Shopkeepers and enforcers were staring down the road, then yelling and hurrying towards the edge of town. Bodies jostled into each other, panic rising into hysteria— and in all the noise, there was one thing Powder could hear. 

“The mines! The mines!”

The instructor at the front of the classroom called them to attention and ordered them back to their seats. His skin was stark white, his eyes knowing when he closed the curtains facing the town square, leaving them in yellow lamplight. With a rushed order for them to write five things they remember about coal production, he snatched his coat from the rack in the corner and disappeared out the door. 

The split second before the door slammed closed again, Powder saw a familiar hulking figure rush by. 

Vander. 

Vander, who was supposed to be all the way across town at the Victor’s Village to visit good ol’ Viktor about the exacerbated rawness in his hands from mining through an injury. He was supposed to be resting. Getting treatment. 

But whatever that sound was, it had sent him running.   

Before anyone could stop her, Powder hopped from her chair and darted out the door. It slammed behind her before she could hear Ekko shout her name. 

The streets were even worse than she could have guessed. 

Nearly immediately, she was almost bowled over by a group of enforcers. 

She righted herself against the wall of the bakery right next door, ignoring the shout of, ‘Get out of the street, kid!’ and watched as they all ran in the same direction. 

Towards the entrance of the mines. 

She had been in the mines once a year since she first started going to school— something about showing them the trade they were inheriting. It had never interested her much, not with how her mother always came home, so tired she was almost sick. Not with how Vander always had some kind of injury or other. Powder wasn’t much interested in mining, for herself or Vi or Ekko— but it at least let her know where she was heading. 

The hairs on her arms stood on end the closer she got. Electricity, or adrenaline, or terror— Powder was feeling something. She didn’t know what it was, but she didn’t need to. Part of her wondered if she didn’t want to. 

The noise only got louder as she got closer. Someone was wailing— screaming, really— and Powder’s steps faltered. 

It was instinct that held her from moving closer. 

Still, she was close enough to see the miners. Covered head to toe in coal dust, choking and falling to the ground just outside the mine’s entrance. None of the enforcers were going inside, Powder noted. Vander was nowhere to be seen— and neither were many of the shopkeepers who had run in this direction. 

At nine years old, she was quick enough to figure out what had happened, and the details she’d later pry from Vander would only confirm her hypothesis. One of the tunnels hadn’t been stabilized properly and had collapsed on the fifteen miners working the strip. All that was left were the testimonies of the miners working nearby, and the puff of coal dust that had erupted out the entrance. Like a collective polluted final breath. 

Powder understood that her mother was working that day, but death hadn’t quite dawned on her as an option. A possibility. Her mother couldn’t have died because… well, she just couldn’t. What could even be done with a dead mom? What was the use? What was the point? Only when Vi had showed up, pushing through the crowd that had gathered behind Powder and yelling her name, did it really start to make sense. 

As soon as she heard the first shrill scream of her own name in her sister’s voice, she dropped to the ground. 

And started sobbing. 

Vi’s arms wrapped around her and dragged her close, shoulders shaking. 

Neither of them needed to see Vander’s expression, clouded with dust and helpless shock when he emerged from the tunnels. They already knew. Maybe it was a feeling. A bone deep, skin chilling sense of knowing. 

That feeling was the last piece of their mother they had. 

It almost felt like her voice, her calloused hands as she pulled them from the occasionally charged fence as little kids. Stay back, it’ll hurt.  

The sentiment echoed from her final resting place. 

Vander caught sight of them, and for a moment the three could only stare at each other. 

Then he cleared his expression and walked towards them. In the past, he had been a pillar. A boulder. Immoveable; the very picture of strength. The man that approached them wasn’t vibrant with ideals and steady with resilience. The only similarity he had to the rock he’d always been was the gray of his expression, and the physical strength when he picked them up and carried them to his own house. 

Powder curled up on the living room floor, scratching at the wooden boards and shredding her throat with shrieked sobs. Vi had her arms around her middle the whole time, leaning over her back like a wall of protection even as she trembled. Even as she choked on repressed cries of her own. Vander sat beside them both. He never once tried to quiet them and only touched Powder to put his own gloves on her hands before her tiny fingers bled. 

They never talked about it. Vander moved all their things to his house by himself. 

They watched a plot be dug for the body of their mother that would never be recovered. 

They learned that the foreman of the mines had been advised not to send anyone down in that tunnel. 

They grew up, and they went to school, and they went to Reapings, and it didn’t change. 

No amount of funerals or explanations or blame or days passed could change that Powder’s mother was dead. The image was trapped in the back of her mind, sometimes crawling to the forefront during nightmares and daydreams and moments of silence. 

In all that time, the image was shifting and changing. There was no real way for Powder to know how her mother had felt, dying beneath unshifting rock. 

There was no real way to know, until now. 

The first thing Powder realized was that she couldn’t take in a full breath of air. 

Her face was pushed harshly into the ground. Above her, a weight kept her from turning her head. A painful twinge in her neck was what brought feeling back to her senses. 

Her skin was crawling— with spiking adrenaline, the rush of blood under her skin, pooling down her face and dripping into her eyes. There was pain, but worst of all, there was weight. 

An immovable, impossible weight on top of her. 

Only seconds before, she had been standing with Claggor at the base of the mountain, and now—

And now—

Where was Claggor? 

She shifted again, trying to look at her surroundings, trying to strain for the sound of her friend, but— only the unrelenting rubble and the ringing in her ears greeted her. 

Only the feeling of her body being forced into the dirt. Like it couldn’t wait for a hole to be dug or a grave to be established. No, the earth wanted to eat her now. 

Powder could almost convince herself that she sunk another inch. 

She shifted again, trying to dislodge something, anything— the only part of her mind still grasping at sense was saying that if she panicked, she’d suffocate. But that part of her mind was losing its grip at an alarming speed. 

A strangled cry escaped her, and she tried again to move her arms. 

There was something else. 

A different weight. Not the jagged rocks or the press of gravity, but something tight around her wrist. Warm, but unmoving. 

Claggor’s hand was still holding onto her. 

She let out a choked gasp. “Claggor!” She tried, but coughed on the dust clogging the air. 

She flexed her wrist, trying to get the hand to move. She received no response. 

“Claggor,” She tried again. She said it through a mouthful of spit and blood. It dribbled down her chin and she spat, trying to breathe. The blood from her nose only replaced it. 

Powder was trapped, electricity spinning through her body with no way to release it. 

And she realized, Oh. 

Oh, I’m dying. 

Dying, side by side with her newest friend. Without having seen her oldest friend. Mylo was somewhere finishing their plan if he hadn’t died— she had no way of knowing. She couldn’t hear the rocks when they fell, how would she hear a cannon? And Ekko. 

Ekko. 

Powder trembled, eyes welling up. 

How she missed Ekko. 

At least, with her out of the way… 

He would never have to work in the mines. Maybe he would take care of Vander and Vi for her, and they wouldn’t have to, either. Maybe her fears of them following in her mother’s footsteps would die with her. Maybe she’d be the last one to feel this way. 

Powder was dying. 

Undeniably so. And not only was she dying, but she was dying like her mother who had dug her own grave. 

Side by side, buried before death. 

It would have been poetry if it wasn’t so damn ugly. 

Powder choked again, blinking fiercely against the dust and dirt, blood and tears. 

From under the rock, she found herself completely alone. 

Claggor, unmoving at her side. And her family and friends, safe from the collapse. 

It left her alone. Face to face with her mother. 

Her mother, who gasped in tandem with her. Blinked against the darkness. Tried to breath through a mouthful of blood. Powder stared at her, and neither of them tried to call for help. 

She tried to shake her head. 

No, it was her and Claggor. It was her and Claggor and nobody else and they had to get out because if she was alive, then he was, too. He had to be. Because… because what would she do if he wasn’t?  

Control was fighting from within her closed fingers, threatening to slip away. 

She closed her eyes tight and wished away the imagined image of her mother. 

How imaginary was it, though? 

What was there to imagine anymore? 

Her mother alive, for who knows how long? Waiting for help that would never find her? Side by side with friends who slipped away without her? 

Did she go crying and screaming for help? Clawing at the walls? Shifting under rock? Or did she lay down and wait? Trace patterns in the dirt and sing herself to sleep? 

And even more importantly, did it matter? 

It all ended the same. One unrecovered body, and two orphans. 

Twilight was settling over her like Vi had the night after the mine collapse. If she pushed hard enough, her mind could just almost trick itself into believing she was back in Vander’s sitting room. 

She closed her eyes, trying to remember that song Vi loved so much. She had sung it to Caitlyn that night of the interviews, and—

And the rock pinning her head to the ground shifted. 

A breathless sob broke from her throat. 

The rock was lifted, and she managed to crane her neck in the other direction. Dirt was plastered across one entire half of her face. Blood and snot and spit and tears dirtied the other half. She looked up, and found Mylo’s startled expression looking down at her. 

“Mylo,” She croaked. 

He was talking, lips moving rapidly. With the buzzing in her ears blanketing everything he said, she wasn’t able to catch half of the words he spat out. 

Which meant she missed it when he gently tried to keep her from panicking. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” He was saying, unbeknownst to her. “We’re gonna get you out, and then— then, we gotta go. I know they probably heard the collapse, we need to get going. But I have a surprise when this is over. It’s gonna make you real happy, I swear it’s all gonna be worth it.” His voice cracked. Powder didn’t hear it. 

He continued dragging rock after rock from her body until finally, mercifully, he dragged her out from under the rubble. It shifted as she crumbled against him and dust erupted into the air again. 

It almost felt like watching something collapse in defeat. 

Powder had escaped, and the rubble was disappointed. 

Mylo helped her to her feet— and pulled her towards the treeline. 

Dizzy as she was, she dug her feet into the ground. “Claggor,” She said to his back. He turned to face her, expression twisted. “We have to get Claggor out,” She repeated, more insistently. 

She knew that look. Hadn’t she seen it seven years ago on Vander? A man who knew he had to leave his best friend to rot beneath the rock? 

He only shook his head, and Powder imitated him. 

“No,” She squeaked. “We have to help him, we can’t just—”

Mylo put his hands on her shoulders and held her still, mouthing the same words over and over. 

He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone. 

Powder looked down at her wrist, sure she could still feel the hand gripping it. 

Mylo tried to pull her towards the trees again and Powder only just managed to stumble along. 

She hadn’t heard the cannon. Had Mylo?

He’s gone. 

She hadn’t seen him right before they were trapped. 

He’s gone. 

She hadn’t even been there for his final moments. Somewhere lost in her own head while he died all alone, right at her side. 

Gone, gone, gone. 

Powder put a hand against the side of her head, immediately feeling it soak in sticky blood. The world tilted and twirled and buzzed and screamed, and everything was too fucking much and nobody was alive, and Mylo—

Mylo was looking at her again, talking rapidly and pointing up a tree. 

His voice was muffled, but she could just hear the edges and outlines of what he was telling her. 

She stared, eyebrows tilting without comprehension. 

Climb it! His mouth repeated, frustration melting into his features. 

Her head tilted back as she looked into the heights of the tree. Immediately, she was struck with another wave of dizziness. Mylo wanted her to climb that? Now?

He pushed her more insistently towards it. She watched as her clumsy hands gripped at the lowest branches. Just barely was she able to pull herself up. 

It was slow going, and there wasn’t any thought behind it. Instinct drew her higher, and instinct kept her from looking down. She kept her eyes on her hands. The way they slipped a little each time she grabbed at a new branch, the way they left a handprint each time she let go. 

Below her, Mylo listened as the careers came closer. He looked up again, watching as Powder got higher. He couldn’t leave until he was sure she wouldn’t fall. 

He wasn’t going to have time to run. 

Clenching his teeth, he braced himself for whatever the next few minutes of his life had in store for him. 

The blare of the Capitol anthem startled his attention back to the sky. Piltover’s seal cast harsh blue rays down on them, and then blurred into Claggor’s picture. It didn’t label him with his name, but his district. District Seven; it labelled him only to ensure he was properly discarded. His body sorted into the correct cemetery. 

If they even had those in Seven, Mylo realized. They didn’t in Eight— too many people and factories for there to be any space spared for the dead. There wasn’t a waste bin big enough for all the scrap fabric bodies. 

Mylo had heard the cannon immediately after the rubble settled, but it still sent him off balance at the confirmation of Claggor’s death. 

It was strange— he had always known it would end that way, with one of them leaving the other behind. But he thought, ever since he and Claggor first formed their alliance, that it would be him who died first. That Claggor— bigger, stronger, more experienced with the wilderness— would have to be the one to figure out what to do with any feelings a death would cause. A friendship formed with the knowledge of its ticking timeline. 

A low hum filled the sky as something flashed across Claggor’s picture. 

The hovercraft, there to take him home. 

The hologram faded back into the synthetic sky, leaving Mylo back in what would soon be complete darkness. He glanced to the side and found Powder’s spacey stare glinting down at him. 

He lifted a trembling finger to his lips.

Her head twitched with a nod. 

Just as the careers crashed through the foliage, he spun on his heel and sprinted back towards the mountain. 

“Right there! He’s right there!” 

Mylo had seen enough games in his seventeen years of life to understand what was about to happen. 

His death was expected, though it wouldn’t be noted.  

Twenty four children would be sorted, and twenty three would die. 

A victor would be crowned, and they wouldn’t be from Eight. 

He was yet another body on the long list of forgotten dead kids. 

He wasn’t the first tribute to feel this way— wasn’t even the first District Eight tribute to feel this way. As Mylo sprinted through falling darkness, whipped by low hanging branches and scratched by unforgiving plants, he wondered why he even tried at all. 

His death would matter just as much as his life had. 

None. 

Nothing would come from his life, save a few hundred peacekeeper uniforms. And nothing would come from his death—

Unless, maybe, Powder won. 

Nobody else would care. Nobody else would remember him or Claggor, but maybe, just maybe it would be enough. For him, at least. 

He never did get to see through his daydreams about rebellion— but what did the Gamemakers hate more than tributes who didn’t let themselves be a spectacle? Tributes who knew they were doomed, and used it against the Capitol instead of trying to save themselves anyway.

His pace slowed as he arrived at the foot of the mountain. At the site of his friend’s death. 

He was already dead, wasn’t he? Ever since his name was called.

Maybe this could be his own little rebellion. For Claggor. For Eight. 

Mylo turned around, facing the approaching sound of the careers. 

He wondered if the Gamemakers were going to be able to censor him quickly enough. 

He would wait until the last second, just to be sure. 

Deckard appeared through the foliage first. 

Mylo’s heart pumped so quickly it hurt his chest. Like it understood, and was determined to get in as many beats as possible since so many of them would be stolen. Cut off, cut short. 

“Well, well, well,” Deckard barked out a laugh at the sight of him. 

Mylo’s fists clenched at his sides. As long as he doesn’t win.  

“Just standing here waiting. Got tired of running?” Deckard grinned— a smile that might be almost charming in a different context. District Two and their poster tributes. 

The other three remaining careers morphed into sight, just behind Deckard. 

Mylo wondered if the moonlight was only so bright for the sole purpose of viewing his death better. The stage was set, he guessed. What could really go wrong if he went off-script?

“You volunteered to be here, right?” Mylo asked suddenly. 

Deckard glanced at the girl at his side, then looked back at him with the startings of a scowl. “What about it?” 

Mylo gave a little shrug and said, “Nothing. I just think it’s pretty crazy you fell for all that shit your mentors fed you.”

“What are you talking about?” Deckard scoffed. He turned his fellow careers again and received supporting looks of amused dismissal. 

“I’m talking about the fact you really came here just because you were told to. So the dumbass rich people in Piltover can watch you kill the little kids they can’t be bothered with.” 

Deckard paused for a minute, genuinely taken aback. His startled features quickly drew back into a forced laugh. “You would say that now. You’re backed into a corner. What, do you think you’ll be able to convince me not to kill you?” 

“No. I’m counting on it not.” He jutted his chin out towards the other careers. “Just like I’m counting on them not sparing you, and like the Gamemakers are counting on all of us not to spare each other.” 

Deckard licked at his drying lips. His eyes darted to the sides at his teammates— he had to have known they would all turn. But maybe he had only known it in the same way Mylo had known Claggor would die. As a fact with an expiration date. Something he could consider later, if he got that far. 

“Go ahead,” Mylo spread his arms. Wide, like a bird preparing to take flight. “Kill me. Kill me like your big, rich Council told you to.” 

He refused to look down at the javelin clenched tight in Deckard’s hands. Wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of fear or hesitance. Wouldn’t give the Capitol the satisfaction of him playing the part of a fallen tribute. 

For a long moment, they only stared at each other. 

There was a brief flicker in the back of Mylo’s head that maybe his speech had somehow worked better than he meant it to. He’d only meant to fuck with Deckard’s head— to make a show of rebellion for himself, for Claggor, for his friends back home if the confrontation was still somehow being aired. 

 A flash of Deckard’s eyes and a thud through his chest cavity made the train of thought vanish. 

Mylo had half a mind to look down, but looking down wouldn’t change anything. Not like how refusing to look down would. 

There was a javelin buried into him and he was bleeding out. Mylo knew that, and Deckard had done it before. But what he didn’t know was whether anyone had looked Deckard in the eyes as he killed them. If he had really seen anyone die before. 

Based on the flicker in his expression, he hadn’t. 

The world tilted upwards to meet his back, and— no. 

No, that wasn’t right. He’d fallen down. 

“I did say I’d save one for you!” Deckard’s voice called from somewhere very far away. 

But even Mylo could hear the false bravado bleeding from every syllable. 

His heart betrayed him by beating faster.

Stupid. He couldn’t even aim for that traitorous organ.

Retreating laughter and blinking stars and a sticky well in his own collapsed chest. 

The smooth leather of his token against his neck. The twitch of his own adrenaline spiked fingers. 

The curl of his own mouth, the press of his teeth against his lip. 

Mylo died smiling— not to spite the Capitol with a final ‘fuck you’, or to send his friends one last ‘it’ll be okay.’ 

No. This last thing, he did for himself.

Powder’s head was spinning.  

When Mylo had told her to climb the tree, she’d assumed that he was going to follow. She’d tightened the belt around her waist and the tree trunk like she had every night before, not quite realizing that Mylo was just getting her out of the way. 

As soon as she saw the careers appear and Mylo lead them away, she scrambled to escape her hiding place. 

What was he thinking?

Where was he going?

Didn’t he know what the careers did to people? Didn’t he know what he was antagonizing?

Be careful with those careers, Mylo had yelled, that very first night they met. 

Of course he knew, but then… 

She managed to yank the belt buckle open and leaned to undo it— but lost her balance. She slipped to the side with a yelp and thudded back against the bark, only for the leather to slither through the buckle fully. It undid, sending Powder careening to the ground. 

Curling her arms around her head, she just narrowly avoided hitting it again. Through one of her ears, she heard the crash she made as her tailbone took the brunt of the damage. A pained gasp escaped her, but the sound was gargled through her brain. 

Once, a few years ago, Vi had taken a hit to her head during a fight. She had passed out on the floor and wasn’t able to walk in a straight line for a day— and for that reason, Powder wasn’t sure how she managed to get to her feet at all. 

Half afraid she’d find a hole punched into her head where the pain radiated from, she decided not to touch it.

She stumbled sideways for a long moment, nausea dominating the pain, and steadied herself against the trunk of the tree she’d fallen from. After four heaved breaths in and out, her vision cleared enough for her to look in the general direction Mylo had run. 

Any chances of her helping were gone, trapped somewhere in the landslide. But she couldn’t just let him run off all alone. He couldn’t let him save her without trying to return the favor.  

She could help. 

She could help. 

She could do something. 

She could. 

Each step was staggered. Each breath was winded. Powder continued on anyway. 

She knew, through the thudding in her heart and the ringing of her right ear, that she wasn’t going to be fast enough. That both of her allies were going to die. 

Gods, if it was anyone else, then maybe Mylo would have a chance. 

If Vi was his ally, he would never have had to save her. 

If Ekko had been the one to run into them, he would have never even teamed up with them. 

But, no. Claggor and Mylo had been doomed to her companionship. 

Powder couldn’t save or leave them. She’d fallen into a false safety net— pushed herself into it, in fact. And then she’d gotten Claggor and Mylo killed over it. 

But there wasn’t a cannon yet. 

He was still alive somewhere. She just had to get there. 

Why had she climbed that stupid tree? If she hadn’t, then maybe Mylo would have left on his own. Saved himself instead of her. Not left it up to stupid, helpless Powder to save him. 

Maybe Vi was right. Not letting her take tesserae, not letting her go to the woods alone, not letting her provide hardly anything. Maybe she really was useless. And maybe Vi had only been trying to protect herself and Vander and Ekko and anyone that had the misfortune to be near her from her bad luck. She could ruin anything without even trying. She was a stupid little girl. A curse.

Using each tree she passed as support, she followed the distant sound of voices. They were muffled, but that barked sound was unmistakably a laugh. 

A vicious wave of nausea knocked her feet together and she stumbled sideways into a tree. She held on for dear life, nails digging into the bark. 

She had to move. 

A hand clapped over her mouth, just as bile threatened to escape it. She realized, moments later, that it was her own hand. Nearly gagging, she forced herself to swallow. No amount of noise could be afforded, not while sneaking up on careers. 

Each step forward was agony. But she was on a mission. 

When Powder stepped into the clearing, her first thought was something of unintelligible confusion. 

The moonlight was brighter than she’d ever seen. Back in Twelve, there were nights when they couldn’t even see the stars from the clouds of pollution. But here, it was practically a spotlight. It shown down, thin and clear like silk, or sweet milk on the thick green grass. In the night light, the green was closer to gray. The mountain reached so high into the sky that she stumbled backwards, half convinced it was falling again. On righting herself, she realized it was just as still as everything else in the clearing— it was her spinning and collapsing. 

 She could still hear that laughing. That awful, dog-like bark. Glancing around, eyes forced wide, she couldn’t see a single career. Nobody was there to make that sound. Still, it yapped and bayed and snarled against the walls of her skull. 

Powder couldn’t think of a single good reason anyone could be laughing. 

She stumbled forward into the clearing, eyes fixed on the splayed body in the grass. 

Without hearing a cannon, without having to approach, she had that feeling. 

A bone deep, skin chilling sense of knowing. 

Powder’s fingers twitched at her side, swaying where she stood. 

Watch out for those careers. 

Mylo’s mouth was still tilting in a smirk, frozen in place. Like he and the javelin through his chest were in on the joke. 

The laughing got louder, scratching at the inside of her brain. 

The sound burned.

I’ll be getting one of these in the arena. And I’ll be saving it for you. 

Hadn’t Deckard only said that because Mylo and Claggor stepped in after he tried intimidating her? 

Did it matter, when it ended with him making good on his promise whether she understood why or not? 

Stay back. It’ll hurt.  

Powder’s feet moved forward without her realizing. At first, when she stepped over his body, part of her screamed to stop! Don’t treat him like that! But then she dropped to the ground on his other side, closer to the pile of rocks where it appeared Claggor had already been taken from. Still, she placed one hand in Mylo’s and reached to the empty space where she had last seen Claggor. The feeling of his hand was still wrapped around her wrist. 

Silence buzzed into one ear and out the other, only momentarily disrupted by the cackling still skipping around between them. 

After a long moment, she realized she was talking. 

With her right ear still whining in a high tone and the other muffled, it took a long moment to realize what she was saying. Over and over and over. 

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. 

Voices sizzled along the ridges of her brain like live wires. 

He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone. 

Powder? Powder? 

Good morning…! Big day. 

The Cornucopia. 

The tracker-jacker nest. 

Who’s to say the careers are the only ones allowed to make an alliance? 

I’ll find you. 

Goodbye, and good luck.

Family heirlooms from Twelve. 

The female tribute from District Twelve is… 

I’m home!

Time to get up. Early day. 

Stay back. It’ll hurt. 

It’ll hurt. 

Powder scoffed into the silence. 

It already hurts, she wanted to say. It’s too late, Ma. I put my hand in the fence and it killed two people. Neither of them were me. Why didn’t it hurt me?

She wondered if the graveyards at Seven and Eight were anything like the one at Twelve. Cared for only by the district citizens and established by their own hands, as most things were. She wondered if they would have wooden posts for headstones, chipped with paint. If they would simply get a rock with their name carved into it. 

They didn’t have any family to look after them, though. Would their friends back home take care of them? Would they make sure to freshen up the paint when they could afford to? Leave flowers picked from the edges of town? Or would they be put into the ground and forgotten? Would they disappear, with nobody to recall their smiles or their senses of humor, or the way they protected strangers? Their voices? Their eyes? Their hands? The way they saved her? 

Or were they dead, and therefore gone? Was she suddenly in a world where they only existed to her, and if she brought them up she’d be looked at like she was bringing up strangers? Or worse, imaginary friends? 

She let out a cry of frustration, clenching Mylo’s hand and a fistful of grass where Claggor wasn’t. She ripped it up and tossed it, watching as it spun in dizzying bright circles until landing on the ground. 

Flowers, she realized numbly, glancing down at the grass beside her. Pale purple ones that she used to pick in the woods. Her and Vi would leave them at their Ma’s empty grave like they were leaving them for her, even though it would be more accurate to drop them off at the mines. 

Purple and blue were her mother’s favorite colors. 

There weren’t a lot of either of those to be found inside the walls of Twelve. No, color preferred to grow on the other side of the fence. 

She picked one of the flowers absentmindedly and placed it over Mylo’s heart. 

He never said he didn’t like purple, but— she realized she didn’t even know his favorite color. Only the ones he didn’t like. 

With a sniffle, she crawled to her knees and began gathering flowers. 

If nobody was going to take care of them… if the Capitol was going to forget them like they always did… she wouldn’t be any part of it. 

And just because they had taken Claggor before she could honor him didn’t mean she’d let him be forgotten, either. 

Powder found herself scavenging the edges of the clearing, picking any flowers she could find. Tiny yellow buds, pale blue sprouts with little green leaves, red starbursts, pink pinwheels, purple bells. She never strayed too far, terrified that the Capitol claw would descend down and snatch Mylo as well. 

She gathered as many as she could carry at a time, avoiding too much of the greens that Claggor was so bored of, and the navys and whites that Mylo hated so much. 

When she returned to the pair— one still on the ground, but both just as far away, she began arranging them carefully. She tucked the flowers carefully around Mylo’s body, and because there was no body to honor for Claggor, she created a bouquet and dragged one of the rocks from the mountain over as a headstone. 

She blanketed them in color and hoped it felt similar to when Vander used to tuck her into bed. 

Maybe they’re somewhere else now, Powder thought to herself. Like Ekko said. That other world. That safe and happy other world. 

She didn’t allow herself to think on how self-soothing the idea was. For a night, she let herself entertain the thought. 

Powder didn’t know how funerals worked for other districts, and what they would want at their own. If they would want people laughing and reminiscing, or being quiet and respectful. 

In the end, she settled for what she knew. 

Standing as well as she could, she led a crowd of imaginary mourners in a lullaby. 

Not goodbye, but goodnight. At least for tonight. 

Even though she could hardly hear her own voice, she hoped it reached the other districts. Hoped that maybe someone knew the tune and joined. Or knew Claggor and Mylo, and stopped to listen. 

She looked up at the sky, unnaturally bright with stars and moonlight, and startled to find part of it blacked out. 

A hovercraft, she realized. 

How long had it been waiting for her? 

Though every piece of her crawled at the thought of letting Mylo be lifted away and taken gods know where, she took careful steps backward. Touching three fingers to her lips, she raised them in a final thank you. An apology. 

A goodnight. 

**

In the last eleven years of District Twelve’s history, not a single tribute made it to the final ten. Not a single tribute gained enough popularity for the gamemakers to have no easy choice but to keep them alive. 

But then, they hadn’t had to deal with Powder and Ekko yet. 

Powder, in particular, who had gained favor immediately as an outer-district volunteer. Through her emotional goodbye with her sister to her high training score, then her charismatic interview and sense of humor, she had gained the adoration of Capitol citizens everywhere. 

And for that, Viktor was furious. 

How was it not enough?

She did everything— everything, and Reveck was still set on killing her? 

If she was from any other district, he would give her a chance. 

This wasn’t a problem Reveck had with Powder— this was a problem Reveck had with him. It was something that could only be settled between the two of them. 

Viktor glared at the office door he waited outside. 

Perhaps he had startled Caitlyn a little when he had shot from his seat in the observation room as soon as Powder found Mylo’s body. (They hadn’t even shown how he died— Deckard had caught up to him, and then they’d cut to Powder as she fell out of her tree.) 

Maybe he had accidentally drawn attention to himself when he disappeared down the hallway.

“This girl’s having a real time of it,” One of the mentors had commented, watching Powder stumble after Mylo. 

“It’s that District Twelve luck,” Another responded. “They never last long.” 

“No, if it was just average District Twelve bad luck, she’d be dead. Not all of her allies.”

“So, she’s incompetent,” Someone said. 

“Or cursed,” Someone pitched. 

The others laughed along. “Better steer clear of the jinx! All her friends are dead, but she’s still kicking!” 

Anyone would have assumed he was finding somewhere to cool off. To calm down. 

Nobody would have guessed he had headed straight for the office of the Head Gamemaker himself. 

Viktor was getting sick of waiting. Nearly two hours had passed since the first time he had slammed his fist in a series of knocks. Maybe Reveck was busy leading his team in another round of arena-simulated disasters. 

With a little scoff, he crossed his arms. 

Across him, the door creaked open. 

“—Enforcers got it under control. It’s over now. What more could they do?” 

One of the gamemakers stood, halfway out the door but staring intently into the room. 

“It’s not what they can do, it’s what they want to do.” That was Reveck’s creaking voice. Viktor strained to hear him as he continued, “We don’t want them to look at each other and see allies, we want them to see other districts and enemies. We don’t want them to riot over a girl from another district.” The last part of his statement was sneered. 

Viktor’s eyebrows creased together. Riots?  

“Well, Seven’s under control again now, too.”

Under control again? 

The thought screeched to a halt as he understood the implications of the rest. 

Too?

That was Claggor’s district— District Seven. But there had to be another. 

Mylo had been close to Claggor and Powder… maybe it was District Eight. If more than one district was rioting ‘because of a girl’— Powder, it had to be her— it made most sense to be those two. 

What had he missed when he left the observation room?

He’d have to ask Caitlyn. And he’d have to tell Jayce everything he’d overheard. 

Perhaps the ‘innocent girl’ angle he’d been planning on selling to Reveck wasn’t going to work. But then, a better one was right there in front of him. 

“Let’s keep it that way.” Reveck’s cold tone seemed to dismiss the man. 

The gamemaker turned— and startled at the sight of Viktor leaning against the wall just across from him. 

Viktor raised his eyebrows at the man, daring him to do anything. He said nothing, and in fact stepped aside and held the door for him. 

Reveck glanced up as he stepped inside. 

“I was waiting for you to show up,” He drawled, turning to look through the glass wall behind his desk. It overlooked the gamemaker center— the white uniformed workers and their holograms and screens. A roomful of people dedicated to assisting Reveck in torturing innocent children. 

Viktor scoffed. “Funny. I was waiting for you to show up.” 

Reveck turned back to him. “Well. Go on.” He leaned back in his chair and waited, fingers steepling together. “I’m sure whatever you have to say is worth all that time wasted outside my closed door.”

The Head Gamemaker didn’t treat any of his other victors in this way. In fact, he could hardly say if he’d spoken to most of them at all. But Viktor, he liked to listen to. Of course, only because it meant he got to see him upset. 

“Games getting a little out of control this year?” Viktor asked pointedly. 

He had no plans of pleasing Reveck. Not this time. 

Reveck’s mask slipped just slightly before sliding back into place. “You’ll be pleased to hear it’s your tribute causing my team grief.”

“Sounded like it affected a little more than your team,” He sat in the chair across from Reveck. “Sounds like you’ve made a lot of trouble for yourself in the districts.” 

“You’d like that, I’m sure,” Reveck said boredly. “Unfortunately, it’s not the grand uprising I can see you imagining. A few upset family members. A few angry friends. Nothing the enforcers couldn’t shut down, and nothing we aren’t used to.”

Utter bullshit. Did Reveck honestly believe he’d fall for that? 

“Why are you here, Viktor?”

Apparently Reveck did know he didn’t believe it— usually he let the topics linger. Enough to frustrate Viktor at yet another argument lost. Now, he rushed on to the next topic. 

Even so, Viktor was there with business to settle. 

“You don’t have a problem with Powder, you have a problem with me,” He said. 

Reveck raised his eyebrows slowly. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean?” 

“It means stop killing kids that remind you of me!” Viktor burst out. “I’m the one you’re angry at. It’s pathetic the way you direct it at my district just because you have a petty feud with me!”

Reveck stared for a moment— then broke into a string of scratchy chuckles. 

Viktor watched him, expression twisting in anger. 

No, he refused to let Reveck have the upper hand again. Not now, this was too important. Powder and Ekko had made it too far for one of them to not come home. 

“Viktor,” Reveck said, catching his breath. “I have a question for you.”

Viktor glared. “I’m sure you do. Would you like to respond to what I’ve said first? I didn’t realize I needed to teach you how a conversation works.” 

Reveck only shook his head, his lips still curled in a little smile. “Who prepped you for your final ten interview?” 

That stopped Viktor short. Confused but still annoyed, he shot back, “Another change of subject? You’re really flying through them tonight. What’s got you so nervous?”

“Who prepped you for your mentor interview?” He repeated. 

With no way but Reveck’s left to take, he rolled his eyes and gritted out, “I… Silco was called in. Why?”

“No, Viktor,” Reveck sat up straighter in his chair. Viktor realized, too late, that it wasn’t a change of subject for his own benefit— but for Viktor’s detriment. The Head Gamemakers eyes narrowed in snake-like slits. “Who trained you? Who told you exactly what questions to expect and exactly how to answer? A victor’s first interview as a mentor never goes the way yours did. And you have never been so articulate even when you have time to think.”

Viktor pushed Jayce from his thoughts, half afraid Reveck could read them. “Has it ever occured to you that maybe you underestimate me?”

“All the time. You never give me reason to entertain the notion very long,” Reveck hummed. His eyes traced back to the gamemaking room below them. He was well aware that he had asked a question Viktor didn’t want to answer. 

Reveck and his need for control. His need to keep Viktor below him. 

But in the end, Reveck understood that Viktor knew why he had to change to a topic where he held the power. And Viktor understood that this was his best opportunity in years. 

“What has to happen for you to give Powder and Ekko a fair chance?” Viktor asked earnestly.

“What makes you so sure things aren’t fair?” Reveck turned back to him and watched his expression. 

Viktor gaped. “You tried to bury her in a landslide!”

“After your stunt with the Kirmman sponsorship, you owed me a tribute.”

“I believe Ekko made up for that. District Two? Imogen?” 

“Ekko was meant to die there, and you ruined my show,” Reveck corrected him with a snap. 

He never raised his voice at Viktor. 

He had to be agitated beyond imagination to lose his cool— which meant things really weren’t going the way he laid out. Viktor had never seen Reveck without control, and he didn’t think he ever would. If this was the closest he ever got to the sight, then it was the closest he’d ever get to changing the way things worked for District Twelve tributes. It was the closest he’d ever get to doing good after so many lives were lost simply to prove a point to him. A Head Gamemaker close to desperation was a Head Gamemaker willing to bargain. 

Viktor had already been desperate for years. He was willing to break off pieces of himself until nothing was left for the sake of his district. 

“You want these to be your games again? You want to be in control?” 

Reveck only stared, silent. 

Viktor had his answer. “You need to change tactics, then.” Reveck shook his head as if he’d been expecting as much, but Viktor plowed on. “No, listen! You are being needlessly cruel. You are being inhumane. And maybe that worked for a while, but now it doesn’t. Now ratings are down, and the Capitol isn’t satisfied, and the districts are rioting. The blame is going to fall on you and you know it.” 

Reveck’s mouth twisted. Viktor hadn’t said anything but fact yet. 

“You need a different angle. A new narrative.” Viktor’s hands moved in emphasis, following the ups and downs of his voice. It always happened when he was thinking through a problem. 

By the way Reveck remained silent, Viktor realized that he was actually being considered. 

“It’s a show, right? No amount of brutality is going to keep the Capitol entertained or scare the districts any more than they already are! You’ve done the violence thing a thousand times over! So change the storyline. Try a new tactic,” He finished. His back straightened, confident with his pitch. 

Reveck stared at him for a long moment. Finally, he let out a sigh. “And what narrative would you suggest?” He asked as if he already knew the answer— and only wanted to hear it to turn it down. 

“You punish people for their humanity. You always have. It only makes sense that you would go too far and find yourself in trouble.” Viktor cleared his throat and said carefully, “Maybe try the reverse of what’s put you in this sticky situation. Perhaps make a showcase of humanity, instead of the lack of it.”

“Spit it out,” Reveck prompted. 

Viktor steeled himself, already knowing what the response would be. Still, he had to try. “A love story.” 

Reveck’s expression remained unchanged. “A love story,” He repeated slowly. 

Viktor nodded. “Something that will entertain the Capitol— something they’ve never seen before. And something that will cool down the districts. Make them remember that the tributes are kids. Not rebels. Not symbols to look towards. Don’t pretend you wouldn’t consider this if it was someone else pitching it. This isn’t about you and me, so please,” His confident tone cracked slightly. Reveck caught the tiny note of genuine pleading, even with how small it was.  

He appraised Viktor closely, and for a long stretch of silence, Viktor actually let himself hope.

Then, Reveck opened his cracked lips. “Do you know what, Viktor? I think you’re wrong.” 

Viktor pressed his eyes closed for a moment. “Why am I not surprised?”

“This is about me. And it is about you. And it always has been. And I think you know that,” Reveck said simply. He rose from his chair and crossed the room to a bar cart. Glass clinking, he pulled out two cups. “Although, in part, you are correct. Because it is also about the Capitol and the districts. But you and I are part of those.” 

“I understand that much,” Viktor answered, watching with suspicion as Reveck filled the two glasses with amber liquid from an unmarked bottle. 

“You and I and the Council are the only people who know what really happened in your games. We are the only ones who know you were not supposed to win.” Reveck returned to his desk, settling in his chair before ever so slowly sliding the second drink towards Viktor. He watched through narrowed eyes until Viktor picked up the cup, then asked, “Do you know anything about the 10th Annual Hunger Games?”

Viktor scoffed, the drink heavy in his hand. “You know I don’t.”

“Well,” Reveck said. “A tribute escaped the arena. Was loose in the Capitol. The remaining rebel groups used him as a symbol. As hope. As something that encouraged them to bomb us again.” His fingers tapped the table in emphasis as he explained, “Rule number one in gamemaking: don’t let anyone escape.” 

Ah, a symbol that encourages uprisings. 

“So you think Powder is like this tribute?” Viktor asked. 

Reveck’s lips drew into a line. “No. I think you are.” 

Viktor watched him take a long sip of his drink, features twisting in confusion. “How, exactly? If you’ll allow me to remind you, it was you who made the mistake of not realizing I would be able to take out your hand picked victor of the year.” His hand moved, some of the drink threatening to spill from the cup as he added, “And I am not a symbol of hope.” 

“Because we don’t allow you to be,” Reveck glided from Viktor’s statement into his own. “You can’t win a game you didn’t play, Viktor. You escaped. You aren’t a victor, you’re a liability. We only let you play victor to keep you from becoming anything close to a rallying point.” He folded his hands on the table like a patient teacher ending a lesson. “You keep one victor in check; you’ll keep another, and so on. You keep the victors in check, you keep the districts as well.” 

Viktor scowled at the over-explanation. Reveck could never help but patronize him. “If I’m such a danger, why didn’t you just kill me? Fake some kind of accident or illness?”

“Why would I kill something that, if used correctly, could benefit the Capitol?” Viktor only continued to glare at Reveck. He continued, “I never said you were useless, Viktor. In fact, I believe you to have a rather intelligent mind. You alone have managed to invent things that increased coal production in ways we didn’t expect. The ventilated masks, the air purifiers...”

Viktor had known that was the only reason his inventions were approved for production since the beginning— and that the Capitol definitely already had technology beyond what he created. Still, it felt like a slap in the face to hear it said so plainly. To hear his efforts reduced to how much they benefited the people he hated most.

“I wasn’t trying to increase production, I was trying to lower the accident and disease rates.” 

“You should know by now that it isn’t intention but result that matters. It isn’t what something is, but what it looks like.” Reveck took another sip of his drink, glancing at the still-full glass in Viktor’s hand. “You wanted to help your district; it resulted in helping the Capitol. You are an escapee, but you look like a victor. And that’s what’s important.” 

“Well, Powder may seem to be a rebel, but why would that matter if you can make her look like a young lover?” Viktor shot out the question before he could fully think it through. 

Reveck paused. He opened his mouth to speak but Viktor interrupted him, rushing on.

“People like nice things. Happy endings, and all. But the districts won’t. If she really were a symbol of hope, the last thing they’d want to see her doing is slaying other tributes and settling down with the boy she loves. They’ll hate her for surviving, and even more so for surviving with him.” 

“You’re asking me to let both of your tributes survive?” Reveck asked. His tone was incredulous— where he could usually anticipate Viktor, this was audacious enough to take him by surprise. 

“No, no,” Viktor said quickly. He set his glass down and explained, “I am asking you to change the narrative. Tell a different story. Create the opportunity where both Powder and Ekko could go home. If they die, there goes their symbol. If they don’t, you will have gained a major asset. Like me, but better: on your terms.” 

The way the pair stared at each other, Viktor knew that Reveck fully believed in the validity of his plan. And yet…

“What is stopping you from saying yes?” Viktor asked. 

Reveck set his own drink down with a thick clink. “The fact that you pitched it.” Viktor opened his mouth, eyes flashing, but Reveck cut him off. “It is not the ‘petty feud’ you so deeply believe exists. It is the principle of the matter. You have no family or friends to fear for. You have nothing to stop you from defying the Capitol. Except your tributes. Your mentorship status has kept you in line for years now. Allowing you to take one back home, two, at that, would entirely defeat the purpose of keeping you alive. It would take away the final lock on your cage.” 

“I’ll be good, I swear. I’ll do everything right,” Viktor’s voice lowered. 

Reveck clicked his tongue. “I can’t just take your word for it. You have everything to gain and nothing to lose from this arrangement.” 

“So make a new one,” Viktor exclaimed. “Hurt me, I don’t care!”

“You not caring is exactly the problem, Viktor.” 

Viktor grumbled in frustration. He was so close to helping Powder and Ekko, so close to bringing them home that he simply couldn’t leave until an agreement could be met. 

“Pick a new punishment,” Viktor was damn near close to begging. “Keep me in line, I won’t fight it. But give them a fighting chance.” 

Reveck considered Viktor for a long moment. 

Viktor’s chest rose and fell, his heartbeat raging against his ribcage. He had every reason to believe he would leave the room with nothing but a couple hours wasted. And yet hope, like it always did, managed to sneak inside his body and rush through his veins. 

Reveck stood. Viktor followed, leaning on his cane. 

“There will be no arguing,” Reveck began slowly. Reluctantly. “Whatever I pick for you, you will take it without complaint.”

Viktor was nodding along to his words with wide eyes. 

“And I expect your tributes to perform well. This had better be the best Hunger Games the Capitol has ever seen,” His voice was low. A threat hid just beneath it. 

Unsure of what to say, Viktor only nodded again. 

Reveck squinted at him. When Viktor stared back without cowering, he shook his head back and forth ever so slightly. “Congratulations, Viktor,” He said grimly. “You just sold yourself for a chance.” 

**

Something was sticky. 

Sticky, but close to drying. 

It itched, and his first instinct was the scratch at it. 

His fingers ran through a slimy lump on his neck, smearing across the skin— and Ekko jumped into a sitting position, startled. 

Looking down, his hands only had a streak of green on them. Not blood, or the drool of some predator waiting to pounce— he looked around, just in case— but a handful of what probably used to be leaves. 

He collected himself slowly. Little pieces dragging their feet until he was whole again, all his senses working together to force him into thinking. 

The tracker-jacker nest, he remembered vaguely. Imogen.  

He brushed his hand back over his neck. Rubbing the rest of the mess of leaves away, he felt his skin was smooth. Not raised, or swollen with poison like it should have been after receiving a tracker-jacker sting. He raised his hand in front of his eyes, inspecting another smudge of the mashed up green leaves. Carefully, he thumbed it away and found the same thing: smooth, healthy skin. 

Making sure he wiped all traces of the plant from his body, he decided it must be some kind of antidote for the stings. How it got there, though… Ekko wasn’t sure. 

Maybe Powder had found him?

But then, where was she now?

Why would she leave—?

Ekko shot to his feet, swaying slightly with misuse. That only startled him more. 

How long had he been out? Hours? Days? 

Was Powder even still alive?

His stomach lurched with the thought. If Powder was killed because of his own inability— to escape the careers, to evade the tracker-jackers, to heal more quickly— he wasn’t sure he could bear going home. 

That had been the deal, hadn’t it? They were both trying to get the other home with the stipulation that, if they failed, they would try to win? 

Ekko wasn’t sure he could handle it. 

He pictured facing District Twelve, crowned victor of the 74th Annual Hunger Games. Facing Vander and Vi. Benzo. Hell, even Viktor, who had wanted them to come home equally as much. 

What was he supposed to tell Vi? Sorry, I tried? 

No, nothing would ever be good enough. 

He stumbled forward, just barely able to see his surroundings in the pale early morning light. 

He thought back to Viktor’s words, that night before the interviews. 

“Once she died for me, it felt like salt in the wound if it was for nothing. I didn't know if I could dishonor her final wishes, so… here I am.” 

Was that what he would be reduced to? Surviving for the sole sake of regret? Murder, for the same cause? 

When the voice boomed across the arena, Ekko’s first instinct was to spin around and look for oncoming attackers. But then, he recognized it. 

One of the Capitol commentator's voices was being broadcasted inside the arena. It wasn’t unheard of, though this kind of mid-game interaction was always saved for something important— something like a feast or to announce the victor. If it was the former, then they had to be down to the final few. If it was the latter, then… well, it couldn’t be the latter. He couldn’t just win by napping through the violence. 

Only then did the commentator’s words reach him. 

…But, even though Ekko understood them clearly, they made no sense. 

A rule change? 

What kind of rule change? 

Were they sending in more tributes? Cutting off their sponsorships? Shrinking the arena? 

“...Two tributes, if hailing from the same district, can be crowned as a pair of victors if they are the final two alive.” 

Ekko only stood, not understanding it enough to even come to a stage of disbelief. 

The commentator seemed to get that none of the tributes would believe him (if they even managed to realize the voice was real, and not some desperation-induced hallucination). He repeated it again for the arena to hear.

It took another long, long moment for the idea to sink in. 

Powder. Powder, who needed to win. Who had to be alive. And he was alive. And they were both from Twelve. And… and… 

And Ekko was sprinting through the trees, staring into the heights to look for Powder.  He continued for hours, running at a curve to avoid going straight through the Cornucopia. He knew the likelihood of finding her, knew it wasn’t good, and kept looking anyway. 

When he saw the pair of blue braids dangling from a lower branch, not even attempting to hide, he was half convinced he was still hallucinating. Or that he was still trapped inside one of those terrible dreams induced by the tracker-jacker venom. 

He approached slowly, and ever so gently tugged twice at one of the braids. 

Dazed blue eyes flicked down to his face. 

For a long moment, they only stared at each other, both wearing identical masks of emotionless disbelief. 

Then she slipped from the trees, landing directly in front of him. A practiced move that she’d used before, though never had she swayed so heavily on landing. 

But it didn’t matter. 

And Ekko didn’t think. 

It was entirely instinctive when he dragged the shivering body into an embrace, and it was routine for the body to relax into his. 

Against all odds, Powder was back in his arms.

- END OF PART TWO: THE GAMES -

Chapter Text

 - PART THREE: THE VICTOR -

When Vi answered the insistent knocks at the front door and found a Capitol reporter on the other side, there was no hesitation to slam it shut. 

She got just a glimpse of the reporter’s shocked face before the door thudded back into its frame— and a mere moment of peace before Vander was there, spinning her by the forearms to face him. 

“Your sister has made it this far. These interviews can either help or hurt her. Let’s aim for the former, yeah?”

The last two deaths had brought the number down to a remainder of eight tributes. And of course, as per tradition, family and friends of the surviving final eight tributes were interviewed. Capitol reporters were sent across the country to interrogate anyone with a baseline connection to a tribute and a couple minutes to spare to maximize entertainment and sympathy. Never in her life had Vi imagined being faced with one. 

Often, these interviews were the difference between who won. Or at least, so they were told. For all Vi knew, it was just another way to make the districts feel personally responsible for the deaths of their tributes. In fact, she was almost sure that the victors were actually handpicked by the Capitol from the beginning— and that they had already decided who would be crowned. The 74th Annual Hunger Games almost definitely already had a victor. 

Or, rather, victors.  

Vi wasn’t quite sure what the rule change meant. If there was even a precedent for it. 

She wouldn’t let it get her hopes up, though, no matter how perfectly it seemed to set up a joint victory between Powder and Ekko. The ‘star-crossed lovers’ from District Twelve. 

She’d already practically mourned their deaths. She couldn’t afford to do it twice. 

Though what that meant if they did come back…

Vi shook the thought from her head as Vander pulled open the door and tried for a friendly smile. “Sorry about all that. Vi didn’t realize who you were.” 

Though the reporter and his team still seemed a bit miffed about the ‘misunderstanding,’ they were willing to move on for the sake of their show. Vander allowed the team inside to set up. 

“Oh, this won’t do,” One of the Capitol workers muttered under their breath, glancing around the sitting room. 

Their house was old, sure, but what did the Capitol really expect from them? If it wasn’t good enough for them to even film an interview inside, how could they possibly think it fine for them to live in? 

If they weren’t willing to produce a video inside an old house, how could they be willing to send a sixteen year old girl into a simulated wilderness? To put her through dehydration, and wildfires, and landslides, and the murders of her only friends? And to do that to at least twenty-four kids a year? 

Watching Ekko and Powder reunite hadn’t done anything to tamp down her bitterness. 

Vi’s muscles were already straining with tension. She glanced at Vander, who shook his head with a warning glint in his eye. Her fists curled at her sides. 

Capitol citizens were always quick to comment on the state of the districts, but never willing to make anything better. 

Vander was always quick to keep her from voicing that fact.

With Powder in the arena, there was really no reason to worry— Vi would never jeopardize any illusion of a chance her little sister had.  

Instead, she cleared her expression as much as she possibly could, and suggested tightly, “Maybe outside? By the fence? The wildflowers look real nice in the sun.” 

The Capitol workers startled at her voice. They turned to her, paused as if to make sure it was indeed her who had spoken, looked at each other, paused again… and then brightened considerably. 

“Wildflowers,” One of them nodded in approval. She waved Vi over and led her to the door as if she was merely a visitor in Vander’s house. “Show me where you were thinking?” 

Vi nodded, trying not to recoil from the woman. 

The fence was only a few yards from the back of their house and, as was usual in the summer, was flecked and speckled in a smattering of color. There were few places in Twelve with so much vibrance— only along the edges of the fence, and in the paintings Ekko and Powder made on the walls of Benzo’s shop. But even those were muted. The downsides of homemade paints, perhaps. 

Powder had always been infatuated with the wildflowers. Always picking them to bring home to their mother, before and after the day she died. 

A flash of twin graves decorated by Powder burned against the backs of her eyelids. One body and one empty space. Two graves. Vi didn’t understand why the Capitol had let the footage air, even if it was in the earliest hours of the morning. From the floor of her living room, she’d sent a salute back to her little sister, even knowing Powder couldn’t see or feel her. Three fingers raised in honor of the group of three. Two dead, one alive. All mourned for. 

The whole way to the fence, the woman rambled a never-ending tirade of words. Vi didn’t know how she never ran out of things to say. 

“...Has been so lovely styling Ekko and Powder. Of course, Silco wanted to be here to help me prep Vander and yourself, but he thought it was best for one of us to come and one of us to stay, so,” She flourished her arms slightly, the gaudy garments jingling with the movement. “Here I am.” 

She didn’t seem all too thrilled— but smiled when Vi stopped beside a particularly flush cluster of flowers. 

“Yes, this’ll do.” 

Vi was glad to have helped with something.  

“You said you helped prep Powder?” Vi asked, hesitant. 

The woman twisted her lips. “I’m head stylist for Ekko. Silco is Powder’s. But, yes, there was some overlap.” Vi opened her mouth to ask how Powder was, those few days alone in the Capitol, but the woman continued on. “Of course, styling you and Vander will be completely different. We aren’t doing any costumes or anything like that. Just… making sure you’re presentable,” She squinted briefly at Vi’s clothes and hair, “Without sacrificing any of your…” She looked for the right words before settling on, “District charm.” 

Nothing in Twelve was ever described as having ‘charm,’ let alone by a Capitol citizen. It was just a nice way to say they were going to be relying on sympathy in the interviews. 

“What do you need me to do?” Vi asked, steeling her features. “I wanna do this right.” 

“Of course you do,” Ekko’s stylist quirked her lips in sympathy. Vi restrained herself from glaring. In fact, she allowed herself to be led inside, ordered to take a bath, and told all the questions she’d be asked. 

The woman— Renni, apparently, was her name— seemed much more bothered by the state of the old wooden bathtub than that hunched girl inside it. Vi huddled in the lukewarm water, hating being so bare in front of the stranger, but refusing to complain. Not when this would help Powder— and not when Powder had undoubtedly experienced much, much worse scrutiny on her arrival in the Capitol. 

In all fairness, the woman was entirely objective. She started to sit on the stool in the bathroom, only to get inches from it and then bounce back to her feet, thinking better of it at the last second. For the rest of Vi’s bath, she paced the room, running through index cards of questions and critiquing Vi’s answers. 

“Do you think Powder and Ekko will win?”

“I do.”

“...Can you elaborate on that?” 

“Um… what can I say that would make people want to support them?” Vi moved to scrub calloused fingertips against her scalp. 

Renni’s shoes clicked against the floor as she paced another short line across the cramped room. “Emphasize their love story, for one.” She sent Vi a genuinely curious glance and asked lowly, “Did you know? That Ekko loved her all this time?” 

Vi just kept herself from ducking under the water to avoid the full stare. She talked casually as if they were chatting over breakfast, rather than in a bathroom with one of them completely naked. “Uh… I had a feeling,” Vi said slowly. In truth, she was pretty damn sure the whole thing was just a scheme good ol’ Viktor cooked up. But she wasn’t about to admit that. 

Renni raised her eyebrows. Can you elaborate on that?

“Just, the way he always looked at her,” Vi lied. She couldn’t say she was much of an actor, but a liar? She had plenty of experience in that. She thought back to all the romantic little bedtime stories her mother used to tell them— the same ones Vander took over. He always told them differently than her mother had, almost like it was the same storyline with different characters. But the love described by both of them in the stories was always sort of the same— so lovely it was almost unreal. Unbelievable. Vi learned a long time ago that the best lies were always a bit true. “Like he… like he couldn’t believe she was real.” 

Renni slumped, eyes glossy and lips pursed. Vi half expected her to put a hand over her heart and swoon, or something. “Use that. Say that.” 

Vi nodded, noting it in her head. Ekko can’t believe Powder’s real. He loves her. Always has. Something about the way he looks at her.

“And Powder?”

Vi looked up. “Huh?” Her fingers froze against her head, strands of hair spiked and curled strangely in the water. 

Renni motioned for her to continue. “What about Powder? Does she love Ekko?”

This, Vi was supposed to know. And the truth was, well… of course Powder did. She loved Ekko and always had. But Vi knew her sister, and it wasn’t what she and Ekko had fooled the Capitol into believing. There wasn’t a particular look Powder got in her eyes when she looked at Ekko, in the same way there wasn’t really a particular look Ekko got. At least, besides the slightly maniacal ‘mad scientist’ glint they sometimes got. But Vi wouldn’t exactly call whatever that was ‘romantic,’ more… concerning, actually. 

Powder and Ekko had been a team since the day they met. Partners in crime, though the worst crime they ever really committed was crawling under the fence— and that was a rule so long ignored that even most enforcers didn’t punish for it. Vi could say without hesitation that the pair loved each other— and, in fact, she could lie about it being romantic without hesitation as well. Still. She could only hope their stories would line up. Her best hope was being as vague as possible. 

Set up the outline for a lie first, fill in the details later. 

Like one of Powder and Ekko’s paintings. 

“‘Course she loves Ekko,” Vi answered like it was a silly question. “She’s loved that boy as long as she’s known him. Sometimes I don’t know if she knows that,” She added slyly. 

Renni laughed. “Keep that attitude. But don’t forget: you're a big sister. You were going to be in that arena, but your little sister saved you. Don’t get too jokey.” 

Vi’s jaw was stuck, just slightly hinged open. When it finally clicked shut, the hissed remark, ‘Forget? How could I possibly fucking forget?’ sat on her tongue in wait. 

She climbed out of the bathtub and wrapped herself in a towel. Renni left to grab her clothes— her Reaping Day set, since she didn’t have another outfit nice enough. As she dried herself off, the buzzing beneath her skin almost convinced her that she was there again. Hours before her final Reaping. Hours from the worst moment of her life. 

When Renni finally returned, she was holding that damned old dress. 

Vi hadn’t even tried to wash it after the Reaping. Based on the way Renni held it between two fingers, that much was obvious. 

It was dirty, creased obscenely with wrinkles, and even flicked with blood where her knees had dropped to the gravel. After being escorted home, Vi had stripped the dress off, thrown it as far away from her as she could, and wrapped herself in the sheet from her and Powder’s shared bed. She hadn’t worn anything but her underwear and that old blanket the rest of the day, unable to do anything but alternate between staring at the floor and weeping until she lost her breath. 

Vander had been excused from work until the games ended, and Vi— newly eighteen years old— wouldn’t be summoned for the mines until after. The enforcer who delivered the news said it was ‘family time,’ courtesy of the Capitol. So they could support Powder from afar. Vi was pretty sure they only offered time off so people could watch their family members die. 

Vander did his best for her, like he always did. 

It was strange, not having a baby sister to be calm for. She had nothing holding her back from clawing at the floorboards like Powder had all those years ago. Still, the worst she could do was huddle in a ball and gasp for air. Perhaps she’d spent too much time holding it together— she was stuck, arms crossed over her bleeding heart. 

The Reaping dress had sat unmoving in the corner all that time. 

“We’ll figure it out,” Renni said. The way she stared at the dress, it was like she was ordering it to cooperate. 

The dress was passed off to one of Renni’s team members. Vi wasn’t sure what exactly they thought they could do, but said nothing as she was led to the kitchen. Sitting in the wooden chair at the table wrapped tightly in her towel, Vi tried to explain to Renni how she usually did her hair. 

“I want it to still have an authentic look— to keep your character. Only… better.”

Vi rolled her jaw. “I just let it air dry,” She tried again. Renni clicked her tongue behind her and she added, “I mean, I brush it, too. I don’t really have much time to care, though.” 

Renni bobbed her head along with her words. She was distracted: busy spreading out an array of bottles and tools across the table. The sleek and colorful packaging clashed against the graying wood of the table so harshly, Vi averted her eyes. 

The camera crew was outside setting up. Vander was… somewhere, likely being critiqued for his interview answers as well. 

“Is Vander getting a makeover, too?” Vi asked. She had noted a suspicious lack of a second prep team. 

Renni chuckled. “Oh, no. We’re playing the rugged miner father angle for him. Didn’t want him to look too… well, you know.” Vi did not, in fact, know. “You’re different, though. After your sister’s volunteer and your tear-jerking goodbye, everyone expects a beautiful, wise, kind big sister. Someone worth protecting. We’re making sure your exterior matches that.” She winked and twirled a strand of Vi’s hair, somewhat wistfully. “You have so much potential, too…”

Vi thought hard, trying to think of all the times she’d been described as beautiful, wise, or kind. 

She drew a blank. 

And, well, that was fitting, wasn’t it? She’d known the entire time that Powder volunteering for her had been foolish. Had been pointless. Only now did Vi understand, in more clear terms: it was because she wasn’t worth protecting. That had always been her job. And she couldn’t even do that. 

“Try for a smile,” Renni’s voice reached her from a different plane of existence. 

Vi blinked and sniffed, wiping at her eyes harshly. With a deep breath in, she looked up at Renni… and gave her best smile. 

Renni hummed, tilting her head in thought. “Actually, no. Drop the smile. Can you bring the tears back?”

***

The cave was a lucky find. 

Ekko dropped into the cavern, inspecting the walls closely. “Looks secure enough.” He turned around to see Powder staring blankly into the darkness. 

“Hey,” His voice dropped to a soothing murmur. He approached slowly, making sure she could track his every movement. Ever since the mine collapse when they were kids, she’d hated caves, caverns, the mines… he hadn’t expected that to change at all. 

He reached his arms out for her. “I know,” He reassured. “But they can’t find us here. This is safer. I swear.” Not to mention, spending the night up in a tree was a no-go for Powder. From the moment he’d pulled away to get a good look at her, he’d known she was suffering a nasty concussion. Falling however many feet from a branch wasn’t an option. He didn’t want to think what one more good hit might do. 

Thus, the cave. 

“Come on, Powder. I wouldn’t make you do anything that would hurt you.” 

Powder glanced behind her into the late afternoon sun. Her fingers clutched at the rocks as she thought. Finally, she dropped to the ground and gracelessly slid inside. Ekko caught her by the forearms before she could tumble to the floor. 

“See? Not so bad.” 

Powder sent him scowl that reassured him slightly. At least her attitude was still intact. 

As he helped her settle on the chilled floor, he took a moment to look her over again. She had scratches and scrapes on nearly every visible inch of skin. One side of her seemed entirely mottled with bruises. There was the entire ordeal that was the left side of her head, of course. Most of her injuries laced over each other, making it hard to distinguish one from another. Something in her distant gaze let him know that the worst of her injuries weren’t the kind that could be catalogued and treated. 

He felt yet another layer of guilt settle over him, what with his few healed stings and burns. 

“Can you tell me what hurts?” He asked, careful to keep his voice low. 

Powder sent him another look. “How about I tell you what doesn’t? That might be faster.” 

She was coherent, but the words tumbled from her lips without care. Too slippery to form fully before they fell. 

Ekko humored her. “Okay. What doesn’t hurt?”  

“Nothing,” She sighed dramatically. Her back slid a little further down the craggy wall. 

“I know you know that doesn’t help me. At all. Right? You know that?” 

Powder snickered. “Sorry, doc. Didn’t realize it was you.” She pushed herself up a little straighter. Though she swayed, she held a hand up to keep Ekko from getting closer. “What ‘xactly do you plan to do to fix all this?” She gestured clumsily at her entire body. Like it was just one big wound to treat. 

“Was gonna start with washing it. That’s what Vander always said to do,” Ekko dumped his pack to the floor, digging through for his water bottle and the packet of iodine tablets. “Did you have any gear?” 

Powder’s gaze fell to the floor. “No. I ran away from the Cornucopia.” Her eyes flicked back up to Ekko, glaring. “Like I said I would.” 

Ekko lowered his head in guilt. 

“Are you not gonna apologize?” Powder huffed, crossing her arms. 

“I don’t know. Let’s see if this stuff comes in handy first,” He said defiantly. Gripping the water bottle tight in his hand, he stood. “Stay here. Will you do that?” 

Powder settled further into her own embrace, neck bent at a visibly uncomfortable angle. 

Ekko turned to the entrance. Just as he gripped the ledge to lift himself out, Powder’s quiet call of his name caught his attention. 

He turned around, weary. “Yeah?” 

She stared at him for a long time, peering over her arms with a suspicious tilt of her brows. Finally, she let out a little sigh. Her expression softened, and she admitted, “I’m glad you’re okay.” 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” He responded. “Let me go grab some water and you’ll feel even better, okay?” 

Powder nodded. 

Ekko left. 

When he’d found the cave, he had been pretty sure there was a water source nearby. At least, if the sound of rushing water had been more than just imagination. Powder hadn’t heard it, but then, Powder couldn’t hear much of anything. 

He continued towards the water, well aware that the cameras had to be following him. It would be a turning point, his and Powder’s reunion. The young lovers from Twelve finding each other, now with the knowledge that they could win together. 

Wait, Powder knew that, right? Had she been able to hear the announcement? 

He brushed the thought off. Surely she knew. 

Viktor and Caitlyn’s plan was working out well, he was pretty sure. There wasn’t any way to know how many tributes were left— or even how many days had passed, unless Powder had been able to keep track. 

He couldn’t imagine the latter was much of a priority, considering her state. 

But with them reunited, and with no reason to assume the Capitol had stopped favoring them as victors, Ekko had good reason to believe they actually had a chance. 

He tried not to let himself get his hopes up. 

Finding that there was, indeed a stream— unoccupied, at that— wasn’t quite the letdown to discourage hope. 

Kneeling by the stream, he did his best to sort everything he knew from everything he couldn’t. 

Powder was back with him. Incredibly hurt, but alive. 

They had the chance to get home— not just Powder, but both of them. 

Their best bet was to play up their love story. 

Trying not to think too hard about it, he finished filling the water bottle and dropped one of the iodine tablets into it. 

How hard could it really be, anyway? Faking a romance with your lifelong best friend? He already loved her, didn’t he? All he had to do was pretend he felt the way he really did, just… a little to the left of the truth. 

“Honey, I’m home,” He joked, dropping into the cave. He glanced behind him at the open entrance, noting that he needed to disguise it. 

Powder looked up from where she’d sprawled across the ground. “Dinner’s not ready.” 

“Ah, what do I keep you around for, anyway?” His response was absent-minded as he looked through his backpack again. There wasn’t anything to use as bandages, save for the plastic he’d used to wrap his squirrel in all that time ago. Ekko didn’t know much about medical malpractice, but he was pretty sure using that would qualify. 

“Okay.” Ekko turned around, holding his hands up in warning. “I’m gonna take off my shirt, but don’t freak out.” 

Powder raised her eyebrows at him. “That’s a very optimistic expectation of my reaction.” 

Ekko scowled, shoulders dropping. “To make bandages for your mean little head.” 

Powder fell into a bout of giggles and Ekko had to turn around so she couldn’t see him trying not to smile. 

“Aw, don’t be shy,” Powder teased. 

Ekko glared over his shoulder. “I miss when you were nice. You know that?”

“When was that?” 

He turned back around, peeling the jackets from his body as one unit. “I don’t know. Maybe it was actually a dream.” He tugged the shirt off, ignoring Powder’s attempted wolf-whistle, and zipped one of the jackets back over himself. 

“Sit up,” He said, though he was already at her side helping her up. 

“Yes, sir.” 

Ekko leaned back towards the backpack, swiping the water bottle up. He bit his lip, wincing as he stared at the most pressing wound: her head. He could wash it, but once he uncovered the damage, what could he do besides wrap it? What if there was something wrong with her skull? Her brain? It was bad enough that the skin had broken enough to bleed. 

“Okay,” Ekko reassured himself under his breath. He tore one of the sleeves from the shirt he’d taken off and unscrewed the lid, dousing it in water. “Hold still.”

Powder sniffed in response, though she stopped fidgeting. 

The first touch of the rag against her skin made him freeze. “Does it hurt?” 

“You’ve barely touched me,” She waved him off. “You can be rougher than that. ” 

Ekko clenched his teeth, nervous, and swiped more firmly. 

As if on cue, Powder let out a pained yelp. 

“Sorry!” Ekko yanked his hand back. “Shit, are you okay? Did I—” he cut himself off, watching her shoulders shake. “Shit, are you crying?” 

Powder snorted. 

Ekko’s expression dropped in disbelief. “You have got to be kidding me. What was that for?”

“Fun. I dunno.” 

“Insufferable.” 

“Probably,” Powder shrugged, turning her head so he could see the bloody mess more clearly. “I won’t do it again. Swear.” 

Ekko squinted at her. Carefully, he returned the rag to her head. She didn’t react, save for the smallest pained twist of her lips. He started to dab at it earnestly. The pair fell into a silence, so riddled with conflicting emotions it was nearly unretrievable. They’d been friends for ages— but nothing they truly wanted the other to hear could be said in front of an audience without stealing the sentiment. Still, they’d been friends for ages, and thus, hearing the other speak at all was something of a relief. 

“Come here often?” 

Ekko glanced at Powder’s eyes. She was watching him intently. 

“You know, this is actually my first time here. Can you believe it?” 

“Not with the way you clawed your way out earlier. If you’d said you’ve lived here your whole life, you might have fooled me.”  

Ekko laughed. But the laughter made way for melancholy, and he realized there was one thing he had to say. Cameras or no. 

“I really missed you, Powder.” He paused his ministrations, looking her in the eyes. Please know this one’s real. Not just another line from a script. 

Powder smiled softly. “I’m glad you found me. I missed you, too. Somehow.” 

Even though Ekko knew Powder, he didn't know, for the first time, whether she’d heard his unspoken message. 

“I did promise I’d find you. You were never much for hide and seek, huh?” He went back to cleaning the wound. And back to reading their improvised script. Their best lines were ones built from real things they said. But then, how were they supposed to know when one of them was acting? 

“Joke's on you,” Powder huffed out a quiet laugh, then winced with the movement. “I think, like, half of my head is somewhere in the arena. It doesn’t count unless you find everything, so.” She shrugged, a joking frown falling on her lips. 

Ekko clicked his tongue. “Well. After we fix you up, maybe we can go looking for it.” 

The morbid image flickered in his mind, and he cleared his throat. 

Before silence could settle between them again, he asked, “You don’t have a medical degree I don’t know about, right?” 

“Ha,” She answered dryly. 

“Really? No wisdom to share?” 

“Vi used to say I could fix anything,” Powder mumbled. “But that didn’t ever apply to people. You’re on your own with this.”  

“I’m sure that’s reassuring,” He hummed. 

Powder rolled her eyes. “Nobody else I’d rather have attempt to save my life with no idea on how to do that.” 

“I’ve got ideas,” Ekko argued through the new warmth in his cheeks. 

 “My bad,” Powder raised her hands defensively, then spread them in a sweeping gesture. “Impress me, doc.” 

“I sure am trying.”  

Their shared giggles were joined by another noise. A soft chirping that got closer, and closer…

“A gift!” Ekko gave Powder a lop-sided grin and pushed himself to his feet. He dropped the rag in her lap, ignoring her noise of complaint, and rushed to the cave entrance. The silver container sat outside, glimmering in the disappearing light of day. 

“What are the chances they sent you that missing half of your head?” Ekko asked. He picked it up with careful hands and carried it inside. The only thing he could think of for it to contain was medicine for Powder. Or painkillers. And if they had sponsors rich enough to send him a knife, well… truly, what else could it be? Viktor and Caitlyn would make sure they got what they needed. 

Powder’s lips pressed together. “I’d say the odds probably aren’t in my favor.” 

“Ha, ha,” Ekko repeated her. He dropped to the ground beside her. “Wanna do the honors?”

She took the smooth container in her hands and weighed it between them. “Oh, nice. Is this like when someone distracts you right before they try to reset a bone?” 

“Don’t think there’s much to reset up here,” He glanced back at the steadily clearing mess on her head, then down at the container. 

Powder struggled with the lid for a moment. Just as Ekko opened his mouth to offer help, it unscrewed. She lifted the lid, and snorted.  

“Spoonful of soup for your troubles?” 

Ekko’s expression tilted in confusion. He peered into the bowl and found nothing but two spoons and a few cups of steaming broth. His stomach dropped. Sure, he was starving. But why were Caitlyn and Viktor cheaping out now, of all times? 

He remembered all the cameras watching and picked up the rag from Powder’s lap. “You get a head start. I’ll join you in a second.” 

Having Powder back was nothing short of a miracle. But how long would she last if he didn’t have anything to treat her head wound with? 

“Whatever you say,” Powder said. She slurped a noisy spoonful of the broth and slyly looked over her shoulder. “Doesn’t that tempt you at all?” 

“Definitely. But I’m still trying to impress you, unfortunately.” Even with most of the blood cleared away, he couldn’t see much of her scalp. “You have too much hair, by the way.” 

“Cry about it, doc.” She flicked one of her braids his way and took another loud sip of soup. 

Ekko sucked in air between his teeth, then gave a drawn out sigh. “Eh. Maybe later.” 

Powder shrugged. 

Inside the cave, Ekko did his best to treat his best friend’s injuries. But his mind was elsewhere. Halfway at home in his district, imagining their family and friends watching, and halfway in the Capitol, wondering if Viktor and Caitlyn were holding back— or if their sponsors were. 

“I don’t know how they remembered this was my favorite,” Powder hummed. 

Ekko gave her a smile, then turned to wet down the rag again. “Just good at their jobs, I guess.” He could only hope that was true. In the meantime, he tried to think of natural remedies for preventing infection. 

He never was much for medical practice… but for Powder, he would do more than he was yet willing to consider. 

***

When Jayce had heard the rule change, his first thought was to look for Viktor. 

Then, before his head could make the entirely instinctive swivel to face the back of the room, he remembered that Viktor had disappeared from the observation room hours ago. 

And immediately, he knew Viktor had done something incredibly reckless.

Not stupid— Viktor was never stupid. 

It had taken everything in him to stay in his chair watching the games when Viktor finally appeared back in the room, slipping silently back into his chair while Caitlyn leaned in to whisper furiously at him. 

That was in the early hours of the morning, when it still qualified as night. He’d spent the rest of the day wondering if Caitlyn would be able to drag Viktor back to the penthouse for the night. If he’d still be awake by the time Jayce finished with his scheduled encounter. Hell, if he’d cooperate when Jayce asked how he could have possibly convinced Reveck to make a rule change that favored Twelve. 

Because Viktor wasn’t stupid. Whatever he had done, he knew the price full well. The problem with Viktor was that he didn’t care about the personal toll. 

Jayce had sat through the final eight interviews that aired— Deckard’s family came off so good, he’d have believed it if they said they’d been preparing for years. Vander and Vi had been sort of awkward in front of the cameras, but the Capitol citizens ate it up. Benzo came on and charmed the interviewer, making Jayce wonder how much Ekko had learned from him. 

He’d made it through the night with his client. Though he had been thoroughly distracted— never before had he been asked if he was bored, but Jayce guessed there was a first for everything— he survived. Once the allotted time was over, he dressed hurriedly and slipped away. Perhaps with less finesse than was wise. 

Finally, he made it to the District Twelve penthouse. 

Finding Viktor sitting unharmed on the couch across from Caitlyn was surreal. 

The pair turned to look at him, both of their expressions shifting to something like concern. 

“Are you alright?” Caitlyn asked, just as Viktor moved to stand, eyes wide and brows tilted in silent question. 

Jayce stared at Viktor, shoulders heaving. Only then did he realize he might have run all the way to the penthouse. 

The pair watched him catch his breath. 

Eyes still hard on Viktor, he asked, “What did you do?” 

Viktor frowned, surprised by the question. “Did something happen at your— uh,” He glanced at Caitlyn (she missed it, too busy staring at Jayce), “Meeting?” 

Jayce shook his head. “What did you do,” He repeated more firmly. His voice had dropped somewhere gravelly and nearly unrecognizable. 

Viktor bit at the inside of his cheek, expression unchanged. 

Caitlyn got to her feet. Her eyes darted back and forth between them. “What do you mean? Jayce?” 

“The rule change,” Viktor said. His accent looped with Jayce’s rough tone— they said the same thing at the same time. 

Caitlyn’s features fell. “Viktor told me,” She said quietly. She glanced at Viktor, who was still staring at Jayce. Jayce was staring directly back. In their silence, it was clear an argument was happening. Caitlyn cleared her throat. “But it’ll be okay, right? Viktor told me the punishment Reveck set for him. I… feel horrible saying this, but it could be much worse. Right?” 

For a split second, Jayce’s eyes glanced at her. As if to verify. 

His silence was permission to continue. The question was clear: what punishment? 

What did you trade? 

“I’m not allowed to invent anything anymore,” Viktor said steadily. He met Jayce’s stare head on, daring him to dispute his answer. “Unless it’s to further the games.”

Jayce squinted. Explain.  

“New mutts. New traps. My ideas.” Viktor’s eyes finally dropped to the ground. He shifted guiltily. 

Without his husband’s eye contact to hold, he turned to look at Caitlyn. She nodded affirmation. 

Jayce paused, giving himself a minute to think it over. 

It was pure evil. Taking Viktor’s passion for helping people and turning it into the exact opposite. He had never invented anything with a purpose besides enhancing life. Now… well, it was absolutely a punishment decided by Reveck. 

Viktor still wouldn’t meet his eyes. 

Though his skin always crawled at the mere thought of touching Viktor in front of anyone from the Capitol, he didn’t hesitate to wrap his husband in his arms. Viktor settled against his chest without a sound. He only remembered Caitlyn was there when she sidestepped around them to leave the room. 

Without loosening his grip at all, Jayce mumbled her name. Behind him, Caitlyn’s footsteps froze. 

“Sit down,” He said. 

He listened closely as Caitlyn returned to her seat. This time when she sat on the couch, she left plenty of space for Viktor and Jayce to sit beside each other. 

Only then did Jayce pull away to look at Viktor. “We’ll figure it out. We always do,” he said, voice low enough to stay between only them. 

Viktor’s brows furrowed, and his lips quirked. He was skeptical, but he only nodded. 

When they turned to the couch, Caitlyn was staring at her lap, watching intently as her fingers folded the hem of her skirt in neat little creases. Even from feet away, she tried to give them the privacy they’d been deprived of their entire lives. 

“Are you okay?”

Caitlyn startled, looking up at them. When she finally processed the words, her features twisted in confusion. “Am I okay?” 

“It’s been a long couple of days,” Jayce nodded. “Are you okay?” 

Caitlyn stared at him for another long second, lips parted. Then, she pressed them back together, blinked harshly, and bobbed her head up and down. “I am.” Her flashing gaze jumped to them as they sat beside her. “What about you two? ” 

“We’ve been doing this for ages,” Viktor said wryly. He leaned forward around Jayce to give her a weak smile. She only grimaced at the sight. 

“This is bullshit,” She muttered, turning to stare slack-jawed at the floor. Her glassy eyes flickered with color from the television above them. 

Jayce glanced sideways at Viktor, who silently dropped his cheek against his firm shoulder. Gathering Viktor’s hand in his, he bit his lip, then ever so hesitantly proposed, “Tell me about it?”

Caitlyn’s eyes remained on the floor a moment longer… then slowly slid over to Jayce. “Huh?” 

Jayce repeated himself, though more confidently the second time. The tiny huffed laugh against his arm encouraged him on. 

When Caitlyn shook her head, they thought she was saying she didn’t want to talk. But then— “Why do you want to hear what I have to say?”

Viktor’s weight leaning against him was far from heavy, but it was a grounding presence. “Everyone needs someone to talk to,” Jayce answered. 

“No, I— all Capitol citizens do is talk,” Caitlyn ground the words out harshly. Disgusted with the statement. Hating to say it, but feeling the need to all the same. “All we do is talk and make sure the districts can’t and— I should be listening to you talk! Not the other way around! I should be learning from you, I…” She let out a frustrated groan and twined her fingers through her hair, clutching at her scalp. “I’m on the wrong side. Why should you care about me?”  

“You’re on whatever side you pick.” Viktor’s remark was simple and struggling through a yawn. 

Caitlyn’s hands dropped into her lap. She leveled the couple with a disbelieving glare. “I’m the worst of the worst.” 

“If you decide to be,” Jayce agreed, following Viktor’s lead without question. 

Another shake of her head. “What can I do? What could I possibly do to make things better?” Before Jayce or Viktor could try to answer, she swiveled to face them fully, her legs coming up into a criss-cross on the couch cushions. She leaned towards them, eyes wide as she whispered, “I just keep thinking— nothing will ever change as long as the games are going. Right?” 

Jayce glanced down at Viktor, already unsure of the direction of the conversation. Viktor refused to move, cheek still smushed against his shoulder. He squinted up at him, tired eyes seeming to share in his hesitance. 

“Um…” Jayce turned back to Caitlyn. “Right.” 

“So, I’ve been thinking. How do you stop something that’s been instated and enforced for generations?” Jayce and Viktor only stared. “Influence. Influence! You get the people in power to make it look old and outdated, and then you say you’ve progressed beyond needing it! And then you get rid of it!”

Jayce hesitated. “Uh, Caitlyn?”  

“Maybe that’s something I can do,” Caitlyn rushed out. “I’m a Councilor’s daughter— everyone expects me to take her place. Maybe I can and find a way to abolish the games! Maybe—”

Jayce and Viktor shared alarmed glances and she cut herself off. 

“What? Why—” She looked between them, shoulder slumping. “Why not?”

“It will never work. All it will do is put a target on your back. Publicly sympathizing with the districts will get you killed, Caitlyn.” Viktor sat up straight and clasped his shaking hands together, gaze deadly serious. “I need you to understand. You can never, ever voice these kinds of thoughts to anyone from the Capitol. The chances of it making it back to someone who would— it’s far too risky.” 

Jayce nodded in agreement. “Can’t put a fire out from inside a house,” He said. “You’ll just burn with it.” 

Caitlyn stared helplessly between them. “What do we do, then?” 

Viktor glanced at Jayce with a grimace, who only shrugged helplessly. He turned back to Caitlyn and said slowly, “Nothing, for now.” 

“But there’s so much to be done,” Caitlyn pleaded. “How is there nothing to do?” 

“Everything has to fall into place first,” Jayce explained. His eyes fell to Viktor’s hand in his, already missing the weight of him against his side. 

Caitlyn went nearly silent at his other side. “Fall into place? ” She repeated the sentiment slowly, disbelieving of the passiveness.  

“We can’t push these things. If we try too early, we run the risk of losing all of the progress we’ve made— then maybe it’ll be another seventy years before we can try again. Or a hundred. Or two hundred— trust me,” Viktor cut himself off as his voice got too loud. He cleared his throat, voice dropping again. “It is better to be patient for now than forever.”

“Try what again?” Caitlyn’s whispered exclamation was paired with an impatient flick of her hands. “And what progress—?” Her expression slipped into a startling blank slate. 

Jayce’s hand tightened around Viktor’s. The pair watched her work through her thoughts, wondering if she was realizing what they thought she was. 

“There’s a rebel plot,” She breathed. Her eyes flicked up to Viktor and Jayce. “Isn’t there?” She asked more clearly. 

The pair only stared at her. 

“Right. You can’t tell me that,” She deflated. “I guess… is that really the only way?” 

In that moment, she looked much like the little girl who had shyly handed over her favorite book and wished Jayce well those fourteen years ago. A girl used to looking at the world with wide eyes, and believing the worst a question could do was get an answer. A girl who couldn’t fathom the way an evil world worked, or imagine the best option being war. 

“Never mind,” Caitlyn brushed her own comment off— and the illusion was gone. 

Gone, along with any reservations she had. 

“I understand if I can’t be included,” She said quietly, brows furrowed and hands clasped in a business-like way.  “I do. Really. Just…” Her mask of professionalism slipped. “I hope it all works out. And I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Jayce and Viktor asked in unison. 

Caitlyn nodded. Her head was lowered, almost like she was repenting before some deity. “For my family. For what we’ve done. That I’m just… another link in the world’s worst legacy. And that I can’t do anything to fix it.” She looked up, eyes squinting. “Yet.” She said the word like it was a pitch.  

“Don’t be like that,” Viktor scolded her softly. “You are helping me everyday with Powder and Ekko. And you have nothing to be sorry for. Your parents, though— I would like to have a word with them.”

With a raise of her brows, Caitlyn rested her cheek in her palm. She waited silently for him to explain. 

Viktor hummed out a quiet laugh at her expression. “Don’t fool yourself into believing I only mourn for the children of the districts. Capitol children are victims of the same system, even if it looks different.”

Jayce nodded in agreement. His attention turned to the television, quickly checking in on the game’s progress. 

“I— I’m not a victim,” Caitlyn stuttered. Her startled features drew tighter in frustration as she groaned, “But that’s the whole problem, isn’t it? Maybe if I was, then I would be more trustworthy and I could actually do something to help…” She trailed off, then scoffed at herself. “Listen to me. Capitol citizens really will find anything to complain about.” 

“Never wish pain on yourself. Not even for the sake of others. It sets a precedent when it should only be a last resort. We do not sacrifice ourselves unless it is our only hope.” Viktor’s expression did something strange, then. It smoothed out nearly as fast as it fell, though, and he quickly added, “We are not quite there, Caitlyn.” 

“Do you think we’re close? Not to last resorts, but… to change?” 

Viktor smirked mischievously. “With people like yourself around? I imagine the future of our country is bright, Caitlyn.” 

Caitlyn’s eyes shined with appreciation. “Cait.” 

“Sorry?”

“I— I’ve always wanted to have friends so I could say, ‘my friends call me Cait.’ I’ve never had any friends before— not really. But… but I think that’s what I’d like you to call me. I think I’d like to be just Cait to both of you.” Her gaze flicked to the floor sheepishly. “If that’s alright.”  

“Well then, Just Cait,” Cait rolled her eyes fondly at Jayce’s joke, though they sparkled excitedly with the movement. “Go get some sleep so you can help Viktor change things tomorrow.” 

For once, Cait didn’t argue. 

Her footsteps disappeared down the hallway towards her bedroom. 

Suddenly, Jayce was alone with his husband. 

Viktor leaned back against him, letting out a nearly inaudible sigh of exhaustion. With the reassuring weight of him at his side, it left Jayce to turn the thought of Viktor’s deal with Reveck around in his head. 

He couldn’t let the best person he knew become the thing he hated most. An antidote wielded as a weapon— his husband making inventions like a gamemaker. 

It was unthinkable. Unfathomable. 

“Stop thinking about it,” Viktor muttered. “You can’t fix everything.” 

Jayce dropped his head on top of Viktor’s. “I don’t need to fix everything.” Just this.  

“Leave it, Jayce.” Viktor’s tone left no room for argument. "We have bigger things to worry about."

Jayce let the topic die. But only for the night.

He pressed his cheek more firmly against the top of Viktor’s head and willed his thoughts to be quieter. Viktor slipped into a light slumber. 

Jayce used to wonder, when he’d first met Viktor, if that Capitol girl who’d wished for him to find his angel had simply willed him into existence. It was more a joke he kept to himself than a genuine line of inquiry, but a thought he sometimes entertained nonetheless. His miracle, his other half: his Viktor, his angel.

That book Cait had handed him all those years ago had been the key to sharing his thoughts with Viktor across the years, even though they weren’t able to see each other more than once a year. By coincidence, or luck, or fate— somehow, she was in need of a secret way to communicate now. 

Jayce owed her a favor. Maybe finally, he could repay her.

Chapter Text

The day the 64th Annual Hunger Games began, Viktor was eighteen years old and entirely new to being a mentor. 

His tributes— a sweet thirteen-year-old boy and a hardened fifteen-year-old girl— hadn’t survived a full ten minutes in the arena and he had been asked to leave the mentor observation room as soon as their cannons fired. It had been the first time in decades District Twelve even had a mentor from home and a Capitol escort in the room, and Viktor couldn’t help but feel foolish for believing it would make a difference. 

He couldn’t even go back home until the games were over. 

Home. 

He wanted to jump from the top of the tribute apartments at the thought. 

As if his house in the Victor’s Village was anything like a home. His single pair of worn boots at the door, the few books he’d managed to hold onto over the years. Every room was perfectly furnished in preparation for a victor’s presence, though few signs could prove anyone had moved in at all. Every room remained untouched save the sitting room, where Viktor slept silently on the couch every night, avoiding the too-big bedrooms upstairs in favor of staring into the fire he’d built in the fireplace. He kept the curtains drawn— to hide himself more thoroughly, or simply as a way to avoid the utter lack of life in the other houses outside. Viktor himself wasn’t quite sure why. 

He could still half-hear the enforcer who helped him move his things in when he had elbowed him and joked, “Viktor’s village, huh?” 

The lack of originality had not inspired a lack of pain. 

Whether he wanted to go back to that big, silent house or not didn’t matter. He was stuck in the Capitol for however long it took the inner-district tributes to pick off everyone else. 

He missed District Twelve. He missed his old bedroom on the second floor of the apothecary. He missed scrounging up scrap to trade for books, and sneaking under the fence for a day at the lake, and having a family— no matter how circumstantial and found it was. He missed Sky. He missed Sky’s ma and grandaddy. His own mother, no matter how little he remembered her. 

No, Viktor didn’t miss Twelve. He missed the memory of when it was still home. 

Viktor found himself the farthest from home he’d ever been. And the most desperate to forget. 

And then he found himself in a library.

On entering the sprawling room, Viktor knew immediately he wasn’t supposed to have found it. Shelves and shelves, stacked and squished with books and tomes and files— more paper on a single shelf than Viktor had probably even seen in his entire life. Back in Twelve, books were heavily regulated. Each one that was allowed was ‘courtesy of the Capitol’ and practically nothing but propaganda. With nothing to learn from them except more about the so-called ‘inner-workings’ of his district, Viktor wasn’t much interested. To him, the few books that had survived the war were of the highest value to him. His collection of five unauthorized books suddenly seemed laughable. 

There had to be thousands of books— things he used to joke he would kill for, but now knew to be entirely untrue. Still, there wasn’t a life standing between him and the shelves. 

He decided then and there that he was going to read as much as he possibly could. 

Viktor walked down the middle aisle, peering down each section. Each step was dampened by the carpet— his shoes and his cane usually alerted his presence like… well, fanfare would be too generous, but something like that. Here, he could stalk across the room, nearly silent; unworried about his pace or the sound of it. 

He was entirely overwhelmed— where could he start? The back seemed optimal. He wouldn’t be seen if anyone happened to peek in, and they likely kept the most banned of banned books there. 

Yes, he’d start at the back. 

And then, something caught his eye. 

He paused and, as slowly as he could, took a step backwards and peered down the row he’d just passed. 

Laying on their back, feet propped against the shelf across from them with their nose deep in a well-loved book, was a person. 

Viktor froze in place. Did he turn back? Did he dare continue on? Maybe if he didn’t bother this person, they wouldn’t bother him? 

No— this risk wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t meant to be in a library even with his victor status. 

But… the books…!

He stayed still too long. The person shifted, their eyes catching his profile in their peripheral— and jolted in shock, dropping the book onto their face and scrambling into a sitting position. The book had fallen to the side, pages bending against the floor— but it went unacknowledged. 

They stared at each other, wide eyed and terrified at being found. 

At the same second, they recognized each other. 

Neither relaxed. 

“How did you find this place?” Jayce, the victor from two years— no, four years ago— asked. Despite having won so long ago, he was one of the Capitol’s favorites. Their own Golden Boy from the masonry district. He was Viktor’s age, but he’d won at fourteen years old— Viktor had enough problems as a tribute who’d won at seventeen. But then, at least the Golden Boy had a mother at home and plenty of mentors and sponsors to take care of him. 

Viktor knew, when he was crowned victor, that he’d have to meet other victors. He just hadn’t expected to stumble on one of the sharks in a library. 

“How did you?” He countered. 

Jayce squinted. His lips sealed together as he sized Viktor up. 

“What are you doing in here, anyway?” Viktor added. 

With a calculated frown, Jayce picked up the discarded book, dusted it off, and then wordlessly gestured to it. 

Viktor glared. “That’s not what I mean.” When Jayce’s expression only flickered with confusion, he said, not even trying to tamp the bitterness from his tone, “Why are you here instead of the observation room?”

“Not everyone here is mentoring,” Jayce answered stiffly. His eyes flicked over Viktor, seeming to understand what his presence must mean. “We all still have to be here, though. ‘Every victor is a reaffirmation of peace.’” He seemed resigned as he added, “Least, that’s what they say.”  

“Oh, so it’s true because it’s what you’re told?” Viktor snapped. 

The book seemed heavy in Jayce’s hands, but he only tilted his head slightly and watched Viktor curiously. “I didn’t say all that.” 

“You implied it.” Viktor wasn’t sure if the venom in his tone was unfair, but it wouldn’t dissipate. It leaked into every word and infected the conversation. “I guess congratulations are in order. District Two has great odds yet again. Both of your tributes are doing wonderful, last I saw. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Jayce’s features tightened. “I can’t honestly say I’ve been keeping up.” 

“Lucky you,” Viktor answered. With horror, he felt his throat aching. He refused to cry in front of one of the Capitol’s darlings. “What, not a big fan of the games?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” 

Not an answer, but close enough to one. And close enough to the type of answer that calmed Viktor. He wasn’t among family, friends, or even allies— but at least the ‘shark’ he’d stumbled on was a misfit instead of a propaganda-eating elitist. 

They sized each other up— and the tension snapped like an old rubber band. Both relaxed minutely, aware the other was like-minded. 

Viktor swallowed the lump in his throat. Without the anger in his tone, he just sounded tired. “Where is here? I never would have imagined there would be any libraries outside the Academy or the University.” He scanned his surroundings again, eyes tracing the high ceilings and the spines of books. 

When they landed on Jayce again, he was watching Viktor with a furrowed brow and the slightest upward turn at the corners of his lips. “Um. It’s Viktor— right?” 

“Yes,” Viktor leaned against his cane and raised an eyebrow. Answering a question with a question— only for that question to be his name, which would have been displayed across all of Piltover less than a year ago during his victory tour. Useless.

“Well, Viktor; hate to break it to you, but—” He folded the book under his arm and pushed himself to his feet. Even from opposite sides of the row, he was tall. Intimidatingly so. “—This is an office.” 

When his jaw dropped in shock, Viktor didn’t realize it. He was too busy reevaluating everything about the room in the new light it had been thrown into. An office. Janna. 

Forget laughing about his book collection. He wanted to cry over it. 

“Sad, isn’t it?” Jayce sighed. Viktor looked back at him, but he was staring around the room with a mellowed sort of disappointment. 

Suddenly, the back of the library— the most banned of banned books— slipped from his mind. And he needed to know why that was the face that fell across the Golden Boy’s features when he looked at such beauty. He could make guesses and form theories, but he wanted to hear it straight from the source. From Jayce. 

“Why does it make you sad?” Viktor asked. 

His voice was quiet, and they were still standing yards away from each other. But Jayce heard him. 

He shrugged, suddenly guarded again. “Nothing.” Viktor blinked. Something in Jayce broke and he shifted on his feet and admitted, “It would be nice to have something like this back home, though. Not at my house, or anything. Just— a library. Like you said.” 

The statement skirted around everything important it implied. A Capitol darling not falling for their own agenda: the opulence of the Capitol being a privilege to experience, rather than a deprivation from the districts. Yet, Jayce was either too scared or too trained to say it outright. 

Or too smart. There were eyes and ears everywhere, after all. 

But then, why was Jayce here at all?

“Whose office?” 

Jayce gave a single nervous laugh, then sobered again. “Uh, I don’t…” He trailed off as he appraised Viktor. When he finally came to some conclusion, he stated, “Yeah, I don’t really think you wanna know.” 

Viktor scowled. “But you do know?”

“Yeah, but you’d hate how I find out,” Jayce said, giving him the smallest of wry smiles. 

Viktor rolled his eyes even though, strangely, he found that he wasn’t really all that bothered by the victor’s assumption. “What, do you think it’s going to send my poor District Twelve heart into cardiac arrest?” 

“You ask a lot of questions,” Jayce said, returning the book to its perfectly sized slot. “And, no. I just assume the answer’s going to keep you from coming back.” 

Viktor knew he asked a lot of questions. It used to get him into trouble all the time. But it had been a while since anyone pointed it out, and— and. Well. It had actually been a while since he let himself relax enough to indulge his oldest habit. Without fully realizing what he was doing, at that. 

“You think I’m going to come back?” Viktor asked, just out of spite. 

All it did was make Jayce’s ears and cheeks bloom red. “Lotta books. Can’t imagine you’d be able to get through them in a day.” 

“How do you know I’m here to read? I could just be searching for other victors breaking the rules to snitch on them and up my standing.” 

Jayce looked him up and down— actually, from the tips of his mussed hair to the toes of his boots and back up— and then raised his eyebrows, unimpressed. “I’m pretty sure you’d get in more trouble than me for being here.” 

Now blushing just as furiously as Jayce, he nipped, “Are you trying to convince me it’s alright to come back or not?” 

“I wasn’t trying to convince you of anything,” Jayce said, trying to shrug him off with stiff shoulders. “Just saying.”

“You are trying very hard to act casual,” Viktor observed. “You know, you can just say you’re uncomfortable and tell me to leave. As much as I… admittedly, am intrigued by this room, you were technically here first.” 

Jayce stalled at the notion. “Uh. No, you’re fine,” He said. Slowly, like he wasn’t quite sure how to respond. “And I guess I’m just tired. Been doing a lot of acting lately,” He chuckled and looked at his feet, eyes entirely joyless. “Sorry.” 

Viktor was immediately at a loss for words as well. He got the feeling there was something he was missing that Jayce believed all too clear. “No, you’re… I don’t know why you’re apologizing, but I don’t need one. Or want one.” He took an involuntary step closer, then paused again. “Do… you mind my asking?” 

Viktor wasn’t sure why, but he was positive whatever he was touching on was sensitive. 

His words made Jayce freeze in uncertainty again. “Um… about what?” 

Why are you hiding out in some ominous office instead of out celebrating the games with other victors? What makes you freeze each time you’re given a choice? Why do you indulge my questions? What are you acting for? Why are you apologizing? “What were you reading?” 

Jayce’s expression flickered through a range of emotions, all unidentifiable to Viktor. He glanced at the shelf beside him where he’d just placed the book. “Just now?”

Viktor nodded and moved to take a step closer— only to stop himself, and look up at Jayce for permission.

Jayce hesitated, then waved him over. As Viktor moved towards him, he took a single glance at his cane, expression unchanging, and slipped the book back from the shelf. Only when Viktor arrived at his side did Jayce show him the cover. 

“‘The Forge and the Garden,'” Viktor read. “What is it about?” 

Jayce’s eyes lit up so genuinely, Viktor nearly startled. “Well, there’s this blacksmith whose town is starting to die, right? Like, all the greenery stops growing, and nobody knows what to do. And then the blacksmith meets this angel, and the angel is like, ‘my home is starting to die, too: all the stars have started going out.’ So they make a deal that the angel will grow plants for the town if the blacksmith forges stars for the angel, and— It’s a kid’s book,” He cut himself off, enthusiasm disappearing faster than Viktor could blink. Even as he gestured sheepishly at the cover, his expression seemed to challenge Viktor to say anything about it. 

Viktor hummed, endeared, as he looked over the cover. “Do you like it?” 

Jayce’s expression wavered. “Huh?”

“Do you like it?” Viktor repeated, turning to stare up at Jayce. 

Jayce paused, but for much shorter than he had earlier. “Uh… yeah. I guess I do. It’s nice. Happy endings, and all.” 

Viktor smiled softly, eyes downcast. “That does sound nice.”

Jayce faltered. “Would… you like to read it?” 

“I wouldn’t take your story from you,” Viktor replied easily, shaking his head. 

Without pausing to think, Jayce reassured him. “Oh, no, it’s not mine. And I have my own copy back home from the K—” He cut himself off and cleared his throat. “I got my own a few years ago. I’m only here today to see if there was a copy here— I left mine at home.” 

Viktor brightened immediately, looking up at Jayce excitedly. “Do you have a lot of books at home?” 

Surprised by the burst of energy but infected as if it was contagious, Jayce gave a short huffed laugh and shook his head. “No. Just a few. The ones my great grandparents managed to keep after the war, and anything I can manage to sneak out of here.” As soon as the words slipped from his lips, his eyes went wide. 

Viktor stared in a similar state of shock. “You steal books from the Capitol?” He whispered. 

Jayce sealed his lips together guiltily. 

Viktor snorted, then broke into a string of poorly restrained giggles. When he finally managed to catch his breath, Jayce was watching him carefully. “Oh, the more you talk, the more I like you, Jayce,” He explained. 

Jayce’s eyebrows raised in surprise. Then, cheeks dark and trying to keep his lips from lifting and revealing how pleased he was, he muttered, “You must be the first person to feel that way.” 

Viktor frowned at that. Instead of trying to find a satisfying string of comforting words— he’d never been so amazing at that— he simply guided Jayce’s hand to put the book back in its place. 

“You have to show me everything you’ve stolen.” 

Jayce huffed a laugh. “None of it's here. That’s kind of the point…?” 

“No, that’s not what I mean,” Viktor clicked his tongue. Peering down the way he came from, he explained, “I just want to see all the empty slots. All the places where the Capitol’s excess got taken back to the districts.” When he turned back to Jayce, his eyes were shining with mischief, and his lips thin with a smile. 

Jayce looked at him, surprised— then slowly, his features seemed to thaw. “Follow me,” He said, and guided Viktor down a new aisle. 

Jayce remembered where each and every book he’d taken used to be. Which one was where, what it was about— though he never would tell Viktor how any of them ended, ‘just in case’ Viktor found a copy. When they moved on to books about sciences and mathematics, Jayce told him the kind of things that could be invented based on the information within the pages. He indulged every one of Viktor’s questions. 

Viktor wondered if the owner of the office knew the shelves a fraction as well as Jayce.

“Do you spend a lot of time here by yourself?” He asked. They had somehow run out of empty slots to stare at, and found themselves leaning against the backmost shelf where they’d be out of sight from the door. 

“I spend a lot of time by myself no matter where I am. And most of the time I’m not alone, I wish I was.” Jayce seemed to startle at his own words and added quickly, “Not right now, though. You’re— um. Yeah.”  

Viktor glanced at him from the corners of his eyes. He half-wondered if Jayce had read the statement from his own most reoccurring thoughts. The notion didn’t last long— it had to be true for most victors, even if it was a little out of the ordinary for a District Two victor to feel ostracized. Or alone. Rather than saying any of that, he simply asked, “Okay, do you often come here to read books you have copies of at home?”

“No, just that one. I read it every games season.” 

Viktor hummed, turning to watch Jayce closely. Jayce seemed to squirm under the attention. “I suppose I will be polite and not ask why.” 

“Oh.” Jayce’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Uh, thanks.”

Viktor hummed acknowledgement. He turned to look at his legs outstretched in front of him. 

Jayce shifted restlessly beside him. 

“Do you have somewhere to be?” Viktor asked. 

Jayce’s shoulders fell. “Yeah. One of Margot’s gigs again.” Before Viktor could ask who Margot was, Jayce turned to him and said carefully, “If you come back tomorrow, I can show you the best books to start with. That are still here, at least.” 

Viktor squinted, faking suspicion. “Are you just trying to get me caught red handed so you can snitch on me and up your standing?” 

“No. I swear it.” Jayce answered with such gravity, Viktor was helpless but to trust him. 

He thought to his tributes that he’d lost in a mere ten minutes. His yearly two tributes from Twelve were all he had left to live for. Without them, he would have surely already taken drastic measures to escape the guilt-ridden remains of his life. But then, in ten minutes he’d proved to be more detrimental than helpful. He himself had somehow survived— at least in part thanks to his own mentors, who had been victors from other more successful districts. If anything happened to him; if he died, or never returned to Twelve… perhaps it would be for the best. After all, more tributes from Twelve won without a mentor from their own district… even if the sample size to prove that was exactly two. 

“Well. I’ve got nothing to lose,” Viktor had shrugged. 

And that had been that. 

If Viktor had known what exactly he would gain from trusting Jayce, he might not have ever gone back. 

Ten years later, he found himself entirely at the mercy of his husband and government— and not ever able to fully regret agreeing to meet the District Two victor in a restricted office. 

Over time, their relationship had evolved and grown, but one thing had remained the same: they told each other everything, and, by extension, absolutely never lied to each other. 

For the first time, Viktor had broken their unspoken pact. 

Lying to Cait about his punishment hadn’t been a stroke of genius— only a temporary solution to a long-term problem. He had at least avoided having to tell Jayce that he had made a deal with Reveck without knowing the terms. Which… was a conversation he did not want to have, at least unless he did manage to get Powder and Ekko out of the arena. 

In truth, he had no idea what Reveck had in store for him. 

But then again, the punishment he’d made up and told Cait and Jayce was ruthless and ironic enough that only he and Reveck would think of it. For all he knew, that was what his future had in store. 

Walking to the canteen to pick up his and Cait’s lunch, he made a resolution. 

Once the games were over, he would come clean. But no sooner. Neither he nor Jayce needed new distractions. 

Yes, that would have to do. Jayce would be angry, but not unforgiving. Never unforgiving. 

It would have to do. 

His rare moment alone was broken by the near-silent snick of heels behind him. 

Viktor lurched to a stop, knuckles bloodless from the vice-like grip on his cane. 

“Sneaking up on me?” He asked over his shoulder. His voice cooperated when he willed it not to tremble with anger. 

The footsteps trailed around him, and Margot appeared at his side. 

“Of course not. Don’t be so paranoid, Viktor,” She chastised lightly. 

Viktor scowled, and continued walking. Margot followed, matching his pace. 

“What do you want?” He asked shortly. 

Margot never seemed phased by his attitude. In fact, she chuckled lightly at his tone. “No need to be so uptight. You’d be pleased to know I’m actually here on business.” 

 Viktor’s stomach lurched, and he stopped in his tracks again. “Explain to me why I should be pleased.” He eyed Margot, keeping her in his sights like he would track a mutt or a wild animal. 

She was all too happy to explain. “Thanks to your lovely lovebird tributes, District Twelve is in. Underdogs are sexy again.” 

“Sexy?” Viktor scowled. 

Margot rolled her eyes. “What else?” 

“What are you trying to say?” Viktor asked. He could see all too clearly where things were headed— his mind was already racing with any and every possible way to stop it. 

“Don’t play dumb, Viktor,” Margot scolded. Viktor only raised a challenging eyebrow and she sighed. “People are interested.” 

“In. What?” Viktor pressed, his tone severe and hackles rising. He thought of Powder and Ekko, and Jayce being enlisted at sixteen, and nearly growled. 

Margot looked less than impressed at his stubbornness. “The pleasure of District Twelve’s company. Last night Reveck told me you wouldn’t have a problem with it— that you owe him a favor.” 

Viktor nearly gagged. 

Genuinely, what had he expected? Was Reveck only letting Powder and Ekko survive so he could watch them continue to be tortured? So he could torment two for the price of one? And make sure Viktor saw it all happen, knowing it was his fault?

All of a sudden, Viktor wondered if he should pitch the gamemaking punishment to Reveck. 

“Powder and Ekko are not for sale,” He hissed. “I don’t care what Reveck said; they’re children, and—”

“I didn’t say Powder and Ekko,” Margot interrupted him. She watched as his expression slackened— partly in relief and partly in pained realization— and smiled. 

Viktor’s jaw worked open and closed, trying to form a response— but finally, it clicked closed, set in a defeated line.

So this was the price of Powder and Ekko’s survival. 

This was the Capitol— no, Reveck — putting him in his place. His humanity taken when he became a tribute, his identity taken when he became a victor, and finally, any remains of his autonomy taken when he became a prostitute for the Capitol. In hindsight, he supposed Margot couldn’t have been talking about Powder and Ekko— after all, they still might not make it out. 

No, he was being sold for a chance. 

And he had agreed to it. 

“So you weren’t playing dumb,” She muttered to herself. Disregarding her own comment, her smile brightened and she said, “You’re in the public eye again, thanks to your tributes. You’ve really grown into yourself since everyone last saw you.” 

“You mean I’m not starving or sick anymore,” Viktor ground out. 

Margot only quirked her lips in reluctant agreement. “I’ve been getting inquiries about you specifically. Enough that we are interested in moving forward with an official contract. I’d been thinking of a way to pull strings to get you for a while, and then Head Gamemaker Reveck showed up out of nowhere and got it approved.” 

“I don’t understand. I thought this only happened to new victors,” He mumbled.

“Usually,” Margot nodded. “But we’re making an exception for you. Reveck says it’ll be a good learning experience for you and I know it’ll make me money. So, win-win.” 

“Yes, it sounds like it benefits everyone involved,” He scowled. 

Margot chuckled lowly, as if she was only dealing with a particularly stubborn child. “This isn’t the end of the world, Viktor. You’ll be properly compensated for every encounter. And we have to go through the whole process of terminating a contract in exchange for yours, so you won’t even go active until next games season— that’s a whole year to wrap your pretty little head around it.” 

As much as Viktor wanted to argue— it was entirely clear that the decision was already made for him— her statement caught his attention. “You’re terminating another contract for me?” 

“It’s the Capitol, darling.” Margot laughed lightly at his confusion. She reminded, “We only deal in the best, brightest, and newest.” 

“Do you have someone in mind?” Viktor asked stiffly. When she paused, waiting for clarification, he added, “For who you’re going to let go?” 

Margot sized him up, a small smile playing on her features. “Why? Have any thoughts?” 

“I don’t know who’s contracted,” Viktor lied. “But I have thoughts on everything.” 

“Part of your appeal, Twelve,” She winked. For a moment, she only stared at him, thinking. But then her smirk grew. “Tell you what: you come with me and sign a couple documents right now; I give you a list of my personnel and listen to your thoughts.” 

Viktor’s blood rushed in his ears, a burst of adrenaline entirely unrelated to the way Margot whispered the final word. Every thought of self-preservation was wailing for him to turn down the deal, to simply turn tail and run. 

But then, if he could have a say in whose contract was terminated…

“What difference does it make if I say no?” Viktor asked. 

Margot gave a little shrug. “It’s the difference between a boss who appreciates your compliance and a boss who’s pissed you’re making things hard. Don't forget, I do choose your clients.” 

He cleared his throat and steeled his features. “Which way is your office?” 

An approving smile slipped across Margot’s lips, and a manicured finger raised to beckon him to follow. 

He did, against every instinct. 

The curve of his name against paper, written in his own hand had never been such a damning sight. The words above, contracting a year of service with the possibility of renewal, had blurred together impossibly, leaving no chance of truly understanding what he was agreeing to. Of course, Viktor knew he had no choice but to sign them, no matter what they said. Even so, the promise of Margot’s personnel list and her ear would have been enough to force his hand anyway. 

 As he returned the signed documents, heavy for a simple stack of papers, he could only hope Margot didn’t spot the terrified tremors running through him. She was either tactful or unbothered enough to ignore them, instead passing over the promised personnel list. 

His eyes flicked over each name, only pausing a fraction of a second longer over District Two. 

He knew what needed to be done— but it had to be done correctly. There was absolutely no room for error. 

Margot’s eyes were heavy on him as he scanned over the list again. 

Each name was neatly printed next to their years of service and numbers of contract renewals— and it hit him. 

It took everything in Viktor not to grin in triumph. In the end, the slight churn of nausea in his gut was enough to fight it off. 

Viktor looked up to meet her gaze. He gestured to the paper with a slight tilt of his lips. “I am surprised.” 

Margot leaned forward in her chair. “How so?” 

Viktor pursed his lips, shrugging lightly. “Nothing. I was simply under the impression that you ‘only deal in the best, brightest, and newest,’” He regurgitated her words and tried not to sound too smug. 

Margot tilted her head. “And what does that mean?” 

He tapped the list and read, “District One, Lest: nine renewals. District Two, Jules: seven renewals. District Two, Jayce: twelve renewals.” He lowered the papers with a skeptical frown. “Seven, fine. Even nine, fine. But twelve? And for a victor like Jayce? Have you not heard what people say about him these days?” 

Margot’s eyebrows tilted in surprise. “What are they saying about him these days?” 

“Nothing,” Viktor emphasized his words with a short sweep of his hand. “Nobody cares about him anymore! He won fourteen years ago; he’s lost all novelty. I can’t remember the last time I even heard his name outside this room.” 

Margot leaned back in her chair as she considered his words. “You make a good point,” She admitted. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I renew him for a reason. He has plenty of clients.” 

Viktor let out a quiet laugh and went back to scanning the paper. 

Margot frowned at him. “What?” 

He glanced up at her, then back down. “No, nothing.” 

She sat up straighter. “What,” She insisted. 

With a rueful frown and a tiny shrug of his shoulders, he carefully faked the reluctance in his tone. “It is just a bit silly to me. The idea that a victor from District Two— the district with the most victors and the same physique as every other tribute— has something novel enough to be renewed twelve different times.” 

“His clients have only ever left satisfactory feedback,” Margot argued. 

“Yes, I imagine satisfaction is what everyone is settling for after twelve years of the same old,” Viktor hummed lightly as he returned his gaze to the list. 

Margot stared, mouth slightly agape. Then, to Viktor’s sinking heart, she chuckled. 

He looked up at her, eyes squinting in silent question. 

“What does it matter to you, Viktor?” Margot asked. Her voice returned to that low murmur, the one that implied she had the upper hand. “You were completely uninterested until you knew you were replacing someone. Why do you care about the politics of my trade?” 

Viktor’s chest felt heavy, his head light. He feigned collecting himself, and held out the list in what he hoped was a sheepish manner. “I forget myself,” He mumbled. “Perhaps the idea of being wanted is enticing enough to awaken my vanity.” 

She paused, considering his words. 

Then, Margot accepted the paper with a genuine laugh. “I get it. Everyone else starts to look pretty ridiculous once you’re finally the shiny new plaything.” She settled back into her seat with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I think we’re done here, Viktor. Run along. I’ll be in contact.” 

Viktor pushed himself to his feet, careful with his cane on the slick marble floors of her office. 

He reached the door when her lilting voice called, “Oh, and Viktor?” 

He paused, a hand on the handle. “Yes?” He looked over his shoulder. 

Margot was reclined in her chair, the list in her hand. “I appreciated your thoughts,” She purred. 

Viktor nodded slightly. 

He tried not to think on how it was becoming a habit— selling himself for a chance. He tried even harder not to think of how necessary it all was. 

Viktor was hardly present as he picked out his and Cait’s lunch and returned to the observation room. Only when Cait leaned over and tugged at his sleeve did he realize he was back in his chair, staring blankly at his untouched food. 

“Is everything alright?” She whispered. 

Viktor glanced over at her— then across the room, at Jayce’s head that was always tilted just slightly towards him. 

He picked up his fork and cleared his throat. “Yes, of course. I was just thinking what we should send Ekko and Powder next.”

“You’re sure using my mother's funds will piss Reveck off?” Cait leaned closer to ask the question, though she made sure to keep her expression neutral. 

“Positive. We just need to ration our limited funds carefully,” Viktor took a bite of his food. It didn’t taste like anything. No matter how hard he tried to use it as a grounding point, any qualities about it escaped him. His eyes drifted to Jayce again. “Everything will work out.” 

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Cait’s voice was hushed. “Viktor?” 

Viktor turned back to the screen, and took another tasteless bite of his lunch. “Don’t worry about me, Cait. Everything will work out.” 

***

Powder came to with an acidic burning in her nose and mouth. 

Her cheek was pressed hard against the cold ground, and every heaved breath through her mouth only made her throat sting worse. 

She coughed, lungs struggling, and another wave of nausea ran through her. 

“—Hey, Powder— Holy shit, just breathe—”

Powder sucked in a breath. It steadied her just enough to process a searing light through her eyelids and the overwhelming pain in her skull. 

“My head,” She mumbled, reaching to clutch at it. 

Something caught her hand. “No, don’t touch it, Powder. I— I’m gonna change the bandage, okay, just stay still. I’ll clean this up.”

A whimper escaped her lips. Her skin ached, and the pain in her head pounded from behind her eye, spreading down the side of her head and down her neck. “My head,” She whispered again. 

“I know,” The voice shook slightly. “But I’m gonna fix it. Just stay awake, okay? Can you talk to me?” 

“I think ‘m sick,” She managed. Something was sticky between her cheek and the floor. Trying to peek open her eyes at all did nothing but burn them and send another round of bile climbing up her throat. “Vander? ‘M sick.” 

“Vander isn’t here right now,” The voice was closer. Something wiped at her face, and she scrunched up her features in irritation. “No, stay still, Powder.” 

“Vi?” 

“No. Just Ekko.” 

“Ekko,” Powder couldn’t help the smile that spread her lips. His voice huffed a quiet laugh, and continued gently wiping at her face. “But I don’t wanna get you sick.”

“You’re not gonna get me sick,” Ekko replied tightly. 

Powder hummed, her voice barely escaping her lips. She tried to open her eyes again. “It’s so bright,” She breathed. 

Ekko’s ministrations paused. When his fingers returned, carefully brushing hair away from her face, he said carefully, “It’s barely sunrise, Powder.” 

Powder winced again, confused. Thinking too hard sent a stabbing through her eye. Deliriously, she pictured Silco. 

“Are we outside?” She whispered. 

Ekko paused again. “Uh. Kinda. Can you tell me what you remember?” 

Remember? Remember what? Powder’s mind seemed stuck in place. Laying limp in her head much like she was. It didn’t even occur to her to do anything but lay through the pain she felt. When she thought to speak again, all she said was, “I really don’t feel good.” 

“It’s okay. We’ll get you some medicine.”

“Apothecary?” She mumbled. 

Ekko didn’t answer. His fingers moved to brush her hair to the side again. When they pinched at something over the worst of the pain, she hissed. “Sorry,” He said quickly. Ever so slowly, he peeled the thing away from the curve of her skull. 

The side of her head burned cold, now exposed to the air. Ekko sucked in through his teeth. Whatever he mumbled sounded nervous. 

“What was that?” She asked. 

“I’m changing your bandages. Your head, uh…” Ekko’s voice got farther away. The sound of rustling, then tearing, and he returned. He secured another warm strip of fabric around her head. “I think you must have hit it... a couple times.” 

“Ouch,” She whispered. Her words trailed off, the hush the end of the word created lingering in the room. 

“Do you have a blanket?” Her arms wrapped around herself, an unfamiliar fabric failing to keep her warm. 

“You have a fever. We need to cool you off. Actually— I should go get some more water…” 

Her voice squeaked. “You’re leaving?” 

“Just for a second. We need water. You need to drink some, and I don’t have any more after last night.” 

The light burning through her eyelids disappeared. Cautiously, her eyes creeped open. She was met with a shaky view of nothing— when the shape of Ekko just managed to surface in the grey, she latched onto him. 

“Do you really have to leave?” 

She couldn’t see his face. Behind him, a jacket had been draped over a fallen tree branch to keep any light from pouring into the cave. 

The cave? 

The memories of everything that had happened didn't come rushing back in a waterfall of information. Just enough returned to her for the crawling in her skin to increase tenfold. 

“Don’t leave,” She pleaded, suddenly entirely serious. “You don’t know what’s out there— I’ll go with you, just help me up—”

Ekko’s hands caught her by the shoulders and kept her down. “No, don’t get up. Powder, I’ll just be a second. I swear. Nothing’s gonna happen.” 

Powder shook her head, and her stomach lurched. She gagged, and Ekko tilted her to the side. Dry heaving, she could feel Ekko’s sentiment validated by the way he settled her back against the floor.  

“I don’t need water,” She said. Her voice was higher than she meant it to come out. “I just need you. Stay, Ekko.” 

Ekko hesitated again. She knew, even with his silhouetted figure, that he was reconsidering. For a moment, the two breathed in tandem. The cave shielded them in, and Powder convinced herself that they were alone.

“Just try to rest,” The words rushed out, and he disappeared from her side. 

As Ekko slipped through the cave entrance, he refused to look back at Powder’s face. His nylon jacket was pinned between a branch and the cave entrance to keep any light out. Even disguised with leaves the way he did, the thought of leaving left him with restless energy coursing through him. 

With only his thin cotton jacket between his torso and the early morning air, he shivered slightly. The water bottle was tight in one hand, the iodine tablets, coil of wire, and a few strips of his t-shirt snug in his fist inside his pocket. While he refilled their water, he planned to set a few traps to catch something for him and Powder. 

They still had another serving of soup left, but it would be all too soon before they were only left with the few crackers and dried beef strips in his backpack. They needed nutrients. 

There wasn’t much he remembered about medical practices— he was never around injured people much. He remembered the basics from when Vander got a concussion a few years back. It hadn’t been nearly as bad as Powder’s, but he could only work with what he had. 

The first thing Vander had been told to do was rest. Plenty of sleep, but ‘not too much.’ Regular check ups every hour. Ekko didn’t have a watch on him, but he checked Powder’s pupils as often as he could stand to wake her. She didn’t ever seem to wake up fully for them; always mumbling unintelligibly and falling back asleep. 

Next, Vander had been told to keep a careful diet. Once the nausea dissipated and he could stomach more than crackers and plain bread, he’d been told to eat vegetables and protein. Vi had no trouble hunting for the latter with all her snares, but gathering the former had been harder. Ekko imagined his luck would be much the same. But while he could gather roots and plants, he would need more time to create and set the traps, not even to mention waiting for the animals to get caught. 

He knelt beside the stream and filled the water bottle. Once he placed the iodine tablet inside and left it to sit, he gathered a few sticks, his wire, and some torn strips of fabric from the midriff of his t-shirt. None of the traps were quite as nuanced as Vi’s back home, but they’d have to work. His fingers worked quickly, already anxious to return to Powder.  

Powder, who was sick and delirious from her injuries. His cheeks burned with the memory of her quiet words, ‘I don’t need water! I just need you. Stay, Ekko.’  

She wasn’t in her right mind. His stomach turned with guilt for leaving anyway— but he wanted what was best for Powder. And what Powder wanted wasn’t always best. 

She was his very best friend in the world. He wouldn’t let her call the shots when she wasn’t able to think clearly. It was for the best, he told himself. 

Even so, something about it made his skin itch. 

At least determined to keep his promise to return safely, he traipsed through the trees, a good distance from the cave, and set the snares inside tall grass and bushes. Eyes sharp on his surroundings and ears pricked for any sound, he started his journey back to the cave. He made sure not to walk in a straight line, and not to leave any tracks. Not that he was sure anyone left in the arena knew how to track— but he wouldn't take any chances. 

Not with Powder in his care, and the chance to go home together. 

What was best for Powder before was to survive without being burdened by the weight of Ekko’s life. But what was best for her now was for him to stay with her and then go home together. Now that it was an option, everything felt slightly less bleak. 

Ekko wondered if he was losing whatever made him human to want so badly to go home— or if that in itself was what made him human. Then, he decided he didn’t want to think about it. 

A crack echoed through the trees, and Ekko froze. The twig beneath his foot laid innocently, snapped in half. 

His breath came out in short, unsure puffs. Nothing that he could see suggested that he had been heard by anything or anyone. 

Just as he decided that it was safe to continue on to the cave— he’d take another quick detour, just in case— a voice startled him into action. 

His feet moved without thinking, launching him in the opposite direction of the cave— away from Powder, at least she’d be safe. Maybe if she just managed to hang on while everyone else picked each other off? But, no, she was already so sick: she needed help or she’d— she’d— 

The voice speaking was amplified, almost god-like with how it surrounded him.

It was an announcement. Nothing more. 

His feet tripped to a stop. Catching his breath, he scanned his surroundings again. Only once he was sure he was in the clear, he sank to the ground. His heart was still rabbiting against his ribcage, desperate for an unnecessary escape. 

Another announcement? Were they revoking their rule change? Surely they wouldn’t— but then, it was the Capitol. Maybe… but he’d been so sure he and Powder had been entertaining as a pair. Surely the games were still relying on them for the most satisfying story? 

“...Yes, you heard correctly! At dawn tomorrow morning, a Feast will be held at the Cornucopia. Each district needs one thing desperately. Tomorrow morning only, you will have the chance to acquire that thing. Good luck, tributes— and may the odds be ever in your favor.” 

The surreal experience of another announcement so quick, and without Powder in sight, almost had Ekko believing he was alone within the arena. He turned back towards the cave, following an instinctive trail. His mind was elsewhere. Parsing through the commentator’s words was simple, but nearly impossible at the same time. 

Was it a trick? Surely they were telling the truth. If they were, then District Twelve would, without a doubt, have some kind of treatment for Powder’s concussion. It wasn’t something they had the option to go without. And the fact it would be at the Cornucopia meant that Viktor and Caitlyn would not be allowed to send a substitute in with any of their funding. Maybe that was why they only sent food. Maybe it was a message: go to the Cornucopia. Take the risk. 

It sounded entirely unlike Viktor, but what choice did he have? 

There would be another bloodbath, that much was bound to be true. He didn’t have any weapons to defend himself, either, save for the knife he’d been sent to cut down the tracker-jacker nest. While he would do whatever it took, he’d prefer to stay long-distance in combat— but then again, he’d never quite gotten knife throwing down when Caitlyn took them to practice. He’d just have to go in and do what he could. 

It was becoming a reoccuring theme. Ekko guessed everything within the arena was improvised and half-helpful by design. 

“Hanging in there?” Ekko asked, slipping into the cave. He made sure the jacket was still in place in front of the opening, then turned towards where he left Powder. 

She wasn’t where he’d left her— rather, propped against the wall in the fetal position, arms tight around her stomach and knees framing her head. She looked up when he approached. 

“Did you hear it, too?” She asked. Her voice was scratchy, grating painfully enough that he winced in sympathy. 

He dropped to the ground beside her and offered the water bottle. Steadying it with his own hands while she cradled it in hers, he watched carefully to make sure she took small sips. The smallest drop of water escaped from her lips and trailed down her chin. He watched it slide down her pale skin, and…

Startled, glancing up to her eyes— only to find them already on him, a question in her tilted eyebrows. 

“Huh?” He asked guiltily. 

She pushed the bottle away and wiped at her mouth. Her movements were still weak, but while he was away she seemed to have at least regained some awareness. 

“Did you hear it, too? The announcement?” 

Her throat sounded better, but she spoke slowly. Ekko missed when her words flowed without thought or fear. When she spoke faster then he could think— when her thoughts moved faster than she could speak. He needed that medicine before it got worse. 

Ekko nodded. “Yeah. I think they’ll probably have something for your head. I bet that’s why Viktor and Caitlyn haven’t sent anything in yet— they’re not allowed to. The gamemakers want us to go to the Cornucopia. Maybe run into the careers.” 

Powder snickered weakly. “Joke's on them, I guess.” 

Ekko glanced at her, eyebrows furrowing. “What do you mean?” 

At his confused tone, Powder looked up at him. Her expression shifted to match his. Surprised she had to explain, she said, “Well… they’re not gonna trick us.” 

“Yeah, they aren’t gonna trick me. I’ll figure something out,” He shrugged, organizing everything back into their backpack. Even with his casual tone, his shoulders were tensed up by his ears. 

“What is there to figure out?” She pressed, pushing herself straighter. 

Ekko didn’t answer, his back turned. 

Firm even with the tired slump of her frame, Powder hissed, “You can’t be thinking about going!” 

Ekko paused. There wasn’t anything else to organize, but he went back to shifting things minutely, trying to keep his hands busy. 

“You can’t be serious! It’s just a ploy to get us into another fight! A fight we can’t afford right now.” 

“No, a fight you can’t afford right now,” Ekko corrected. He turned to face her just in time to see her expression fall. “But you aren’t going.” 

 Powder’s head shot up to glare at him— but the quick movement made her sway, dizzy. 

“And that’s exactly why.” 

Powder shot him another look. 

Ekko switched tactics, guilt weighing in his gut. “You need that medicine.” He thought of the cameras, of that moment where he’d believed the rule change had been revoked. “And I need you.” 

Powder looked up at him, slightly startled. She glanced over his features, then settled slightly. “But I need you, too,” She whispered. Glancing up at him through her eyelashes, and— 

Okay, they were on the same page. Playing it up for the cameras. 

Ekko’s heart stuttered, and he started to understand what Caitlyn had meant on the train. About acting being a lie one could just almost convince themself of. 

Ekko made a show of shaking himself from his thoughts. “You need to eat.” He cleared his throat for good measure. “Think you could handle some crackers?” 

For the rest of the day, he and Powder argued on and off about the Feast. 

He wasn’t sure why they bothered— they were practically the physical embodiment of the immovable object and the unstoppable force. All that it meant when they met is they were stuck together, unwilling to do anything but stand their ground. Arguing got them nowhere. 

“I won’t let you.” 

But Powder knew she was the one with the disadvantage. And though Ekko wouldn’t say it outright, he knew he was willing to go against Powder’s orders for the sake of her health.

“I’ll yell. I’ll blow my cover if you leave,” She tried. 

But they both knew she wouldn’t risk that, since it had the possibility of hurting him, too. Ekko could tell she wasn’t thinking to her full capacity solely because she suggested it at all. That only made him more worried, and all the more willing. 

“I’ll follow you,” Powder said finally, a vindicated twist to her lips. 

And that… 

That was going to be a problem. 

“Don’t,” Ekko warned. 

Powder crossed her arms. His response had only backed up her belief that she’d hit the winning argument. “If you try to leave, I’ll just follow you. And with my head, and no weapons, I’ll be dead for sure. Then going to the Cornucopia would be pointless.”

“Low blow,” Ekko grumbled. “What, do you expect me to just sit here and watch you… watch you barely keep down water and soup? Watch you—” He cut himself off, unwilling to say the word. 

“Die?” Powder finished, just as upset. “Die, like you would if you went to the Cornucopia?”

“I won’t die,” Ekko argued hotly. 

“But you might,” She shot back.

“Yeah, might. But—”

“Might,” Powder interrupted. “You know, I only might die, too. You aren’t just sitting here watching me fade away, Ekko, you’re taking care of me. Stay and take care of me. Don’t leave when we’re better together.”

She grabbed his fists to keep them from fidgeting. 

Ekko rolled his jaw, looking down at their clasped hands. 

It was one thing to act for the Capitol. It was another to act for Powder. 

“Come on, Ekko. I want to go home with you,” She pleaded. Her tone, though it stayed unconvincingly innocent, carried a threat as she added, “That won’t happen if you leave.” 

He looked up at her, head tilted down and glaring through his lashes. She stared back wide-eyed— pupils different sizes, he noted. 

Immovable object, unstoppable force. 

He’d just have to find some way to stop her. 

“Fine,” He lied. He pointed a demanding finger at her and did his best to channel Vi. “But you have to do everything I say. You have to drink your water, and eat what I make for you, and rest when I tell you to. This isn’t negotiable.”

Powder nodded her agreement, little bobs of her head to keep from spiking the pain in it. Was she truly tricked? Or was she going to curl up next to him and whisper threats in his ear as night fell? 

“Okay.” Ekko crossed his arms, trying his best to look like he knew he lost. A glance at the entrance confirmed that enough time had passed for another trip outside. “I’m going to check the traps. You need protein. I’m going to look for berries or roots as well.” 

Powder looked at the jacket as well and traced the darkening light along the edges of their makeshift door. “Come back before it’s dark?” 

Ekko nodded. He checked that his jacket was zipped all the way to his chin, and climbed outside again. 

He needed something to keep Powder from trying to follow him. It wasn’t like he could tie her up— or, he realized, like he would.  

…Maybe he would, if he really had to. But he didn’t want to think about resorting to such drastic measures. 

“Maybe I can just get her to take a really long nap,” He muttered under his breath.

The snares were empty, which Ekko was disappointed but unsurprised by. He’d have to make do with wild berries and any vegetables or roots he could find. In the end, he guessed Powder would be more likely to stomach something lighter first. But he had wanted to get her something more filling— even in the few days within the arena, she’d lost weight. 

He ventured even further into the trees, keeping a careful eye on the setting sun. Finding a bush of blueberries was a relief. For the first time in a long time, his shoulders relaxed. 

A slight chirping interrupted his thoughts. The sound drew his attention upwards, just in time to see a small silver container lowering right in front of him. He caught it. 

A gift. 

Whatever Caitlyn and Viktor sent him was too small to be food, he could already tell that much. Maybe it was some kind of tool to help him at the Cornucopia? Surely Viktor had read through him? 

He clicked the container open and found a small vial, no bigger than his ring finger. Like the night before, there wasn’t a note to explain its purpose. Or— had there been a note? He had let Powder open the gift the night before. Maybe she’d missed it. 

Inspecting it gave him no clues— inside, was a clear liquid. No identifiable features whatsoever. 

With a glance towards the sky, he unscrewed the lid and took a sniff. 

The smell was overwhelmingly sweet— but it brought back anything but sweet memories. Vander with a concussion, Powder sleepless from nightmares, Vi sick from a burn on her hands… 

Was it medicine? 

But then, why wouldn’t they have sent it earlier? And why would they be allowed to send whatever would be in the Cornucopia? 

No, it was something else. Something familiar, but just out of reach…

He sniffed it again, then slid the lid back on. 

“What’s this supposed to be for?” He whispered, lifting it towards the sky.   

Of course, he received no response. 

Ekko clicked his tongue, and filled his pockets until they were bulging with berries. Even then, he repurposed the metal capsule the gift came in to collect even more. 

With the parachute stuffed into the bushes, his pockets full, his fists clenched around the container and the vial, he began his zig-zagged path back to Powder. 

“Thanks a lot for the gift,” He grumbled. “Be great if I knew what it was.” 

When he heard the tell-tale sound of chirping, he froze in place. 

Could he actually be receiving another gift? That quickly? 

He looked up and, sure enough, another container was drifting his way. 

Stuffing the vial into his too-full pocket, he reached high and snatched the gift from mid-air. It was bigger, closer to the size from the night before, and he had to grab it from the edge. 

The second gift supported two things in Ekko’s mind. 

The first he had already decided, but found reinforced. They were not running low on sponsorship funds. Medicine wasn’t being sent because it couldn’t be sent. The gamemakers wanted the Cornucopia to be his only option.  

And second, Viktor wouldn’t draw attention to his location by sending a gift unless he thought it necessary. Based on its size, it was likely more food. Maybe some more of Powder's favorite soup. He wouldn’t send food unless he believed what Ekko had gathered to be insubstantial and, considering how many berries he’d gathered, that wasn’t likely. 

The only real reason he could think of for Viktor to send another gift would be to send a message. 

He fumbled with the smaller container, and eventually stuffed it into the hood of his jacket. Belatedly, he realized he could have put berries inside that as well. 

He unscrewed the lid of the newer gift. Instantly, he was met with the steaming and almost unfamiliar smell of seafood. Though they sometimes got fish shipped to District Twelve, it was rare enough to be considered a delicacy. Vi liked it well enough— she always got it from Jericho’s stand in the Hob when it was available, but Ekko had always found it unappetizing. And Powder used to gag when she smelled it. 

Hadn’t they discussed that over dinner?

How was Powder supposed to eat that— especially now? 

Inside, he found both of his suspicions confirmed. Not only was there a smoked fish inside, there was a note. 

Red herring. 

Ekko squinted, eyes tracing over the note again. 

…That was it? A label for what their dinner was? 

Ekko glanced over the ruddy brown scales of the fish, confused. Not only had he failed to explain what the first gift was, but Viktor had sent a meal that he knew Powder couldn’t yet stomach and that he didn’t need. He was left with a vial of an unknown liquid, a dinner they could do without, and a plan he still needed to make on how to keep Powder from following him to the Cornucopia. 

What did they even send gifts for if they weren’t going to be useful?

Ekko twisted the lid back closed, angry— but paused. 

Viktor was smart. Viktor was smart.  

What was the likelihood that he overlooked all of Ekko’s problems only to send him useless items? And what was the likelihood that he and Caitlyn observed the situation carefully, and did the impossible to make sure he got exactly what he needed? 

Considering he would be dead without the knife they’d sent him, it had to be the latter. 

When they’d sent the knife, they hadn’t explained what exactly they’d wanted him to do with it. After all, mentors weren’t really supposed to help from outside beyond sending gifts. The note system was more for encouragement, though Ekko couldn’t imagine Viktor was the first to utilize it as a coded communication system. When he had attempted to saw the branch with the nest off with the wire, they had sent him a tool to ensure he succeeded.  

What was a problem they were helping him solve now? 

The Cornucopia. Of course. 

The vial was the answer to some aspect of his problem. And he knew what it was, somewhere deep in his mind. The note— too simple for its own good— couldn’t be all that it seemed. It had to be a hint. Directions on what to use it for; something at least equivalent to their ‘cut straight’ note that had informed him to continue with his original plan. 

He remembered the sickly sweet smell. Vander, Vi, and Powder. It was connected to them somehow. Vander’s concussion, Vi’s burns, Powder’s nightmares… 

Ekko stopped in his tracks. 

“I am so stupid,” He breathed. 

The vial was light in his hand as he lifted it into the fading light to inspect it. 

Sleep syrup. 

Red herring. 

All at once, Ekko knew exactly what to do.

Chapter Text

The plan was simple. Though that was an undeniable fact, Ekko was sure the execution would be an entirely different beast.   

Whatever happened, happened. He could only keep a clear head and hope for good luck.

The vial of sleep syrup— empty, now, felt heavier at the bottom of his pocket than any of the items he carried back to the cave. The stainless steel pot with their dinner of herring, the handfuls of berries in his pockets, the refilled water bottle, and the old gift container he had filled with more berries (now mashed and mixed with mint cloves) felt like nothing compared to its weight. 

But Ekko’s need to reach the Cornucopia was heavier. 

“Dinner,” He said, slipping in through the cave’s entrance— but it came out quiet and unsteady. He cleared his throat and tried again. 

Though his voice came out nearly normal, he still didn’t receive an answer. 

“Powder?” He whispered. 

True to his word, Ekko had returned before the sun could fully set. He turned around and shifted the jacket covering the cave opening so more light could stream inside. It spilled across the floor to where Powder was propped against the wall, asleep. 

Even knowing she had just dozed off, a cold dose of anxiety shot through his veins. 

“Hey, Powder,” He tried again. Setting everything on the gritty ground, he knelt at her side and cupped her shoulder. 

In sleep, her neck had bent at a strange angle. The shredded black fabric around the wound in her head kept him from seeing anything— but gently gliding his fingers against the surface proved gritty and stiff with dried blood. He had been worried it needed stitches the first time he cleaned it, and his fears only seemed to prove true. Maybe once she stopped losing blood, she’d regain some balance and motor skills? Maybe it wasn't all due to a concussion? 

Ekko refused to consider brain damage and what that could look like long-term. Powder would go home, even if it killed him. That was his objective. Anything beyond that was a problem of the future. 

Momentarily, he wondered if this was enough. If he could just slip from the cave while she napped and return without her noticing. 

Before he could talk himself into completing his plan, Powder forced his hand in the form of her eyes fluttering open and gliding up to him. 

Her tongue darted across her dry lips. With a cursory glance towards the light, she confirmed, “You’re back.” 

Ekko nodded. “Yeah. With dinner,” He stretched towards their supplies, snatching up the steel container. “Think you can stomach some meat?” 

“Did they send more soup?” She asked. Her neck cracked audibly as she straightened out. She closed her eyes for a long moment and Ekko wondered how badly the room was spinning.

Only when she came back to him did he haltingly admit, “No. It’s, uh, fish. Actually.” 

Her expression twisted. Yeah, right. 

He shrugged his shoulders helplessly. “It has a lot of nutrients you need to build back up. You promised you would listen to me.” Even as his stomach dropped— he’d never broken a promise to Powder, hell, he couldn’t even think of a time he’d really lied to her— he purged on with the deception. 

Powder’s combative stare softened. “Okay. I’ll try to eat it. But if I throw up—”

“I won’t make you eat anymore,” He promised. At least this one he could keep. “And,” He added, his tone bargaining, “If you manage to eat some of this, I have a surprise for you.”  

Her eyebrows quirked, creating a sweet little crease between them. “Should I be scared?”

“Never. Not with me.” 

Okay, so maybe he was playing it up for the cameras a little bit. 

Powder seemed to understand with the way she briefly closed her eyes. If they were back home in Twelve, she would have snarked back. If her balance and vision wasn't so badly impaired, she would have rolled her eyes. 

He kept a careful eye on her as he unscrewed the lid again. Powder avoided his gaze, rather keeping her sights on the stainless steel container like she was waiting for something with vicious intentions to emerge. 

As the smell wafted across the cave and she gagged, Ekko guessed it was true, in a way. 

Powder didn’t say anything. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed multiple times— likely fighting rising bile— and clenched her fists. Her knees pressed harder into her, and she somehow managed to make herself smaller. 

“Maybe let’s start with some water,” He suggested quietly. 

Powder nodded, lips and eyes pressed shut. 

He twisted around to snatch the metal bottle up. Without waiting for her permission, he held the bottle with one hand, the other reaching to cup her shoulder again. Her skin was warm, too warm, and slightly damp with perspiration. His thumb moved back and forth. Mindlessly, he catalogued the feeling of his skin against hers. 

“Ready when you are,” He said quietly. 

Powder nodded tightly, barely a bob of her head. She didn’t fight him when he guided the rim to her lips and supported it for her; only taking tiny sips of the water. 

Ekko’s own stomach continued to turn with unease. Powder was keeping her end of the deal flawlessly, and he was only luring her into a false sense of security. He was tricking her, and she had no reason to expect that. He would never give her one. 

Until now. After tonight… there was no telling. 

But it was necessary. Right? He refused to see Powder decline any further. He refused to let her family see her decline any further. He refused, especially because there was something he could do about it. 

“You wanna try now?” 

Powder paused again. His hand rose with her shoulder as she took a deep breath in. 

Then, she nodded. 

The herring was sliced neatly for them, and the container came with two forks, much like the soup had come with two spoons. He imagined Powder snorting about their growing silverware collection even as they lacked basic necessities. In reality, she did no such thing. 

Dinner was an ordeal. Powder gagged and chewed slowly on each bite, just barely managing to swallow. Ekko winced sympathetically and helped her through the whole thing. By the time she choked down a quarter of the fish, he was fully resolved to complete his plan. No matter the consequences. 

“Okay. I think that’s enough for now.” Powder slumped in relief at his words. “As promised…” 

Ekko revealed the other metal container from the night before. Without her expression changing even the slightest, Powder stared at it. In his head, he pictured her tilting her head and raising her eyebrows. Imagining normal responses— picturing her healthy— seemed to be the only reassuring thing his mind had to offer. 

He opened the lid and pulled out one of the spoons from their pack. “Surprise,” He said softly. 

Powder peered inside. “What is that?” She mumbled. 

“Some berries. I mashed them to make ‘em easier to eat. And I put some mint and stuff in there. So it’s sweeter.” 

Ekko’s throat tightened momentarily, but the lie escaped him anyway. 

Well. ‘Lie’ wasn’t exactly true. After all, he hadn’t told Powder specifically what all he put in the berries, so technically, he had done nothing more than omit information. He wasn’t lying. He wasn’t betraying her. Not technically. 

The empty vial of sleep syrup in his pocket called bullshit, and Ekko ignored it. 

Powder’s eyes traced up to him. “What are the health benefits for this?” Her voice was doubtful, and so similar to her normal tone that Ekko half-believed he imagined it. 

“This is more of a gift than a necessity,” He said. From the way Powder’s lips twisted, he knew immediately he’d have to work harder than that. With one dragging, deep breath, he summoned every vague recollection of romantic dialogue, and did his best to intertwine them with his own feelings. People back home always did say the best lies were partly true.  “I wanna do more than just keep you alive. There’s not really much more to do here besides survive, but… Powder, when we get back, I swear, I’ll be so good to you. I’ll be anything you need. I’ll do it all right.” He took another breath. For whatever reason, the false confession left him afraid for a reaction. “Until we get out, though… until I can make good on that… I, uh. Got you dessert.” 

The sudden silence left him searching for a better ending. When he came up empty-handed, his sights fell back to Powder. 

Powder, who, despite her exhaustion and her injuries, was watching him carefully. 

There still wasn’t a usual amount of clarity looking back at him, and he knew that the Powder watching him was not the one that could send or receive silent communications back and forth. Maybe not even one that could tell how much of his words were true, and how much of them were exaggerated. With a mental shake of his head, he cut his thoughts off before he could fully wonder whether he himself knew the difference. 

“Thanks, Ekko.” 

He nodded politely and scooped up a spoonful of the mashed berries. Powder accepted the concoction without question. 

Only after she swallowed it did her eyebrows twitch slightly. “What kind of berries did you say?”

Ekko had hoped the sickly-sweet taste of syrup would be even less recognizable to her than it had been to him. “Sugar berries.” He had no idea if that was a thing. “Remember?” Of course she didn’t. “Vi used to get them from the market.” Again, a lie. 

Powder’s squint lessened slightly. “I guess that’s why they’re so sweet.” 

“Yeah,” He agreed easily, and gave her another spoonful. 

She swallowed with a frown. “I don’t remember that.” 

“Might have something to do with your head?” He suggested. 

Powder seemed to agree, and took another spoonful. “It’s really sweet. Like syrup.” 

The empty vial in his pocket seemed to weigh heavier. 

Powder’s eyelids drooped dangerously, only for her to force them back open. Her gaze shot up to him in realization. His expression tilted in guilty confirmation. 

Without care for her delicate head, she twisted to the side and stuck two fingers down her throat. Ekko’s hands shot to her shoulders to steady her— already, she was going limp in exhaustion. The turning in his stomach kept him company as he laid her in the sleeping bag and brushed the sweaty strands of hair from her face for good measure.  

He may not have been sure whether she received any of his silent messages, but he could hear her loud and clear. As her eyes slid closed over the most betrayed look he’d ever seen from her, he knew what he’d just done was unforgivable. 

For a long moment, Ekko was kneeling in the cave, unable to do anything but heave in short, conflicted breaths. The cave echoed more often than not, but it didn’t seem to now. Powder’s even breathing was almost a taunt. It soundtracked his own panic mercilessly. 

However she felt for him after all this… at least she’d be alive to feel it.

Just barely, he managed to stomach a few berries and bites of fish. He checked and double checked the gear he was taking— the knife, what was left of the wire, a few more strips of the torn t-shirt— and resolved to make the most of the night and stop stalling. He zipped his jacket to his chin, took one drink of their water, and slipped from the cave. 

It was dark enough that he couldn’t see Powder when he glanced over his shoulder. 

Dawn came quickly and with little fanfare. 

Still, the barest, bleakest semblance of light was what Ekko needed. After wandering towards the general direction of the Cornucopia (all while trying to make it look like he was confident in his path and plan), it was a relief to look around and see he hadn’t been going the wrong way. The crush of grass beneath his feet and the thought of Powder had been the only thing accompanying him in the dark. Still, it hadn’t stopped him from looking constantly over his shoulder. Now in the early morning light, he was actually reassured to find nothing. 

His hands were shaky. From lack of food, but also from terrified energy. 

If he failed, neither he nor Powder could go home. 

Everything was riding on the Feast. 

Just at the edge of the clearing around the Cornucopia, Ekko dropped into a crouch. He surveyed the area, the knife clutched so tight in his fist he expected one to break… and found his heart stuttering in confusion. 

Where was the Feast?

Had he gone to the wrong location? Had he somehow misunderstood the announcement? Had he and Powder hallucinated the voice somehow? 

Had he fucked up Powder’s last chance? 

His eyes darted across the area again. Sure enough, it was much the same as he’d last seen it. The huge silver structure, devoid of all the supplies it had overflowed with days ago. The twenty four launch plates, still protruding from the ground like pedestals. A good view of the synthetic sky, of the stretching grass where the first bloodbath had happened, and where the second was supposed to happen now. But no gifts. No announcement. No sign of the feast he’d risked everything for. 

Ekko wiped a hand over his face, then let it fall to his lap. 

He was unable to move from his place, peering through the foliage. His eye flicked from place to place, moving so much he could picture Vi telling him he was drawing attention. 

Over his shoulder. Across the field. Inside the Cornucopia. At the treeline. Towards the sky. Over his shoulder again. And again. And again. 

The sun was starting to reflect off the Cornucopia when he decided he should try a different vantage point. 

Right as he rose from his hiding place, a distant hum reached his ears. 

He froze— for a split-second, he feared another round against tracker-jackers. But a moment of forcing himself to think, Ekko, just use your brain, he slowly turned to look up at the field again. 

Right before the mouth of the Cornucopia, a long table was rising from the ground. 

Ekko’s breath hitched. 

Lining the table was an assortment of bags. 

An olive-green backpack with a prominent ‘1’ labelling it; a deep red bag of similar size marked with a two; District Four’s aqua green on a smaller bag; District Five’s purple on another; the deep brown of District Eleven; and at the very end, on the smallest bag, was a ‘12’, stark against its black fabric. 

Six districts left? 

How many of them were still teams? At least seven tributes had to be left… but at most, twelve. Could they only be halfway done? No, there was no way they would hold a feast at the half-way point. They had to be nearing the end. 

Even so, Ekko again wished to know how long he’d been out from his tracker-jacker stings. 

What were the odds he and Powder were the last team? It was almost unheard of for one district Twelve tribute to become a victor— were his and Powder’s chances doubled or halved as a team? 

Ekko shook his head. Thinking that way didn’t serve anyone. It hadn’t in the beginning and it surely didn’t now. 

His eyes flicked over the treeline. 

Was he just supposed to make a break for it? 

His feet shifted, preparing to launch him into the clearing. 

Another scan of the trees proved he was alone. 

His feet twitched forward, but—

Something shot towards the Cornucopia and he jolted to a stop, breath coming out in startled shudders. 

It was a girl. 

Short, with thin hair that flicked around her shoulders like feathers. Her eyes were sharp, even through the soft shade of brown. Her feet barely seemed to touch the ground. But, most distracting, was the bow strapped across her back. 

The purple bag for Five was over her shoulders and disappearing back into the trees before he could tear his eyes from the weapon.

Ekko vaguely remembered her District Five counterpart being projected into the night sky on their first day in the arena.  

That was at least one district he knew wouldn’t win as a team. 

He didn’t particularly want to stick around and find out more— not with his own supplies left so open. So easy to take. 

…Did he dare take more than was his? 

Ekko’s eyes darted around the edges of the clearing again. He could feel panic creeping up on him. After all, this could well be his last stand. 

But then, if it was his, it was Powder’s. 

Before he could change his mind, Ekko gritted his teeth— and sprinted across the field. 

His feet pounded against the ground, each moment of contact sending a shock-wave through his body. He lacked all of the easy, fluttering speed of the District Five girl. Yet, his movements were calculated and smooth. He only gathered speed the longer he ran. 

There was a moment, with his hair brushing through the wind, and his muscles pumping like machines, and his breathing steadier than it had been in days, where Ekko thought that maybe they really would win. 

As if in response, a knife went whizzing past his ear. 

His reaction was delayed— the jerk of his neck in what barely qualified as ducking, and his arms flying up to shield his head. 

But then he was at the table. 

The tiny black bag was in his free hand when he spun to face his opponent. The knife in his other seemed wholly inadequate. 

District One. Sinn. She’d laughed when he was trapped in a tree, her and her career pack circling the base. 

But where was that pack now?

Ekko wasn’t as lucky with the second knife. He tried to dodge, but felt the razor-sharp edge slip directly through his side. The slippery spill that immediately dampened his jacket was what he noticed first— before the tearing, disjointed pain caught up. 

Sinn grinned as he stumbled. 

He recovered quickly, and gripped his own knife tighter. His other hand, the bag still looped around his fingers, pressed against the increasingly painful wound. “Where’s your team?” He tried for taunting, but sounded more exhausted than anything else. 

“Where’s yours?” Sinn returned knowingly. Her eyes flicked down at the tiny pack in his hand, and his grip tightened instinctively. 

She could take it from him, but only if she was prying it from his cold, dead fingers. 

His eyes narrowed into slits. 

She readied another knife, but hesitated. 

“What, is that your last one?” She glared, and he huffed a humorless laugh. “Better aim well, then.”

And then, once she missed— and she would miss, Ekko had to believe that— it would be him against her. And he would be the only one armed. 

His palms were sweaty at the prospect of taking her down, but he found no guilt within himself. It was likely hiding in the shadows, waiting for the moment his adrenaline waned to drag him down. But until then, he was a fine-tuned machine— and his mind was only occupied with the resolution to kill. 

Ekko didn’t notice the footsteps approaching from behind until it was too late. 

A hand grasped around his throat and yanked. 

Weightless, Ekko’s feet slipped from the ground… 

Time seemed to slow, almost stop. For a never-ending moment, he was suspended in the air with a hand around his throat and a single thought in his head. 

I failed.  

And then, like it never happened, his back was slamming into the ground. Any air in his lungs fled on impact. The wound in his side burned, and he could swear he felt it tear further. 

A weight landed on his chest, and two hands grasped his wrists and pushed them into the ground. He kicked his feet uselessly, trying to dislodge the body straddling him. 

“Doesn’t have a tree to hide in this time,” A new voice snickered. The knife in his hand was wrested away from him.

Ekko strained his neck and found Nico, Sinn’s District One partner, to be the one holding his arms down. 

He was going to die this far into the games, and by the hands of District One. 

As if the Careers needed another forgotten name on their kill list. 

He let out a strangled groan and bucked, trying to throw them off him. The pair only grinned and shared excited glances. 

“Not ready to go, huh, Twelve?” Sinn taunted— and, yeah, she did that way better than he had. The tip of a knife found his throat, and he froze. Out of all of the knives he had seen her train with, she had chosen the smallest for him. It was no bigger than his middle finger, but thin and searingly sharp. 

He understood the meaning of its appearance. 

His death was entertainment, after all. 

“There we go,” She hushed. Just for that, he was tempted to squirm again. Did it much matter what he did anymore? District One would get their kill and the Capitol would get their show. And Powder… 

One of her hands tugged the bag from his. The cry he let out was involuntary. 

“What’s this?” She asked. “Medicine for your sweetheart? Is she not doing too well?” 

Ekko's stutter of breath was as good as confirmation. 

Sinn glanced up at Nico across from her. “That’s kinda sweet, huh? Maybe he really is in love with her.” Her eyes trailed back to his face. The blade followed a similar path, tracing up his chin to sit below his eye. 

“That’s too bad,” Nico clicked his tongue. His fingers curled more securely around Ekko’s wrists. The grass tickled against them. 

Sinn nodded, eyes on the silver flash of the blade. “Too bad,” She agreed. “After your luck with the tracker-jacker nest, we agreed that you’re a really good showman. We agreed to let you have one last big performance.” 

The knife dipped, almost curiously, into the skin at his cheek. 

Ekko hissed and struggled against them again. 

“Don’t even think about it, Twelve,” Nico warned. 

A sharp prick closer to his nose sent Ekko’s senses scattering. His nerves spiked and shivered, simmering beneath his skin in prickling waves. Sinn leaned closer, and her breath fanned across his face. Finally, her eyes drifted from the welling drops of blood to his eyes.

 Ekko knew that this would be the last thing he saw. The glint of sun off a blade and Sinn’s unforgiving grin. 

“We got you, and next we’ll get her,” Sinn sneered. 

Ekko’s jaw clenched. 

Could they even find Powder? 

No— not in time. She needed medicine and help, or… 

No, they wouldn’t be the ones to kill her. But she’d die nonetheless. 

Sinn and Nico were true to their word. She loomed closer, glancing over him. “Got any final sweet things to say about your girl? For the people at home?” 

He sucked at the nervous spit in his mouth and spat it into her face. 

She jerked back, the hand with the knife moving up to wipe at her face, and—

Ekko twisted sharply to the side. Sinn, unsteady from shock, tumbled off of him. She landed with a pained scream. 

Without pausing, Ekko yanked his hands— but Nico’s grip held fast. With a growl, he shifted, putting his entire body weight into his hold.

Ekko struggled, and struggled, and that’s when the pair noticed, at the same time, that Sinn was still shifting on the ground and letting out trembling gasps. 

In unison, they both jerked to face the girl. 

“Sinn?” Nico prompted. “Hey— Sinn?” 

Eyes dragging away from her form— curled on the ground and shaking— Ekko tucked his knees into his chest and, using the weight on his hands as leverage, rolled up onto the backs of his shoulders. 

His knees knocked directly into Nico’s turned head with a dull thud that he could barely hear over the roaring in his ears. His side screamed in protest of the movement. 

The only thing that brought him back to earth was the sudden absence of Nico’s grip.

Ekko scrambled to the side with a roll that left him just out of reach. Body aching and slowing, he just managed to stumble to his feet. His hand, uncomfortably empty, clutched at his slippery side. 

He had to run. He had to…

Nico was on his feet as well. 

The bag of medicine dangled in his grip. 

Shoulders heaving, Ekko’s eyes locked with Nico’s. 

He wasn’t doing all this for nothing. Just for One to get Powder’s medicine. They didn’t need it. They couldn’t have it. And death couldn’t have Powder, and he would make sure that if it tried… it would thoroughly regret it. 

Sinn heaved to her feet behind Nico. Ever so slowly, she turned. 

Her hand slipped against her cheek, fingertips pinching at the skin. Blood bubbled and flowed, slipping down into the ponytail over her shoulder. It pooled against the collar of her jacket and stained her white-blonde hair. 

Her eyes burrowed into his, sharp and concentrated. 

She seemed to give up on the wound. 

But then, she opened her mouth. 

Blood spilled over her teeth and down her chin. Without looking away from Ekko, her fingers reached inside— and plucked the tiny knife from the inside of her cheek. 

She closed her lips, bloodstained and twitching, only for more blood to bubble through the hole in her face.

“You’ve really earned this now,” She snarled. Her voice was thick, her throat likely full and slick of blood.

So much blood.  

Ekko stood his ground. If he only knew where they had thrown his knife earlier. It was bigger, enough that one jab to the heart would be enough, but—

The sound of heavy footsteps caught all three of them off-guard. 

Nico and Sinn looked away to size up their oncoming opponent, and Ekko made his move. 

He darted towards Nico, a hand shooting towards the bag. 

Nico noticed. 

He yanked the bag away, stumbling backwards—

Just as their new opponent appeared behind him, and smashed a rock against his head. 

Nico collapsed on the ground with a startled cry. 

Ekko did not spare the newcomer a single glance. His focus was on the bag, which tumbled from Nico’s twitching fingers. The crack of bone and the final choked groans did not dissuade him from taking— only once it was safe inside his vice-grip did he push away from Nico’s failing body and glance between Sinn and the figure crouched over Nico. 

He caught a glimpse of his shattered features, and looked back at Sinn. 

She licked her bloody teeth. The knife in her hand was slippery, all wrong. It no longer glinted in the rising sun. Somehow, it was harder to look at now. 

With a darting lunge, she jabbed at Ekko with the blade. Ekko, prepared, dodged. In a dirty and completely uncalculated move, he reeled his free hand back, away from his own weeping side, and slapped her right over her own wound. 

The smack rang across the clearing and she cried out, stumbling sideways. 

He kicked at her gut and ended up catching her in the thigh. Still, with his heavy boots, she toppled to the ground. 

Her knife must have slipped from her hand. When she raised her sights from the dirt, her eyes caught his with a murderous slice. 

But then, they shifted. She caught sight of something behind him, and suddenly, all her bravado disappeared. Sinn’s eyes widened, terrified. 

As the newcomer brushed past him, his own knife steady in her hand, he turned his back from the sight. 

Through the ringing in his ears, he heard struggling, the terrified shriek of a girl, and the smacking thud of a serrated blade sinking deep in one try. A cannon fired, dragging him back into the present.

His feet tripped on nothing as he started towards the treeline. 

The newcomer may have killed his opponents, but it wasn’t to spare him. He had Powder’s medicine in his hand. The only thing that mattered was getting back to her. 

Maybe his savior would accept his knife as an unspoken form of repayment. 

He’d only heard one cannon. Hopefully she would take care of Nico before going after him. Hopefully he’d disappear before then.

Unsure of the likelihood, Ekko’s staggering steps sped up. 

The flashing, splitting pain in his side sent his vision spinning. Still, he ran. 

His hands pushed him upright, using trees as support. He hoped, prayed, that he was going in the right direction. 

The sun seared into his eyes in every blade of light that struck through the trees. 

The trees seemed to change as he looked at them, morphing into and out of established landmarks. 

His feet trudged along a path that only they seemed to remember. 

Through his hazy hearing, he could’ve sworn he heard a second cannonfire. 

When Ekko fell into the cave, he dumped the contents of the bloodied bag across the cave floor. 

Even through the ringing in his ears, he heard the clatter of objects echo, and echo, and echo…

The syringe was in his hand without any decision of his own. It slid through his grip, marred by fresh blood that was only partly his own. 

He dragged himself to the limp body, still wrapped in their sleeping bag. 

He watched as the needle sunk into Powder’s skin, and his own thumb pushed the plunger. The clear liquid, only minimally visible through the smear of blood, disappeared. 

With a delirious mental giggle, he imagined the liquid to be nothing more than another dose of sleep syrup.  

Ekko collapsed against the wall, and slid into an involuntary slumber. 

***

“That’s District One out of the running. That only leaves four tributes, excluding Powder and Ekko. And all of the teams are split up besides them.” Cait pressed the button marked with a 12, and silence settled in the elevator as it shot upwards. It lasted less than a moment as she turned to her friend. “Viktor, do you think they can pull this off? Because I was having completely blind faith, but now… it seems possible. Plausible.” 

Viktor glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. “Don’t get too excited. Powder may have her medicine and Ekko may be recovering, but that doesn’t mean they’re out of the woods.” 

The past two day’s events had been nothing but horrifying to Cait. Powder’s turn for the worse, Ekko’s ambush, the District Eleven girl who had saved him at the last second, but so brutally that Cait almost had to leave to throw up. She’d spent most of the time jumping to her feet in shock, and clutching Viktor’s arm with anxiety-inspired strength. The first time she’d realized how hard she was holding onto him, he’d only placed a hand over hers in a silent show of solidarity. His eyes had never left the screen. 

Ekko had passed out immediately after administering Powder’s life-saving dose of Capitol-grade medication. When she’d finally escaped the clutches of her sleep-syrup slumber, her fever had all but disappeared. Viktor had reason to believe that the laceration in the side of her head that had been troubling her so would be healing as well. 

With a renewed sense of clarity, Powder had looked through the supplies scattered across the floor of the cave and administered a salve to all of Ekko’s wounds, then wrapped them tightly with their nice new bandages. 

Even as her hands shook— whether from anger at his betrayal, fear of his injuries, or blood loss, or dehydration or hunger, they didn’t know— she treated Ekko delicately and kindly. 

Night eight inside the arena had ended with Ekko swaddled in the sleeping bag, and Powder guarding his battered body. 

And the mentors of District One leaving the observation room grumbling. 

“Right. But…?” Cait’s voice lifted at the end in question. 

Viktor squinted. His eyes stayed on the line dividing the elevator doors as if he was considering that rather than her question. 

“I suppose it is a possibility, just as anything else is,” He conceded. 

Cait straightened up to her full height and turned to stare at the doors as well. 

Viktor shook his head in exasperation. “I told you not to get too excited.” 

“And I’m not,” She said, deliberately calm. Her hands clasped behind her back. “I just have hope with a basis, now.” 

The elevator arrived at their penthouse with a chime. The whooshing slide of the sleek doors muffled the sound of Viktor’s amused huff. 

Cait followed Viktor out of the elevator. “How many days do you think are left?” Her eyes followed Viktor’s movements as he headed straight for the living room to flick the television on. 

Light flooded the room, shading them in the dark blues of the arena’s night sky. 

Viktor watched it, then finally tugged his gaze away to land on her. “We can’t know for sure. The gamemakers will want to draw it out as long as they can, but they can’t risk their audience getting bored. With only five teams left—”

“Four tributes and a team, and only one of those is the audience favorite,” Cait corrected. 

Reluctantly, Viktor gave her a conceding nod. “With so few left, it will likely go quickly. It’s almost always the final two that take the very longest, though.” His eyes flicked over her. “You didn’t sleep last night. Go get some rest; we have another early morning.” 

“You didn’t sleep, either,” Cait rolled her eyes. “Do I need to remind you that I was the one sitting next to you all night in that observation room?” 

“Children need sleep to grow properly,” Viktor threw the comment over his shoulder as he trekked into the kitchen. 

Cait’s expression twisted in disbelief. Her footsteps sped after his. “You’re only ten years older than me!” 

“Sure, but think about it this way: you are two years away from twenty, and I am two years away from thirty. ” 

With a jut of her chin, Cait retorted, “Well, I hear sleep is important for those of advanced age, too.” 

Viktor snorted from in front of the stove. “Even your insults are phrased politely.” He slid a pot onto the burner and turned to rifle through the fridge. The sound of Cait’s scoff only drew his lips into an ornery smirk. 

“Are you going to work more?” She asked, eyeing him critically. 

He pulled a glass bottle of milk from the fridge, sniffed it, shrugged, and dumped it into the pot. “Does it look like I can afford another night without sleep, Cait?” His hand gestured vaguely at his sleep-deprived features. The empty bottle disappeared into the trash. 

“No, it doesn’t. But I can’t imagine that would stop you.” 

One of Viktor’s shoulders shrugged slightly. “If it is true what you say about old people, then it sounds like we could both use an early night.” 

Cait’s eyes flicked to the clock on the wall. Her lips pressed together to keep herself from correcting him on the time— he was, in a way, correct. It was an early night, but only compared to the others they’d had.

“So you’ll go to sleep?” Cait leaned against the counter. Perhaps she was being a bit hypocritical. Most hours in her own bed were spent staring at the television, after all. 

The way Viktor glanced at her from the corners of his eyes made it clear that he already suspected that. 

“If you will,” He hummed. 

Even with the clear fishing for a compromise, it brought a poorly concealed tilt to the corners of her lips. 

Maybe it was as simple as easy companionship, or the fact that he listened to her thoughts. The fact he hadn’t shared them with anyone— well, she had her suspicions about what he and Jayce discussed together, but considering her suspicions about their relationship, she guessed she couldn’t hold it against either of them if they discussed her— or the fact that he genuinely seemed to care for her well-being. 

Cait knew her mother and father loved her. 

So it didn’t make sense why all this felt so new. 

But then again, Viktor and Jayce were her friends. Her parents… weren’t. 

Maybe that was just the difference between friends and family. 

Or maybe it was just the difference between Capitol and district. 

Viktor poured the heated sweetmilk into two mugs, and pushed one across the counter to her. 

Cait picked it up, and wondered if her parents would do the same for her if she asked. 

“Thank you,” She murmured. 

Viktor nodded silently, blowing at the steam rising from his own mug. 

The pair fell into a silence so still, Cait’s eyelids began to droop. Her hands warmed around the ceramic mug, only lulling her closer to sleep, even standing in the uncomfortable work shoes that always rubbed at her heels. 

Viktor’s voice snapped her awake. “I think it’s about time you headed to your room.” 

She shook her head, eyes blinking the sleep harshly away. The all too understanding look in his eyes was, in the end, what made her shoulders droop. 

“Right, then. Goodnight.” Determined to make sure she looked out for him at least half as much as he took care of her, she made sure to set him with a threatening glower. “And I’ll be able to tell based on how bloodshot your eyes are whether or not you slept.” 

Viktor chuckled and shooed her from the room. 

As soon as she disappeared down the hall, his shoulders fell. 

The kitchen was never a place he liked to be alone. 

In the past, when he’d still lived at the apothecary with Sky and her family, the kitchen had always been full and loud and seething with the heat from the wood stove within their cramped walls. Even the bakery across the square was something of a second home— his mother would leave him with the owner during her shifts at the mines before he’d reached reaping age. Before both the owner and his mother died. 

Before he won the Hunger Games, and lost everything else. 

The Capitol kitchens and the kitchen inside his house in the Victor Village were a stark opposite of everything he’d been raised within. Cold and alone, he was reminded again of everything that was supposed to be there— but wasn’t. What was once a place of comfort had long since become a tug at a line of unhealing stitches. 

He rinsed the pan in the sink so the avoxes wouldn’t have to. 

His retreat to his bedroom was quick. 

His bedroom within the penthouse held much of the same discomforts. But where the other rooms were irredeemable in his eyes, the bedroom had slowly gained a sort of soft spot in his heart. After all, the likelihood he’d ever share another with Jayce was low. 

For once, Jayce had stayed in the observation room longer than him. The last time Viktor had managed to steal a glance at him, he’d been huddled with the other District Two mentor at the front of the room. Likely to make a plan to ensure Deckard’s survival. 

Powder and Ekko were only going to become more targeted as the last team. Viktor at least knew that much. 

But never before had his tributes made it far enough to leave him wondering how Jayce would plan against them. 

Viktor’s hands curled against the sheets in his bed. Nerves simmered from beneath his skin, prickling across his body in unpredictable waves. 

Before he fully knew what he was doing, he was snatching his cane from the bedside table and crossing the room to his dresser. He dropped to the floor, knees thudding sharply against it. A twitch of his eyes was the only acknowledgement of the sharp pain that lanced through his joints. 

He pulled the lowest drawer out and reached beneath it. His hand splayed against the wood, smoothing over it in search. 

His palm ran over a raised surface, and he gave a triumphant huff. 

With some maneuvering, he managed to pry the journal from its hiding place. 

As long as Jayce was gone, this could keep him company. 

He settled back into his bed, the journal tight in his grip. 

It was a reminder of the years they’d survived separation and hardship and being pitted against each other. A reminder of the way they cared for each other, and why. A reminder that they chose each other over and despite everything else the Capitol pushed on them. 

He just needed to calm down. Then, when Jayce arrived, he’d be able to make the most of their time. Without allowing the Capitol to place tension between them. 

Viktor would sacrifice his time and sanity and autonomy for his district, but he’d tear himself to pieces all on his own if he allowed the Capitol to separate him from Jayce. 

His fingers stroked down the inconspicuous leather cover. The fabric was smooth against his skin. 

Any anxiety or anger dissipated at the thought of his fingertips against Jayce’s skin. 

Deep in thought, he missed the sound of footsteps shuffling down his hallway. Only when the door clicked and slowly swung open, did Viktor break from his thoughts. 

He looked up, startled. 

In the doorway stood Jayce, expression completely blank. His head slowly turned to Viktor. 

Viktor, who hadn’t expected him for hours. 

“Jayce,” He breathed out. “You scared me.” Even through the agitation, he couldn’t mask the relief in his voice. 

Jayce’s eyes remained blankly on the floor-to-ceiling windows across from him. 

Immediately, Viktor sobered. He waited patiently for Jayce to collect his thoughts, setting the journal down in the sheets at his side to offer his full attention. 

A low, indiscernible mumble came from the door. 

Viktor frowned and leaned closer. “What?”

Jayce’s gaze finally raised to meet Viktor’s. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. 

Viktor waited with bated breath. 

Finally, Jayce shook his head again. “Margot didn’t renew my contract,” He said, hushed. 

Viktor’s eyes widened. His heart gave a start, then sped up in his chest, clanging against his rib cage. 

Disbelieving— it was entirely too good to be true— Viktor asked, “Who told you?” 

“She called me to her office to break the news. I think she thought I’d be devastated.” 

Jayce met Viktor’s gaze, unflinching. Emotionless. 

With a spike in his pulse, he wondered if Jayce wasn’t happy because he knew why it was cancelled. 

“Are you?” Viktor whispered carefully. He dipped his fingertips against the topic, testing the waters. 

Even though he hadn’t looked away from Viktor yet, Jayce didn’t seem to have processed the question. He stood entirely still, framed by the doorway and his rising and falling shoulders. 

“I’m done,” Jayce whispered. He stared at Viktor for a beat longer— and a brilliant grin split across his features. 

Before Viktor could fully process the change in tone, Jayce had crossed the room and dragged him into a hug. The sound of the door knocking shut behind Jayce’s heel never did reach Viktor’s ears. 

It always left Viktor a little startled, the first second in Jayce’s arms. The way the man entirely eclipsed him wasn’t new— it was routine, in fact, the way they revolved around and reacted to each other. The earth returning to the sun. The world embracing the brightest star. Even so, Viktor could never quite anticipate fitting so perfectly against another. 

Jayce’s arms caged him close, and Viktor was quick to pull him closer. 

“I’m done,” Jayce repeated again. His voice was deep and gravelly. “I’m done, Vitya.” 

“You’re done,” Viktor nodded, and found his voice just as thick. 

When Jayce pulled back, it was only so he could nudge Viktor further into the bed so he could slip in beside him. 

“I’ll have more time for you now,” Jayce’s gaze was distant. Hopeful. “Gods, I can fall asleep next to you every night during the games next year.” 

Jayce’s head fell to Viktor’s lap, looking up at him reverently and drawing his hand to his lips to brush kisses across his knuckles. 

Viktor’s gut twisted. He hesitated for a mere moment, wondering how to tell him… he’d already lied enough to Jayce. He’d sworn to break the news to his husband— lying would only be putting space between them. Space that he refused to allow the Capitol to create. He looked down at Jayce’s bright eyes, lips parting regretfully. 

Jayce’s gaze was on his hand, tracking his own thumb as he traced over Viktor’s knuckles again. 

Viktor refused to lie to Jayce again. But he refused to take away a single moment of joy— especially one they’d been anticipating so long. Unwilling to let go of either pledge, Viktor felt himself cracking in half. 

His free hand made a pass through Jayce’s hair, drawing his husband’s attention back to his face. Viktor made a choice, and returned his smile. 

“I look forward to it,” He murmured. 

His heart broke in two. 

Jayce held Viktor’s hand against his chest with both of his own, shaking his head as if to dislodge his unrelenting grin. “Gods, I— I’m so happy, V.” 

Viktor gave a watery laugh and leaned over Jayce, wrapping him tight in another hug. “I’m so happy you’re happy,” He said between the hitching in his breath. When he pulled away, it was only to litter kisses across Jayce’s features. “You deserve everything, Jayce. Truly.” 

Jayce noted the tears in his eyes before Viktor did. 

“Hey, don’t cry,” Jayce gave a watery laugh. He was just as afflicted as Viktor. Even so, he sat up and dutifully wiped the tears from beneath Viktor’s eyes. “Don’t cry, V.” 

Viktor rolled his eyes, but relented to Jayce’s ministrations. 

“I’m not trying to. It’s just nice that things finally changed for the better,” Viktor whispered. He was sure if he didn’t, his voice would crack gracelessly. 

Jayce’s answering smile was soft. When he responded, his tone matched Viktor’s without thought. “You have been predicting it for years,” He whispered back. 

Viktor wrapped his arms around Jayce’s neck and pulled him against him again. 

Endlessly gentle and thoughtful, his hands moved to cradle Viktor’s lower back. He took in a deep breath, and slowly murmured, “You know… I’ve been thinking.”

“Uh oh,” Viktor whispered ruefully. “And just when we have a quiet moment."

Jayce pinched his sides and laughed against Viktor’s neck at the responding jolt and squeak. 

“I’ve been thinking,” He repeated. His tone sombered, and Viktor matched his tone. He stilled and listened. “...About how to fix this deal you made with Reveck?”

Jayce froze midthought as Viktor emphatically shook his head. He pulled back so Jayce could see the sternness in his expression. 

“Leave it, Jayce. We have plenty to worry about without all that.” When Jayce only opened his mouth to argue, Viktor added, “We’ll figure it out later. I swear.” 

In the back of his head, he wondered what new lie he’d have to make up for why Reveck’s gamemaking punishment would never truly happen, and why Jayce would never have to solve it. What excuse he’d have to tell Jayce the next year when he was missing until the early hours of the morning. 

He’d figure it out later. He swore. 

Though Jayce’s features tightened in reluctance, he let the subject drop. At that exact moment, his eyes wandered to the dark leather of the forgotten journal’s binding. 

Jayce’s grin returned. He reached around Viktor, and teasingly asked, “This for me?” 

Viktor raised unimpressed brows. 

The response did not discourage Jayce in the least. He flipped it open, eyes tracing over each page that was entirely filled with Viktor’s methodical handwriting. Though he received a similar journal from Viktor every year (he himself had one waiting for Viktor, hidden inside his luggage), it never stopped him from cherishing each stroke of pen on paper. 

“Another for the collection,” Viktor murmured. 

Jayce closed it again, putting a large hand over the cover. He stared at it a moment, before hesitantly raising his gaze to meet Viktor’s. 

“What?” Viktor asked, leaning slightly away. He was suspicious about the look in Jayce’s eyes. 

Jayce’s lips parted. Then closed. Then parted again. 

“Jayce. Just tell me.” Viktor poked a finger into Jayce’s side. 

Jayce caught his hand. “What if… we teach Cait about this?” Viktor’s eyebrows tilted in confusion. “So she has a way to think things through and tell us her thoughts without saying all this incriminating stuff out loud?” He gestured at the journal in his lap.

He and Viktor had needed each other as an outlet, and a way to communicate when they couldn’t see each other. Cait would need that, too. 

Viktor stilled, expression smoothing. 

Jayce winced. “We don’t have to—”

“You’d do that for her?” 

Jayce paused, looking up at his husband. “I… yeah. And for you. But only if you want to.” His eyes scanned Viktor carefully. “...What do you think?”

Viktor let out a little laugh and sniffed. “I think that’s a wonderful idea, Jayce.” 

Jayce brightened. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” Viktor’s weak smile returned. “I think that would be good for her.” 

Reassured, Jayce ushered Viktor to lay down beside him. When Viktor had left the mentor observation room earlier than usual, he’d hoped the man would get some more sleep. And then, of course, his meeting with Margot had wiped every thought from his mind except that he’d get more time with Viktor. 

The couple shifted to their sides to look at each other. 

“Who’s going to teach her the code?” Viktor asked, a smile teasing the corners of his lips. 

Jayce grinned back easily. “Whoever can get a copy of the book first.”

“You’re the one who has time to visit the ‘library,’” Viktor said. He pulled the sheets over Jayce’s shoulder. 

Jayce responded by pulling them up to Viktor’s chin. “You know Heimer never replaces his books once they disappear.” He pressed a kiss against Viktor’s temple through a sleepy sigh and added, “I brought my copy this year. Don’t worry about it. I’ll teach her.” 

The conversation tapered to a stop after one too many words interrupted by yawns. By the time Viktor’s eyes fluttered shut, he was wrapped close against Jayce’s chest. 

Jayce let him sleep for a long while, then finally, as was routine, rolled over to watch the door. 

Jayce sometimes imagined worlds— utopias, non-Capitols, simple societies, imperfect but free from the games— where he could imagine wanting to show Viktor off. Introduce him to everyone he could, allow his brilliant mind to be known by as many as possible. 

But Jayce found himself in a world where there was no reward to being known. No benefit to being noticed. And his desire to protect Viktor always overruled that bitter shame of knowing what the world was missing. What he was keeping from it. Viktor’s life was of a much higher value than his legacy, and if the world they were forced into made them choose, Jayce would always pick the former. The roles they were assigned— silent symbols of the Capitol’s sovereignty—  were lifelong sentences. Even if he resented the role he played, he played it from Viktor’s side. And even if they could never fully escape the scrutiny their roles provided, he could certainly try to shield Viktor from the brunt of it. 

So Jayce listened to Viktor snore against his back, out of sight from the door he watched so obsessively, and did his best to hide him from what humanity had become.

Ten years ago, that had started within a Capitol official’s office, when they were a mere eighteen years old. 

It had begun with a coincidental meeting, and then purposeful meetings that they arranged every day. 

After inviting Viktor to join him in the office again, he had half expected to be stood up. When Viktor showed up, fearless and ready to explore the shelves of books more, Jayce had never looked back. 

From their very first meeting, Viktor was different. Special. 

He had his own ideas and beliefs. He expected Jayce to have his own. He allowed Jayce to make decisions— in fact, assumed he would on his own, never imagining that Jayce hadn’t been allowed to choose anything for himself from the day he was born. 

The first real one he’d ever made, by and for himself, was to invite Viktor back to the office again. 

And it was the best one he’d ever made. 

On the final day of the 64th Hunger Games season, Jayce found Viktor waiting for him in the back of the old office. Curled up against a shelf, out of sight from the door— he was so small Jayce almost missed him. 

He silently dropped to sit beside him. 

Without a word, Viktor pressed his forehead against Jayce’s shoulder. 

The year of radio silence loomed ahead of them. 

“You’re sure we can’t call?” Jayce whispered. “Other victors talk to each other on the phone all the time.” 

Viktor shook his head. “I don’t want anyone to know. That I… care about you. It’s…” He sniffed quietly. “It’s not safe.” 

The pair had talked so much throughout the games, he felt almost bone dry with the release of information. With the games lasting a whole week and a half and the post-games celebrations drawing the season out even longer, they’d had plenty of time to thoroughly spill their guts. 

Jayce was sure Viktor knew him better than anyone. At least, he knew more than even his own mother did. 

“I wish there was a way to talk to you all year,” Jayce admitted. “I’m going to miss you, V.” 

Viktor stretched his legs out in front of him, and revealed a book in his lap. Ever so slowly, he looked up at Jayce. 

Jayce stared back, waiting for him to talk. 

“I had an idea, Jayce,” He mumbled. “A stupid idea.” 

Jayce gestured to the restricted Capitol office around them. “I think we’re well past stupid. What did you come up with?” 

“A way for us to talk. Sort of.” 

Viktor handed Jayce the book in his hand. The worn cover of ‘The Garden and The Forge’ glinted back at him. 

“I read it,” Viktor said. He directed Jayce to hold it steady, and leaned close to flip towards the middle. Tucked between the pages was a loose slip of paper. 

Viktor plucked it with nimble fingers and raised it to Jayce’s eyes. 

“What do you see in this?” 

Jayce glanced at Viktor, a small smile at the familiar rhythm of conversation— a question from Viktor, an answer from Jayce— and then set his full concentration on the page before him. 

Viktor’s handwriting sloped across the page, filling nearly every surface. 

But… 

“It’s all numbers,” Jayce frowned. 

Viktor’s lips twitched. “Right, but what else?”

Jayce looked closer. For a pattern, or an image within the block of numbers, or an equation… 

Disappointed, Jayce shrugged his shoulders. “I dunno, V. What else?” 

Viktor’s smile appeared fully. Sparkling and satisfied. “A message, Jayce.” 

Jayce’s brows furrowed, and Viktor only grinned wider. 

“Show me,” He requested. 

Viktor rolled his eyes. “That’s why I made it.” 

Apparently, there had been a book on codes somewhere on the shelves, where Viktor had gotten the idea to make his own. The code was a number based system that could only be decoded with the book that brought them together. 

“Each word is a combination of three sets of numbers,” Viktor explained lowly. His finger pointed to the first line of code. “See? This one, ‘14.2.12’ is on the fourteenth page, on the second line, in the twelfth word. Look what it is in the book,” He directed. 

Jayce flipped quickly to the fourteenth page. Viktor’s enthusiasm always infected him. Viktor’s intelligence always excited him. “It says ‘dear,’” He read. He looked to Viktor for confirmation. 

Viktor only gestured to the next set of numbers. 

Entirely invested, Jayce peered at the next set. 

1.1.2 

He flipped to the first page, first line, second word. 

Blacksmith.  

“‘Dear blacksmith,’” He murmured. The words sparked his heartbeat to clang harder against his ribcage. He blinked, and turned to Viktor. 

Viktor glanced up at him. The tips of his ears were burning. 

“It’s a letter?” 

Viktor nodded. “For you.” 

Jayce’s eyes widened. “You made up a code… for us?” 

“So we can still talk. Sort of.” Viktor ducked his head sheepishly. “We obviously can’t send them, but we can write whenever we want and then next year… we can give them back, and read them over the down season.” 

Jayce’s stared, starry- eyed. 

Viktor squirmed in the silence. “I know it’s not perfect. I mean, you read a letter and it was written the year before, and then you write one and it won’t be read until the next year…”

He cut himself off, startled when Jayce dragged him into a hug. 

Viktor froze from within Jayce’s arms. 

“It’s everything, V,” He whispered. 

Viktor relaxed. Hesitantly, his arms settled around Jayce. His palms rested on Jayce’s back, and Jayce gave him a final squeeze before letting go. 

“I’ll write you every day,” Jayce grinned. 

Viktor let out a surprised laugh. “You don’t need to do that.” 

“You made me a code, Vik. I’m not just gonna not use it.” 

“Ah, whatever,” Viktor waved a dismissive hand. The twinkling in his eyes was contradictory— entirely delighted. 

“You’re taking this home, right?” Jayce closed the book carefully to place it in Viktor’s hands. 

Viktor nodded. “It only seems fair since you already have a copy. I also found a set of unused journals, so I’m stealing one for all my letters.” 

Jayce sat up straighter. “That’s a great idea.” 

The letters, so they couldn’t be caught talking. The codes, so the words couldn’t be understood even if they were caught. 

Jayce faltered. “Uh, V?”

Viktor paused at his sudden change in tone. “Yes?” 

“What…” He cleared his throat. Viktor’s idea was perfect and kind, and he’d never had anyone care for him in a way where they wanted to talk to him. Where they’d invent for him. But… there was one glaring problem. 

“What happens if someone finds the journals? If they can’t read them, what if they assume they’re something real bad? Not just letters between friends?” 

What would happen to Viktor if he was caught? 

Viktor’s lips titled in thought. “My advice?”

Jayce nodded. 

Viktor shrugged a shoulder as if it was simple. “Hide them well.” 

The statement sent an entirely unwelcome chill up Jayce’s spine. The doubt must have shown clearly on his face, because Viktor took one glance at him… and deflated. 

“It was just an idea,” He murmured. “I’ll talk to you next year.” 

The tension in Jayce’s muscles only tightened. Before he could reconsider, his hand found Viktor’s shoulder. 

“You will. But until then… write me?” 

Viktor’s eyes traced the path to meet Jayce’s. Ever so slowly and cautiously, as if preparing to see something that would hurt him. 

He only found sincerity within Jayce’s gaze. 

“I’d like that.”

Viktor’s words were a mere whisper of sound. 

Jayce squeezed his shoulder. “See you next year?”

Viktor nodded. “I’ll be waiting.” 

When they’d finally separated that night to go their separate ways, it was only after a final firm hug, and another whisper of a promise from Viktor. 

“Someday, things will be different.”

Chapter Text

“I don’t think I really care what happens to me.” 

Powder’s brows furrowed. Though Vi had told her to keep her eyes on the trap they’d just set, she couldn’t help but flick them up at her.

Vi shifted slightly on her feet, expression preoccupied. 

“What do you mean?” Powder’s voice was quiet, questioning. After all, when she asked if Vi was scared for her first Reaping, that certainly wasn’t the response she expected. 

Vi’s brows furrowed. “Watch the trap.” 

Obediently, Powder squinted at the improvised snare. From the corner of her lips, she repeated the question. 

“What do you mean, Vi?” She asked softly. 

 Her twelve-year-old sister stood tall and firm. Even despite her skinny, hungry limbs, Vi could have been a giant in Powder’s eyes. A pillar. She rose above everything like the trees that towered around them on the wrong side of the fence. 

“I shouldn’t have said it like that,” Vi mumbled. “I just meant that… it’s okay to be scared. But I’m not. That’s all.” 

Powder couldn’t help it. Her wide eyes traced back up to her older sister’s set features. 

“What if your name gets called?” 

Vi crouched at Powder’s side and gripped her shoulder tightly enough to draw her full attention. “It won’t. And neither will yours. Me and Vander are gonna keep you safe. Got it?”

“Got it.” 

Vi’s lips twitched into a smile. “Good. Now watch your trap while I check the others.”  

Powder dug through the underbrush, searching for the trap Ekko had indicated. 

“Right under the tree fifty paces from the cave and twelve from the stream, my ass,” She muttered. 

Her fingers dug through the leaves in a restless search. She refused to use up the last of their dried food, but that left only cold fish as an option. Even with Ekko’s exhausted and concerned warnings of the arena outside the cave, Powder decided to take her chances with their snares. 

Though she was far from what she could even imagine being her best, the Capitol medicine had worked almost insultingly well. What felt like mere moments after she’d dropped off to sleep with the knowledge that Ekko was going to get himself killed and she was going to die alone in a cave, she’d awoken lucid. 

Her limbs still trembled and her head still ached, but the wound in her head had been treated with a paste that made the skin scab and close. While Ekko was still passed out on the cave floor, she had applied the same medicine to Ekko— the strange cuts on his face, a healing slice in the palm of his hand… there was little to be done for the bruises around his wrist or his ribs which, based on the way he shifted on the ground, were bruised. Or maybe even cracked, or broken. 

Ekko had saved her life, with, so far as they could ascertain, little damage to his own person. 

Powder didn’t think she would forgive him for it. 

He’d crossed an unspoken line in their friendship— the opposite side of which she’d never even had to consider. 

Had Ekko dragged her over a line she hadn’t wanted to cross?

Or left her alone on the other side of it?

Her fingertips brushed against soft hair, and she pulled the improvised snare from the greenery. Just as the animal’s hide suggested, a dead rabbit was trapped within its clutches. 

The feeling of a small victory faded with each step back towards the cave. 

She slipped inside the mouth with a grace only provided by muscle-memory. The chilled floor of the cave appeared all too welcoming a sight, even after such a short trek. Powder had found, on waking, that though many of her physical symptoms were gone, they had yet to fully disappear. The shortest bursts of activity fatigued her. Sleep held her down without mercy, and barely allowed her to rise. Water struggled to hydrate her, food failed to nourish her. She supposed the majority of her body’s faculties were going towards her healing. 

Even so, she sat down with a frustrated huff. 

Ekko’s knife had been cleaned (by her) and returned to the pack— which she swiped to skin their catch. 

The first swipe under the rabbit’s hide was, admittedly, too rough. 

“No need to kill it twice,” Ekko’s voice mumbled. 

Powder didn’t look his way, still angry. But she was sure that if she did, he would still be wrapped tightly in their sleeping bag, eyes heavily lidded and pleading for forgiveness. 

She was more gentle with the next stroke. It was surprising, though pleasing, that the knife was still sharp enough to cut cleanly. 

“Can’t believe you found it,” Ekko added. The insulated fabric of the sleeping bag shifted. “Even with directions, I hid it pretty good.” 

“I found it just fine,” Powder answered shortly. 

Something in her argued that she needed to be softer. Kinder. Sweeter. What was she doing for their chances by showing everyone she was mad at Ekko? If she survived, she could be as mad as she wanted for as long as she wanted. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to face him. 

Ekko let out a slow sigh. 

She waited, tense, for whatever speech he was about to give. 

Many of her memories of the last few days were severely compromised. But laced through them were the echoes of words, of monologues. Things Ekko had said to her that… he would never say. Not in that way— not so long-winded and theatrical. 

And, she reminded herself as an afterthought, not at all. 

They were best friends. She refused to let the Capitol force them into anything else, at least outside of the arena. She wouldn’t allow them into her head. 

No matter how many unnatural love confessions Ekko forced himself to give. 

“Powder, you know I had to,” He murmured. Short and concise. Genuine. 

Her finger slipped and the knife slid through the skin of her thumb. 

She jumped, instinctively jerking her hand away. Without having to look, she knew the blood was welling into a slick bubble. 

Ekko shifted again behind her. “Powder.” 

She stilled, waiting. 

“Come here,” He said. 

Powder raised her bloodied thumb before her eyes. Indeed, a swell of crimson rose from between the edges of the cut. 

Her index finger brushed it away— and it was gone. As if it were never there. 

Before she could change her mind, Powder found herself turning and walking to Ekko. 

She was already sitting at his bedside by the time she regretted it. 

“Can I see your hand?” 

Powder scowled at her hands, still resolutely in her lap. 

“Come on, Powder,” His voice took on a whiny edge that had her rolling her eyes, but roughly sticking the freshly injured hand his way. 

His fingers cradled her hand with undue gentleness. He turned it back and forth, clicking his tongue. When he let go, she still had yet to look his way. 

Him taking up her hand again to apply a cold liquid to the cut was what finally dragged her gaze to his movements. 

A thin layer of the Capitol issued serum was already coating the injury thoroughly. Even so, Ekko did not let go. 

When he finally broke the silence again, it was only to say, stubbornly, “You would have done the same thing.”

It didn’t help in the way Ekko hoped. 

While he had been passed out, Powder had a lot of time to think. She had already come to the same conclusion— and had decided that, since it didn’t stop her from being angry at him, she guessed she held a double standard. 

She held it along with her head, high. 

“I’m mad at you.” 

He let out an involuntary huffed laugh— then cleared his throat at the glare she shot his way. “I know,” He said, once he had regained his composure. “That’s okay.” 

“Not, it’s not,” She rounded on him. “We’re supposed to be a team! And then you just— just lie to me? Drug me? Sacrifice yourself? You’re not allowed to do that!” 

Looking into his eyes, downcast with understanding, only made her angrier. 

“You tricked me,” She said, voice trembling in utter betrayal. 

Ekko at least seemed repentant at the sound of it. His head hung low.

With a stubborn huff, she added, “And then you went and got yourself mauled— which,” She sniffed, “Figures.” 

The cuts on his face were the least of their problems. 

Powder still felt a swoop of guilt in her gut every time they crossed her vision. 

“I just meant I understand why you're mad,” Ekko said hesitantly. 

That didn’t help, either. Of course Ekko understood. He always did. But that meant he understood how big of a deal it would be to break her trust— and he’d done it anyway. 

She supposed she could, maybe one day, appreciate that he valued her life so dearly. 

But not yet. Not with the pain still so fresh. And the feeling of betrayal, of distrust, so new and so heavy between them. 

Without a word, she pushed away from him and crossed to the other side of the cave. Even as she returned to skinning their catch, she could imagine how annoyed the Capitol was with her. She could practically hear them screaming at their televisions for her to forgive him, to make up, to apologize.  

The way the voices skated along her skull, she half-wondered if she could truly hear them from inside the arena. 

It was defiance, in the end, that kept her back facing Ekko. 

It was Ekko, of course, who didn’t much care for her act of defiance. 

When he sat down in front of her, she wasn’t much surprised. At least some things hadn’t changed; Ekko was not going to leave her alone until they were a team again. 

“Do you remember that time Vander got sick? And you and Vi had to come stay with me and Benzo?” 

The world seemed to flicker. For a split second, Powder was in the main room of her dusty house, listening to Vander lose his breath in a coughing fit. She and Vi had gotten sick just as often as any average kid, but Vander seemed to stay healthy through sheer spite. That one time, though, Vander had fallen ill. Terrifyingly ill. 

“We didn’t know what was wrong, at first. But Vander was worried about you two being in the house with him.”

Powder’s fingers sliced deftly, years of experience allowing her mind to wonder as she worked. Though Twelve had felt worlds away, Ekko somehow drew their home into the cave with his words. Her district felt close enough to touch. 

“We didn’t think he was gonna make it. And he didn’t want to send you away, but he had to. To keep both of you safe.”

Vander had known the sickness wasn’t contagious, but rather a side effect of working long hours in the mines. The only thing he had been protecting them from was watching their surrogate father waste away, as so many other miners did when their lungs began to struggle. At twelve years old, Powder hadn’t quite caught that. At fourteen, Vi had. 

Powder’s eyes snapped up to his. “If you're about to make this some kind of lesson about ‘doing the right thing,’ Ekko, I swear—” 

Ekko raised his hands in surrender. “None of that. Just… do you remember what Vi said that first night? When you were angry at Vander for making you leave?” 

The vague daylight wavered in Powder’s mind’s eye, like the candles lit in Benzo’s main room above his shop. Their thin sheets were spread across the floor into makeshift cots. Fear and dust weighed the air down, too thick to breath in comfortably. 

Powder was fuming from within her blankets. It’s not fair, she had said. Is he just planning to get better all by himself? 

Vi, larger than life and wiser than she knew, had grunted for her to go to sleep. He has his reasons. You can be mad at him when it’s over. Make yourself useful until then.

She was back in the cave facing Ekko before she could fall further into the memory. 

“Yeah, I remember,” She grumbled. “You said you weren’t trying to relate this to our problem.” 

“No, I said I wouldn’t make it into a lesson,” Ekko corrected quickly. Clearly, he was prepared for her retort. “Just… a reminder on priorities.” 

Quietly, Powder scoffed. “I’m not going to sabotage us, if that’s what you’re suggesting.” 

Ekko shook his head. “It’s not. Believe me.”

“I’d like to,” Powder shot back. Her eyes flicked up to glare at him through her lashes. 

With a slump of his shoulders, Ekko let out a weary sigh. His hands fidgeted, though, startlingly, he remained silent. 

The air buzzed between them, coiling like a live wire. 

 Powder continued on skinning the rabbit. Her tense shoulders were the only visible sign of her continued annoyance. 

“Powder,” Ekko muttered. “I have to get you home.” 

Powder’s nostrils flared, though she ignored him in favor of flaying the final strip of hide from their meal. 

 “Powder,” He tried again. 

Before he could continue, she snapped, “I don’t care about your deal with Vi.” 

“I’m not talking about my deal with Vi!” Ekko exclaimed. His frustration slipped into every following word. “Powder, come on! If you really want what’s best for me— enough to shut me out— then you’d care what would happen to me if you—” He cut himself off, a hand raising to cover his face. 

Powder tracked the shaking movements, concerned for him no matter how badly his outburst startled her. 

He finished in a whisper, “If you died. ” 

Powder set the knife down. Her hands were beginning to sweat with nerves and tension, enough that she didn’t want to be touching their food. Hesitantly, afraid to set him off again, Powder said, “I’d rather you survive than both of us die, Ekko.” 

“I wouldn’t,” Ekko answered shortly. 

The pair stared at one another. Immovable object and unstoppable force, once again at an impasse. 

Neither were going to change their minds anytime soon. Even so, the cave walls loomed over them, an ever-present reminder of their circumstances. 

Powder wiped her hands against her shirt. Through the dull ache in her head, she slowly began, “Since you’re clearly not capable of keeping yourself alive… and I’m clearly incapable of keeping myself alive…” 

Ekko looked up hopefully. 

“I guess we need each other,” Powder admitted. “We’ve always been best as a team.”

“We have,” Ekko agreed eagerly. 

“I’m still mad at you,” She warned. 

He only shook his head in understanding. “I know. I’m sorry.” 

“I know you are. I… I don’t forgive you. Yet.” It was a given that she would. Looking at her best friend, she knew it was only a matter of time before the righteous anger coursing through her body mellowed into something manageable. Something softer. Kinder.

“If we get out of here, you’ll have all the time in the world,” Ekko promised. 

He always did have a quiet confidence about him. Like the things he himself was worried about weren’t as bad as he made them— like they could be bent to his will. Things went his way enough for him to continue on in the same way. 

Knowing full well that her response would set the tone for how Ekko treated her for the rest of the games— and remembering that, no matter how much she hated it, they needed the audience support to survive— she gave him the tiniest suggestion of a smile and pitched, “Then let’s get out of here.” 

Ekko’s shoulders dropped just slightly. Powder wondered if his relief was palpable to the Capitol, too, or just her. 

Their eyes met, and she startled just slightly. 

She and Ekko had exchanged looks thousands of times over the years. She’d grown entirely accustomed to the weight of his gaze, the hues of his iris and the way they shifted in different lighting… Still, something felt off. 

Her skin prickled under the intensity and attentiveness he stared with. 

It acted as a catalyst. The charged air only seemed to grow more taught— a rubber band pulled as far as possible. A bubble of blood swelled to its greatest possible height. Potential energy, and the question of what to do with it. 

She looked away, and it disappeared. 

The snap of a rubber band. A thumb swiping away a drop of blood. A moment ended. 

“What did you learn out there?” Powder asked, half-regretful and half-relieved. “What happened? You’ve got a lot of new scars and no story to show for it.”

Ekko was silent for a moment. When she glanced up at him, hands already busy with the rabbit again, he seemed to be recovering. 

He blinked sharply and shook his head. “Uh, there were six districts left at the start. I don’t know how many of them were teams. But District One is out now. Both of them. That leaves us against four districts. At most eight people.”

Powder frowned. “No way there are still ten of us. A Feast that with that many of us left?”

“I didn’t think so, either. But before I found you, I was out for… I don’t even know how long. I lost track of the tributes and the days.”

“How long has it been since you found me?” Powder asked. She reached for their bottle of water and, ever so carefully, began to clean the meat. 

Ekko watched, thinking. “Only three days ago.” 

“We were five days in when… I think you found me on the sixth day.” Powder paused her ministrations. Her gaze went distant. Before Ekko could worry too much, she shook herself. “Why were you out for so long?” 

“I don’t know how long I was out,” Ekko grunted. He dropped his chin into his hand and allowed his concern for her to pass. 

Powder rolled her eyes. “You’re avoiding the question.” 

“I got stung by tracker-jackers,” He answered defiantly. Powder’s neck popped with how quickly she turned to look at him. “Yeah, I know, ” He said before she could fully finish opening her mouth. “That was on the third day.”

“You know—” how to deal with those. Didn’t you listen to Vi at all? He could practically hear all the words she thought better than to say. 

“—Better,” She finished lamely. 

Ekko shrugged. He wasn’t exactly able to take any of those events back. And even if he was, he was much too distracted by the answer posed before him. “I… I found you on the same day I woke up. I was out for almost three days?”

Powder snickered slightly. “That’s embarrassing.” 

“Honestly,” Ekko agreed. As happy as he was for them to return to the old patterns of their banter, his curiosity had yet to be sated. “I wouldn’t have found you if you weren’t just— out in the open. What were you doing, anyway? Was it just because you hit your head?” 

“I guess,” Powder’s words were simple and quiet. 

Ekko frowned. “How did you hit your head?”

The question stiffened Powder’s muscles. “How didn’t I?” She joked weakly. 

And, though they had returned to their old banter, he guessed he couldn’t be surprised that they hadn’t returned to a state of total honesty. 

“Is it embarrassing?” Ekko asked. Though he offered her an out, he half-hoped she wouldn’t take it.  

“A couple of them are,” She nodded. 

And, because it was what she gave, Ekko took it without pushing for more. 

“When we get out of here, Vi’s gonna make you wear a helmet everywhere.” 

Powder let out a surprised laugh. “Yeah, probably.” She went back to cleaning. “Not much I can do about that, though.” 

The line of questioning ended there. Ekko decided not to step over it. “So that leaves us on day nine-ish?” 

Powder’s grip tightened around the water bottle. “We’ve been here over a week,” She murmured. 

Sensing the shift in tone, Ekko only said, “All the more reason to get out of here.” 

It took another few moments for Powder to draw back out of her head. But when she did, she only handed him the skinned and cleaned rabbit and got to her feet carefully. Even with the meds, it was clear she wasn’t quite confident in her balance yet. 

“What happened at the Cornucopia? You said there were six districts before, but that One is out now?” Ekko was surprised she remembered. But then, medicine from the Capitol was notoriously effective. 

“Yeah, they ganged up on me. Both tributes from One.” Powder busied herself with the contents of their bag, and he allowed her that bit of privacy. If she didn’t want him to see her face as he explained the consequences of his betrayal, then that was just the way it would be. 

“Almost got me, too. But then the girl from Eleven showed up and took both of them out. I guess I looked bad enough that she went for them first, and I just got away in time.” 

“How’d you know it was Eleven?” Powder asked, still turned away. 

“The District Five girl had already grabbed her pack and ran. I knew what all the career girls looked like. It was the only other option, I guess,” He said, looking down at his hands. “Were you keeping track of the tributes before you hit your head? Do you remember who’s gone?” 

Powder got to her feet, pulling the discarded plastic wrap with her. “Did you see what districts were left?” 

“Yeah. One, but they’re out now. Two— but I know the girl is dead,” Ekko said, the tracker-jackers humming and zipping through the back of his mind. He cleared his throat and finished, “District Four, District Five, Eleven, and then us.” 

Powder nodded slowly. “The District Four boy died a few days in. I don’t know how. The District Five boy died on the first day. So did the District Eleven boy. If One is really out, then… I think we’re the last team.” 

“One is really out,” Ekko confirmed. The shiver threatening to slip down his spine retreated in wake of the following thought. “That leaves us against four people.” 

“Two against four. What kind of odds do you think those are?” Powder stopped in front of him, and to his surprise… held out her hand. 

Ekko only stared at it. When Powder just rolled her eyes and shook it impatiently, he took hold of it and got to his feet, careful not to let her carry any of his weight. Whether she noticed or her mind was too preoccupied with other matters, Ekko didn’t know. Either way, she didn’t acknowledge it.  

Following her to the entrance of the cave, Ekko added, “Hopefully nobody knows that we’re the only team left. In that case, it’s two against one against one against one against one.” 

Powder scrambled out of the cave's high mouth. “We can hope all we want. But we need to actually do something.” 

“Nine days in and six tributes left. I’d say now’s the perfect time for that. What are you thinking?” Ekko didn’t know what she was pitching, but considering his own most recent plan… It was her turn. 

He followed her into the midday light without question. 

His eyes scanned the surroundings sharply. One hand pressed over the still aching wound at his side. Usually his ears were pricked for her words alone when she was talking— but based on the way she tilted her head towards him each time he spoke, he had a suspicion that the hearing in her right ear was impaired. 

“The longer we’re here, the more our resources are gonna disappear. We need to hunt as much as we can and stock up on as much water as we can. Take a day to heal up. And then we go out.” 

Two against one at a time. The odds were in their favour. 

Ekko had realized long ago that didn’t much matter. 

“Okay,” He agreed. “I’ll show you where all the other traps are.” 

***

“Viktor? What are you doing?” 

Viktor glanced up from where he was placing a thin stack of paper and a few pencils onto the sitting room’s coffee table. The city outside their penthouse apartment was dim through the floor-to-ceiling windows, but their lights weren’t brighter than the television or the lamps that Viktor, for once, flicked on. 

“Sit,” he instructed, straightening up. 

Cait raised an eyebrow, but nonetheless took a seat on the couch. 

After another full day in the mentor observation room, Cait expected to be ushered immediately to bed like Viktor seemed to have grown a habit of doing. Despite the late hour and despite his routine reminders of her need for rest, Viktor had stopped her before she could leave for her room. 

He paused. His eyes squinted, lips pressed tightly together, and Cait could only imagine he was waiting to speak because he didn’t quite know what to say. 

Cait’s expression tilted only further into confusion. “What is this about?” Her eyes flicked towards the television. She had half a mind to expect bad news. Some kind of disaster, or gods forbid, another stipulation from Reveck. 

Viktor blinked— and cleared his throat. “Jayce and I… uh… have decided…” He trailed off, still at a loss for words. “That… well, to—”

“Is everything alright?” Cait sat up straighter. 

Viktor’s shoulders dropped in exasperation. “This is stupid. Jayce was supposed to do the talking.” 

With a quirk of her lips, Cait clasped her hands in her lap. “Maybe you need to sit.” 

“Maybe,” Viktor muttered. He took a seat beside her, leaning his cane against the arm of the couch. Cait only watched, silently curious, as he used the newfound freedom of his hands to subconsciously rub at his thigh. 

“Did something go wrong?” Cait asked quietly. “Did Reveck change the terms? Or take back the deal?”

Viktor startled at her words. “No! No, nothing like that,” He hurried to reassure her. Clearing his throat, he said, words clearly picked with care, “Jayce and I were talking last night. About some of your questions.”

Cait stiffened. “Should I stop?” 

“No!” Viktor looked away, expression tilted as one of his hands carded through his hair. “Gods, I’m screwing this up,” He muttered to himself. Turning back to Cait, he forced his features into something much more calm. Something much more familiar. “Look… we are worried about you getting yourself in trouble.” 

Her eyebrows drew together. “I know.” What she didn’t know was why Viktor was having so much trouble articulating whatever matter was so pressing. 

“Right,” Viktor frowned. “That’s... not a good thing, though. We don’t want you to stop asking these questions,” He hurried to add. “Just that… it’s not safe. And once the games are over, you won’t have anyone to talk to.” 

Cait stared. Her eyes squinted. “So… you want me to stop.” 

“Janna, no,” Viktor huffed. 

“So, what, then? Just say it; you're making me nervous!” Cait exclaimed. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her skirt, folding and unfolding in quick tugs of fabric. 

“I’m nervous, too! I’ve never even considered sharing this with anyone, but—” Viktor steadied himself and straightened his posture. He took in a deep breath, eyes slipping closed. When he finally set Cait with his attention again, he was noticeably calmer. His voice slipped into a low murmur. “Jayce and I have decided to let you in on something. Something secret. So you can still ask us questions without endangering yourself.” 

The sentiment didn’t reach Cait at once. Each word seemed to take its time making itself known to her, slipping into her head and settling down without rush. When it all clicked into place, she could only gape in confusion. Her lips parted as if she was preparing to speak, but no sound escaped her. 

Viktor watched. The silence stretched on longer than he seemed to expect. His brows twitched into a furrow before smoothing out again. “Is that… okay?” 

“Okay?” Cait whispered. The word fell from her without permission— which seemed to snap her awake. She shook her head, leaning in closer. “What kind of secret? What do you mean? How do you know you won’t get in trouble for this— whatever it is?” 

Her reaction seemed to settle Viktor, at least slightly. His shoulders relaxed from where they had been slowly rising closer and closer to his ears. “That was more what I expected from you,” A short huff of a laugh escaped him. “It’s not as amazing as it sounds. It’s just a code. One that’s impossible to decode without a certain piece of text.”

Cait watched, waiting. 

Viktor shifted. “What?” 

“How do you know you won’t get in trouble for this?” She repeated. 

“Well, that’s part of the risk, I guess,” Viktor hummed out. “We don’t.”

Cait’s breath caught in her throat. As much as she was deeply honored by the opportunity— that Viktor and Jayce had thought to share this with her. Her, of all people. And something only between them, something that had to be sacred. And at the risk of their own well-being— it left her with one aching question. The answer was one she dreaded to find, but could not continue without. 

“Why risk it?” She asked quietly. 

Viktor gave her the tiniest of conspiratorial smiles— the one that always made her feel like she was in on something. Part of something. “We happen to believe it’s for a good cause.” 

Despite the smile threatening to mirror his, she managed to furrow her eyebrows. “A good cause,” She repeated skeptically.  

Seemingly satisfied with himself and the phrasing, Viktor nodded, his smile only deepening at the corners of his lips. “Exactly.” 

Cait couldn’t much help herself. One of her hands rose to cover her mouth as it cracked into an embarrassed, excited grin. 

“Does that mean you’re interested?” Viktor teased gently. He reached for the paper and pencils when she gave, as mere formality, an affirmative and all too giddy nod.  

Infected by her enthusiasm, Viktor shook his head in amusement. “Perfect.” Once the utensils were straightened to his approval, he leaned back against the couch, hands finding a place in his lap. “Unfortunately, Jayce has the book we need.” 

“Always waiting for Jayce,” Cait joked. She settled comfortably against the arm of the couch, prepared to wait. Whatever always kept Jayce so late was, she’d reckoned, none of her business. Even so, she couldn’t help but acknowledge that it could be a long while before he arrived. 

Viktor let out an absent-minded hum. “It feels that way, sometimes,” He murmured. With his gaze focused fully on the hallway to the elevator, she wondered if he’d meant to say it. 

Viktor had been strange ever since the rule change was announced. 

Cait couldn’t blame him. 

Even so, it was odd to see him so directionless, when every thought, every movement, every action used to have intention behind it. 

Now, Viktor hesitated. He zoned out. He lost his train of thought. 

She couldn’t blame him. Still, she worried. 

When he turned towards the television with the pretense of watching the games, she could tell that he was watching the hall from the corners of his eyes. 

Viktor was still doing a perfectly fine job as a mentor. They hadn’t made any mistakes or lost any sponsorships. All they’d really done that day, actually, was watch Powder and Ekko hunt, send another meal— though now exorbitantly expensive nine days into the games— watch a synthetic storm curl up and settle over the arena, relax slightly when the pair made it back into the cave without incident, and then return to their apartment once they had settled down for the night, huddled together for warmth beneath a single sleeping bag. 

Though Viktor did a good job, it seemed like he always had two lines of thought going now instead of one. Like he was split in half, always trying to go in two different directions. 

She sunk into the couch under the pretense of watching the games as well. There wasn’t much to look at— there were only four tributes besides Powder and Ekko left, and everyone had retreated for cover once the sun set beneath the storm. Based on the rhythm of the games Cait had figured out, the next day was going to have some gamemaker interference. Even if Ekko’s confrontation with District One had been a sensation across the Capitol, it wouldn’t be long before the masses were calling for more— and the gamemakers would deliver. 

They were painfully close to the end. 

If they did lose, Cait wondered if it would hurt more because the pair had made it so much farther than the Cornucopia. If they weren’t going to win, would it have been better to simply die before they had to experience more pain? 

But then, she guessed she wasn’t the one who had to go back to District Twelve even if Powder and Ekko died. And that Viktor was losing no matter when it happened. 

Her eyes finally focused on the screen before her. 

Ekko and Powder had to go home. 

Viktor was just another reason why. 

By the time Jayce showed up, Viktor’s eyelids were fighting unsuccessfully against exhaustion. 

There was the chime of the elevator arriving at their floor, and both tensed upright. At the sound of heavyset footsteps, Viktor relaxed back into the arm of the couch. Cait, however, had to wait until the man in question was striding towards them to relax. 

Jayce gave her a soft smile before he turned to Viktor. 

“‘Bout to fall asleep?” Jayce teased in a low murmur. He busied himself at the coffee table, setting down a worn book and fidgeting with the paper and pencils. 

Viktor rolled his half-lidded eyes. “The sitting room makes me sleepy.” 

“Yeah, you Pavlov’d yourself,” Came the fond response. He patted Viktor’s shoulder before they busied themselves elsewhere again. “Move to the loveseat so you can lay down.” 

Viktor sat up straighter. “No, I want to help.” 

“I said I’d do this,” Jayce’s voice was low and gentle. “Go lay down.” 

Viktor squinted his eyes. Jayce crossed his arms. 

Somewhere between their movements, a silent conversation took place. 

Viktor sighed and moved to the loveseat. 

Jayce took the newly empty space beside Cait. He adjusted himself in the seat… paused… and finally, turned to give her an awkward smile. 

“Did Viktor already explain…?” 

“Yes,” Cait spared him with a quick answer. 

Jayce’s broad shoulders dipped. “Good. Okay, then. Um…” He glanced across all the supplies spread across the table. “Are you ready to get started?” 

Cait’s responding nod was all too eager. 

Encouraged, Jayce pulled the book to sit in front of her. 

She looked down— and froze. 

“I—” Cait wasn’t immediately sure what to say, staring at the cover of ‘The Garden and The Forge.’ Feeling embarrassingly presumptuous wasn’t quite enough to quell her curiosity, though. “Is it the copy I gave you?” 

Jayce nodded. “The very same. I guess it looks a little different by now, though,” He chuckled good-naturedly. 

And he was right— it was different. The spine was cracked, with stress lines running deep from top to bottom. In the top corner of the pages, a whole section was bent. The side had a spill visible, even with it closed. 

It had lived much more since it left Cait’s childhood bedroom. 

“This is crazy,” Cait whispered. Crazy, or absurd, or unbelievable, or something like it. 

Jayce cracked a hesitant grin at that. “In a good way?”

Cait’s fingers brushed over the old cover. Solid, as anything else. Real. 

She returned Jayce’s smile. “In an incredible way. I can hardly believe that… you actually still have it. Or that you found any use for it.” Viktor’s words returned to her, and she asked, “So this is the base for your codes?” 

“Right. You catch on quick.” He seemed pleased by that, and handed her one of the pencils. “It’s pretty simple. Easy once you know how to do it, and,” He gestured to the book, “Impossible to decode without the reference text.” 

Jayce was a good teacher, and Cait a quick learner. The two fell into a rhythm without trouble. Cait got used to the structure— page, line, word, she kept repeating to herself— and the pair took turns writing out short messages for the other to decode. 

With Jayce’s guidance, the hardest part of the process became her impatience. She scanned page after page for the right word— ‘ Capitol’ — and realized suddenly she may not find it at all. 

“What do you do when the word you need isn’t in the book?” Cait grumbled. 

Jayce’s smirk was hidden by the hand he rested his chin in. “Sometimes you just have to start over and rephrase everything. V thinks it’s funny, so I always leave it in when that happens.” 

Cait imagined it— a sentence going in one direction just to abruptly cut off and restart slightly differently— and laughed. She was long used to stifling her laughter when it came, so it wasn’t hard for her to keep the volume down. 

“Well, what do you do when you need a number that isn’t in the book?” She challenged. 

With any other teacher or tutor, Cait would have never been allowed to act this way. She had been scolded often as a child for being too boisterous, too inquiring. Treating her mentors like friends, and questioning what they taught. 

Here, Jayce only shrugged. “Yeah, we realized that problem pretty early on. All of our letters from that first year are ridiculous, ” He rubbed a hand over his mouth as he chuckled in fond reminiscence. “So much shit crossed out and rewritten, and…” The hand that was covering his mouth waved in place of the rest of the story. “We were only eighteen. And that was the code’s first draft. It’s gotten better since then.” 

“So, what? You just avoid writing numbers?” Cait asked. It wasn’t often that things got past her, and this was no exception. She’d learned that most of the time, a non-answer was as good as a simple ’no.’ 

“Oh! Right.” But again, Jayce proved to be different. “Well, we weren’t sure what numbers we’d need to write, so we just made a system for us to write any number we want. Basically, if you want to write a number, just go to the last page in the book— the one without any text on it— and write that page number for the first part of the sequence. Seeing ‘234’ as the first number is a dead giveaway to us that it’s a number. Because we know that there isn’t anything on page 234. Right?” 

Cait nodded along. 

“Then— let’s say you’re trying to write the number ‘74.’ You’d say it’s on page 234, line 1, word 74. It looks like you’re saying it’s the 74th word on the 1st line of the 234th page, but—” 

“234 at the beginning is a dead giveaway,” Cait finished. 

She jotted down the sequence on her page. 

234.1.74.

Jayce’s small smile was the closest Cait could imagine pride to look like. 

The Jayce before her was nothing like the Jayce she saw inside the observation room. Or even like Jayce she met the first couple times inside the apartments. This Jayce gesticulated while he talked, and laughed at her snarky comments, and allowed his gaze to slip into fondness when it reached Viktor. This Jayce looked proud, not prideful.

Cait went back to writing out her message, though she admittedly had to restructure it. 

We are here for the 74 game. 

“It’s a bit… stilted,” Cait frowned, watching Jayce decode it. 

Jayce didn’t seem to mind in the least bit. “You’re still doing better than I did at first. I’d never even written a letter like that before. Notes, sure. But only ever for people inside Two. I’d never had to write about the goings-on in my district because everyone I knew… already knew.” 

Cait was already flipping through the book again, hard at work on another coded message. “How often do you two write letters? Once a week?” 

Jayce snorted. “No.” 

The response caused Cait to pause. Slowly, she turned her squinted eyes towards him. “Less? Or more?” 

“More,” Jayce’s smile was wry. 

Cait was hesitant to guess, “Every… day?” 

It felt like an outlandish guess, but Jayce settled into the couch, satisfied. 

“Every day?” She hissed, disbelieving. “Jayce, that’s… so many letters.” 

“It’s a lot of days to be apart,” He answered. 

As if it were that simple. 

When Jayce glanced in Viktor’s direction, Cait realized that perhaps it was. 

“You two must be really close,” She commented, though that much was already clear. 

Jayce’s features lifted at the implied thought of Viktor, as good as confirming her sentiment. 

In unison, the pair turned to look across the room at the loveseat. 

Viktor was asleep, his jaw gently slack and his eyelids closed. He was the picture of peace, and yet, he was sunk into the couch as if gravity held a special vendetta against him— like it weighed heavier on his body than others. 

Jayce’s eyes were hesitant to leave him. When his gaze returned to Cait, the softness remained. “What gave it away?” He asked ruefully.

“Oh, don’t worry— you were both very subtle. I just happen to be an incredible detective.”

Jayce snorted, but didn’t deign to answer. Rather, he rose from his seat to collect the blanket from the back of the couch. Cait smoothed her skirt against her legs, feeling somewhat like an intruder as Jayce tucked the blanket around Viktor. 

His movements were wool, or fleece. Achingly gentle and warm. Slow, with a sort of dedicated carefulness that Cait recognized vaguely. Part of it felt nostalgic— like her father was still tucking her into bed, somewhere deep in the recesses of her mind. It was an affection she had seen before, but hadn’t witnessed, let alone felt, in years. 

Cait wondered if it was fair to long for that kind of comfort. 

When Jayce settled back into the cushions beside her, she had managed to wipe any trace of the thought from her expression. 

“Why don’t you try again?” He asked, motioning to their abandoned studies. 

Cait picked up her pencil without argument, and did her best not to hear her father’s whispered goodnight in the newfound softness in Jayce’s voice. 

She went flicking through her childhood bedtime story, eyes searching through the words while also desperately trying not to take any of it in. Each word was narrated in her dad’s voice, clear through the haze of time as her memory would allow. 

45. 7. 3. 
46. 13. 6.

Her father, who had been her greatest role model and supporter for as long as she could remember. Longer, even. He had been a constant source of comfort, of care. He had been the one to talk to Cait when she was upset. To tuck her in with woolen movements. To read her to sleep. 

49. 2. 3.

But her father loved her mother more— enough to stand by her side, no matter the decision she chose for Cait. Who agreed that she was becoming concerningly close to holding district sympathies. Who had said, gently, with the same voice he used to murmur praises with, “This is for the best, Caitlyn. We don’t want you to jeopardize your future over a little… confusion.”

Her father was not the man she so adored her whole life. 

And now that she had realized that, she would never have her father ever again. That man only existed in a time long past, and between the pages of an old book Jayce and Viktor had loved more. 

Cait didn’t realize she was crying until she scratched out the final set of numbers, and pushed the message to Jayce. 

45. 7. 3.    45. 13. 6.    49. 2. 3.    52. 15.1. 

Jayce’s expression simmered with concern. When Cait only stared at him, stone-faced and silent, he turned to the message and, with brows furrowed, decoded it. 

Will things ever change?

His eyes traced over the question multiple times before it seemed he processed it. 

Involuntarily, his shoulders dropped. 

Disappointment was practically a friend with how often it accompanied her. Still, with the way her heart stuttered from inside her ribcage, she could swear the sensation was new. 

She turned away, but her eyes landed on the television. It was still pouring inside the arena, but Deckard from Two was out again, prowling through the trees with his javelin clenched in his fist. 

In every direction was a reminder of her world’s corruption. Her family’s corruption— her own. Jayce, doing his best to do good with what he could on her right. The games above her. Viktor, dead tired and torn apart by circumstance on her left. Behind her were more floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Capitol. A city that grew rich off the ashes and decay of its districts, and then danced in the glow of the flames. 

A hand landed hesitantly on her shoulder. 

Cait did her best not to startle, but the thought came after impulse. 

Jayce pulled away, hands up in a show of surrender as she turned to face him. 

An apology was sitting in her chest, trying to claw its way up— but it couldn’t get around through the lump in her throat. 

Jayce’s lips parted, his eyes still heavy on her. She half expected the concern in his features to be followed by a, ‘That’s no way to think, Caitlyn.’ 

It always seemed to be. 

“Vik thinks so,” Jayce said finally. 

In the silence of the room, it felt like Jayce had broken an unspoken rule by talking. The silence that followed seemed to buzz. 

And then Cait was breaking the rule, too, and letting out a watery suggestion of a laugh. “That’s all you have to say? ‘Viktor thinks so?’” She omitted the nickname, afraid of crossing an invisible line too quickly. 

Jayce rolled his eyes. His elbows returned to resting on his knees. “We’ve had this conversation and my answer hasn’t changed. The best you can do is hope. I don’t know anything past that.”

“You don’t sound very hopeful,” Cait said. Her voice was slightly stuffed, and she sniffled as she pressed tears from the corners of her eyes. 

Jayce’s lips tilted into a frown. “I never said I was doing my best,” He mumbled. 

“Right.” The words fell from her in an exhale. She took another deep breath before adding, “He seems to do fine on that front.” 

Neither had to look in Viktor’s direction to know who they were speaking of. 

“Yeah, well. He’s always been the stronger one between the two of us.” Jayce looked up at Cait and nudged his elbow into her side. “The three of us, now.” 

Cait’s eyes widened slightly— before her lip quivered, and suddenly, embarrassingly, she was crying again. 

To his credit, Jayce didn’t startle. He glanced around for tissues, and landed on passing over a different throw when he couldn’t find any. 

It was with unnerving patience that Jayce allowed her to calm. 

When she finally did, she could feel how small her voice was in her throat. All of her claims against being naive and a child would surely become moot if she spoke. 

Even so, Jayce sat with her. Not in wait, or expectation. They existed in each other's presence, and that was enough to draw Cait out of hiding. 

“I miss my dad,” She whispered. 

Jayce’s eyebrows twitched. “It’s late— maybe it is time for you to go home.” 

“No,” Cait shook her head furiously. One of her hands scrubbed at her face, disrupting the tear streaks. “I mean, I miss my dad. I miss when he was a good person— or at least when I thought of him that way. When I had someone to rely on. To go to.”

The tension in Jayce’s features fell away. The expression that was left wasn’t one she had ever seen before— something slack, and tired. Something sad. 

“You and Viktor are being so good to me. I’m being ungrateful.” Her voice failed her, cracking and then quieting. Unsure she’d be able to speak at all if she tried again, she resorted to whispers. “Do you ever feel alone? Even though you have Viktor?” 

Jayce’s head tilted slightly to the side in confirmation. “During the off-season. Distance has a way of changing things. Or trying to.”

Cait’s head bobbed. Her lashes stuck together as she blinked rapidly. Hesitantly, afraid of her own words, she whispered, “I love my parents, Jayce. But they’re not good people. And I don’t know what to do with that.” 

Jayce’s expression hadn’t changed. He nodded along with her words, though his gaze was distant. 

This time, the silence didn’t feel like a rule. When Jayce broke it, his words almost seemed to be one with it. 

“You’re mourning,” He said, voice low. “That’s understandable.” 

Cait was smart enough that the information wasn’t new. 

Jayce continued, “Cait, it’s okay if this gets to be too much. We haven’t exactly eased you into this. But—”

“I don’t want to stop, if that’s what you’re suggesting,” She cut him off with a flash of her eyes. Her cheeks flushed with disbelief. “A little bit of— of sadness isn’t going to rewrite my moral code!” 

“I wasn’t suggesting either of those things,” Jayce answered easily. 

Cait took in another shuddering breath. Jayce was calm. He wasn’t kicking her out or sending her away. He wasn’t her father— or, gods forbid, her mother. 

He paused another moment, then explained, “I was just saying that… I know it’s not the same as having family, but,” He shook his head. The words he chose to say were carefully picked. “You have friends now. So when you’re feeling alone, or when distance tries to change things…” He tapped the book in front of her. “Write a letter.” 

Cait stared down at the book, her fingers twitching with anxious energy. 

When she raised her gaze back to Jayce, there was a quiet determination within it. 

“If you really didn’t have any hope, you wouldn’t be this kind to me.” 

Jayce’s expression merely twitched in response. 

Cait sniffed and tried for a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders. “Just saying. Maybe you have more hope than you realize.” 

The breath Jayce let out was long and steadying. “Maybe,” He admitted. “But there’s a difference between wishing and believing.” 

Cait parted her lips to answer, but the boom of a cannon cut them off. 

They both jolted to look up at the television just as Deckard yanked his javelin from the body of the District Four girl. 

Numbly, Cait remembered that her name was Hazel. 

The pair paused, as if offering her a moment of silence. 

“You need to nudge Powder and Ekko along. This is just going to draw out longer and longer the more they dance around their ‘romance.’” 

Cait didn’t need to be looking at him to know he put quotations around ‘romance.’ 

Jayce got to his feet, slipping the book from the table and collecting all of their notes. “Tell V when he wakes up. He already knows, but tell him anyway. Do it first thing when you get back to the observation room. Make them do something.” He adjusted the supplies in his arms and added, “The Capitol is sick of hearing them talk.” 

He said it like a promise. 

With a pat on her shoulder and a slight adjustment of the blankets around Viktor, Jayce was gone. 

Cait passed on the message at the earliest opportunity. 

Viktor, groggy in the early morning light, agreed.

Side by side, they trekked back to the observation room.

“We can attach a message,” Cait whispered. The screen on their desk showed the different options for meals to send in, and they had chosen one of the dishes the pair had both enjoyed during their week of training. “How do we remind them they’re supposed to be, you know,” She waved a hand around with a grimace. “Super in love?” 

Admittedly, Jayce’s suggestion was much easier in theory than practice. 

“They just don’t realize how obvious they need to be,” Viktor muttered. “In Twelve, this would be plenty.”

Cait frowned. “How do we let them know to play it up? Without giving it away?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Viktor cracked his knuckles in each hand, and leaned forward. “I know exactly what to say.” 

Chapter Text

Powder had kissed Ekko’s forehead before they’d gone to sleep. 

In the moment, it hadn’t even been a thought process. They were wrapped in their sleeping bag, twined around each other for warmth, and… then her lips had brushed his skin with mindless intention. 

Ekko had been so close to sleep she wasn’t even sure if he’d realized. It had been easy enough for her to fall asleep afterwards that it didn’t even cross her mind to worry.

Waking up in the morning the next day, Powder felt differently. 

All of her worries seemed to have consolidated into a heavy mass in the pit of her gut— the anxieties of being in an arena built specifically to kill her, the near-death experiences and lingering injuries, Ekko’s betrayal and the consequences of it, the distance from home, missing her family— and much like a jabberjay, the thoughtless brush of her lips was squawking at her from where it was perched at the top of the pile. 

It added just enough weight to make her break into a sweat. 

She escaped from the sleeping bag without waking Ekko and slipped out into the morning air. The grass was sodden beneath her feet, but the heavy rain from the night before seemed to have passed. The sky was still cloudy, but they provided shade and nothing else. In the early morning light, there wasn’t much need for them. Powder appreciated them nonetheless. 

In only a few hours the heat would be oppressive, and even the Capitol-grade meds wouldn’t be enough to keep the nausea away. Cloud cover wasn’t something she’d take for granted. 

She had half a mind to go check their traps, but common sense held her back. Ekko waking up to an empty cave wasn’t an optimal situation, even if she sort of felt he deserved it. Rather, she stood in front of the mouth of the cave, crouched down with her weight on her heels, and breathed in the damp air. 

They had four tributes left. 

Four deaths away from a train ride home. 

Deep in her thoughts, Powder’s guard lowered. 

The chirping of morning birds was what didn’t alert her to its presence at first. 

It blended, its approach masked by the sounds it imitated. 

Only when it passed through an escaped blade of light did the corresponding flash of silver startle Powder into action. 

She jumped, falling into a defensive stance— 

Only to find a gift lowering gently towards her. 

Powder straightened up. Her shoulders rose and fell, still unconvinced there was no danger, but her hands lifted willingly to catch it out of the air. 

Its appearance was strange. With so few tributes left, many new bets would be taking place, and new sponsors gained for the final tributes. Twelve surely had the best outlook as the last surviving team, but even with the new funding that had to be coming in… would Viktor and Caitlyn really waste it on something as trivial as breakfast? Something they could provide for themselves?

Undoubtedly, her mentor and escort knew something she didn’t. 

Powder could think of multiple practical reasons to send food in while she was perched out in the open. 

Maybe their traps had been compromised. 

Maybe another tribute was nearby, and they wanted to herd Powder back into hiding with Ekko. 

Or maybe they needed one last good meal. Maybe the games were going to end today, a traitorous little voice added. Powder tried to wave it away before any hope could take root. 

Her fingers trembled with what she hoped were imperceptible shakes. Dropped back onto her haunches, she glanced over her shoulder at the cave’s undisturbed opening… and carefully unscrewed the steel lid. 

The first glance inside made her freeze. 

Powder stared. 

She looked up at the sky, where the opened gift containing their breakfast had come from— breakfast, she knew she didn’t like what the break from routine implied— and looked back down at the note just inside. 

She blinked. And stared some more. 

Give the people what they want.

Powder slipped the note into her pocket with the hopes it had gone unnoticed by the viewers.  Glancing over the contents of the container— a stew, one of Ekko’s favorites from training week— she allowed herself to turn the message over in her head. 

Sending an extra meal meant they had more sponsors. The sponsors weren’t just supporting them so they’d survive, but so they’d get the most entertainment possible out of the tributes they liked. 

If their tributes didn’t have to worry about where their food and water came from, they would have more time to do… other things. 

Give the people what they want. 

What exactly was the appeal of District Twelve— the appeal that kept them alive so much longer than their predecessors? That earned them more sponsors, more meals?

And, honestly, Powder was only easing herself through the thought process because she already knew the answer. 

The Capitol wanted star-crossed lovers from District Twelve. 

They wanted drama and romance.

They wanted a kiss. 

Powder screwed the lid back on just as the covering in front of the cave shifted. 

“Powder?” Ekko’s voice was quiet, searching. 

She turned around and matched his tone. “Right here.”

“What are you doing outside?” 

In lieu of the truth, she slid the branches and mounted jacket to the side. The mouth of the cave yawned in front of her. Ekko stood right below, squinting through the morning light. 

She brandished the metal container in front of his eyes and dropped into the cave. 

“We got a gift,” She said. Powder found, with surprise, that her voice was steady. Almost cheerful. 

Ekko gained his bearings quickly. He frowned at the gift in her hands, as if he was working through the same thought process she’d just experienced.

“Things must be wrapping up pretty soon,” He murmured. 

Powder nodded tightly. As she dropped to the cave floor, she added, “If all goes well, ‘soon’ will be tonight.” 

Sitting across from her, Ekko only watched her face as she opened the gift again. Even when she pushed it toward him, his gaze remained on her. Tired eyes were contradicted by the determined curve of his brows. 

 “It’s your favorite,” She prompted, nudging it even closer to him. 

Only then did he glance down. 

He gave it a short, acknowledging smile before turning his sights back on her. 

“We need to be ready for gamemaker interference.” Ekko clasped his hands together and leaned closer, as if he wasn’t sure she was listening. 

Powder’s eyebrows tilted at that. She turned to their pack, pulling out their cleaned pair of spoons. Admittedly, her thoughts were slightly preoccupied. 

If she was going to eat this meal, she had to earn it. And to earn it… 

She couldn’t honestly say whether she’d really given Ekko’s lips any thought before, but now, with the prospect of his and hers and now, and—

“Powder? Are you listening?”

Her eyes snapped to his, a guilty flush coloring her cheeks. 

“Yeah,” She huffed, defensive. 

Ekko raised a single tired eyebrow, crossing his arms. “Tell me one thing I just said.” Powder’s mouth fell open, a defiant attempt to answer, but he cut her off. “Don’t bullshit me, I know you better than that.” 

Powder glowered and tossed a spoon to him. He caught it deftly. 

“Fine.” Hesitantly, she shifted closer to the container between them, waiting for Ekko to take the first bite. “Maybe not.”

It wasn’t fair. The charade. That she was letting it distract her. That she was even upset over this being her and Ekko’s first kiss— her first at all, actually, and— wait, had Ekko had his first kiss already? She’d probably know if he had. Right? But why would that even matter? None of it mattered, really, when this kiss was her ticket home and it would get her more sponsors, and actually, in a way, this kiss was going to kill the other tributes. Just the idea of it had already killed most of them. So when had she earned the right to be nervous over a simple—

“Tell me your oh-so-important thoughts,” Powder teased, shoving her own forcefully to the back of her head onto the already heaping pile of worries. She imagined dousing it in gasoline, kissing a match, and then striking it and tossing it right on top. Right into the mouth of that stupid imaginary jabberjay. 

“We have to stick together,” Ekko was saying. Only once he had taken three spoonfuls did she take one of her own, still keeping her gaze lowered. 

She knew Ekko couldn’t read her as well as he used to be able to. Not with the weight of their Capitol personas and the wall that was steadily building between them. Still, Powder was half-afraid that if Ekko looked in her eyes, he would be able to see the bonfire flickering behind them.  

“We can’t risk getting separated by the gamemakers. I’m sure they want a big finale,” Ekko’s brows lowered, shading his eyes. The movement only darkened his stare. “But we can’t let it happen at our expense.”

Ekko looked up, caging Powder with his gaze. “Understood?” 

“Sheesh, I understand!” She flicked at his forehead, startling him into a less intense disposition. “Could you have been any more menacing about that?” 

Ekko had the good nature to at least look sheepish. 

“We can’t get this far for no reason,” Came the quiet explanation. 

Powder couldn’t help but soften slightly. 

He was right, of course. It would only be worse for their families back home if they didn’t win at this point. Worse for both of them, if one managed to survive without the other. 

“What’s the first thing you want to do when this is all over?” 

Ekko’s expression flickered from surprise to confusion. For a moment, Powder didn’t realize she’d asked the question out loud. 

“Huh?” He asked. Rather unintelligently, she noted. 

Powder took another spoonful of their breakfast and shrugged, suddenly entirely committed to dragging the answer from him. “When we get back to District Twelve. What’s the first thing you wanna do?” 

A genuine answer wouldn’t be safe, so Powder awaited another well-crafted but laughably fake monologue. 

Instead, Ekko only answered shortly, “Be with you.”

Powder paused with the spoon halfway to her mouth. 

Ekko continued eating as if his response hadn’t given her a heart palpitation. 

Since his answer was at least something to excite their viewers, she decided to play along. 

She paused a moment longer, trying to draw her features into something hopeful and longing— and then punched him in the arm with a joking, “Sap. Give me a real answer!”

Ekko jolted to the side. “Hey!” He rubbed his arm and exclaimed, “I did!” 

“Something to do, Ekko— you can’t just say ‘be around me.’ That’s a total cop out.” 

“I didn’t realize there were rules to answering,” He sassed. 

The rest of their meal was spent in good-natured bickering. The jabberjay squawking at the back of Powder’s mind kept asking, ‘Do you kiss him now? Do you kiss him now?’ And each time, she shoved the question deeper down. When the kiss happened— because she'd resigned herself to its inevitability and necessity— it needed to be perfect. It needed to be a moment worth sponsoring. 

Both lingered as they finished eating, knowing that once they left the cave, they wouldn’t return. 

For better or worse. 

But, of course, the supplies ended up sorted and packed inside their pack. Once it was slung safely across Ekko’s back, he gave a sweeping motion of his arm towards the cave’s mouth. 

“After you,” He folded just slightly at the waist. Almost in a poor imitation of a bow. 

She rolled her eyes, but hoisted herself out anyway. “You just want me to get attacked if anyone’s waiting outside.” 

Powder glanced around in the clarity of the morning light. Nobody was there to ambush her, at least that she could see. As Ekko followed, his eyes made the same uniform sweep of their surroundings. 

“I kind of expected the cave to collapse," He admitted. 

His words knocked the air from Powder’s lungs, and for a half second she could swear it was because she was back underneath that landslide. 

Ekko didn’t know, She realized. He didn’t know. 

The memory of the unshifting rocks felt cold against her skin. Part of her wanted to reassure Ekko that, well, if he was trapped, she knew firsthand that all he would need is someone to dig him out. But then Mylo was there, dragging her from the mountain— and a wave of nausea kept her from thinking, I’d dig you out. 

Ekko had just turned away from the cave, seemingly deeming it safe when she swallowed the bile down. 

“I guess we should check the traps one last time before we go,” Ekko said. He glanced over her, but if he noticed anything wrong he didn’t mention it. 

The plan they’d made the night before was hardly a plan at all. It consisted of leaving the cave, keeping only necessary supplies, and then killing the remaining tributes. Powder had told Ekko it was less of a plan and more of a checklist. Ekko had only shrugged and said that it would get done either way. 

“And get water,” Powder added. “There’s no telling how long we’ll have access.” 

Neither knew how long it would take to find and kill everyone in the arena. It was a lofty goal to take out four tributes in a day— heartless and logistically challenging— but they hoped the gamemakers would play along and allow the games to end that very day. 

They trekked to the stream first. 

…Only to find it completely dried out. Cracks ran along the dirt as if it had been deserted for weeks. As if it hadn’t just been raining last night. 

“Looks like they already drained it,” Ekko bit at the inside of his cheek. 

They still had a full bottle of water, but how long could they ration it? 

Powder scratched at the tips of her fingers. With how raw they were, she was sure they’d be permanently scarred. “Bet they want us to check the lake.” 

She said it without thinking— but on hearing it out loud, she knew it was true. 

The gamemakers were herding them to one place. 

And not just any place. But the lake— the lake, only a hundred or so yards from the Cornucopia. 

It was too dramatic, too cinematic to mean nothing. 

In theory, everyone going to the Cornucopia was helpful. In practice, less so. Their plan to take out each tribute was only plausible if they weren’t outnumbered. Considering they had no weapons, they needed that advantage. 

“Let’s check the snares.” Reluctantly, Ekko added, “And then… I guess we go to the lake.”

They set off again, matching their strides. 

Powder’s heart was rabbiting against her ribcage. Every step against the grass jolted through her limbs like an electric shock. Her skin buzzed and crawled. 

Powder didn’t know if she was scared to die, or if she even believed she was going to. 

She imagined going home to Vi and Vander, Ekko at her side… 

Ekko crouched in front of a tangled bush and reached inside, searching for the hidden snare. 

Powder’s eyes scanned their surroundings continuously. 

The back of her neck almost hurt with how heavy she could feel the weight of a gaze on her. She didn’t expect the feeling to go away— she only hoped that the eyes were those of their viewers, and not some hidden adversary. 

“Damn it,” Ekko muttered. His arms were almost shoulder deep as he peered inside. 

Powder’s feet shuffled slightly forward, trying to get a new vantage point. 

She had hated the cave while they were in it, but now that they were out… 

A dark blue broke through the endless green. Powder’s eyes snagged on the color, and her pacing slowed. 

Her fingers slipped the berry from its bush without thought. 

Vaguely, she recalled its name. 

She could hear it in Vi’s voice, always with a warning tone. 

Nightlock likes to trick people, She’d told Powder. It looks a lot like blueberries, but blueberries don’t kill you in less than a minute. The berry popped between her fingers, and Vi held it out to Powder. The remnants were an unnatural hue of glimmering purple. You don’t let this anywhere near your mouth, you hear me? Don’t eat any of the wildberries without asking. 

The final tributes were from Two, Four, Five, and Eleven. What were the chances they knew what Nightlock was? After all, it was lucky she knew. 

Powder plucked another berry, and another. 

Her stomach twisted at the thought of tricking anyone with them, yet the guilt was not going to be enough to stop her. She knew that. And it only made her gut turn more. 

It would be a thousand times easier to pop the berries into her own mouth and let it all be over. 

The thought startled Powder— enough that she shoved it so forcefully away that her mind fell into a buzzing blankness. For a short moment, she was at peace. 

An echoing boom rang across the arena, and Powder froze. 

Her blood coursed through her with a slippery speed. It pounded in her ears. The boom seemed to replay over and over in her head. 

Her feet stumbled in a circle, her eyes gliding over her surroundings, looking, looking for something— looking for what?  

And then, only when she didn’t find it, did her thoughts come clearly. 

“Ekko!” 

Her scream tore through her surroundings. Anyone even remotely close would have heard her, but the risk didn’t compute in the moment. She was sprinting back through the foliage, towards the stream where she’d last seen Ekko. 

He had been right there, she hadn’t even wandered off a full yard, she—

She broke through the treeline and slammed directly into Ekko’s chest. The pair ricocheted to the ground.

“Powder—” Ekko started, but coughed on the rest. His back ached against the thin grass, but he raised himself onto his elbows and crawled towards her anyway. 

She was still on her back, one hand pressing into the side of her head, the other sunk into the dirt with a punishing grip. 

Ekko brushed the hair from her eyes with trembling hands. 

“Powder?” He asked. His voice came out smaller than he’d like. “Powder, what’s wrong? What happened? Are you okay?” He looked her over again, but there was no sign of blood, no sign of injury— his eyes darted to their surroundings only to find no oncoming attackers. No walls of fire, no wild animals, no tributes. 

Lungs constricted painfully in his chest— Ekko wasn’t sure he’d breathe properly again until Powder was cleared by a doctor, a real one— he looked back down at her.

And paused, breath catching in his throat. 

Powder was staring at him, pupils blown wide. Her body moved with slight jolting movements as she breathed… and stared… 

Before Ekko’s lips could completely part around the question— what question, he wasn’t sure— 

Powder’s arms locked around his neck, and— 

And. 

She pulled away before he was able to process that the warmth disappearing from his lips were hers.  

“I thought it was you,” She was whispering. “The cannon. I thought it was you.” 

The words made it to him long after they left her lips. Because, well, he was admittedly still stuck on the fleeting weight against his. If his hands weren’t preoccupied holding the backs of her shoulders (when had that happened?), he would have brushed his fingers across his lips to see if they felt the same. 

“I thought it was you,” He managed. Neither acknowledged the break in the middle of his words. 

But it hadn’t been. Powder was safe. Powder was— 

Powder was brushing her pale fingers across the curve of his cheek and following its path with her eyes. 

And Ekko was watching, transfixed. 

Neither quite knew what to say, or even how to say anything. It wasn’t a conversation. They fell into their second kiss with the same lack of thought they’d fallen into friendship with all that time ago. 

Heavier than the press of Powder’s lips against his, or the weight of her arms slung around his back, was the guilt of savoring it. 

Breaking apart felt like ticking a checkmark on a list. 

That was that. Ekko swallowed, and forced it to be their ticket home. Nothing else.  

He didn’t fully recall getting to his feet, or helping Powder up. Or asking about the clenched fist and the remnants of a handful of Nightlock. 

“I was going to see if we could get someone to eat them,” She explained. Her voice was steady enough that Ekko could almost convince himself the previous three minutes were some fleeting daydream that only existed to him. Any reprimands about sticking together, and didn’t you hear anything I said? were long forgotten. 

Powder wiped her hands against her hands, smearing the smashed Nightlock against them. 

Ekko found himself nodding along. “No, no. That’s a good idea.” The defeated slope of her shoulders straightened. The trap he had been searching for was missing from its place, so he asked, “Where did you find them?” 

His sights stayed firm on the back of Powder’s head as she retraced her footsteps. 

The Nightlock bushes weren’t very far from the trap he’d been searching for. He guessed the shock of hearing cannonfire and turning to find no trace of Powder had made any distance feel like too much, too far. 

Ekko pulled one of the empty gift containers from their pack. “Let’s fill this up,” He suggested. 

Powder nodded and got to work. Her fingers darted from berry to berry, plucking them and dropping them into the steel bowl. 

As she worked, Ekko directed his gaze to their surroundings. Every now and then, he would feel the bowl shift when she dumped another handful inside. Besides that, the unmoving forest around them had his full attention. 

It was on his third uniform sweep of the foliage that he noticed it. 

He held out a hand, eyes staying on the intruding object. Powder seemed to understand and fell silent and still. 

There, just behind the bush, was a hand. 

Ekko kept his own outstretched, letting Powder know not to move— but as he shifted closer to it, an indignant sound escaped her. He whipped around to stare pointedly at her. 

Even if they didn’t totally understand each other anymore, he could tell Powder knew what he was getting at. 

Be quiet and stay there. 

He couldn’t find it in him to be surprised when her footsteps followed him around the bush. 

There, curled up in the grass, was the District Five girl. Up close, her feathery hair was tangled. Her brown eyes— Ekko had only seen a flash of them, that day of the Feast— were entirely devoid of life. They had a glassy, doll-like quality to them. The way her limbs lay loosely about her almost made her look like a marionette with cut strings. 

It was Powder who noticed the berries in her hand. 

“She ate the Nightlock,” Powder mumbled. She was peering around his shoulder, watching with an empty brand of sadness. 

Ekko was sure he wouldn’t be able to feel sad about any of them until they survived. 

Even so, he had to look away from the girl's face when he crouched beside her. His hands set the container of berries to the side and found the purple backpack, the number five printed proudly on the front. Digging through it revealed a roll of bandages, a full water bottle, an empty vial, and the trap Ekko had been searching for. 

Ekko held it up for Powder to see. “How long do you think she’d been watching us?” 

Powder moved the girl’s hair behind her ear and began scanning the clearing. “I don’t know,” She said absently. 

Ekko set the pack to the side. They could use the bandages, surely. They likely didn’t need the trap. But the empty vial or the full water bottle, Ekko couldn’t say he trusted. 

He watched Powder from the corner of his eyes and she crossed to a small patch of wildflowers. Only once he was sure she wasn't going any further did he go back to cataloguing the District Five girl’s supplies. 

Strapped across her shoulder, Ekko found it.

The bow and a nearly empty quiver of arrows. 

“Think you could shoot this?” He asked. Ever so carefully, he slipped the weapon from over her shoulder. Moving her at all felt like disturbing a grave, like kicking over a headstone. No matter how gentle he was, it left a pit in his stomach. One he wouldn’t call guilt. Not yet. 

The metal of the bow was still warm from resting against her. 

Powder dropped in front of him again, only sparing the bow a glance. “Yeah, right,” She mumbled. 

His question of what she had wondered off to do was answered as she tucked three tiny purple flowers behind the girl’s ear. Against her gray skin and faded brown hair, it almost tricked Ekko into seeing color in her. 

Of course, the flowers were just a nice gesture, and the girl stayed dead. 

He didn’t feel the need to ask why she’d done it. He could go on through the games feeling nothing and collapse with shame and guilt once it was over, but only then. Powder was eaten by remorse for everything. Anything. 

He let the respectful silence sit between them, and didn’t bring the bow up again until they were a good twenty feet away. 

“You’re better than me.” 

Powder glanced at the weapon in his hands, the quiver stuffed into their pack. “You remember me with that thing. I could barely hit a target.” 

She was much better with the gun. That remark remained unsaid between them. 

They strode further into the forest, vigilant with voices low. 

He nudged her with his shoulder. “Still better than me.” 

They’d actually stand a chance against the other three tributes with a weapon. 

And, Ekko was right. 

He was much worse than her. 

Powder reluctantly took the bow. Its weight was strange in her hand, heavier than the one from the training room had been. She shifted it in her hand. One of the things Caitlyn had constantly stressed about accuracy was balance.  

Ekko pulled the quiver out of the pack and strapped it over her shoulders as they walked. 

“It’s Two, Four, and Eleven left, right?” She asked. The answer was well known by the both of them. Some part of her needed to hear it out loud anyway. Experimentally, she lifted the bow and pulled the string taught. 

Ever reliable, Ekko answered, “Yeah. With a weapon, we might actually stand a chance.” 

Powder didn’t want to argue, but she was sure he felt more confident in her abilities than she ever could. She decided not to point that out. 

“Where do you think we should look for them?” 

There was an anticipatory lump in her throat. Like she knew the answer to that question, too, and dreaded it. 

Ekko glanced her way, mouth tilted in a frown. “I think they drained the stream for a reason. The lake is our best bet.” 

And, in the end, their best bet could still fail them. They could make it to the final three and still die. 

Powder found herself reluctantly walking, side by side, to the middle of the arena. 

She hadn’t been there since the bomb— her ears started ringing, like a vignette of the memory just hazing the edges of reality— and she hadn’t even looked back to see if the silver horn was still standing. 

It was probably dramatic to expect it to be gone, but seeing it completely unharmed in the middle of the clearing had Powder faltering in her steps. 

Nearly the whole afternoon had passed as they ventured to the center of the arena. Now, a mere hundred yards from the silver structure, it reflected the late day’s light onto the ridges of the horn, shining it back towards them. Their matching mockingjays glinted back, as if challenging it. 

The clearing was notably empty. 

“It’s so quiet,” Ekko mumbled. 

A shiver licked down Powder’s spine at his observation. 

A light breeze slipped through the air. Her flyaways ruffled against her skin, trailing with the wind. 

The serenity was just as manufactured as the breeze. 

“I don’t like it either,” Powder whispered. 

There had to be a reason for them to be directed towards the lake. It was too much to hope the gamemakers were simply having the other three finish each other off and letting District Twelve win. Powder knew that. Still, she let herself picture it for a moment. 

Ekko wasn’t similarly preoccupied. 

“Let’s refill our water, I guess,” Came his noncomittal mutter. 

They refilled their bottle with lake water and let the iodine tablet sit in it. They sat themselves at the edge of the lake, continuously scanning the treeline. They waited, and waited, and waited even longer. 

The only thing that changed was the sun’s position in the sky. 

“This is stupid,” Powder whispered. A couple hours ago, they had the wordless realization that it didn’t matter how low they kept their voices. Neither had taken advantage of that. “Should we just go look for them?” 

Ekko took stock of the horizon again. “Maybe we should—”

The boom of a cannon interrupted them. 

The pair straightened up in tandem, wide eyes immediately flicking to the other’s. 

In the silence immediately following, both seemed to half expect to learn who had died. 

“Who do you think that was?” Powder finally asked. 

Ekko knew just as well as her. She found that asking the questions out loud at least kept them from rattling around in the back of her head like a loose screw. 

Just as she expected him to, he only shrugged a shoulder. His gaze was back on the treeline, sweeping obsessively over the unchanged view. 

They both knew there was only so long they could justify sitting and doing nothing. 

Powder clambered to her feet, the bow sliding slightly in her sweaty hand. Ekko followed naturally, like a magnet forcing them to move fluidly with each other. 

“Let’s give them another half hour,” Ekko suggested. “Then we’ll go looking.” 

A half hour was a long time to remain stagnant, but so were the couple hours they'd just spent waiting. 

Powder glanced at the sun with a twitch of a frown, but made no move to leave. 

They were, admittedly, being bold by waiting out in the open. But as far as they were concerned, it was the last day of the games. Might as well give the audience an intriguing end. At least that meant it was over.

The arena disappeared beneath Powder’s eyelids as they slid closed. Maybe she was letting her guard down, but with Ekko right at her side, any consequences felt as distant as District Twelve. 

If the gamemakers were attempting to lure them into a false sense of security, then they were doing a remarkable job. The sun felt soft and warm, vibrant even with her eyes shut. The wind hushed pleasantly through the leaves of thousands of healthy trees. Birds sang their tunes back and forth. 

Powder found herself focusing on a particular exchange between two songbirds— mockingjays, she was almost sure— when it happened. 

It started in the distance, a few birds at a time, then a few even closer, until all of them were mimicking a shrill screech. The batting of their wings filled the air, all lifting off and fleeing from a disturbance. The sun flickered, rays sometimes escaping though the mass of bodies scraping over them and into the distance. 

Ekko and Powder scrambled shakily to their feet. Powder pulled an arrow from her quiver and strung it, aiming it at the treeline. Ekko’s hand found her shoulder, clutching at it through the fabric. 

Powder wanted to hold his hand. To hug him one last time. Maybe kiss his forehead again. 

She settled for taking a half step backwards, right into his side. 

Pressed against each other, they prepared for the end of the Hunger Games. 

It was Deckard who broke through the treeline. 

Powder’s pulse jumped against her throat, and she let the arrow fly. 

To her surprise, it hit its mark at his center of gravity. To her immediate shock, it bounced directly off. 

“He’s wearing some kind of armor!” Powder exclaimed. Her hand snatched at another arrow, eyes darting across him for any sign of a weak point. He was only getting closer and closer, completely unphased by her attack. 

Powder raised the second arrow, focusing in on his face. Her stomach tilted in disagreement, but she held steady. Just as she was about to let the arrow fly— 

“Powder.” 

Ekko’s voice was warning. The hand on her shoulder tightened. 

She paused— but Deckard was getting too close for hesitation. She focused on his face again, and—

His features were twisted in pain, the blood pooling in his cheeks. His breath was coming in quick pants, like he’d been running for miles. 

She hesitated too long. Deckard was right in front of them, and he was—

Sprinting right past them. 

Without missing a beat, Ekko took off, Powder’s arm still tight in his grip. 

Powder stumbled the first few steps, but managed to match his gait. They ran, right on Deckard’s heels.

For a split second, Powder wondered what they were all running from. 

Common sense found her quickly in the sound of a pack of wild animals snarling just behind them, speeding on heavy paws and snapping teeth-filled maws. 

On hearing that, Powder found that it did not particularly matter. 

There were less than fifty yards standing between them and the Cornucopia, and less than thirty between them and the gaining pack. 

As they reached the Cornucopia, Ekko broke away. He raced ahead of Powder, leaving her to momentarily wonder if she was, after everything, about to die alone. 

Then Ekko fell to his knees, cupping his hands and casting his wild gaze at her. 

Without hesitation, Powder stepped into his cupped hands without slowing her pace. Ekko boosted her onto the top of the Cornucopia in one smooth movement. 

Without pausing a moment, Powder spun around and reached both hands out towards him. He stuck his foot on one of the grooves and took her hands. She yanked him up the side—

His foot lost purchase against the slick metal. Powder let out a sharp cry, clutching at Ekko’s arms and trying to pull his full weight. 

Ekko managed to regain his foothold and drag himself up the side. Before he could sling himself over the side, he jolted in Powder’s grip, letting out a choked gasp.

Powder got a hand around his belt and yanked him all the way up. As soon as he landed at her side, it was clear what had gone wrong. 

Ekko’s pants were shredded. Blood was already spilling relentlessly from the hidden wounds. Based on the state of the fabric, Powder didn’t want to imagine his leg— it had to be mangled. 

At the other end of the Cornucopia, Deckard was laying flat on his back, heaving in breath after breath.

The metal structure beneath them shook as a heavy weight slammed into its side. Claws scratched at the metal, bodies jumped against it, trying fruitlessly to follow them. Snarling and snapping and barking surrounded them on all sides.  

Powder opened the bag over Ekko’s shoulder and pulled out the bandages. Her hands hovered uncertainly over his leg— before reluctantly wrapping it firmly over his knee above the gashes. She took out another arrow— the quiver rattled, and Powder realized regretfully that she only had one left— and fashioned a clumsy tourniquet. 

Ekko groaned as she tightened it completely, but relaxed against the sun-warmed metal of the Cornucopia. 

“There,” She said, voice falsely hopeful. “That’s better, right?” 

Ekko gave a weak thumbs-up. 

This had to be the finale. It only made sense. But there were supposed to be two more people for them to fight. Had they miscounted? Had they missed someone? Or was there yet another obstacle if they managed to survive the night? 

Powder glanced over her shoulder to make sure Deckard was in the same place. Only when she was sure he was still recovering, Powder inched closer to the edge… and peered over it. 

Squinting into the dark mass of bodies and being unsure of what she was seeing made Powder turn her sights up at the sky. She realized, with a jolt, that the sun had disappeared entirely. 

The gamemakers had forced them into night. 

Through the baying and howling of wild dogs, the opening of the Capitol anthem blared across the arena. Powder found her ears ringing again, completely overwhelmed by the non-stop assault of sound. 

She stared upwards, and found the District Four girl projected into the sky. One. She was all too leisurely followed by the District Five girl. Two. 

Powder waited with hitching breaths, not even flinching when she crossed her fingers, hoping to see one final tribute in the sky. 

The District Eleven girl appeared in the sky. The Capitol anthem crescendoed, and Powder heard herself let out a disbelieving string of laughs. Eleven makes three. One more to go. 

Once again, she leaned back over the edge of the Cornucopia. Using the light of the memorial, she got her first glimpse of the gamemakers’ finale. 

Muttations. 

Powder could have guessed that from the first bark. But looking down at them, writhing and staring up at her with strange eyes, programmed to kill her, Powder would have never been able to picture them. 

One of them jumped up at her, and she suddenly understood why their eyes were so strange. 

The mischievous eyes of Mylo, the kind eyes of Claggor, the doll eyes of the District Five girl— they were set into the snapping skulls of Capitol muttations. 

Just as she looked into Claggor’s eyes— she hadn’t seen him since the landslide, she wasn’t supposed to see him again— the projection faded, and Powder’s world went dark again. 

Based on the swarm around them, each one had to represent a tribute. Each child forced to participate recreated into a monster of the Capitol’s own making, as if they hadn’t already been dehumanized and demonized enough. 

Powder gagged on a sob, scrambling away from the edge. 

“Ekko, they’re—” Her hand caught his just as he was yanked away. His fingers slipped through hers, and he was gone. 

For a moment, Powder was sure they had survived everything just for Ekko to be taken by a mutt. 

She scrambled thoughtlessly to her feet, a scream just behind her teeth— to find Ekko, wrapped in a chokehold by Deckard. 

His mouth was opening and closing, trying for a single intake of air and failing on all counts. Ekko clawed at Deckard's hands, actually opening up new cuts in his skin— but Deckard only staggered a step backwards, and regained his footing. 

Powder nocked her last arrow, wide eyed and unsure of what to do. 

What would Vi do? What would Vander do? What would Viktor say? Silco? 

Center of gravity, she could hear Caitlyn reminding her— but Ekko was right there, blocking her shot. 

Deckard tightened his grip knowingly. 

“Go ahead, girl on fire,” Deckard spat out. “Shoot me and we both go down.” 

Powder flexed her hand where it steadied the bow’s aim. 

He was right. But if she did nothing, Ekko would suffocate. His eyes were bloodshot already, his struggle lessening in strength. 

But she couldn’t shoot. 

Deckard was watching her, a determined set to his features. If his plan was to use Ekko as a weapon against her, he was succeeding. There was nothing she could do to him without directly harming Ekko. 

Ekko’s hand raised from where it had clutched at his wrapped leg. The blood had already soaked through the tourniquet, slipping down his leg and onto the metal of the Cornucopia. His fingers found Deckard’s hand again— only, they lightly traced over the skin, and fell back to his side. 

On Deckard’s hand was a bloody letter X. 

Powder’s gaze caught on it. Deckard looked down— and his eyes widened. 

Just this once, Powder was faster. 

She took in a breath of air— Center yourself, Caitlyn said, and let go when you breathe out— And let the arrow fly. 

It hissed through the air, flying across the length of the Cornucopia. 

And buried itself into Deckard’s hand. 

Instinctively, Deckard let go of Ekko. His startled cry was cut off as Ekko knocked an elbow into his ribs. 

The blood-slick ground squeaked as Deckard lost purchase, flailing backwards. 

Powder dove forwards, grabbing Ekko around the waist before Deckard could grab him. 

They collapsed back into the roof of the Cornucopia. 

Not even a second passed after Deckard hit the ground before the mutts swarmed him. 

As grateful as Powder was to not see any of it, she was able to hear everything. Every crunch of bone, every slide of flesh, every groan and cry of pain. 

Powder and Ekko fell against each other. 

This was the finale of the Hunger Games. It was not going to end soon. 

Hours passed, and still, no cannon fired. 

Powder remembered the body armor Deckard had been wearing, and wondered how badly it was prolonging his death. He even sounded to be fighting for a long while. The occasional death cry of a mutt, though, didn’t continue through the night, and soon Deckard was completely overpowered. 

They dragged him into the Cornucopia and continued on feasting right below where Powder and Ekko were curled against each other. 

Back in the Capitol, celebrations had to be breaking out. Friends and families would be gathering around their televisions and cheering, or groaning about investing in the wrong tribute, or gloating about supporting the underdogs from Twelve. They would be hanging onto every moment of the District Two tribute’s death as the climax of their favorite entertainment. 

They’d forget in a year or two. 

Powder and Ekko never would. 

Powder’s fingers traced meaningless patterns in Ekko’s shoulder. They waited, sharing air and syncing their too-quick heartbeats. 

The night air started to freeze fast. Powder unzipped her jacket and wrapped it around them, hoping to trap some heat against them. 

“Ekko, you can’t fall asleep,” Powder found herself saying. 

Ekko’s eyes were drooping. The gash in his leg was still bleeding steadily. She didn’t like to think those two things were correlated. 

She needed Deckard to pass on. She needed to get Ekko to a Capitol doctor, someone with real medicine who could save him. 

“I think the sun is rising,” Ekko muttered. Powder looked across the horizon and found the faintest gray streaks painting the edges of the sky. 

Had they sat through the whole night? Or had the gamemakers altered the time again? 

A cannon still had yet to go off. 

“Powder,” Ekko’s scratchy voice pulled her attention back to him. Even in the poor gray light, Powder didn’t like how faded Ekko seemed. “I think you could shoot him.”

Powder’s hand was reaching for the quiver before her mind could catch up. “I’m out of arrows.” She cursed internally. 

Ekko sat up gingerly and reached for his tourniquet. 

“No!” Powder lunged for it and caught his hand. “You need it, don’t—”

“If we get this over with, we can get out of here,” Ekko murmured. 

Powder paused. 

If she put Deckard out of his misery, Ekko would get to a doctor sooner. But to put Deckard out of his misery, she would have to take away the only medical aid she could currently offer Ekko. 

Which meant if she missed the shot, Ekko would…

She carefully undid the tourniquet with trembling fingers. Ekko watched her with soft, trusting eyes. 

“Stop,” She said without looking up at him. 

Ekko let out a tired laugh. 

Neither spoke again. The blood flow doubled as the pressure on the wound disappeared. Powder winced and nocked the arrow into place. 

She inched to the edge of the Cornucopia again, took in a deep breath, and leaned over the edge to look into the mouth. 

It took some searching to find Deckard. Most of the mutts were still crowding him, gnawing at what was left. But there… 

Powder swallowed thickly, pushing down the stinging rise of bile. 

The mass of flesh that used to be Deckard and, based on the intermittent whimpers, still was, could hardly be identified as human at all. 

The image imprinted on her eyelids, and Powder knew if she and Ekko managed to make it back that she would never sleep properly again. 

The arrow released before she gave it permission to, but either luck was in her favor or she was better than she gave herself credit for. The shaft exited what have been his skull, and Powder pulled herself back over the edge. 

“Did you get him?” Ekko asked. 

 She opened her mouth to answer, but the cannon fired just then. 

It seemed answer enough, and her mouth fell back closed. 

At the sound, a hole opened up in the ground. All of the mutts— even the dead ones— trotted across the clearing and disappeared inside. As if they’d always been well trained show animals. In a way, Powder guessed they were. Though ‘animal’ was generous. 

Ekko and Powder stared at each other in the newfound silence of the arena. 

“We won,” Ekko whispered. Though the words indicated victory, his voice was hollow. 

Powder nodded numbly. “I guess we did.” 

Huddled on the roof of the Cornucopia, they waited for the announcement of their victory. For an airship to come and lift them out. To go home. 

Nothing happened. 

Their expressions slowly turned from shell-shocked to confused. 

“Why isn’t anything happening?” Ekko whispered. 

Powder didn’t know either. Still, Ekko was injured. She could take care of him. She could. Who else would? 

“Maybe they need to get Deckard’s body out first?” She answered. The response sounded weak, even to her. 

Ekko indulged her as if she needed the support. Selfishly, she appreciated it. “Maybe. Do we need to move? So they can get him?”

Powder thought back to Mylo. The hovercraft had waited to pick him up until she disappeared back into the forest. 

“Maybe,” Powder agreed. “Can you make it off this thing?”

Ekko’s jaw tightened at the aspect of moving. “We’re a team for a reason, aren’t we?” 

Powder climbed down first. When her feet touched the ground, she braced herself for the mutts to come back and finish her off. 

A light breeze tickled her cheeks, and Powder let her muscles relax. 

She reached up for Ekko, waving for him to start climbing down. 

His movements were stilted and pained. Everything seemed to be jarring to his injury. At the last few feet, his leg went completely lax and slipped from the foothold. 

Powder caught him before he could crumple against the ground. 

“Don’t go useless on me now, ” Powder teased through a huff of air. She carefully repositioned him so his arm was slung over her shoulders, his injured leg between them. 

Wordlessly, Powder started dragging him to the lake they had sat beside only the day before. 

Halfway to the lake, a hovercraft did appear. Its claw dropped down into the arena, scooping up Deckard’s remains and disappearing back into the sky. 

“See?” Powder nodded at it with her chin, out of breath and nearly crying with happiness. 

They were going home. Ekko was going to be okay, and she’d get to see Vi and Vander again, and gods, everything was actually going to be okay.

They made it all the way to the lake before Powder started to worry again. 

She scanned the sky desperately, searching for any sign of another hovercraft. Her hearing wasn’t the greatest, but surely she would hear their victory announcement? Even if she hadn’t, Ekko would have acknowledged it. 

Her chest was rising and falling rapidly, her fingers trembling in panic— distantly, Powder knew that something had gone wrong. 

There was no ‘delay.’ 

There was no ‘mistake.’

A crackling filled Powder’s ears. Ekko turned his eyes towards the sky with a confused squint, and Powder realized it was the announcement system. 

“Greetings to the final contestants of the 74th Annual Hunger Games!” 

Powder didn’t fully process the words. In fact, she only caught one. 

Contestants. 

“The earlier revision has been revoked. Closer examination of the rule book has disclosed that only one victor can be crowned,” The announcer said. “Good luck; and may the odds be ever in your favor.”