🩷

peeta moves with intent, crossing to the open mouth of the cornucopia where the black sand-like grit gathers at the floor. his boots leave shallow grooves in it as he kneels, machete in hand.

“strikes where?” beetee asks, his voice carrying from behind, still catching up.

katniss doesn’t hesitate. she points to the massive tree in the distance, the one you all saw lit up by a storm that morning.

kneeling low, peeta digs the machete’s point into the sand. his arm moves steady as he drags the blade across the ground, sketching a wide circle. he begins to carve out the numbers, a rough clock face forming under his hand.

“so twelve to one, lightning,” he starts. the tip of the machete etches a line down the circle.

something in you clicks at the sight. you find yourself drifting closer as your eyes stay locked on his drawing.

“then one to two is blood,” peeta continues, adding another wedge into the sand. “then fog. and then monkeys.”

you crouch a little, your knees bending but you hold onto rafe’s wrist for support, your gaze fixed on the markings.

“and then ten to eleven, the wave,” katniss adds. her eyes flick over the drawn circle in the grit, scanning for gaps. “what about everything else? did you guys see anything?”

“nothing but blood,” johanna answers, flat, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“these events all sound familiar,” rafe murmurs suddenly. you blink at him. meanwhile, wiress rocks on the stone spokes just beyond, muttering under her breath, “hickory dickory dock,” over and over again like a tune only she hears.

beetee doesn’t speak yet. he only stares at rafe, his eyes narrow but sharp, like he’s waiting, expecting him to continue.

rafe doesn’t. he just stands there, lost in thought, his hands curling loosely at his sides. you find yourself watching him too long.

“what’d you see?” you finally ask.

his gaze lifts to you, and for a second he hesitates, like he’s weighing something in his mind. then peeta shifts on his knees, looking up eagerly from his drawing in the grit, waiting, ready to carve down whatever rafe gives him.

rafe glances around at the others, first katniss, then finnick, johanna, then beetee, before his gaze settles back on peeta. “it should be from six to seven . . . there’s a beast.”

peeta doesn’t waste a breath, dragging his machete through the sand to carve in another wedge of the circle. the harsh scrape of metal fills the silence.

your brows furrow instantly. “beast? what do you mean beast—? and you went alone?” the words spill out sharper than you mean them. you’re just worried. the thought of him wandering into one of these nightmare traps alone turns your stomach, regardless of if he made it out alive.

“it was before i found johanna and the others,” rafe explains quickly, his tone clipped like he doesn’t want to open the door any wider.

then, quieter, almost to himself, he adds, “whatever these events are, they tie back to a lot of the victors’ games. i think the beast is supposed to be for me. and you.”

you stare at him, confused, caught between wanting to press for more and not knowing what to even ask. your lips part, but before you can form anything, peeta speaks.

“it doesn’t matter,” he says firmly, glancing up from the circle in the sand. “as long as we steer clear of whichever sector is active, we’ll be safe.”

“yeah . . .” finnick says, his mouth twisting into something almost like a smile, though there’s no humor in it. “relatively speaking.”

before anyone can answer, wiress lets out a sharp, sudden gasp, grabbing everyone’s attention simultaneously.

your chest seizes. at first, all you see is her, her small frame trembling, eyes wide, mouth half-open like she’s still trying to say her rhyme. but then you see him. gloss. his arm is locked around her chest, dragging her back against him like she’s nothing more than a shield, and in his other hand is a blade.

your eyes snap to the glint of silver just as it’s ripped free from wiress’s shoulder blade. the sound is sickening, a wet tear of flesh that makes your stomach twist. wiress doesn’t even scream. she only gasps once more, shallow, then goes slack against him.

it happens so fast, but to you it’s all slow motion. you whip your gaze toward beetee, praying he can do something, but he’s frozen. his hands twitch toward her helplessly, his face collapsing as he realizes he’s too far, too late.

but katniss isn’t. before you can even process, her bow is already drawn. the sound of wiress’s cannon is still echoing when katniss looses the arrow. it slices through the air, slamming into gloss’s chest.

he exhales hard, like the air has been stolen right out of him. his grip falters, his knees buckle, and he stumbles backward into the water. his cannon thunders almost on top of wiress’s, and he takes her limp body under with him.

your throat burns, but you don’t have time to process. because movement flashes in your periphery. someone is coming fast, too fast, fury twisting her face. cashmere. the sound that leaves her is raw, almost feral, the sound of a sister who just watched her brother fall. she charges, blade flashing.

johanna yells, shoving katniss behind her with more force than finesse. her axe is already in her hand, and with a sharp spin, she builds momentum, teeth bared, muscles straining.

she hurls it. the weapon whistles through the air before slamming square into cashmere’s chest. her cry cuts off instantly before she collapses to the ground. her cannon follows immediately.

you barely catch your breath before another figure barrels into view: district nine. the male, heavy-footed and furious, clashing with finnick and peeta in a blur.

but it’s the partner that makes your blood run cold. from the side, in the corner of your vision, you catch her. her hair, her blade raised, her eyes locked on you. she’s moving in fast.

instinct kicks in. your hand shoots out to grab rafe’s arm, yanking him with you, tucking him out of sight against the curve of the cornucopia. your dagger is already in your other hand, flashing as you fling it with practiced precision.

it cuts through air, but she ducks. the blade slams into the metal siding of the cornucopia instead, ringing sharply before clattering to the ground.

“shit,” you hiss through clenched teeth. there’s no hesitation. you’re already sprinting forward. the district nine male grabs his partner’s arm, yanking her with him. he wants them to retreat now that gloss and cashmere were dead within seconds. it’s a smart move. it’s already too uneven. but they’re not fast enough.

you, rafe, and katniss are already tearing after them, weapons ready. but before you guys can even close the distance to the retreating victors, the arena itself betrays you. the timing is insane.

the whole center platform lurches beneath your feet, a shudder so violent it rattles your bones. then there’s real movement. the black rock under you shifts like it’s alive, and suddenly the entire middle island begins to spin. not the spokes, just the core.

your stomach drops as your hands fly out, scrambling for purchase, but the stone is slick with spray from the waves. it’s uneven, jagged, and shifting under your palms like some cruel carnival ride. except this one can probably kill you if you raise your arms.

you let out a scream so loud you swear your throat could tear. your grip slips a little, your chest slamming against the wet rock as you claw to stay steady. the water whips against you harder the faster the platform turns, sheets of it slapping across your skin and soaking straight through your clothes.

“rafe!” you scream, but there’s no answer. you squeeze your eyes shut, the spray burning against your eyelids, the salt stinging. every second feels like the world is trying to throw you into the water, like the spinning is building an invisible vortex determined to suck you off the rock and under.

you dig your fingers harder into the stone, knuckles white, nails scraping raw. your shoes skid uselessly, but you finally wedge your toes against a narrow ledge, anything to stop yourself from sliding further.

the sounds around you are a blur. it’s mostly grunts, cries, the clatter of weapons spilling from the cornucopia’s maw. the screech of metal on rock as supplies tumble and scatter. someone yells, someone else curses, but it all folds into the roar of water and the pounding of your pulse in your ears.

you risk your eyes open, squinting through the spray, searching. there, rafe. he’s close, just a body length or two away, flat against the rock. his knuckles are white where he grips the stone with one hand, the other still clutching his mace like he’d sooner let go of his life than his weapon.

your heart spikes. “rafe!” you shout again.

he turns his head, eyes narrowing against the spray. that’s when you both see it at once: the spear rack. it’s coming loose, shifting with each violent turn, tilting in slow motion before gravity finally takes over. it’s crashing down right toward him.

your breath snags, but rafe doesn’t hesitate. his muscles coil, his grip shifting as he launches himself forward, not away from danger but toward you. he lunges, dragging himself across the slick rock with raw force, hugging the ground to keep from being thrown.

his body slams down beside yours, chest heaving. he’s close enough that you feel his warmth even through the cold spray. his arm snakes around you, his forearm braced against your lower back. his other hand finds the rock, fingers clawing into the uneven surface, the mace still clutched in his grip.

you bury your face into his chest, shutting your eyes tight, letting yourself tuck into the safety of him even as the water lashes across your ears, seeps into every crack of your skin, drowns out almost every other sound.

but the spinning doesn’t end with your scream or rafe’s lunge or even the crash of weapons tumbling from the cornucopia. it ends with another sound. it’s high, sharp, and filled with terror. a scream. not yours. but one of the girls, which means either johanna or katniss are in trouble. and nothing scares you more.

your stomach lurches again. your nails dig harder into the rock, your grip burning like your skin is peeling raw from the strain, your palms rubbed red and screaming with irritation.

but then, slowly, the platform begins to ease. the violent spin weakens, and you feel it slowing, grinding down. the water still sprays, your hair still clings to your face, but at least you’re not seconds away from being flung into the sea anymore.

your heart doesn’t get the message. it’s still hammering inside your ribcage, each thud echoing in your ears so loud it drowns out almost everything else. you suck in ragged breaths, your body trembling with the ache of muscles forced past their limits. every part of you throb, but none of it matters yet.

your head turns sharply, your gaze flicking to rafe first. his grip on the rock loosens with the slowing spin, his chest still heaving, water dripping from his jaw. he’s alive. your relief crashes over you, but it doesn’t stop you from scrambling up the second his hand finds your arm, pulling you steady onto your feet.

once you’re upright, your eyes scan frantically for katniss and peeta. and up there, just ahead, katniss is dragging herself up, arms trembling as she hauls her chest onto the edge of a spoke, the rest of her still submerged. johanna is already there, crouching low. peeta is right behind, rushing, his own hands reaching out until he’s kneeling beside them too.

katniss gives them a shaky thumbs-up from where she lies sprawled against the rock, her legs still dangling in the water. you don’t hear what peeta asks, but you can guess that he asked her if she’s okay.

you take one step forward, rafe close beside you, until you’re near enough to hear johanna’s voice, “let’s just get what we need and get off the bloody island.”

katniss manages to push herself higher, water sluicing off her as she plants her feet awkwardly, bracing against the rock. she grabs peeta’s hand and lets him haul her upright. her body is shaking, her wet hair plastered to her cheeks until she swipes it away with trembling fingers, pushing the damp strands back from her face. she doesn’t look at johanna, just walks forward.

johanna stands there as she passes, her expression sharp, lips twitching like she wants to scoff, wants to say something biting. you don’t know why yet. she was probably trying to make sure katniss didn’t die though, given her reaction. katniss and peeta don’t see the look on her face. they’re too focused on getting back to ground that feels stable. but you do.

your gaze cuts to johanna instantly as a warning. knowing her, you don’t want her to say any slick comment. she did it once earlier and it already almost fucked you guys over. she can’t do it again.

johanna catches it. your look pins her long enough that she exhales, jaw clenching. she lets it go for now.

you tilt your head toward the group as katniss and peeta move further up the spoke, you’re giving johanna a small nod. come on. she eventually does, her body tense but her steps following yours.

you slip an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in closer as the two of you trail behind rafe. you keep her steady as much as she keeps you steady. and together, you regroup.

eventually you’re heading back to the beach. katniss and peeta flank you and rafe both, their heads down, but you hardly spare them a glance. your eyes are fixed on the back of rafe’s head, the way a freckle sits on his neck just below his hair, how his shoulders slope just enough from the tension you know he’s carrying. you’re thinking, spinning. you can’t even name the exact feeling, but it tugs at you insistently.

when the group reaches the edge of the sand, you slip your hand around rafe’s arm, guiding him just a few yards away from the others. your eyes sweep the area, checking that no one is looking too closely. he just follows you with a tilt of his head, clearly confused.

“what did you see?” you ask. your voice is soft, but silence hangs between you, rafe blinks at you, tilts his head again, and for a moment he doesn’t respond. it’s too vague, too open-ended for him to immediately parse. you sigh, trying to pin it down.

“the . . . beast,” you finally press, lowering your voice to a murmur as if even saying it aloud might give it shape in the wrong way. “you said it was meant for us.”

at the mention, his posture shifts subtly. his jaw tightens, a line forming between his brows, and he folds his arms for a brief moment. he doesn’t want to talk about it, you can see it.

“what did you mean?” you ask carefully. “earlier, when you said when you thought it was for us.” your voice falters, because you don’t even know how to put it into words.

“i don’t know,” rafe says finally, almost too quiet to hear. your chest tightens at the refusal, but there’s no anger in it, you’re only worried.

you turn your gaze to the cornucopia without a word, the massive metal structure looming against the horizon. your eyes track along the uneven rocks, following the tail of the cornucopia, trying to see if it points anywhere for the time. your stomach knots as the realization hits: that’s why the gamemakers spun the island. to throw you off, to erase your bearings, to take away the cornucopia as a clock, as a tool, as a guide. your jaw tightens and you mutter a curse under your breath.

when you look back at rafe, his expression hasn’t changed. he’s quiet, tense, distant even though he’s standing so close.

“can you tell me anything about what you saw? what you’re thinking?” your voice is soft, almost pleading. you need something. anything. you need to understand.

he stays silent for a beat longer, but there’s a flicker of a hesitation in his eyes that tells you he might say more if you just give him the space to.

you hold his gaze anyway. and eventually, he gives in, though his voice comes slower than usual. “after i got out of the bloodbath,” he starts, “i thought i saw you going into the jungle. so i followed.”

his eyes flick to you, before darting back to the water. “it wasn’t you.” the way he says it, there’s no room for doubt, like that realization hit him as hard then as it does now. “i only caught a glimpse, but i knew it wasn’t you. and after that, i stayed on edge. anything could’ve still gone wrong in an arena i didn’t know the first thing about.”

he pauses here, his head turning, his eyes locking onto yours like he’s making sure you understand the weight of what he’s about to say. “and i was right.”

you feel your chest tighten.

“everyone scattered. i was alone.” he keeps going, words slow. “before it got dark, i was in one of the sectors. didn’t know what it was, didn’t even realize until i was right in the middle of it. and then it happened.”

he goes still for a second, like he’s back there again, like he’s listening before speaking. “i heard it first.”

something flickers across his face. his eyes are distant, unfocused, as if replaying the sound. “it was . . . clicking. sharp. steady. but too steady.” his brow furrows, lines digging into his forehead. “and it was familiar. something i haven’t even heard in years. i almost didn’t believe it at first, like i had to be making it up. but it kept going. closer. louder.”

he swallows, shakes his head once, slowly. “then the smell hit. iron and rot. blood. metal. flesh. but not—” his eyes cut to you briefly, his expression grim, “—not human.” he inhales like it burns. “then i saw it.”

rafe’s voice drops lower when he goes on. his eyes don’t meet yours now, fixed instead on the sand between you, and there’s something about the way his jaw tenses that makes your chest ache.

“it looked just like the one from when we were younger,” he says, and there’s no hesitation in it. “it was uncanny. the eyes, the teeth, its skin . . . all of it. the same.” his hand moves faintly at his side, as if remembering the way it moved. “those legs that never should’ve belonged to it. i don’t even think they brought it back for the quell. it was like they made a new one, all stitched together. but that clicking—” his breath hitches but doesn’t break. “—i swear i felt it in my teeth. it was the exact same.”

he still sounds strong, you can see it in him. the past is clawing its way into the present.

and then he blinks hard, pulling himself back to now. his gaze finally lifts, locking onto yours. “it’s not random,” he says, almost spits it. “it’s in there for us. you and me. they put it in here for us.”

you feel your brows pull together, confused. you reach up almost instinctively, your palm hovering near his face, like you’re checking if he’s burning up, like maybe this is fever-talk, dehydration, anything but what it sounds like. “rafe,” your voice is careful. “what are you saying?”

but he doesn’t waver. his eyes don’t leave yours, and there’s this certainty in them that makes your stomach twist. “i know what i saw. i know it. it’s here. for us.”

you just stare at him, caught between wanting to shake sense into him and wanting to believe him, because the look in his eyes doesn’t leave much room for doubt.

but you force yourself to soften, to try to comfort him. your hand brushes his arm, grounding him. “so you said from . . . six to seven?”

he nods once.

“then we avoid it,” you tell him, trying to sound steady, even though your own pulse is racing. “we’ll stay out of that sector. easy. we’ll never even have to see it again. alright?”

you reach up slowly, testing the waters, but rafe doesn’t flinch. if anything, he leans into your hand like he’s been waiting for it. your arm slips around him, drawing him closer until his chest is pressed against yours. when you place your hand against the back of his head, he exhales.

then you pull back, just enough to look up at him. his face is worn, but you don’t give him time to retreat back into that place inside his head. you press your lips to his briefly. when you ease back, his eyes find yours again, and they’re softer this time. you wrap him up once more, hugging him tighter.

after another beat, you’re the one to step back, letting him collect himself. your eyes flick toward the group in the distance, and you give the smallest tilt of your head in their direction, a quiet gesture.

rafe drags a hand over his forehead, rubbing hard like he can scrub away the last of what he said out loud, and then he falls into step behind you, following as you both move back toward the others.

your mouth stays shut. you can’t even part your lips. they feel too dry. you just breathe through your nose.

“they kept you under, said your body needed to recover, and it did. barely. you were . . . torn up pretty bad. worse than i thought anyone could survive. honestly, they didn’t think you’d make it past the first night.”

her eyes are glassy.

“rafe?” is all you manage, and it doesn’t even sound like a word, more like a breath escaping.

she knows what you’re trying to say. she expected it honestly, so she nods. “he’s alive. in another room. been healing too. he’ll ask about you, once or twice. every damn day until they told him to stop talking.”

you swallow around the lump in your throat. you don’t know what you’re supposed to feel. your face twitches once, but you don’t know what expression it makes. something like guilt or maybe fear.

“they didn’t know what to do,” enobaria says, folding her hands in her lap now, leaning forward like in her seat. “no one expected it. you were too far gone, and he . . . i mean, he should’ve died with you. or before you. that’s how it’s supposed to work.”

you flinch.

“you were raised to believe the games were glory, right?” she says, almost gently now. “you win, you bring pride home. your district puts your face on posters. your name gets whispered like legend.”

you look at her, blank.

“that’s what they teach us. it’s what they taught me, too. but you know what they don’t teach?” she looks at you with guilt, almost like she doesn’t even want to be the one to tell you and make you face the harsh reality, “what happens after you win.”

your stomach twists from the way she’s behaving. you feel like scooting up higher on the hospital bed.

“you think the arena was bad?” she goes on, eyes fixed to the floor now like she’s ashamed of what she’s saying. “that was the easy part. this? what’s coming next? this is gonna be the real game for you.”

you’re breathing hard again.

“snow’s not happy,” she says finally. “you probably already guessed that. but it’s not even just snow. it’s the capitol, panem. no one knows what to do with you two.”

she starts to wring her hands in her lap. this is the first time you’ve seen her look nervous.

“two victors? it’s not just . . . rare, you know. it’s unacceptable. you changed something. and i mean, you didn’t even mean to, did you? you just wanted to keep him alive. or yourself. or both . . . but this isn’t what i meant by start a romance if things turn out for the worst.”

you close your eyes, just for a second. this obviously isn’t what you meant to do either.

“you kissed him.”

your eyes snap back open.

“and that—that—is what they’re going to use.”

you stare.

“it wasn’t even that romantic,” she says, frowning, almost a bitter smile. “you looked like you were both dying. which, i mean, you were. blood everywhere. but the camera caught it. just one kiss. just one moment. and that’s all they needed.”

she exhales.

“you know what a love story does in panem, y/n?”

you barely shake your head.

“it saves lives.”

your brow furrows.

“it gives them something to root for, something to cling to. because otherwise they’d have to see it for what it is: a system that lets kids tear each other apart and call it entertainment.”

you blink. she’s still going.

“so now they want you. both of you, all cleaned up, all shiny and tragic and perfect. they want a narrative. and you gave them one, without even trying. two victors, a surprise kiss, and a bond they can’t explain.”

you’re shaking. you only realize it now.

“you didn’t mean to rebel,” she says, voice quieter now. “but you did. and snow? he’s deciding what to do about it.”

you don’t ask what that means. you already know.

“he hasn’t asked for you yet,” she continues. “but he will. you’ll be called to meet him. maybe both of you, maybe just you. and whatever he says, you’re gonna listen. you’re gonna smile. you’re gonna play the part. because if you don’t—”

she doesn’t finish that part. she doesn’t need to.

you understand the risk, even if your brain doesn’t want to fully accept it yet.

you breathe out, shallow and strained. “so is rafe okay?”

her expression softens. she nods slowly. “you’ll see him soon. not yet. but soon.”

your eyebrows furrow. your lips part. “how soon?”

“depends on snow.”

depends on snow? what he says?

you don’t want to cry. you already have, maybe in your sleep, maybe when you were unconscious, maybe during the games. you don’t want to give them more.

“i’m sorry,” enobaria says, again.

you stare at her. you don’t know what to say. you don’t think there’s anything left to say, so you just lie there, still and aching and confused.

and for the first time since waking up, you want to go back to sleep.

when you meet president snow and you see rafe for the first time.

you’ve been told it’s the day. the day you’ll finally get to leave.

the day your body, still bruised and bound with healing flesh, gets to leave behind the antiseptic rooms and sealed windows. they tell you your family has been notified, that preparations are being made for your return, that soon you’ll be going home, back to district two, back to your worried parents.

when the nurse helps you out of your hospital gown and into a soft grey set of capitol-issued clothes, she brushes through your hair slowly, avoiding the scabbing at your temple.

you don’t speak much. your throat still feels like it’s full of blood sometimes. your body has stopped aching the way it used to, though your legs don’t hold you like they did before the games. everything inside you still feels raw but . . . dulled.

the nurse offers you a smile as she finishes, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear like you’re a child, and says something quiet you don’t quite register. you nod anyway, and she leaves.

the door closes.

you wait, hands folded, eyes on the window that doesn’t open. but when the door opens again, it’s not her that returns.

it’s peacekeepers.

not just one. but three.

your heart skips, not out of surprise. there’s been protocol, always guards posted, always quiet footsteps and mirrored glass. but this is different. they’re facing you, and they don’t speak.

you stare at them.

one of them gestures, not unkindly, just expectant. so it takes a second to move, but you do, slowly. you think at first they’re just escorting you down to the lobby to make sure you get on the train-ride home until you realize you’re in an entirely different wing of the building.

“where are we going?” you ask, voice quiet, barely used.

no answer. no need, apparently.

you walk. the hallway is unfamiliar, and that’s what makes the fear start creeping up again. the walls are too quiet and you swear the doors you pass look more sealed than open. you swallow, but the dryness in your mouth makes it harder to breathe.

you think of your parents, the promise of seeing them again, the idea of falling into their arms, or hearing your name spoken with warmth again. are they here, or?

you’re about to ask again, panic starting to swell, when the hallway bends, and you stop.

because up ahead, standing in front of a set of tall, dark doors, is someone you haven’t seen since the arena.

you don’t realize how tightly your chest is pulled until you see him and everything inside you lurches forward. your legs want to run before your brain even catches up. it’s instinct, it’s him and he really is alive. he’s real.

“rafe,” you breathe, like his name alone could close the distance.

his head turns slowly, and it takes only one look.

his posture doesn’t change, but his eyes meet yours and something behind them tightens. he lowers his chin just slightly, and shakes his head. sort of like a warning, and you feel it immediately. it’s like not here. not now.

you stop yourself as your lips press together.

you feel your face fall, just for a second, brows twitching in confusion. you want to ask why. you want to reach. but there are guards behind you, guards beside you, and rafe’s gaze tells you all you need to know.

you walk until you’re beside him, both of you facing the doors now.

you’re standing still, shoulder to shoulder with him but not touching, not speaking, not even breathing too loudly, because the peacekeepers are behind you like stone statues.

your eyes are just fixed on the wood. rafe’s head stays low, chin dipped like he’s glaring at the seam between the two doors. he looks carved out of stone, honestly unreadable and serious. you don’t dare look at him too long.

your chin is lifted slightly, but your fingers begin to tingle. they’ve done that on and off since you saw the peacekeepers. it’s like pins and needles, it’s anxiety. so you move your fingers just slightly, shifting them where they hang at your side.

then something brushes your hand. you almost flinch.

your first instinct is fear, it always is now, but then you recognize it. that warmth.

the kind that found you before the interviews, when you were being pushed into heels and corsets and coached to smile in front of thousands. that small, wordless gesture that had steadied your pulse when you needed it most. you remember how his fingers had ghosted across yours then, and how you’d leaned into it like it was the only real thing in the room.

now he does it again.

he moves slowly, subtle. it makes you hesitate. your hand hangs loose at your side, and you don’t dare turn your head, but you feel his knuckles brush yours again. it’s light, like a question or like a check-in. you don’t answer for a beat.

then slowly you move your fingers toward his, inch by inch. you feel him still, feel him hesitate the same way, feel him breathe through it.

your pinky bumps his, he doesn’t pull away, so you press again, and finally, finally, your hands find each other in the middle, barely touching at first, then his hand shifts open and yours slides into it like it was always meant to be there.

his palm is warm. your fingers tighten, and so do his.

the last time you felt his touch was when you thought you were aboit to die.

but this, it’s in a way to connect after the games. you want to think it’s rafe’s way of telling you it’s going to be okay, or maybe it has something to do with his thoughts from the arena. maybe a thank you? you aren’t sure actually if he’s appreciative that both of you are alive right now, at least to an extent.

but still, it’s comforting knowing he still wants to show this to you, despite everything. he’s just glad you’re okay.

you exhale just a little in a quiet, shuddered sigh as if you’ve been holding that breath for years. but rafe doesn’t move. he doesn’t even look at you. doesn’t wanna give anything away. he just breathes through his nose, spine straight, shoulder brushing yours.

the doors groan open.

your hands let go instantly, your fingers aching at the loss of his. your stomach flips at the sound of the hinges.

your eyes lift, and there he is.

sitting at the end of the room like a ghost in a throne, a single red rose gleaming at his chest, and that smile stretched thin across his face like it’s barely hiding the rot beneath.

president snow.

and he’s looking straight at you.

you glance sideways, and the peacekeeper closest to you jerks his chin forward, a silent command. your stomach turns.

your gaze flickers past him and lands on the table. a chair waits for you at the opposite end of snow, another one for rafe beside it.

your feet feel heavy, like they’re tethered to the floor, but you make yourself move and you sit.

a second later, rafe’s shadow shifts beside you. he’s slower, heavier in his steps. before he even reaches the table, you see the sharp tilt of his chin, the way his head turns ever so slightly toward the peacekeepers who flanked him in. there’s a glare in his eyes, but they don’t even blink at him.

he eventually turns and lowers himself into the seat beside you. no touch, no glance. but you can feel him. he’s tense.

your eyes finally lift.

president snow is already watching you. not rafe, but you. like he’s been waiting for you to look up. like he knew you’d try not to, but in the end, he always gets what he wants.

he doesn’t smile. but there’s something in his expression that just fucking chills you. there’s no warmth or welcome. more like interest maybe.

you swallow again, throat dry.

his fingers tap lightly against the armrest of his chair, knuckles ringless, nails neat. every movement is careful, precise. he’s not here to rant or rage. he’s not that kind of monster. no, snow studies his prey first.

“well,” he begins, voice low. he leans forward just slightly, folding his hands together atop the marble. “this isn’t quite how the story was supposed to end, is it?”

your hands are in your lap, fingers tangled, knotted tight. you don’t answer. neither does rafe. silence is safer. always.

snow lets the pause stretch a few seconds too long, like he enjoys watching you squirm.

“you believed, as victors, you’d be discharged back to your districts with some grand speech and a warm meal, a parade, a new house, a fresh start.”

his eyes harden.

“but that’s not what you earned.”

you blink, unsure if you heard him right. your eyebrows pull together, not quite angry, but confused.

snow turns his gaze fully to you now, and it pins you in place like a needle through silk. “you didn’t just win the games,” he says. “you rewrote them.”

your confusion only deepens. you feel your breath catch as he continues.

“your stunt in the finale,” he says, eyes flicking between the two of you, “has become more than just a tragic little act of desperation. the world saw something else. they saw love. devotion. defiance of death for the sake of another. it’s poetic. it’s dangerous . . . it’s useful.”

useful.

“and now,” he says, “that image must be maintained. not just for the sake of the capitol’s narrative, but for the stability of panem.”

you open your mouth, voice catching as you finally whisper, “what?” you stare at him like he’s speaking another language. “maintained?” you echo.

“from this moment on, the two of you will live in the public eye. you’ll smile at galas. you’ll sit side by side in interviews. you’ll hold hands, exchange sweet words, indulge in romantic gestures that reaffirm what the world already believes.”

he tilts his head slightly, like he’s giving you a gift. “you will be the capitol’s golden couple.”

you just . . . stare.

it doesn’t register at first. it sinks in slowly. it’s not like the plan itself is the worst thing in the world, it isn’t hell to pretend to be in love with someone like rafe. it’s just control.

you feel rafe shift beside you, not dramatically, just a subtle inhale through his nose. there’s another clench of his fist.

he finally speaks, and his voice is flat. “we already gave you what you wanted. we won.”

snow raises an eyebrow. “you won wrong.”

you swear the air in the room turns to ice.

“do you understand what your actions caused?” snow ask. “two victors walking out alive was not a triumph. it was a complication. and now i have to clean it up. i have to shape the outcome into something palatable. something inspiring.”

you don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until your chest tightens.

“and the only way i could do that was to turn your little . . . suicide pact . . . into a grand, star-crossed victory,” he says it with disgust. “a romance so moving that it eclipses the rule you broke.”

“we didn’t do it for a narrative,” you whisper, anger threading under your voice now. “we did it because we didn’t want to die.”

snow gives the softest nod. “and yet here you are. alive. which means, from now on, you’ll live exactly how i tell you to.”

you glance at rafe again, and he’s already looking at you. there’s something in his expression that wasn’t there before. it’s not just anger, not just fear. it’s the crushing, soul-deep exhaustion of someone realizing that no matter how hard they fought, the game never really ended.

you feel like crying, but you won’t. not in front of him.

“and if we don’t go along with it?” rafe says.

snow’s smile is thin, like a slit in paper. “then perhaps the next year’s victors will be told a different story. one about two ungrateful champions who couldn’t bear the weight of their own fame. a tragic ending, of course. the kind that keeps the people on edge.”

your stomach flips.

you know what he means. what he’s not saying.

he’s threatening your families.

he’s threatening your lives.

snow watches you both with vague interest, the pads of his fingers resting thoughtfully against his cheek, elbow perched on the arm of the chair. there’s something leisurely about him now, like a man who just finished winning a game of chess and is wondering if he should give you a second chance, just for fun.

then he speaks again.

“let’s see it.”

you blink, unsure if you misheard. snow’s gaze doesn’t waver.

“go on,” he says smoothly, his eyes trained on the two of you. “hold hands. right here. on the table.”

your stomach turns.

you’ve been fiddling with your fingers this entire time, pressing your thumbnail into your palm, rubbing the ridges of your knuckles to keep from shaking. your hands are clammy.

you glance at rafe but he’s already looking at you. and he doesn’t move, but you can see the hesitation in his eyes. he doesn’t want to do this either.

it’s just holding hands. that’s all. but suddenly it feels like the worst thing he could’ve asked of you.

your breath hitches as you tear your hand out of your lap and, despite the shame, you reach across the table and slide your fingers into rafe’s.

his hand closes around yours. he moves slow, reluctantly, but it’s solid.

you stare down at them—your hands, intertwined on the wood surface like a staged photo, and something in you curdles. it’s not rafe’s touch that makes your heart pound. it’s the context, the control, the fact that nothing you’ll do anymore feels like your own decision.

you don’t look up. you can’t. but snow forces you to.

“look at me,” he says. you do. your spine straightens like a string’s been yanked.

“i see potential in you both,” he says, lifting his chin like this has all been so very civilized. “that’s the only reason you were allowed to win. but that win is conditional. it always was.”

his eyes meet yours one last time.

“make it worth it.”

you laugh under your breath as you duck under a low branch. the painkillers helped, at least for a while. they dulled the edge enough that you could sleep without flinching every time you moved. it was a small kind of mercy.

“we just . . . went too hard too fast,” he says. “should’ve had a plan.”

you sigh. “you mean i should’ve had a plan. you were too busy getting kicked in the ribs.”

he snorts, but then he glances at you more seriously. “you were good, though. you were quick. it worked.”

you feel your mouth twitch. “maybe we need something smarter.”

“right,” rafe mutters, nodding. “like maybe this time, you should be the one getting everyone’s attention, and i can be the surprise.”

you glance at him again. “what, like bait?”

“like a distraction.” he shrugs, teasing, still walking. “you’re pretty. they’ll look at you first.”

you laugh once, but then you stop walking.

rafe notices a few steps ahead, turning around. “or—”

“no, that could work,” you say, thoughtful now. your eyes drift to the side as you think aloud. “if i make noise or show up first, they’ll come to me. if they’re cocky, they’ll think it’s an easy takedown. but then you’re waiting.”

rafe stares at you. “. . . i was kidding.”

you look up at him. “but it’s smart.”

he frowns, almost defensive. “you want to be the one people target?”

“i already am sometimes,” you say. “i’m shorter, younger. people either think i’m fragile or stupid or both. that’s what they see first. that’s the trap.”

you see the way he stares at you for a moment, his expression unreadable.

“you literally got an eleven in the private sessions. no one’s targeting you.”

you step forward, bumping his shoulder. “what? you don’t like that plan?”

“no, i just . . .” rafe sighs, runs a hand down his face. “you’re right. it is smart. i just don’t like the part where someone tries to fucking kill you.”

“then be faster than them,” you say, grinning. “plus, i can handle myself? how do you think i got that eleven, anyway?”

rafe looks at you, and then he shakes his head. “you’re an idiot, we can try that out though.”

you’re about to say something else, maybe joke again about your new role as tribute bait, when you see it. it’s faint at first. just a wisp, a thin trail of gray curling up through the canopy. it’s smoke.

you stop in your tracks. rafe halts beside you. you both stare. it’s not much yet but it’s too defined to be fog, too slow and rising to be steam. it’s unmistakably fire smoke.

you look up at the sun, still climbing the sky. not even noon. “who the hell lights a fire this early in the day?” you murmur.

rafe doesn’t answer. his eyes stay on the smoke, squinting slightly. you can’t really see what’s burning. it’s stupid, reckless. it screams trap, but it could also scream something else: someone got comfortable.

you glance at him to see what he’s thinking, but he’s already looking down at you. his lips twitch like he’s trying to fight off a grin.

“what?” you ask.

he shrugs, then nods toward the smoke. “you wanna go play bait?”

you huff out a breath, but your heart’s already beating faster, “do you wanna run into an axe again?”

his smile grows. “not really.” you laugh.

you take off first, but rafe follows close, matching your pace. your blood’s humming. the smoke gets darker the closer you get, and there’s something about how bold it is, how careless, that makes your skin itch, and then there’s laughter—yours first, then his.

it’s a terrible sound.

it’s not joyful, not even amused. it’s manic, feral, the kind of laughter that slips through when you’ve been pushed too far and the edge starts to feel like the most stable place to stand. it might be adrenaline, or grief, or both.

you dodge a low branch, leap over a fallen trunk. rafe nearly slips on a slope of wet dirt and laughs even harder.

then your steps slow. instinct kicks in. you hold up a hand, and rafe mirrors you, falling into step right behind as you crouch and creep forward. the flames come into view first. it’s a weak fire, barely controlled. it’s not going to last long.

but that’s not what stops you in your tracks. it’s the voices.

“holy shit, kie!”

jj’s voice is frantic. you hear the slap of palm against fabric. a rapid-fire patting, followed by dying embers.

you freeze behind a tree. rafe’s body is close behind yours, one hand gripping the trunk just above your shoulder. he leans forward slightly, head tilted so he can see too, and you both stare.

it’s not a trap. it’s them.

jj is half crouched, stomping out the last edge of the fire he clearly didn’t mean to make that big. his face is scraped, his hair wild, but he’s alive.

and kie’s standing not far off, but even saying that she’s standing is being generous. she’s barely upright, one leg shaking, face pale as hell.

you don’t even glance at rafe. you just move. you’re gone from behind the tree before you consciously think to run. “are you guys fucking insane?” you hiss under your breath as you break through the smoke.

jj jumps so hard he nearly trips over the smoldering fire. kie gasps, hands going up before she even registers it’s you. relief hits them so fast it’s like someone dumps water over their heads.

“y/n,” kie breathes.

“holy shit,” jj echoes, again, though this time it sounds more like praise than panic. he’s panting, eyes wide, the dirt on his face streaked with sweat. “you scared the hell out of me.”

“you scared us!” you snap, but your hands are already on kie’s arm, gently lowering her onto a flat rock nearby. “what the hell were you thinking lighting a fire this high in the day? are you fucking stupid?”

kie groans softly. “i couldn’t— i can’t walk well. we needed heat. we didn’t think it’d spread like that.”

“clearly.” you glance at her knee and flinch. it’s swollen and red, dried blood crusted on the edge of the pants she tore open. you rip open your pack without thinking. “you’re lucky no one else found you.”

“uh,” jj says behind you. rafe’s standing directly in front of him, just looking at him, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. like he’s trying to decide if he should punch him, hug him, or both. “what?” jj raises his hands slightly. “you gonna say something or just stand there judgin’ me?”

“you look like shit,” rafe says flatly.

jj scoffs, offended. “thanks.”

“not a compliment.”

you lean forward with your elbows on your knees, eyes scanning the woods, though your ears are locked in on them now. jj and kie are sitting just a few feet across from you and rafe.

you start to hint toward his death when topper’s mentioned in a brief moment, “so, did you guys . . .”

“we saw topper’s picture the night it happened,” kie says first, voice quiet like it still hurts to say aloud. “was it with you guys?”

you nod. “we were running from a mutt. it got him.”

rafe doesn’t add anything. he’s quiet beside you, one leg stretched out in front of him, the other bent with an arm slung over it. the bruises on his jaw still peek out under his jacket collar when he shifts. he’s healing, but not fast enough.

“what kind of mutt?” jj asks, cautious. he needs to see if you guys saw the same thing.

you look over at rafe, meet his eyes for a second, then say, “big, looked like a komodo dragon, but . . . wrong? its skin was patchy, like someone stitched it together. it had too many eyes and legs that didn’t even match the body. like . . .” you pause, jaw flexing. “human limbs. twisted. didn’t move like anything that should be alive. and it was fast. nearly got me if rafe hadn’t been there.”

jj swallows. kie looks like she’s holding back bile.

“and it made this clicking noise,” you add, your voice quieter. “like bone against bone.”

“we haven’t seen that,” jj mutters. “thank god.”

“but we’ve seen something different,” kie cuts in, leaning forward slightly. her hand hovers near her thigh like it’s instinct to protect it. “smaller. not as showy, but there were more of them. they hunted in a group.”

“they kinda looked like coyotes,” jj adds, nodding slowly, like he’s trying to piece it together again as he speaks. “but all their limbs were too long. like they were stretched out. and their fur was, i don’t know, patchy. and oily. smelled like wet iron.”

“and their jaws don’t shut all the way,” kie says, lifting her hand now to mimic the way they moved. “it’s like their mouths are permanently open. but instead of barking or growling, they whistle. i started thinking that that’s how they communicate.”

your skin crawls just imagining it. rafe exhales beside you and mutters something under his breath about the gamemakers losing their minds.

“they got kie pretty good,” jj says next, eyes narrowing a bit. “ripped open some of her old wounds.”

kie sighs like she hates having attention on it, but still shifts her leg to the side, carefully unwrapping a piece of gauze that’s already half-stuck to her skin with blood. it’s the gash from the ambush a few days ago. it doesn’t look fresh, but the edges are pink and raw, and the bandaging is stained rusty. it’s not nothing.

you flinch slightly. “yikes.”

“it’s not that bad,” kie says, but her voice is thin. “i got a sponsor right after it opened up again. like bam, there it was. some ointment for infection and healing. it came down fast, almost like they felt bad for me or something.”

there’s something strange about how she says it, awe and bitterness twisted together.

“it’s amazing what they can do,” she continues, her fingers smoothing the clean part of the gauze before she starts to rewrap. “how quick they are when they want to be.”

you glance at rafe and catch the faintest twitch of a smile on his face. and you smirk quietly too because yeah, you both know the feeling.

“this is great and all, but remember that there should only be three others left, guys,” rafe says. he’s crouched down now, back straight, eyes focused somewhere over jj’s shoulder, like he’s drawing a mental map of the arena in his head. “aside from us. seven total. four of us, three of them.”

you glance at him, brows pinched.

“we don’t know who they are,” rafe goes on. “and that means we have to assume the worst. they could be a team. they could be tracking us right now. hell, they could’ve been watching you two light the fire earlier.”

he doesn’t look at kie when he says it, not directly. but it’s there. in the pause. in the slant of his eyes. in the way his shoulders stiffen just slightly as he says, “we can’t afford to be sloppy again.”

kie shifts, jaw tightening. you can see the way her mouth twitches, how fast the reaction wants to come out yet how fast she bites it back.

“are you trying to say something?” she finally asks, blinking. “or what?”

rafe turns his head just slightly. “you’re limping, kie,” he says. “and jj’s the only reason you’re still walking, which means he’s watching your back more than his own. it’s practically two of us against three of them. n’ if they’re smart? they know we’re already down a number.”

she folds her arms tight over her chest, like they’re the only thing keeping her from exploding. “so what, i’m just dead weight to you?”

rafe blinks. there’s not even a hint of apology in his face. “i’m saying you’re hurt. and if you weren’t so caught up in being offended, you’d realize that means we have to play smarter. either jj sticks with you, or—”

“or what?” she cuts in, voice rising. “you ditch me?”

he exhales through his nose, not even flinching. “or we go down because you slowed us all up.”

you’re looking between them now, jaw locked, hands clenched into fists at your sides. jj’s silent, but you can feel the frustration radiating off him. he’s not defending kie, not because he doesn’t want to, but because deep down, he knows rafe’s technically right.

with the fire, there was the noise and the panic. if you and rafe hadn’t been the ones to find them . . .

“jj’s leg was on fire, kie,” he says. “whether you guys meant to or not, you think the others wouldn’t have heard the yelling? seen the smoke? they’ll come looking. if it wasn’t us, you’d be dead already.”

kie just glares, arms crossed so tight they’re nearly shaking. her mouth opens once, twice, but nothing comes out.

“we didn’t ask you to save us,” she spits finally. “we would’ve figured it out.”

“would you have?”

silence again.

you try to be the one to be there to step in between in case you need to, but it doesn’t seem like he’s going to push harder. he said what he had to say. and now he’s just watching.

kie doesn’t back down, but she doesn’t argue more either. she just stares at him like she wants to.

jj finally breaks his silence, muttering low, “we’ll keep up. don’t worry.”

you nod once, quiet. you believe him, but the worry’s already there. rafe was right—it looks like a two and a half against three at this point.

jj scoots closer toward kie, muttering something under his breath, trying to settle her down, but she doesn’t look away from rafe.

rafe doesn’t say anything else. he just gets up. he doesn’t make a show of it either, doesn’t huff or roll his eyes or even glance back. he bends slightly to grab one of their water containers, checks the cap with a flick of his thumb, then starts walking toward a slope a few yards away where a low creek snakes through the undergrowth.

your gaze is somewhere far off, unfocused. your mind is too. you rub the back of your neck, the skin hot, then let your fingers drag down your face. and then you’re on your feet too. you follow him.

rafe doesn’t turn around, but he hears you. he slows a little without making it obvious to let you catch up. you fall into step beside him and peek at his face. his mouth is set, jaw tight. not angry, just braced. like he knew the blowback would come and decided to lean into it anyway.

“you didn’t have to say it like that,” you say gently.

he lifts a brow, doesn’t look at you. “say what?”

“you know what.”

there’s a pause. he exhales slowly, shifting the canteen in his hand. “but i’m not wrong.”

“no,” you agree. “you’re not.”

another pause. the creek’s close now, and you can hear it trickling just ahead.

“she’s probably just pissed because . . .” you trail, “you made it sound like she’s dragging us all down instead of being part of this.”

“she is part of this,” rafe says, sharper this time, finally glancing at you. “but pretending like she’s not hurt doesn’t help anyone. if someone’s gonna get killed because she can’t keep up, i’d rather we talk about it now than deal with it when it’s too late.”

you hold his gaze. there’s something hardened in his eyes, yeah, but there’s worry under it too.

you sigh. “i know. i do too. i’m not saying you were wrong. just . . .” you shrug. “maybe we don’t have to set her on fire the same day she nearly actually caught on fire, you know?”

that gets the faintest twitch of a smile from him. it’s barely there but still. “right,” he murmurs.

you both slow as you reach the creek. rafe crouches down, unscrews the cap, dips the container into the water. you crouch beside him.

“i think they’ll be okay,” you say softly. “jj’s still got it in him. and kie’s not like . . . i don’t know, she’s not useless. she just needs to feel like she matters right now. like she’s not just a liability.”

rafe doesn’t answer right away. he watches the water rise in the canteen, then caps it and shakes off the excess droplets.

“i don’t care if she hates me,” he says after a moment. “i care if she gets you killed.”

your chest aches a little at that. not because it hurts, but because it means something. you don’t say anything. just nudge his arm with your elbow gently, enough to say i know.

he looks at you again. and this time, the edge is gone. there’s just understanding. you can tell he’s tired, but there’s a hint of something almost tender.

“c’mon,” you whisper, standing up. the two of you start walking again. “so there’s seven people left,” you say, mostly to yourself, but rafe hears it anyway.

your boots crunch over the dried leaves as you move through the trees. it’s warmer than it was this morning. the sky’s so bright it almost doesn’t feel real.

he doesn’t say anything right away, one hand loosely resting near the knife at his hip.

you exhale, slow. “i knew i could get this far,” you admit, “but actually being here . . . i don’t know. it’s weird.”

rafe glances at you sideways. “yeah?”

you nod, rubbing your hands together to keep them busy. “it’s like, surreal, knowing that you’re one of the last people left. it messes with your head. i’m like, excited, nervous, anxious. i’m probably feeling it all too early and then i’m gonna fuck it all up.”

he lets out a quiet hum of agreement.

you kick a rock with the toe of your boot. “i wonder what my parents are thinking right now. if they’re watching every second or if they have to look away when it’s me on the screen. do you think about that?”

rafe’s quiet for a beat.

“mine are definitely watching,” he says finally, voice flat. “they’re probably arguing about it, rose telling my dad to shut up and stop pacing. my dad would probably gonna get mad if people didn’t bet more on me.”

you look over at him. he doesn’t meet your eyes, just squints into the distance.

“do you think the capitol likes us?” you ask softly.

he shrugs. “we’re still alive, aren’t we?”

“yeah, but,” you trail off. “that’s not the same.”

he sighs, running a hand over the back of his neck. “i think they like you,” he says eventually.

your brows lift. “me?”

rafe looks at you now, really looks at you. “yeah. you’ve got that hero edit shit going for you.”

you snort. “hero edit?”

he grins a little, crooked. “yeah. you look good when you’re bleeding and killing people. makes for good tv.”

you laugh under your breath, brushing a branch out of your way. “what about you?”

he shrugs again, but this one’s more casual. “they like me enough. probably made me the stoic or something. the one that no one’s sure about.”

“that’s not a bad thing.”

“no,” he agrees. “but it’s not always good either.”

you walk in silence for a few steps. birds rustle somewhere high above, wings flapping.

“we’re really down to seven,” you whisper again.

he nods. “soon to be four.”

you glance at him, and even though he’s staring ahead you know he’s thinking the same thing you are. soon to be four. you, him, kie, and jj unless someone fucks it up.

you swallow hard. your hand brushes his as you walk. neither of you pulls away.

“you think we can actually do this?” you ask, quieter now.

he doesn’t hesitate. “yeah,” rafe says. “we can.”

and somehow, you believe him.

our fingers loop a piece of thin cord through a split branch, while kie tugs on a nearby root to use as tension.

“after we split, we found this hollowed-out ravine. took cover there for the night,” she’d been telling you. “we didn’t stop for long though. those mutts came back. the, uh . . . pack i was telling you about.” she mutters the last part like it leaves a bad taste in her mouth. “not even an hour of peace before they were swarming again.”

you glance at her, but she doesn’t look back.

“we ran. again.” she gives a half-hearted shrug. “they scratched jj up pretty bad. and my leg, well, you saw that.” she shifts her weight onto her good foot and grimaces slightly, but doesn’t stop working. “still surprised we made it out without worse.”

you nod slowly, biting down on the inside of your cheek. “at least you did.”

“barely,” she scoffs, and wipes her hands on her pants. “you see anything new out there? anything else we should be watching for?”

you pause. your hands are halfway through tying two sharpened sticks into a hinge for the trap, but your mind shifts back. your eyes flick up for a second, then drop back to your work as you answer.

“yeah,” you say, a little hesitant. “roses, i guess.”

kie blinks. “what?”

you nod slowly, tightening the knot. “i didn’t think much of it at first. just thought they were weird but,” you glance up briefly, then back down, “me and rafe, yesterday, we caught a rabbit for lunch. but it wasn’t moving right. it wasn’t scared of us, didn’t even flinch when we stepped near it. just laid there.”

kie furrows her brow.

“it was in this part of the woods nearby where a bunch of roses were just laid out here and there like decoration,” you continue, “and then later we found this girl, like another tribute. i checked the back of her neck where a few of them were just lodged in her skin, and . . . she couldn’t move. barely blinked. i dont know, i’ll show you tomorrow.”

you finish the knot, pull it taut.

“i think it’s a paralytic or something. whatever’s in those roses.” your voice drops quieter. “i don’t know how it works exactly, if it’s when you touch it or if it just builds up. but it’s real.”

kie whistles low. “sick bastards,” she mutters, then rubs her forehead. “great. add ‘don’t sniff flowers’ to the survival checklist.”

you huff a laugh, even if it’s short-lived. the tension hasn’t gone anywhere. and neither have the boys.

kie sighs as she straightens up, brushing dust from her hands and scanning the trees. “how long does it take to catch a damn squirrel?”

you glance toward the direction they left from too, lips twitching. “think they’re hunting or avoiding us?”

“if it’s both, they better come back with two squirrels.” she grumbles and shakes her head. “unbelievable. we’re out here saving everyone’s lives, and they get to play with weapons.”

you snort and crouch back down to prep the next trap. in a way you’re quietly grateful for the company, for the small moments, for the rare laugh. because even though this isn’t over, not by a long shot, there’s still something about sitting in the woods with kie, bruised and blistered but alive, that makes surviving feel just a little more bearable.

you lean back on your heels as the second snare tightens, wood creaking just slightly as it locks into place. you test the pressure. you tug once, then again, and nod, satisfied. when you glance over, kie’s checking the first trap again, brows drawn together like it’s a test she has to ace. there’s something rhythmic about the way she moves, like she’s done it a thousand times before.

you tilt your head and ask, “so have you always been good at this?”

she flicks her eyes up at you, one brow lifting.

“traps and stuff, i mean,” you clarify, pulling your hands into your lap. “were you a fisher? ‘cause you’re from four, right?”

“born and raised,” she says, relaxing a little, her voice softening. “and yeah. pretty much grew up on the water. my parents taught me everything with fishing, tying lines, mending nets, baiting traps. i was practically rigging snares before i could write my own name.”

you smile at that. it fits her, somehow.

“they were both fishers?”

“yeah. some days we’d be out before the sunrise.” her eyes flick to the sky for a second like she can still see it. “it’s hard work, but i loved it. still do. if i win, i’d still keep doin’ that with ‘em.”

you don’t miss the fond curve of her mouth, the way her shoulders ease just slightly.

“they must be watching,” you say, voice quieter now. “bet they’re proud.”

kie nods. “i think about that a lot,” she admits. “like, if they’re screaming at the screen or covering their eyes. if my mom’s crying. if my dad’s yelling at the tv at home like that’s gonna change anything.” she laughs a little under her breath. “they’re definitely rooting for me, though. i know that.”

you smile softly, then look down at your hands before asking, “and you and jj knew each other before the reaping?”

“kind of,” she says, brushing some dirt from her palms. “we met in school. had mutual friends, same classes, that kind of thing. we weren’t close or anything. but he was loud. and he was always, always joking.”

“sounds familiar,” you say with a small smirk.

kie snorts. “yeah, but we didn’t really start talking until we got stuck in here. and now?” she glances over her shoulder, toward where jj and rafe had wandered off. “i’ve got his back, he’s got mine.”

you nod once, absorbing it. “you’re lucky,” you say.

“yeah,” she replies. “i know.”

kie stretches her legs out in front of her and leans back on her hands, giving you a small, pointed glance. “okay, but what about you and rafe?” she asks, all casual curiosity with the slightest grin tugging at her mouth. “you guys seem really close.”

you pause, fingers reaching to tighten the knot on the last snare just to keep your hands busy. your hands slow, and you glance down at the thread of bark in your grip. “i mean,” you start, “i’ve known of him. not really him, though. does that make sense?”

kie hums like she’s waiting for you to say more, so you do.

“like we’re both from two, but we live on opposite sides. it’s kind of a split district. different zones, you know? i only ever saw him at the academy when we were younger for training.”

kie raises a brow. “so is it, like, tradition for all district two kids to be training that early?”

you shrug. “mostly everyone in two does, whether they want to or not. some are let off, most go because they want to. but yeah, he trained hard. was always focused. i stayed away mostly. tried not to get too close to the peacekeeper families even though i come from one too.” you look up briefly, meeting her eyes. “before the games he told me his dad’s a high-ranking officer, one of the top ones. it kind of made sense.”

kie whistles low, eyebrows lifting. “that explains a lot.”

you smile faintly but don’t deny it. then there’s a pause. you shift back from the trap, brushing your hands off on your pants. “and i think he knew who i was too.”

kie turns to face you, curious.

“like, at the reaping, he didn’t need an introduction. it was like he already recognized me. so maybe he’s seen me around more than i thought. or maybe he doesn’t know me at all and he’s just good at hiding it. i don’t really know.”

kie’s silent for a moment, then shrugs. “you could always ask.”

you huff a small laugh. “i could.”

but you don’t sound too sure you will.

“the guys are gonna get back soon.”

you’re on your feet before you fully register kie asking, like something about kindling, or maybe the flint she buried earlier by the log. you hum in response and rise, already halfway turned toward the tree line where you think she left it.

“gotta get that fire going,” you murmur to yourself as you crunch over fallen twigs and loose leaves.

but then there’s a yell that cracks through the quiet. it’s distant, but not that distant. you freeze. completely still.

your breath catches in your throat as the noise fractures the silence, followed by a rush of sound. there’s something barreling through the forest. it’s heavy, too fast to just be a person. it’s not like when jj trips through the woods and curses about it. this sounds like thunder, like hooves and claws and bones cracking under pressure, leaves shaking loose from branches.

your eyes shoot west.

it’s too dark to see anything clearly, just the suggestion of movement in the gaps between the trees. something brushing hard past bark. and it’s not one direction either. it’s . . . everywhere, like the forest itself is coming undone. like something that far is playing tricks in your head about where it’s really coming from.

“no,” you whisper, voice trembling as your hand slowly reaches behind you, searching for kie’s arm without breaking your gaze. “no, no, no, no.”

kie goes stiff behind you. you feel her straighten, catch her sharp inhale. she doesn’t speak, probably because the sound is getting louder, and it’s impossible to tell how far away it is. like now it feels close. it feels like something’s hunting and not trying very hard to be quiet about it.

you know kie can’t run, not well. not with her leg like this. the thought alone turns your stomach into a pit of nerves.

your hand hovers near your belt, fingers finding the familiar curve of your dagger’s hilt. you grip it even as you keep the rest of you still, breathing shallow. you don’t want to make a sound. don’t want to—

to your left.

you yelp, stumbling back a step as your head whips toward the noise. before you can even draw the dagger, a figure barrels out of the dark.

you don’t see a face, at least not at first. all you see is motion, like limbs flailing, arms pumping, a look of blind panic etched into whatever blur of expression this guy has as he slams into you, hard. the impact sends you both flying backward, your back slamming into the dirt and sliding with the force, dry leaves scraping against your skin and getting tangled in your hair.

you hit the ground so fast you don’t even have time to scream. you just feel it. your shoulder knocks against something solid, your dagger ripped from your grip before you could even raise it.

you’re still spinning when you hear kie shout your name in panic, “y/n!”

you try to react, like try to throw your arm up, block whatever’s coming, but it’s a mess of tangled limbs and your attacker’s weight is keeping you pinned. he’s not trying to hurt you, you realize that fast. he’s terrified, panting hard like he’s been running for a while.

you blink, your head snapping back against the ground again as you struggle to get your bearings. the guy’s on top of you, breathing in gasps, shaking so badly it vibrates into your own bones.

that sound hasn’t stopped. it’s still coming.

your fight instinct kicks in like it always does. you twist hard and roll the guy off you with a grunt, your hand flying to your belt, fingers fumbling for your dagger. your heart is pounding in your ears, like it’s trying to drown out the sounds behind you. but it can’t. it can’t mute the noise. but you need to kill him and get to kie.

you don’t even have time to get a full look at him. he’s bloody, barely conscious, his chest heaving as you straddle him. he doesn’t fight you. he’s too exhausted. it’s like he’s already given up.

but you haven’t, especially because you can hear her. you can hear kie.

her voice cracks through the trees like a whip: “jj!!“

your head snaps toward her. but then comes the noise. it’s these awful, guttural, teeth-tearing sounds. there’s another kind after. bones are being crushed. something screaming. someone’s screaming.

is that—?

no.

your gut sinks like a stone as your body freezes. it hits you all at once. kie’s practically left out in the open because this guy tackled you, and now she’s paying the price.

you hear it before you see it. paws pound the ground like hammers. your head snaps toward the sound just in time to see one of them charging at you like a bullet with teeth. you don’t think, you just react.

you grab the guy’s shoulders and shove him to the side with all the force your body can give, rolling the both of you, repositioning until your body hits the ground and his is on top, and then it hits.

the mutt’s jaws clamp down on him first.

there’s no scream at first, just a brutal crunch, then a howl’s yanked from the guys throat as the mutt drags him back. you see the blood spray across the ground like it’s nothing, a slick of it across your arm as you stare, numb, horrified, breath caught in your lungs.

you don’t argue with fate.

you scramble up the second he’s gone, your feet sliding on the dirt as you shove yourself to your feet, and your legs move before your mind does. you’re sprinting away, but your eyes flick toward camp, or what's left of it.

kie is screaming. no, was screaming. now it’s just gurgled cries, half-swallowed. you catch one glimpse of her. she’s blood-slick, reaching, her mouth open but soundless as something claws at her back, another already dragging her leg. you don’t see rafe or jj anywhere. your stomach turns.

you should go to her. you should. but it’s already too late. you can’t die here, and you won’t.

you keep running and you don’t look back because you know exactly what you’d see.

“kie!” jj’s voice eventually cuts through.

you’re already moving the second you hear him. you push past branches, try not to trip on roots, try to keep your head above the fear that’s dragging you under. you don’t even realize how far you've gone until someone grabs you.

“y/n,” rafe breathes, his hands gripping your arms to steady you, eyes wide and scanning your face like he’s trying to piece something together from it.

you barely process it, just that it's him. you’re not alone anymore. jj’s right behind him, pausing just long enough to look around you, looking for her probably. he’s looking for kie. his brows twist the second he realizes you're alone.

“where is she?” he asks, but he's not really asking. he already knows. he turns, about to run.

“no— wait, jj,” you say quickly, spinning around and catching his arm before he can take off. your fingers dig into his sleeve, heart beating so hard you can feel it in your mouth. “please, you can’t—“

“i can’t what, y/n?” jj snaps. he jerks forward, dragging you a step with him, not caring. “i can’t go to her? she could be dying and you want me to just— what? hide?”

he steps closer, jaw clenched so tight his whole body is shaking with it. “i can’t what?”

“she’s dead,” your voice gives out like you don’t want to admit it, but it rips out of your throat before you can stop it. you try to reach for him again as he pulls away. “she’s dead, jj.”

you’re looking at jj but can’t help but notice the way rafe’s face drops beside you. he must feel awful. one of their last conversations was heated, you’re sure he didn’t want to end it like that. jj looks more mad than anything though. he probably doesn’t want to believe you. a part of you even thinks for a second that he’s about to kill you just for saying that kie’s dead, even if it’s true.

the forest is silent for just half a second before the whistles start. your stomach twists. those must be the ones kie and jj talked about, the ones that the mutts use to communicate. you barely turn your head before rafe’s already grabbing you, one arm locking around your waist, the other reaching out for jj as you do the same, clutching him by the back of his jacket.

you all freeze. you don’t move. you don’t even breathe.

you can’t see anything in the dark, but you hear it. it’s fucking awful. can they smell your fear?

it feels like a lifetime before rafe whispers, “come on.” he’s tugging both of you with him. you don’t hesitate. none of you do.

you run behind him, duck low, weave through the trees, staying close but quiet. everything aches. it hurts so bad you want to scream, but you can’t. you just keep moving until rafe slows, his hand up, signaling for you to drop low behind a thicket.

you all pile into a cramp of brush, nearly shoulder-to-shoulder, and you curl in on yourself as rafe stays near the edge, watching. your hands shake as they clutch your knees, and eventually you bury your head between them, trying to block out the sound of breathing that isn’t yours.

you don’t even look at jj, but you can hear him. he’s muttering curses under his breath, biting down on something loud and ugly that’s begging to claw its way out of his chest. you can hear him pacing a little, shuffling, then slamming his fist against the ground before quickly pulling it back with a hiss.

there’s nothing you can say.

because she’s gone now too.

and you couldn’t save her.