#aldera001

He never thought that he was unaffected by the Games. That, while he never wore his heart on his sleeve like Dawn did, that he cared for each of his Tributes, carried each year’s losses with him. And maybe he did, in his own way, but it’s nothing compared to now, to seeing Harbor in the Arena, the Overgrove boy’s spear heading towards him and Wren. This feeling in him now—(this pit in his stomach, the way he feels like he’s always teetering between blind rage and inconsolable grief)—feels like it’s laying bare to him just how numbed he had allowed himself to become. How callous.

He’s not sure what to to do with that. Like he could only keep going, all these years, if he didn’t let himself see exactly what he had become. Exactly what he had lost. He’s not sure how he’s meant to go on now.

Especially not now that Harbor is alone. Without Wren, who could have been a shield. Without Birch, either, who for a moment in that Arena looked like—something. Something Twig hadn’t seen coming. And that is what has him seeking out Aldera, though he can’t say he ever has before. “It looks like we might be allies now, you and I. I confess it comes as something of a surprise to me, otherwise I would have—done more, sooner.”