#ch7.

Citron said the words on stage: This time, they were happy to die because of an Overgrove. And that meant, when the Bloodbath came and Gold came bearing down, that they owed it to them to not look away. But then, after the Bloodbath ends and the Tributes go their separate ways, they can’t stay there. Though putting distance between themselves and the walls of screen doesn’t do anything to make them feel any less sick.

They knew, growing up, that they didn’t know their parents. Three was always a mystery to them, something that seemed to exist only in their imagination. Their parents didn’t say anything about what brought them to Twelve, even if their resentment for their circumstances seeped into everything. Hale and Gage didn’t say anything, either. Or, at least, Gage hadn’t, right up until he was about to go into the Arena.

The questions of their youth had seemed so small, compared to everything happening in the Capitol. But now they’re all that they can think about. And they find themself drawn, almost magnetically, to Silver. To Three. “I’m sorry about Citron,” they say when they find them. It feels empty, but what else is there to say? “I didn’t—I didn’t know they knew my parents. I feel like I wasted so much time, here in the Tower. I could have—I could have talked to them sooner. I could have learned more.”

He watches Harbor in the water. As long as he can, until the cameras move away. He’s alive.

He’s alive, but Twig knows how little that has to do with him. He couldn’t count on his oldest friend in the Capitol to be a sponsor. He couldn’t help Harbor on the interview stage, when he raged backstage at every Capitolite standing by while Harbor sat on stage, hands moving but no one giving his words voice. Why did you even reap him? He’d demanded. If you aren’t going to let him compete? No one answered. He hadn’t expected them to.

And now he watches.

He finds himself gravitating, again, to Robyn. He doesn’t know if they can be a comfort to each other, but he knows that—now, at least—they feel the same. That, after all these years and all this distance, this is what it took for them to reach an understanding. “It’s good that he’s with Wren,” he says, though he can’t say how convinced he sounds. “He’ll protect her. And she—she’s well-liked. That’ll protect him, too.” 

It’s almost poetic. One of the most well-loved of this year’s Tributes, teaming up with one of the most hated. Though, if this Quell has taught them anything at all, it’s that love doesn’t always keep someone safe.

For his entire life, there’s been nothing but the Capitol. There’s been no way out. Or—there wasn’t one that he could see. Now he’s only hours away from uncertain freedom somewhere the Capitol can’t touch and he—he can’t even begin to wrap his head around it. Can hardly imagine it. He knows one thing, though: the idea of leaving while Harbor is in the Arena, far from the escape that’s brewing, feels unfathomable. Why does Twig get to go to safety? What has he done to deserve that?

And so he won’t. He can’t. Not without one last attempt to make sure Harbor makes it with the rest. If that doesn’t work, he doesn’t—he doesn’t know what he’ll do. “I have to do something. How are we supposed to just—” go, he almost says, but thinks better of it, lips moving around the word but no sound coming out. Dawn will understand. Dawn always has. “I can’t do anything else without knowing that I—I did everything I can. No matter how little or late it all is.”

“Seems we have something in common now.” Teal begins, shoving a grape into her mouth. “I watched my sister die, you watched your brother die.” Her lip twitches upward just the slightest, looking over your form. “I mean, at least your brother played the game right. My sister was a complete fucking moron.” rolling her eyes, she takes a step closer to Hudson.

“While you’ve been busy crying, I’ve been watching your little family, Hudson. I hope you remember what I told you before. I’m not going to let you ruin everything for me.” She eats the last grape in her hand, then presses her finger firmly into your chest. “I always hold true to my word.” Her bold eyes stare, burning inside of you, and then she pushes back, bringing her smile with it.

“I think we’re going to spend a lot of time together, Hudson.” She says, patting your cheek before trotting off. You don’t realize until then that your cup of water is on the ground, and the water has covered half of your pants.

Gage is dead. And while before they couldn’t imagine themself looking away from the screens, now they can’t imagine continuing to watch, and so they obey Nelly’s instructions with numbed compliance.

That’s where Teal finds them. It feels too much like the last time: like Teal is some kind of predator waiting in the reeds; like, unbeknownst to them, she’s always watching—and she’s watching them. And like she’s too smart to let them play stupid; too angry to not see that they’re angry, too, a simmering fire somewhere inside them that won’t let them forget for a moment how wrong this all is. She sees them, and from her it’s a threat.

“I’m just one person, Teal. Whatever you’re trying to blame me for—” they say, and while it sounds like an entreaty, it’s partially a threat of their own. They’re the one she’s cornered, but they’re not alone. What’s happening now, it’s bigger than them. They couldn’t stop it if they tried.

It doesn’t matter, though. She’s gone, but her threat stays behind. The chill running down their spine remains.

They feel like they haven’t moved since the cameras cut away from Gage and Chrysanthe. Barely blinked. No news has to be good news, they told themself. If someone was hurt, if someone was dead, the cameras would have to show it. But, if they didn’t, then maybe if meant that Chrysanthe was able to do what Hudson wasn’t. Maybe they were able to get through to Gage.

But then the cannon fired.

And still, the cameras show nothing. They see Wren, running into the arms of Tilsee and Darby, safe once more, but still no Gage. Has he died? Has he killed? They’re not sure how they’re meant to bear either one. Not when the image of the spear flying from his hand still makes them feel sick to their stomach. He missed, then. Was it just that his aim wasn’t true, or was his heart not really in it? They don’t know if they’ll ever know.

The cameras cycle again, but still no Gage. They grip the arms of the chair they’re sitting in, knuckles white until they hurt. When they speak, their voice comes out too loud, turning curious eyes their way. “Are they just not going to show him?” They demand, but they don’t know who from. “Not anything?”

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.”