Kiss or Kill

The sponsors' lounge was a hive of activity. People were running around, squealing, hugging each other, laughing merrily. If Effie hadn't seen it with her own eyes, she wouldn't have believed the behavior of some of them from someone else's stories. People were going crazy: Actresses who pretended to be delicate, shy people for the camera were drinking themselves into ecstasy. Businessmen with wives waiting for them at home were throwing their money around and having fun with several women and men in one night. Rare exceptions were couples like the Lowells, who made no attempt to hide the fact that they were both seeing other people on the side. It was as if the elite were throwing all their morals aside for the duration of the Hunger Games to indulge in drugs and passion. Of course, a few headlines would make it into the public domain, but most of it would never leave these rooms. Now Effie understood why she had been forced to sign a confidentiality agreement when she had first been hired. She wasn't sure everyone in the Capitol would approve of these kinds of parties. Drug and sex scandals on this scale crossed a line even here. But what nobody knew couldn't cause a scandal.

Effie forced a smile as she sipped her champagne and listened to a sponsor's tale of an adventurous trip to the Capitol's catacombs. She was only half-listening, knowing he would never be interested in District 12. Half of the other escorts surrounding him seemed to be feigning interest as well. Their eyes kept darting to other influencers in the lounge, as if they were looking for something more profitable to do. Some of the older escorts, who already seemed to know the story, laughed before the joke was even made.

The search for sponsors tired Effie out. Her eyes fell on one of the clocks on the screens and she sighed to herself. It wasn't even noon. If Haymitch had been here, she would have at least had someone to share her boredom with. Her eyes scanned the entrance area, but there was still no sign of him.

Haymitch hadn't waited for her in the living room today as usual and hadn't been anywhere else in the penthouse. Effie had even searched every corner of his own room. Just to be on the safe side in case he had collapsed somewhere drunk. Petunia had warned her about such situations in her initial briefing. Still, in retrospect, she felt a little uncomfortable about having violated his privacy like that. But it didn't undo the anger that yesterday Haymitch had mentioned nothing about his today's absence. At first, she had been confused, thinking he must have gone to the lounge without her, for some unknown reason. As it turned out, he was neither at the penthouse nor here. Effie had no idea where he might be, and it frustrated her. She hated not being in control.

All the work fell on her shoulders, with no support and unanswered questions for the sponsors that Haymitch should have handled. After their evening together had gone more or less well, aside from Petunia's scene and Haymitch's visit to the infirmary, Effie hadn't expected the day to start like this. The kiss from the previous evening occupied her mind to the point where it frustrated her even more than his absence. It consumed so much of her thoughts that focusing became difficult. In the arena, there was little happening, but between them, there was so much more.

She couldn't pinpoint what she felt. She didn't know. Although love was a common theme in Capitol films and songs, it was quite rare in the environment Effie had grown up in. Marriages were more about economic gain and strengthening family lines than genuine affection for one's partner. It annoyed her just as much as her mother's attempts to introduce her to a suitable candidate. At least now that she was in contact with Seneca Crane, she had stopped making such efforts. Seneca was a good man; Effie liked him. She could have done much worse. On the other hand, she wasn't sure if she could love him. There might be people who could force such feelings over time, but she definitely wasn't one of them.

Haymitch was the complete opposite of Seneca — stubborn, self-willed, unfriendly ... the list was long. And yet, she felt good in his presence. Not content and carefree like with Seneca. Different. He made her laugh and cry. Sometimes he looked at her as if he could see straight into her mind. He found her attractive even without the wigs, extravagant dresses, and layers of makeup. He liked her, not the person she pretended to be. Just the thought of his arms around her brought her a warm feeling. It was probably just the thrill of him being so different from the men Effie had been around before. It was the contrast, the unexpected collision of two worlds, that evoked these feelings.

And yet you can't forget the look his eyes gave you when you pushed him away from Petunia, a voice in Effie's head remarked. As if you were the only thing stopping him from killing her. All that pain in his grey eyes and yet he had kissed her as if he didn't care what world she came from.

Effie blinked to banish his face from her mind's eye, only to finally see his face in the crowd. She pressed her lips together to keep from making a breathless noise of surprise.

Haymitch entered the sponsors' lounge with a slightly unsteady gait, a glass of whiskey in his left hand and Chaff in tow. He raised his head as if scanning the crowd for someone, but didn't stop. Effie turned back to the sponsor in front of her as Haymitch headed for the mentors' corner, straight toward Mags Flanagan. The old victor gave him and Chaff a disapproving look but patted them on the shoulders as they sat down next to her. It reminded Effie of a mother's gesture to her sons.

A wave of disillusionment swept through Effie. Weren't she and Haymitch a team? She felt let down. Yesterday's kiss suddenly appeared in a different light. She hoped that her makeup would hide the blush rising in her cheeks. Maybe the kiss had been a mistake. Haymitch's moods changed so quickly that something he wanted yesterday might not be of interest today. Frustrated outbursts of anger followed by hasty entanglements in influencing the Games, which resulted in more outbursts of anger. And kissing.

Effie didn't have time to think about it any further, because the sponsor excused himself from them at that moment to go and do something else. Someone else already had her in his sights. When she turned around, still not sure who to talk to next, she suddenly found herself face to face with Seneca. A charming smile was on his lips as he leaned towards her, and Effie had to admit that she was genuinely glad to see him. With all the chaos in her head, Seneca was like a rock: normal and consistent, no matter how her tributes did in the arena and what Haymitch thought of her.

"Effie, it is a pleasure to see you," Seneca said in a flattering tone and made a slight bow that made her cheeks blush again. He looked good in the dark red suit and the matching long-sleeved shirt he wore underneath. No dress shirt. It made him look more relaxed.

"The pleasure is all mine," Effie replied with a small smile on her lips, taking a step toward Seneca. "I am surprised to see you here."

"I am the youngest Gamemaker," he explained with a smirk. "Head Gamemaker Lowell thought it would be a good idea for me to stop by here every now and then. People do not immediately think of me as a doting scientist because they know who I am." He said it without any pride in his voice, more matter-of-factly. Everyone knew it was the truth.

"I guess the Head Gamemaker made the right decision," Effie said, her smile widening as she tried to put her conversation with Haymitch a few nights ago into the distance.

"Tell me," Seneca began, then offered her his arm, which Effie took without hesitation. They walked at a slow pace through the boisterous people around them. "How do you like your job in District Twelve? Is it going to your satisfaction?"

"It is not easy to negotiate sponsorship deals for Twelve, as you can perhaps imagine. But I am sure the situation will improve once the number of tributes continues to drop." Effie watched the people they passed. Many of them moved out of the way when they saw Seneca and many of the women gave her almost envious looks. Who wouldn't want to stand by a Crane's side? She hoped her mother would get wind of this. It certainly wouldn't hurt if Lyssandra Trinket felt that her relationship with Seneca was on the right track.

"Things are going amazingly well for you this year," Seneca admitted, giving her an encouraging sideways glance. "That can only be because of you, if you ask me. It has been a long time since I last heard anyone speculate about Twelve." Effie returned Seneca's gaze as he relieved a passing Avox of two sparkling champagne glasses and handed her one. She nodded at him in thanks. "To you, my dearest," he continued, raising his glass to toast. "I hope the odds of these Games are in your favor."

"You flatter me," giggled Effie, her lips pressed together. Their crystal glasses clinked together and they drank. The world faded into the background.

Seneca shook his head as if she had said something absurd. "Not at all. You deserve to be here. You deserve much more than that," the young Gamemaker assured her, giving her a half-serious, half-benevolent smile. His dark blue eyes glittered in the glow of the thousands of lights around them. "I would really like to help you with your sponsorship problem. If I could, I would immediately, but you know that as a Gamemaker I am obliged to remain neutral."

Unlike Haymitch, Seneca seemed completely at ease in the middle of the lounge, with every fiber of his being. He had a talent for stringing words together, wrapping you around his finger with each sentence. In his presence, Effie almost forgot the dangers that Elowen and Ramon faced. Everything about Seneca gave the impression that the world was in perfect order. His calming, impressive aura — steadfast, educated, charming, grounded, exceptional. So many words could be used to describe Seneca Crane. It was impossible not to be drawn to his magnetism. He was part of the elite, part of the Crane family, and every second of his presence carried the impact of his name, which seemed to hover over him like magic. Effie couldn't deny that she had entertained the thought of joining this world herself. When you were in his presence, you wanted nothing more than that. It was like a drug, only to be remembered when you had to step away to face the actual state of the world. He was the born showpiece for the Gamemakers. Everything coming from his mouth sounded so harmless, so justified. As if there were no worries at all.

And yet, his words made Effie think of Laetitia Lowell and her husband, the Head Gamemaker Lowell, and the smile on her face lost some of its intensity. In that moment, amidst the intoxication of his presence, she wished her conscience would stop gnawing at her. But when she thought of Haymitch, of what had been done to him, she couldn't help but feel anger. Effie knew that many people in the elite were prone to abandoning their neutrality. She was sure that she would never forget that night when Haymitch had told her everything. Never. She couldn't help but wonder if Seneca was one of those people who allowed such things to pass. Did he even know about them? He had to; he was part of the elite, no matter how brief his time as a Gamemaker was.

"Thank you, Seneca, it means a lot to me, no matter how much you can actually do," said Effie, taking a small sip from her glass. "I can think of another way you could help me."

"Anything you wish for," Seneca answered without hesitation and Effie sighed to herself. It was impossible to be angry with him. He was too good at reading people's faces to see what they needed to be happy. He was too good at the game that he, as a Crane, had probably been playing since childhood. Once power was gained, you needed allies to hold onto it. If anyone was manipulating in the Capitol, it was the elite.

"Seeing us together is more than enough," Effie whispered, leaning a little closer to Seneca so that the people walking closely around her wouldn't hear her words. "But I hope you know that I enjoy your company regardless."

One hand washes the other. Understanding flickered in Seneca's eyes and his face brightened. His mouth curved into another flattering smile and, true to his gentlemanly nature, he bowed before extending his hand to her. Satisfaction sparkled in his pupils as their eyes met. "Then it must be high time to ask you for a dance. I have been looking forward to it all morning."

oOo

Haymitch's head was pounding. Something was ringing in his ears. Chaff laughed his roaring laugh and put his arm around the young victor's shoulders in a brotherly gesture. For a moment he had almost forgotten that they were on their way to the sponsors' lounge. The alcohol made it so easy to forget. Chaff had insisted and an annoying voice in his head had reminded him that he had obligations.

"Don't worry about Trinket, buddy," Chaff said, amused, when he saw the look on Haymitch's face. "She's not your mom. You can do whatever you want."

Haymitch knew Chaff was right. It didn't change the fact that he felt a little guilty. Maybe he should have told her that he preferred to spend the morning on Chaff's floor. For the sake of tradition. The need for good liquor had certainly played a role too. That was how the Games usually went for him: he waited until his tributes died at the cornucopia in the first few minutes of the Games, and then drank himself silly for days. Who likes to break tradition?

"I'm not worried," Haymitch muttered, pushing Chaff away. Then he grabbed the whiskey glass from his friend's hand and grinned contentedly. "Besides, I like breaking rules."

Chaff laughed and stole more than a glass of alcohol from the nearest Avox as they marched toward the entrance to the sponsors' lounge. The Avox gave him an irritated look and spun on his heel. Someone had probably ordered the alcohol and now he had to go back to replace the glasses that Chaff had stolen.

The people in the lounge were celebrating as if it weren't just past noon. If it even was, Haymitch had no idea. The mood was excellent. Alcohol flowed freely, music blared through the speakers, laughter came from people's mouths. In terms of alcohol levels, Haymitch and Chaff seemed to fit the bill perfectly ... in terms of the rest, not so well.

Haymitch entered the lounge and Chaff stumbled after him. He took a sip of his whiskey and looked around. Searching for her. There was no reason not to admit it to himself. Too many colorful people for him to spot Effie. Amidst all the oddly dressed birds, not knowing what she was wearing, it would have been difficult to find her anyway. The alcohol burned Haymitch's throat and made him walk forward. He turned his head to look at Chaff, who had marched past him. As he did so, his eyes found her.

Effie was just turning her head herself, so she didn't catch his gaze, and Haymitch wondered if she had noticed his entrance. He hoped she hadn't. She looked bored as she stood among the other escorts, surrounding a sponsor. He rarely had the chance to observe her from a distance, as they were usually side by side. It felt strange to see her among her people. It gave him an uncomfortable feeling, though he couldn't even say why. Perhaps it was the extravagant outfit that seemed so out of place for Effie compared to her previous appearances.

She was wearing a floor-length black dress that ended in a short train, with an open cut on the left side of her hip revealing her leg. So far, so good. From the shoulders down to the sleeves, the fabric was embroidered with neon yellow tulle, creating the effect as if she had received an electric shock. Effie looked like the other crazy birds around her. The matching yellow wig on her head and the bright makeup only reinforced Haymitch's thoughts. This was how he imagined Snow's puppets.

Haymitch followed Chaff, who was making his way toward the mentors' separate area, rudely pushing people aside. He kept a bit of distance from his friend to avoid the disapproving looks Chaff was receiving. Unlike Chaff, Haymitch still relied on the sympathy of these people. He raised his glass in a greeting towards Mags, who was glaring at both him and Chaff, and sank into a large chair in front of the old victor. Chaff nodded at her and followed Haymitch's lead.

Since not many of the victors could handle the excessive celebrations in the Capitol, they had their own area, which consisted of several sofas and low coffee tables. Mags and most of the other victors from the Career Districts used it to go over their strategies and to consult with each other when alliances were formed, which was usually the case. Or simply to withdraw for a short moment while looking for sponsors. For Haymitch, his pitiful search for sponsors was already too much for him. For the mentors from 1, 2 and 4, the Games were stressful weeks. Most of the victors knew each other and, since they shared a similar fate, they often hung out together in small groups. As one of the oldest, who had even experienced the Dark Days, Mags was like a mother to them all.

Mags shook her head at the disreputable behavior of the two younger victors but patted them on the shoulders as she passed. "You look as if you– No, forget it, I don't want to know what you've been up to," she murmured with a half-smirk on her lips. She looked older than usual, Haymitch noticed. As if the last year hadn't done her any good. They didn't talk much about what was going on back home. Especially with Chaff and him there was never much good to say. But even from Mags, one heard less and less each season. Things in District 4 didn't seem to be going the way they used to either.

"Not worth mentioning," Chaff replied, failing to pretend to be serious. Mags would have seen through him anyway, she had known him too long for that. "You always expect the worst from us, Mags."

"Because you usually fall short of my expectations," Mags said matter-of-factly, kneeling cross-legged in front of one of the tables. She usually sat on the floor. He didn't know if it was common in 4, but she seemed to like it better than sitting on a chair.

Chaff snorted in annoyance, sounding almost like the Capitols he had just bumped into. Feigning insult, he held a hand to his heart and sighed theatrically. "That. Hurt. We always do our best."

"Then I guess your best isn't enough," Mags shot back, but she seemed to be losing her focus. She was usually good at bickering with them in a warm, caring way, but the dissatisfied look on her age-worn face spoke for itself.

Unlike District 11, District 4 still had a tribute in the running. Not the most promising candidate Mags had come across, but she was workable. Mags was disappointed to have lost the boy so early and now worked even harder to turn the tide in her favor. It bothered her when her children died, as it did with every victor, but Mags was different. In that respect, she reminded Haymitch of Effie. Both allowed themselves to be close to the tributes and tried to make their time as bearable as possible. Luckily for Mags, it wasn't uncommon for at least one of the children to survive.

Haymitch and Chaff exchanged a knowing look as they saw the papers on the table, which were scattered in no apparent order. Haymitch leaned forward suspiciously and pushed some of them aside to rest his glass on the edge. They all knew that this year it would be particularly difficult to beat District 1. In normal years, they were already strong competition for 4. Gloss had pulled out all the stops at his disposal to ensure Cashmere's victory. In some circles, it was already a done deal. His meetings with Laetitia Lowell were becoming more frequent. Some mentors deliberately made no effort this year because she was, after all, the sister of a victor. Winning the Games was traumatic enough, but losing your sister in them the following year?

Haymitch was less sympathetic in this regard. Both Gloss and Cashmere had volunteered and after Gloss's victory he should have known what they were getting into. Most of the victors from the outer Districts shared his opinion. Even Mags. In District 4, people didn't believe in entering the Games voluntarily. It was an honor to win, but they didn't enjoy the game being forced upon them.

"I'm out," Chaff said, raising his hands innocently. "I've got no business here, so you can pretty much ignore my presence."

Mags's brows furrowed and her eyes moved from her papers to Haymitch. He could see the accusation in her eyes even before she opened her mouth. "Speaking of business ... How come your escort's been running around here all morning and you, idiot, are only showing up now? You still have two very lively kids in the running."

Haymitch pressed his lips together to keep from making a hasty comment. Mags didn't like it when one neglected one's work as a mentor. The young victor was sure that if he was the mentor of a halfway successful District, she would despise him for not being able to care for them properly. The children's lives meant a lot to her and seeing him neglect his duties angered her. Haymitch couldn't blame her, she was right after all. On the other hand, he couldn't even help himself. Just the thought that the lives of these two children were on his shoulders took all the oxygen out of the room. In that respect, Mags was worlds stronger than him.

What could he do? Haymitch was definitely not cut out for the sponsorship hunt. Just starting a conversation with one of these ignorant, disgusting financiers was torture. There were no common interests, nothing that connected him with any of these Capitols. How could there be? They were everything he despised.

Apart from that, there wasn't much movement in the arena. It was day three and neither Elowen nor Ramon had been able to shine in any way that could potentially bring in money. Ramon had decided to leave the tundra behind after all: the previous night had been icy and with little more than a softshell jacket, every day after that would be uncomfortable. The girl from 5, whose sleeping bag he had stolen, had frozen to death last night, but the death wasn't officially attributed to Ramon. All morning he had done nothing but march east along the edge of the woods, in a bad mood and with a defiant expression. At some point along the way he had picked up a long branch and was now sharpening one of the tips with a sharp stone. Primitive, sure, but in Haymitch's eyes better than nothing.

Elowen also walked, but in a southeasterly direction, deeper into the jungle and further towards the edge of the arena. She collected nuts and berries along the way, stuffing them into the pockets of her jacket and stopping now and then to drink. She must have picked up something from training, because she double- and triple-checked the fruits before eating. Also more than Haymitch could have hoped for. And yet not enough.

The Careers were the only ones to bring some excitement into the Games. They had picked up the scent of a tribute on the edge of the rainforest and immediately followed him, which also led them deeper into the swamps. They were still a good distance away, so the victim had not noticed his pursuers, but with Cashmere's persistence, that would change. Hopefully. Because if events didn't develop in a more interesting direction soon, the Gamemakers would step in to spice things up.

Haymitch shrugged and woke up from his thoughts a little late. These Games were no good for him. Not even the alcohol could change that much. "I need some distance from the Games," he said, immediately regretting his tone and choice of words. He could tell by the sudden change in the looks Chaff and Mags gave him. If he had instead shouted I need distance from her, so that everyone could hear, the reaction would have been no different. His friends knew him for too long, too well.

Chaff shook his head in bewilderment and sighed as if Haymitch had said something very stupid. "Buddy, check your place," he muttered, his dark brown eyes flickering with incomprehension. "Since when are you one of those victors? We don't fall for their games."

Haymitch just raised his eyebrows, part of him didn't have the energy to feed Chaff's premonitions. Being judged by his friends when he was on their side was not a pleasant feeling. He knew Chaff was just worried. And yet he didn't need anyone to lecture him. No one was more confused by all this shit than him.

"She's Capitol, Haymitch," Chaff said, emphasizing each word as if he was afraid Haymitch wouldn't understand otherwise. "You can't take the Capitol out of her. She was raised to like this. She's an escort, for God's sake, isn't that enough?"

Calling someone Capitol was a common phrase among the victors, meaning nothing more than our enemy. At least, that was what it had meant in the beginning. Nowadays, it was also used in more harmless contexts. There was no more fitting word to describe the culture and demeanor of the Capitol. You immediately knew what was meant. Nowadays, Capitol stood for ridiculous, disturbing, and heartless. Usually, the term had a bitter connotation because it constantly reminded you that these individuals were nothing more than the enemies of the Districts. Haymitch wasn't entirely sure if Chaff was actually relying on the original meaning with that sentence. If anyone hated these people more than he did, it was Chaff.

"The tributes from One and Two also volunteer without knowing how fucked up reality really is," Haymitch replied in a neutral voice, hoping his friend wouldn't take it the wrong way. It sounded like he was defending Effie. In a way, that's exactly what he was doing. Haymitch just wanted Chaff to understand that the world wasn't black and white. But what was he kidding himself? Until a few weeks ago, he had thought the same way. Hell, he still thought the same way for the most part. Effie was just ... the only exception. If Haymitch's own thoughts didn't make sense, how was Chaff supposed to understand them?

Chaff snorted and opened his eyes wide in irritation. He lowered his head to the side and stared at Haymitch as if he had lost his mind. "She's dating Seneca Crane, isn't that enough of a red flag?"

Seneca Crane. Gamemaker and elite. Haymitch reached for his glass and was almost disappointed by the lack of relief from his muscles as the rest of the liquor ran down his throat. Effie felt nothing for Seneca Crane, she had said so herself. So why was she going out with him? He could think of a few reasons, but did he have the right to judge her? Power and money were the gears that kept the Capitol system running. She had to go with the flow whether she wanted to or not. Does she want to or not? "She's not what you think."

"Hell, I think she's exactly as I think she is," Chaff replied, a mixture of annoyance and understanding flickering across his features. "Your life sucks, buddy, I get that. You crave things and meet someone who makes you feel better, who gives you the sense that they understand you. That doesn't happen often when you're a victor. But she's playing with you. There's no future in that anyway."

"Who's talking about a future?" asked Haymitch, slowly getting angry. Anger and shame. To hear such words from his best friend ... Haymitch wasn't good at dealing with criticism. "I don't long for anything. I live this fucked up life and just wait day after day for–" Yes, what was he waiting for? His situation would never change. He would always be the lone, sole victor of District 12. He would travel to the Capitol year after year to watch his children die. Until either the alcohol killed him or his mind cracked and made him do things he didn't have the courage to do now.

"Mags, help me here," Chaff muttered, giving the older victor a lost look.

Mags sighed. The mask on her face was matter-of-fact and organized. In the end, she was always the one who gave them the final advice. Somehow, she was better at looking at things from a more neutral distance than Haymitch or Chaff. "Do what you want," Mags said in a quiet voice, her eyes roaming the lounge until she found what she was looking for. "Wouldn't be the first victor. But don't forget who they are."

She pointed over her shoulder across the room to where Effie and Seneca Crane were talking. Seneca held out his hand, smiling, and she put hers in his with a satisfied look on her face. It was clear what Mags wanted to tell Haymitch: As long as it didn't get serious, there was no problem. Playing with the enemy was fine, as long as you didn't play into his hands.

Haymitch narrowed his eyes and stared at Mags for several seconds before his gaze slid over to Chaff. He tried hard to force any seriousness into his features. He let the oxygen into his lungs and then held it there while he considered his dilemma. After several minutes of silence, he finally opened his mouth. "What makes you come up with such bullshit? I never mentioned a word about us being together."

Chaff and Mags exchanged a long look, and a half-smirk crept onto Mags's lips. Chaff raised his arms and pointed at Haymitch as if it were all so obvious. " Let's just say this is all hypothetical," said Chaff, rolling his eyes to make it clear to his friend that he was only pulling on this whole hypothetical act for his sake and that it was beyond any hypothesis. "But look at you, buddy. You're drinking less, actually looking more alive than dead, and the fact that you're here today and have been here these last few days speaks volumes. That's all good, but how long will this last? I don't want you to drink yourself into a coma just because she broke your heart after the season."

A harsh laugh escaped Haymitch's throat and he grimaced as if Chaff had caused him physical pain. Broken hearts ... Love ... Had Chaff lost his mind? "Do I look like a teenager, Chaff? You've lost your mind." Do I look like someone who could love? After everything that's happened to me?

Chaff shrugged and returned Haymitch's gaze as if he knew exactly what was going through his mind. "Just saying." Then he turned his head and looked in the direction Mags had just pointed. Effie and Seneca had disappeared, perhaps to the upper floor. Haymitch tried to look indifferent. Effie didn't owe him anything, no matter what she had said before. A few kisses didn't change that. "I don't like her, I'll be honest. Nothing personal ... more of a Capitol thing, you know–" Chaff fell silent as the people in the lounge suddenly started whispering. The sudden excitement spread like fire through the ranks of people, which could only mean one thing: impending death or a fight.

Haymitch's eyes slid to the next screen, hoping to see the Careers finally catching up with their prey. But to his surprise and horror, he found himself staring directly at a close-up of Elowen's stunned face, which quickly turned to panic. Within seconds, not really noticing his body moving forward, Haymitch was charging toward the screen, bumping into a number of people who stood in his way. Victors, Capitols, sponsors – he couldn't care less.

Elowen had stopped next to a bush and had crouched down slightly, but it was too late. The camera zoomed out of the situation and the figure of a boy became clear, wandering through the jungle a few meters away from Elowen. Their paths must have crossed by chance. Haymitch didn't recognize the boy, but the number on his jacket identified him as a tribute from District 9. He didn't look much older than Elowen and was barely taller than her. Also malnourished. The only good omen. Because then Haymitch's gaze wandered to the stone in his hand. Unlike Ramon, Elowen hadn't bothered with a weapon. If Haymitch had actually believed that she would survive the cornucopia, he might have advised her to get one.

"This could get interesting, dear Hunger Games fans," Claudius Templesmith's voice trilled from the loudspeakers. "Now we will see how much truth there is behind District Twelve's supposed comeback! Thirteen-year-old Elowen Tarnvald faces fourteen-year-old Rye Hooker from District Nine. This could be a promising clash between two outer Districts!"

Rye Hooker hesitated. He and Elowen surveyed at each other for a second, the stone twitching in the boy's hand. Then his face took on an almost apologetic expression as he took a step toward Elowen and raised his hand. Elowen did the only right thing in her hopeless situation: she turned on her heel and ran away. For a moment, Haymitch hoped Rye would leave it at that. The tribute decided to run after her. For a while, all you could see was jungle, swamp, and the outlines of confused figures as the cameras tried to follow the two tributes.

The terrain beneath them grew uneven. Green ground was increasingly replaced by rockier terrain. A wide creek appeared on Elowen's right side, blocking her path. She had no choice but to change her course and ran upstream in an easterly direction. Despite her agility, the boy quickly gained on her. The rocky ground didn't help her increase her speed. The debris was loose, and Elowen kept slipping on the loose stones, struggling to maintain her balance. At least it seemed Rye was facing the same difficulties. Elowen turned her head to gauge the distance between them. A mistake. With her eyes not focused on where her feet were landing, she tripped over the loose rocks. Her body fell heavily to the ground, and a stifled groan escaped her lips.

Rye had stopped a few meters behind Elowen, his face full of uncertainty. The hand holding the stone twitched as he slowly approached her. The camera zoomed in on Elowen's face and you could see that, unlike Rye, she was completely under the influence of panic. She didn't hesitate as her fingers grabbed the nearest stone within reach and she rolled her body onto her back. The stone flew before Elowen or Rye could blink. It was nothing but a defensive reflex, the survival instinct that had taken over her body. She had probably intended the stone as a distraction, because she struggled to get to her feet and was already starting to walk when she realized the scream of pain that came from Rye's mouth. Now it was he who stumbled back, losing his footing, and hit the back of his head against the nearest rock. Then the cannon roared through the jungle.

Elowen flinched and turned her head in a flash. Her feet automatically took several steps backwards. When she saw Rye lying lifeless on the ground, however, her eyes widened in surprise and dismay. The stone had hit the boy on the temple, on the side of his forehead. Not hard enough to kill, but hard enough to knock him off balance from the impact.

Rye was dead and Elowen had killed him.

-

Did you see that coming? What do you think about the chapter? Let me know! :)

Skyllen