It was the final seven. We'd sped through eight and nine with Apollo and Zea's deaths, and soon, the Capitol would be pulling our relatives from home for interviews.

A grin split my face at the reaction my dad would have. Pride, for sure--but a large part of me, larger than I would have liked to admit, hoped he would embarrass himself on national television. It would be deserved, and it wouldn't be unlikely.

I lost Daphne, but also, no, I didn't. I knew where she was going--where else would she go, but the cornucopia, the center of everything? Somehow, that weak girl from Four managed to get herself strung up in all the action--and I knew, we all knew, that her faux confidence was going to get her strung up on something else, someday. I was pretty sure it'd be soon, because it wasn't like Daphne was going to win. No, I was going to win. Everyone knew it. It was obvious.

I lost Wyatt, but also, no, I didn't. I lost him, the person--I knew from the look in his eyes, the way he met my gaze as I presented him with his hard-won trophy--but physically, he was mine, as he always had been and always would be, for the rest of his life (and possibly mine, but I preferred not to think about that).

I shadowed Wyatt for a while. It was hard to do, as I was not the type of person to stay hidden, far better suited for open combat, but I managed. I followed close behind him for maybe a day, making so much noise that he really should have noticed me, but then again, madmen notice very little.

I slept in trees, twenty feet above his unconscious form. I watched him descend deeper into his mind, listened as he began to talk to himself and then objects around him, almost believing they were talking back.

At first, he pushed himself out of it. He would grab his head, or maybe pinch his arm, and tell himself over and over in a voice probably too loud for the Hunger Games, that this was not real. That his mind was playing tricks on him, they were all devious little tricks.

That was a consolation for me, to say the least. Wyatt was not completely mad, could still snap himself out of it if he really tried hard enough.

And then he stumbled upon Oakley.

The girl from District Seven was not a threat, nor a target. She wasn't innocent, either--none of us were--but, like many of the others, nowhere near dangerous.

If anything, she was in the way.

I saw him, holding that mace. I had brushed my fingers against it while he slept, felt the cool metal, wondered what would happen if I took it, stashing it far away, somewhere he would never find it, somewhere it would never cause any more harm.

But that was a ridiculous thought. Of course, I didn't like causing harm. Who did? But that didn't mean that sometimes, it wasn't necessary--and better Wyatt than me. He was already too far gone, it would be a mercy to push him even further in, to hope his real personality was lost in the void of his unaware mind.

It would be a lie to say that I did not miss Wyatt, that I found myself completely uncaring of this whole situation. There was a small ache in my heart, as if someone had lodged a stone in one of my arteries, that never went away.

But I dealt with it, mainly with a skill I'm very proficient at--ignorance. I've discovered that if you stuff all your feelings down deep inside you and focus some of your energy on keeping them there, you won't be as bothered by whiny little emotions like guilt and fear.

It's exhausting, but honestly, what isn't, these days? Life is exhausting. Get over it.

I saw her first, still asleep, curled up beneath a blanket of moss. She had no supplies, no food, no weapons. Her face was contorted into the kind of expression you'd see on someone currently in a nightmare.

And she was about to wake up to find it all come true.

I knew this, and I knew that if I really wanted to, I could stop this. It wouldn't be hard, really--I was stronger than Wyatt, obviously, and I imagined his grip on the mace would be flimsy, easy to yank his fingers away and steal the medieval weapon for myself.

But what then? Would I crush his skull, just to save the life of Oakley, a girl I don't care about one bit? No, if anything, I would kill them both, which would do nothing. Better to let nature take its course, and keep my hands clean.

I will say I did not watch. I closed my eyes tight and listened to the screams. I was already plenty experienced with killing and especially gore, and could vividly imagine the scene playing out maybe twenty feet in front of me, but I tried my hardest not to.

The forest went silent, and the hovercraft took away her body. When I opened my eyes, looking down from where I was perched high in an evergreen, Wyatt seemed to be standing alone in the girl's clearing, surrounded by a splatter of blood and other unmentionable substances.

The screams were gone, and so was Oakley.

I was okay with that, because Wyatt was still there, very much alive yet nowhere near sane. I had known him before, when he was normal. He'd vowed to stay the way he was forever, even if it meant his death. I'd never imagined two others would find their end by his hand--it didn't even seem possible.

But oh, was I proud.

Wyatt was never going to be the person for me. I didn't get my hopes up, but I wouldn't be surprised if he did. Even if we weren't in the Games, one or both of us sentenced to death, he was nowhere near my type, the sort of guy I'd usually go for. Soft and merciful? No, I'd prefer one who just barely escapes the peacemakers every night, a knife in one palm and my hand in the other. I can't survive without adventure, and everyone knows there's no way in hell a boy whose only goal in life was to settle down with a nice, calm, woman, would ever provide that.

But allies can be useful there, and human shields even more so. What was Lua going to do for me? Absolutely nothing. But wouldn't it be useful, if running from a large group of careers, to have a smaller cub at the back of our pack of tigers, one who wasn't fast enough, who'd catch the attention of our eager predators, tie them over until the rest of us could escape?

If nothing else, I was a strategist, a girl on a mission. And in that mission, I knew it was succeed--or die.

I shadowed Wyatt for a while longer. It got harder and harder, as his paranoia began to set in, another day fading into night and back into daylight. My foot would hit the ground too hard and he would stop in his tracks, searching the bushes around him for any sort of danger.

I do wonder if he knew I was there. I don't think he did, 'cause he would have looked for me, I'm sure. Done more than glanced around a few times, at least.

But maybe, I liked to think, there was still a bit of humanity left in him, a small part of his brain that was keeping him from searching too hard. It knew that I was out there, and it knew what would happen if we met face to face, and so it kept that from ever happening.

He reached the edge of the arena. That had been one of my arena bucket list things, ever since the fiftieth Games, to see the void that lay beyond.

I noticed it, a moment too late: a force field, characterized by just a tiny shimmer of light, right in front of Wyatt's face.

He hit it hard, falling onto his back, unmoving. His eyes were closed, and because of this I decided to believe that it had knocked him out, and he would be up soon, and I should move away.

The sound of his cannon made my bones freeze, my breath stop. I hadn't expected it to happen this suddenly, this unexpectedly--I'd expected, maybe even wanted, to see him gutted by another tribute, to have someone to place the blame on.

But no, Wyatt was dead, and there was nothing I could do about that, no one I could exert my revenge on. He was gone, just like that, never to return.

After a moment, I regained the skill of breathing. The hovercraft arrived to take him away. I whispered my goodbyes, didn't dare to move any closer to the body, and then I swallowed my sorrow and mourning, and moved on.

The forest seemed even colder then, as it faded into night. I continued to walk until dawn, even when my legs ached andmy throat felt scratchy and ill. My eyes grew blurry, rimmed by tears I wouldn't tell anyone of, much less let fall.

I'm sure to the audience, I looked like I was on a mission. Or maybe I just looked stupid, because a moment later, two strong arms wrapped around my middle and pinned me to the ground, my spine hitting the hard dirt hard.

"What the fuck?" I muttered, glaring up at the face above me: Tiberius, damn him. Eighteen and much taller than me, a crossbow slung over his back, two hands wrapped around my throat. I struggled to breathe, and knew if I survived this, I'd have heavy bruising for sure.

"Let go of me," I stuttered, but there was no response. He was using a tactic I knew well--pretend your victims aren't human, don't dignify them with the honor of a response, and killing will be much easier.

"Why should I?" he sneered, breaking my rule. I glared straight into his dark eyes, my breath coming in short gasps now, hands scrabbling at his chest.

"I... I know where the others are," I lied, making it up as I went. "They're all together, hiding from us. If you let me go I'll show you."

"Why would they hide from you?" He scanned my face. "You're just a little girl."

"I'm very deadly," I said, halfway as a joke, but I kept my smile tame.

There was a dagger in the sheath on my thigh, but I couldn't quite reach it, he was just in the way. My fingers found the opening, tried to grab the hilt, but no, not yet, not quite yet.

"Fine," he grunted, "but if you try anything I won't hesitate to kill ya, got it?"

I smiled with faux gratitude, as if I did get it. His hands retracted from my throat, and I could breathe again. He moved to stand.

In a fluid movement, I found two daggers in each of my sheaths, lifting my hands to thrust them into his throat, pushing myself as far away as I could. I scrambled backward on my hands and knees, desperately trying to escape him as he roared in pain and anger, leaping towards me like a rogue lion, a dying king of the jungle.

His cannon went off. I moved on.

Covered in blood, I continued my trek, unsure of where it would lead me. My throat hurt more now, from the bruises but also from dehydration. My tongue began to feel dry, as if there was a desert in my mouth, growing by the minute, ready to take over and swallow me whole.

Oakley was dead. Wyatt was dead. Tiberius was dead. But what could I do about that? Nothing, so I persevered, and eventually, my mission brought me toward the cornucopia, the one place I knew I could find water. There would be water left from when we'd abandoned our camp, only a few days ago. It felt like years.

I did not make it to the cornucopia. Before I knew it there was a blade whizzing past my ear, close enough that I could feel the wind as it withdrew, and I was running, an unknown shape following close behind.

I knew there were three people left now: the boy from Eleven, Lua, and the girl from Four, the one I'd kept as a prisoner. It couldn't've been her, I had lived with her for a bit, and I knew how meek and afraid she was. Neither Daphne nor Lua would be chasing me through the forest with--what was it, a scythe? And so, I knew that it was Hawberry.

It was dark, so dark. The moon was new, and so starlight provided the only illumination, even that dimmed by the heavy cover of trees above. I did not dare to look back and try to find Hawberry, to see where he might be or attempt to decipher his next move, and what I could do to get away from him.

I just ran. I ran and I ran and I ran, until it felt like my throat was about to tear apart from the exertion I wasn't used to, until my legs ached like they had never before. I was slower then, but so was he, of course, similarly unused to the copious amounts of physical activity.

My right leg faltered, just for a moment, and I tripped, softening my landing with the palms of my hands as my chest and legs hit the forest floor, downed for the second time in one day. Hawberry was on me fast, his scythe ripping through the air, straight toward my neck.

There was nothing I could do to prevent it. Nothing I could do to save myself.

They say in your last moments, your entire life flashes before your eyes. I'd argue that isn't true--instead, I saw the future, a girl with a line of Victors behind her winning the crown, not wanting it one bit. My own family, back home, muttering and groaning at the disappointment of my death, getting over it soon enough as I did with my own kills.

Thankfully, my death was quick. 

*** 

final extra let's get back to the story <3