The next morning, I am woken by my own scream.

It rips from my throat, primal and bloodcurdling, as some sort of acid falls all around me, furiously digging into my skin and clothes, leaving small welts in its wake.

My mind spins and I force myself to crawl backwards, into the shelter of the rock cave--but already the rain is seeping through the cracks, threatening to eat me up completely, and so there is nowhere to go but away. 

I take what small time I have to stuff all of my material belongings into my backpack, leaving more than half behind. If this is going to be my last night in the Games, whether it ends with my cannon or Lua's, I certainly won't be needing a heavy blanket. 

My skin feels as if it is on fire, the acidic liquid permeating the ceiling occasionally finding bare skin, making me shriek. I have no need to be quiet now, for there is no way Lua could be hunting in this, could be doing anything but panicking the same way I am.

The backpack is slung over my shoulders haphazardly, setting me off balance for a second, before I desperately crawl out of the cave and run for my life. 

My cave was on a hill, with a good view of the rest of the arena--which may be the only reason I spot the large dome surrounding the cornucopia. Raindrops hit the barrier, sizzling out, not passing it. 

That's where I must go. 

I run faster than I ever have in my life, the only sounds my own breathing and the relentless pounding of the rains. It fights against me, desperately digs at my clothes and skin and every little bit that isn't covered by something else, but I fight back, exhaustion and pain and terror clouding my mind from forming any sort of rational thought.

Live, I tell myself, over and over again. Survive. Power through. 

And yet, even the simple act of surviving barely seems possible anymore. How easy would it be to fall to the ground, letting this acid rain dissolve my bones until there is nothing left of me for the hovercraft to pick up, to return to my deadbeat father?

Pain flares all over my body, infesting my brain, sending small little signals of stinging (and stinging and stinging) that I just can't get rid of. 

Will it always be this way? Because right now it feels like this will be forever; like my lungs will never let up their wheezing, my feet their relentless pounding leaps, my brain its pain. 

A shuffling in the branches right in front of me. I look up, expecting a decimated Lua, but there is no one there, no one but a large bit of acid, landing right on my eyelid as I blink seconds before disaster.

Still, it burns. It burns. Another scream rips from my throat, and I wonder if this is full of acid, too, because it turns my throat hoarse, with a texture akin to sandpaper. 

I try to open my eyes. I can't. My feet stop moving, my heart stops beating--no, it is still beating, but it might as well not be, with the situation I have gotten myself into.

Why did I volunteer for that little girl, all those days ago? Why did I do it? For the first time since the event itself, I begin to regret my choice. 

Layla wouldn't've had her eyes burned out by acid rain. Layla wouldn't've won, either, or gotten this close, but maybe she would've died a more peaceful death. 

And I would be where? Home with my father, living the same dreary life, stuck in an endless loop of days and drear and people I see often but never quite know or understand?

No, this was the right choice, and there is no reason to regret it, because not one part of it can be undone. 

I can't see. That fact becomes very evident as I try once again to open my eyes, finding only more pain, plus another strange sensation that I try to ignore. But as the acid burns my clothes away in search of bare skin, I know that there is nothing to do but keep moving. 

I push myself up from where I have fallen to my knees on the forest floor, moving fast but no longer running. I stretch my hands out in front of me, finding trees multiple times. 

It feels like hours before there is a faint sizzling, a sudden disappearance of trees and other foliage, and I realize I have found the center clearing. 

Half of me wants to call out and find Lua, the rest wanting to do absolutely anything but that. To the gratitude of the part of me that wants to survive this, I stay silent. 

Thankfully, she speaks first. 

"Daphne?" she says, her voice timid, almost scared. I don't bother to pretend that my eyes are closed willingly, because surely they look just as ruined as they feel. 

"Lua," I whisper, doubtful that she can even hear me over the rain. 

"Are you okay?" She's closer now, maybe a few feet away from me. Ready to strike, I'm sure. She thinks this will be easy. 

I won't let it be easy. I won't let her hit me when I'm down. 

My right hand migrates slowly down towards my leather belt, finding maybe half the knives remaining, the rest fallen during my desperate sprint towards safety. The belt itself is on its last legs, but still, it holds strong. 

I palm the knife, holding it at my side. Not in her face--as if I even know where her face is--but close enough that she can tell I am not weak. I am not an easy target. 

I am a threat. I am willing to do what it takes to survive.

My back straightens, left hand feeling my eyes softly, quickly falling away when they let out a sharp stab of pain at the slightest touch, a direct contrast to their normal ache. 

I don't beg her not to kill me. I don't let myself hunch over in defeat, my dagger falling to the grassy ground. 

I can't meet her eyes, can't meet anything with my own eyes and don't know if I will ever be able to again, but I pretend I am. I pretend I am standing high and mighty, confidence tracing my features, the wind blowing my hair, ready to win this thing, once and for all. 

I don't answer her question, because I'm sure my face is enough of an answer, the craters marring my once-beautiful flesh proving just how utterly broken I am. 

She moves even closer to me, until I can practically feel her presence right in front of me, can hear the soft sounds of her breathing. 

"I'm sorry," she whispers softly, and my entire body tenses in anticipation, because I know what will come next. 

The butt of her spear hits me hard in the side, knocking the air out of me. I fall to my knees, struggling to breathe, knowing that this is where my life ends: kneeling before a twelve-year-old, both of us forced to kill to survive.

Maybe against my will but definitely against the ache in my bones, my right hand snaps up, my dagger finding purchase in the soft flesh of Lua's neck.

There is a sick sucking sound as I tear it out, horrified, but the damage is already done. Her blood splatters my face and clothes, warm and smelling of copper. It even reaches my tongue, where I promptly lean over, falling onto my palms, and retch into the grass, hoping so hard that it could drown out the sounds of Lua dying. 

My hands scramble around where she lies, finding her spear abandoned beside her. I throw it as far as I can, unsure as to what direction I'm facing, and explore until I find her hand, grasping it tightly. 

"I'm sorry," I whisper urgently, my voice choked. "I'm so sorry."

"I don't blame you," she murmurs, and then her labored breathing slows to a stop, her chest stills, and Lua dies.

Her cannon goes off, but I can do nothing but lean over her body and sob.