• Athena Spring has spent her entire life carefully curating the perfect image. Perfect grades, a proud family, and the Plinth Prize nearly within her grasp, Athena has it all. However, when her plans are derailed by an unexpected twist of events, s...
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Athena remains perched at her desk, drumming her hands anxiously against the cold surface as her gaze flits across the dimly lit auditorium. The monotonous cadence of Lucky's voice, droning on about the weather, does nothing to ease her nerves as her eyes remain transfixed to the screen. She catches a glimpse of Persephone, slumped over her notes, her breaths even and deep in sleep. Athena can't muster a shred of judgment; the day has stretched on with agonizing slowness, devoid of the anticipated carnage, leaving the audience restless and disenchanted. The stands, once brimming with Capitol citizens hungry for spectacle, are thinning as they trickle out in disappointment. However, Athena can't bring herself to do the same, not while Treech is still in there.
On the colossal screen, the images flicker with a relentless rhythm, cycling through the tributes' faces. Lucy Gray and Jessup remain hidden in their tunnel; Reaper and Dill are sticking close together as they occasionally pop out of the tunnels to check for food; Wovey seems to be wandering aimlessly through a particularly small crevice underground; Bobbin remains hidden in a small gap in the wall; Otto is prowling near one of the gates; and Lamina is nowhere to be seen. Athena's eyes are drawn to Treech when he finally appears with the rest of the pack, apparently hunting the tunnels for the other tributes. He lags behind Coral and Tanner, his steps hesitant, with Mizzen, his head hung low, at his side. The tension in the air is palpable, even through the cold glass of the screen.
"What's up with you, little man?" Treech's voice cuts through the silence, tinged with concern as he glances down at the younger boy.
Mizzen's reply is barely above a whisper as he shrugs, "I... I just killed that boy back there".
Athena's heart breaks a little for someone so young to be carrying that much guilt.
Treech's hand finds Mizzen's shoulder, a gesture meant to soothe as he insists, "No, it was me," though the tremor in his voice betrays his own attempt at conviction.
"But I was there. I helped," Mizzen murmurs, his eyes downcast, haunted by the ghost of his actions.
Treech's reassurance is firm, almost stern, "Then blame me. It's not on you, okay?"
Coral's voice slices through their exchange, sharp and urgent, "Hurry up! I've found something".
Her command spurs them into motion, their jog a desperate attempt to cling to the semblance of unity.
Athena watches, her heart a tight knot in her chest. Treech's survival brings a surge of relief, yet the shadows under his eyes, the jittery glances, the compulsive grip on his axe handle, all speak of a mind fraying at the edges. She yearns to reach out, to offer sustenance, comfort—anything to ease the burden he carries. But she's powerless, confined to her seat. Athena almost wishes they'd throw her in the arena with him, then at least she'd have some control over Treech's fate.
