oceandust + finnick odair

.3

A cannon sound jolts me from uneasy rest, a panicked gasp for air escaping my lips. A steadying hand lands on my shoulder. I don't have to look to know that it's Xander's. "Seven left," he informs me quietly. I despise the anxiety that sets in, stronger now, as I twist around to face him. His baby face seems intense now, watchful of all potential threats.

"Already?" I ask in a whisper, and the brunette nods in confirmation. His eyes are careful and alert, flickering in every which direction behind me for any new threats.

"It was us, pairs from 1 and 2, girl from 3, and the guy from 7." Xander reminds me, meeting my eyes for only a fraction of a second. "We'll find out who tonight," he says. I have little doubt in my mind that it was the boy from 7 or the girl from 3 who died.

"You know what that means." I say, and Xander nods his head. Family interviews. They'd have already aired them by now.

"Who do you think they talked to back home for you?" He asks me, wonder alight in his eyes. I consider whether I should share that information with him for half a beat, quickly dropping my defenses. Xander and I had each other's backs, and for all the digging I've done about him, it's only fair that I give back.

"My mom." I say. "She's the only one that'd be able to handle it, I think." Xander listens thoughtfully, his face remaining passive. He was a guarded person, and the fact that he trusted me enough to remain allies for this long was a miracle in itself. "What about you?" I ask.

"Just my dad." He responds, and then because I stare him down, he adds more. "My mom hasn't been well for a while."

"You think they're proud?" I ask curiously, the meaning obvious— of how far you've come. Xander only shrugs his shoulders.

"I've killed people." He deadpans, but the pain is there in his eyes and I remind myself of where we are; what survival means and simultaneously costs. It requires the sacrifice of not only the lives of others, but our own mental stability. Choosing to defend yourself in the Hunger Games is a moral dilemma of its own, resulting in the sort of compromising that many can't turn back from.

"Self-defence," I try to deflect anyways, wanting to spare him of the guilt. Xander's gaze wanders down for a moment, landing on the emblem of my jacket that brands me as his District 4 counterpart. His face remains stoic when he speaks, and I wonder if he considers how he'll end up killing me when the time comes.

"We should get moving." He says, slowly picking up his spear from where it sits idle by his leg. "They'll probably want to draw us all together now, and I'd rather have an upper hand when that happens."

"There's a stream about a kilometre northeast." I tell him, deciding to not pursue the conversation any more. If we were down past the final eight, that means it's only a matter of hours before we have to split up for good. I wouldn't be able to lay a hand on Xander if we were the last two— I know too much about him to be a credible lethal threat. "I have two more iodine tablets left. We should fill up on water and find high ground."

Xander gets to his feet, limbs groggy from sitting for so long. "Good idea." He replies. I toss him his pack, and he swings the straps over his shoulder effortlessly as I clamber to my own feet. I withdraw the hunting knife that he'd gifted me from the Cornucopia bloodbath and hold it tightly in my right hand, preparing for the worst. "I'll take lead," Xander volunteers, and because he's the one with the long-distance range weapon, I allow it.

Xander and I maneuver through the sparsely populated forest, making as little noise as possible as we navigate our way almost expertly through the arena. I keep up the rear, eyes darting around at every rustle of leaves that I pick up with my sharp ears. We can hear the water before we see it, and Xander turns his head to smile at me.