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WHEN AVANI PEELED HER EYES OPEN, SHE THOUGHT SHE WAS DEAD.
All she could see were stars and a dim, inky sky. The white dots were twinkling, flickering like a bunch of tiny flames in the distance. There were only a few thin clouds here and there that glowed from the light of the stars. The moon was near the purpley horizon, full and bright, shining down on her just like it did every night. Just like it was shining down on her father in Twelve. On Katniss and Peeta in the Capitol.
"You're awake,"
It was at that moment Avani realized she was very much alive. That she could feel the cool breeze prickling across her skin, the hard, cold concrete beneath her. The stale taste in her mouth from lying unconscious for so long, the lingering, sulfur-like smell of the long-gone acid rain. That she could hear the voice of whoever was speaking.
That she was still in the Hunger Games.
She sat up with a small gasp, taking in her surroundings. She was high up on a rooftop — she could see the tops of other buildings below. A sharp pain shot through her body at the sudden movement, from her shoulder to her leg, and she winced as a dull ache surfaced in her skull.
"Don't move too quickly," The voice came again. She turned around. There was a little pile of bags in front of her, including the feast bags from Districts Six and Ten, her bag, Ryder's bag, and an unidentified one she might've seen in the Career pack's pile.
Ryder was either asleep or unconscious to her left, closer to the bags than she was, curled into a little ball. The blood had been cleaned off his temple, and the bandages on his leg wound looked new. He seemed... peaceful. His breathing was even and normal, his skin its typical color instead of the pasty green it was when he was sick. His sling was still attached to his belt.
Rockie was laying to the right, hood pulled tight over her head and her right arm folded beneath it. Her legs were outstretched and crossed. The blood on her forehead had been cleaned, too — and she was sporting a makeshift sling that her left arm was in, with a few bandages on each leg. Her sickles and axes were all resting beside her, each one having been cleaned until it shone.
Avani glanced down at herself. She, too, had a scrounged up sling on her arm where Ayvah had hit her with the trident. Her leg had been bandaged from the scythe wound, but apart from her headache, she seemed relatively okay. Her quiver of four spears was laying right by her legs.
Sitting on the other side of the bag pile was Reese, his arms propped on the hilt of his broadsword, the tip of the blade against the floor. It clicked in her mind that he had to have been the one speaking. His voice was smooth and calm, just like it had been during the individual interviews. Even in the dark, she could see the way his hazel irises were boring into her own. It seemed as though his injuries had been forgotten — she could still see cuts and scrapes and blood on his face, the many horrendous shades of bruising around his neck, and his still-bloody wrists.
