The Weight of the Crown

The Words of The Kiss

Katniss slowly approached the small group, still gathered near the shoreline where silence had settled once more after the storm's fury. But their moment of respite was brief.

"Follow me," Katniss said, her tone firm yet quiet. She turned sharply on her heel and walked back toward Wiress without another word.

Wordlessly, the three allies rose to their feet and fell in behind her, crossing the beach toward one of the stone bridges that extended to the Cornucopia. Their footsteps echoed faintly on the stone, muffled beneath the distant rumble of the waves.

When they arrived, Katniss came to a halt and gestured in a wide arc around them. "The arena is designed like a clock. Twelve segments. A new threat every hour, and each one stays in its designated zone." She paused, her dark gaze drifting toward the horizon. "It always starts with lightning. Then comes the rain of blood. After that, the toxic fog, and the monkeys. Those are the first four hours. At ten o'clock, a massive wave crashes in from over there," she added, pointing toward a specific stretch of the sea.

They settled in the looming shadow of the Cornucopia. Wiress, now finally silent, had drifted a little apart from the group and was staring into the void with a strange, unsettling intensity. Finnick glanced at her, his expression softening.

"Wiress, you're a genius," he murmured, his words free of sarcasm, pure in their sincerity.

Peeta, eyes on the ground, suddenly spoke. "Look... the tail of the Cornucopia points directly to twelve."

Katniss nodded. "That's where the lightning originates. From midnight to noon."

"Where exactly?" asked Beetee, intrigued, the copper wire coiled loosely in his hands, glinting faintly in the dim light.

Katniss raised her hand and pointed to a tall tree far off in the jungle. It seemed ordinary, but its isolation and height made it distinct. "That big tree."

"Perfect..." Beetee breathed, almost to himself.

Meanwhile, Auren stood a little apart, her gaze fixed on Wiress, who had now begun softly humming a nursery rhyme, a simple, childlike tune that felt eerily out of place in the suffocating weight of the arena. Wiress rocked gently back and forth, her lips forming the melody only she truly understood.

Auren turned away. While the others began discussing strategy, she moved quietly toward the scattered weapons left near the Cornucopia. She picked up a spear first, a familiar weapon, though heavy and awkward for extended use, then a small dagger, far too light to kill swiftly. She searched further, her fingers finally closing around a short sword. Relief surged through her at its solid weight.

Then she heard it, a breath, barely audible, like the ghost of a sigh. A drawn-out exhale, strange and delicate, like a muffled cry. Auren froze, her muscles tightening with instinct.

When she turned, her heart nearly stopped. Gloss, the formidable victor from District 1, had materialized like a shadow behind Wiress. With a single, brutal motion, he plunged his dagger into her throat. No scream. Just silence, thick and final.

The grim drumbeat of death thundered through the thick air.

Auren raised her spear, aiming straight for his heart. But before she could throw it, an arrow sang through the air and struck him down, Katniss. The second drumbeat followed, cold and merciless.

Cashmere, Gloss's sister, burst onto the scene screaming, her rage incandescent. She charged at Katniss, but Johanna appeared at the last moment, shoving Katniss aside and bringing her axe down in a deadly arc. The blade slammed into Cashmere's stomach with a sickening thud. She collapsed to the ground, lifeless before she hit it.