Nothing Personal

Endgame - 3

She'd still be a servant to the Capitol.

She looked down as soon as this thought crossed her mind, in case it showed in her face.

Her stomach rumbled. She bit her lip; she didn't really want to get down from her tree. It felt safe up here; she'd be prepared to bet none of the others could climb. She tried to remember back to the training room but everything had been such a whirl and all she could remember was trying to walk in heels, watching the Careers throw weights around even though they all looked so slim and arguing with Oak about the twins.

That was less than a week ago, but it felt like years. Oak was dead. He didn't exist anymore. The Careers were gone, killed. Of the twenty-three kids who had lined up on stage last week, only four were still alive. Three. The feeling that someone had died during the night was persistant and nagged her constantly; who was it?

Her mind kept churning back to whether she would have the guts to kill someone. Maybe it was important that she'd missed both times; maybe she just didn't have it in her. But her life hadn't been at risk those two times, it had been someone else. Daisuke and the twins.

She wanted to think that she'd act no differently if it was her life in danger. But then she didn't, because the remaining people had to have something about them to have got this far, and she couldn't afford to miss.

She hoped whatever was going to come would come soon. She was going crazy up here, with just her thoughts and the jabberjay.

"You're still here," it reminded her.

Vedran deserved everything he got; he knew that. He wasn't surprised that she'd moved on; he would have done the same. Maybe. And when he'd heard the cannon, he'd both hoped and not hoped that it was Megan.

He didn't know what to think, so he decided not to.

The Cornucopia felt empty, so he got up and left.

He didn't have a weapon, so he picked up some blunt knives that were lying around near the entrance, unclaimed. There was a halter with them so he clipped that around his waist and stuck a few of the knives in it. There were still bits and pieces scattered around, but none of it really looked useful. Like his little music chip. He curled his fingers around it until it dug into his palm, a reminder of home. Getting hauled out of bed in the mornings, skulking through work until the supervisor shouted at him. The same routine, every day.

He could remember, clear as day, the reaping. The fear that it would be him; he was so scared he almost expected it. Megan was up first, and when someone hissed it made him furious. There'd never been any concrete evidence and he was sure she couldn't have done it, but nobody else seemed to think that. And then it was his name, and because he'd almost been expecting it he'd given a quip back, and people had laughed. It was only when he got up on stage that it properly sunk in and he'd thought he was going to be sick. And then he'd had to shake hands with Megan, and he'd said he believed her. That was where it all went wrong, probably.

"You're a fool, Vedran Emirate."

He ended up in the Career's playground. He'd never actually been here before, but he'd seen it on screen little more than a few days ago. A few days, and so much had happened. He could barely remember the house, the screen.

What was that about anyway? He was sure they hadn't made that screen, and he'd know. Then where were they? Perhaps it was a Capitol decoy, designed to freak them out. But then why had they been allowed to watch the Games?

They - he, he tried to make himself think - hadn't been in any other houses. Perhaps they were all like that, and perhaps other tributes had been watching him. Perhaps Sebastian was watching him now.