Day Seven
"What do you think they're thinking right now?"
Peony asks me this as we're walking, and I'm unprepared for it. "Who?"
"Everyone," she says. "All the people watching."
"Well, I'm sure they're bored," I say. "There's aren't many of us left."
Peony's quiet for a moment. "I can't believe I made it this far."
"Mags knew you could," I tell her. "She knew you'd do whatever it takes, and you did."
"But the Games aren't over yet," she says. "And Scalver is still out there."
"You seem to underestimate my ability to take him down."
"I don't," she says, "but he's still out there."
"And so am I," I retort. But that's all I get out.
"If you're cocky against Scalver, you'll lose," Haven fires at me, spinning around to block our path. "Back in Two, he was the strongest in our training regiment. Stronger than me, Phoenix--all of us. That's--"
She pauses.
"That's what?" I ask.
Still, she's silent, as if she regretted what she said. But she answers. "That's why I didn't fight him. Back at the Feast."
Well, that was unexpected.
"Because you thought you'd lose," I infer.
She doesn't directly confirm that. "He was always the best. I never wanted to admit it."
"Then why didn't you join him?"
Haven scoffs. "Because I knew that anyone who allied with Scalver would end up dead."
I think back to Sylvia. He didn't kill her, but he left her alone. I still don't know why.
"You volunteered with him," I say, referencing the Reaping. "You chose this."
"I chose this. I didn't choose Scalver," she clarifies. "We volunteer when we feel prepared. I did. And so did Scalver."
"How old is he?" Peony suddenly asks, slightly surprising me. Haven looks at her.
"17," she replies. "Like me and Phoenix. Sylvia was our youngest, 16."
"16?" I repeat.
Haven nods. "She couldn't wait to volunteer. She'd wanted to the year before, but was talked out of it."
"Why?" asks Peony.
"Because, in our districts, anyone under 16 doesn't stand a chance," Haven replies, seeming to forget both me and Peony's ages. "There's never been a victor under 16."
"Never say never," I remind her. I only realize after what that insinuated.
Haven seems to notice, too. Her lips press together in a thin line. "Watch yourself, Finnick," she says warningly.
Neither of us say anything after that, and the conversation drops. But the tension lingers. It's also starting to get dark. We're closer to the shoreline than before; I can faintly smell the seawater. But we can't see it.
We decide to stop anyway. Nothing about the area we're in is particularly hidden, but it's clear that none of us are really worried about it. The aura is different now. It's clear that the Games are nearing their end, and I think we can all sense it. It's a numb sort of feeling that's hard to describe. After a week of living on pure survival, an odd sort of acceptance has replaced the initial fear. I can't speak for the others, but I reckon the feeling is unanimous.
The three of us sit down, and I'm expecting silence from here on out. But after a moment, Haven looks at me and she asks, "Finnick, do you trust me?"
A bit taken aback, I respond, "What?"
"Do you trust me?"
I want to say that I do, because I feel that I do. "I think I'd have killed you if I didn't."
Ever so slightly, she smiles. "You mean you would've tried."
"Sure. Tried."
She situates herself on the ground, placing her hands on her thighs. Then, she sighs. "It won't be much longer now."
I look up at the darkening sky. "No, it won't be."
"And what'll we do about it?" she asks, looking around at each of us. "About this?"
"This?" Peony asks.
"Us," Haven replies. She doesn't say more.
"I don't know," I say.
"I'm not fighting either of you," Peony declares. "I won't."
"We might have to," Haven says, sounding matter-of-fact. "You have to accept that, Peony."
"No," she says, though she's glancing more at me when she says it. "I don't, Haven."
"Peony," Haven repeats, sterner this time, "there can only be one victor."
Peony seems distraught. She doesn't respond to Haven, but it's clear that this upset her. At heart, I know she could never bring herself to turn against us. If it comes to that point, I don't know what will become of her.
"Let's get some sleep," I suggest, merely to end the conversation before it gets tedious. "Who takes first watch?"
"Me," Haven volunteers, equipping her knife and springing to her feet. "You two get some rest. I don't know what will happen tomorrow."
"What do you mean?" Peony asks.
"I mean," Haven says, "anything could happen."
Her words seemed final, so Peony drops it. Seeming restless, she tries to readjust her sitting position. On the second attempt, she slides her bow off her shoulder, laying it on the ground beside her. Haven stands overlooking what I imagine is the most exposed area around us. I'm sitting next to Peony, and she quietly says my name. I look at her.
"Do you really think it's the end?" she asks.
"I don't know," I answer. "It could be, soon."
"If it is," she says, "then I just want to say thank you, Finnick."
Unexpecting, I ask, "For what?"
"For everything," she responds, her tone shockingly casual. "I never thought I'd make a friend in this place."
"You don't have to thank me," I say. "I'm pretty easy to like."
"Really? I hadn't gathered that."
"What gave it away?"
"Oh, I don't know--your leather gloves, all the food, your trident--you must feel special."
"Material things," I say, "really don't mean that much to me outside the Games. Does that surprise you?"
"Not really."
I raise a brow. "Why not?"
"Because I've learned more about you. You're more than what's on the surface."
I'm entertained. "And what 'more' would that be?"
I can tell she's being genuine with what she says next. "You're a good person; you care about people. I wouldn't have guessed that when I first met you."
This cracks me up. "At least you're honest."
She scoffs with a smile. "I always have been."
"I know. I could tell. It's a good trait to have."
The sky is a lot darker than it was just moments ago. She seems to notice, too. "Do you think it's even night, back home?"
"Hard to say," I respond. "It could be anything."
"I always think about my parents--if they're sleeping when I am," she says. "Or if they can't sleep at all."
"I couldn't, if it was my child," I say hypothetically.
"When it was Briar, I didn't," Peony says, seeming reflective. "God, I--I never looked away. Not even when...when I knew it was over."
"You watched her die," I say in realization. Seeming pained at the memory, she nods.
"She was such a strong fighter. But the girl from Two was just...stronger."
"The girl from Two?" I ask. I sneak a quick glance at Haven, which Peony notices.
"I'm not one to hold a grudge, Finnick. You should know that," she says, to which I roll my eyes humorously. "I was cautious with Haven and Phoenix. But I learned to trust them."
"I'm sorry about your sister," I say, which slightly alters her expression. "I've never lost someone like that. But I think I'd fall apart if I did."
"I couldn't fall apart," Peony says, sounding more accepting than sad. "Because if I did, it'd take ten times as long to put myself back together."
Something about her words resonates with me. The truth behind them is apparent. "You're right," I agree.
"It's something my father always told us," she says. "To keep us strong."
"It's good advice," I reply. "In this world, you have to be strong."
"I'd like to think that's why I'm still alive," Peony says, "but like Haven said, it won't be much longer now."
I want to reassure her, but at the same time, I know it's the truth. "You're right. It won't be."
"So we should get some sleep," she says, slumping a little against the tree trunk. "While we still can."
She lays her bow on the ground beside her, and I rest my trident on top of my legs as I lean my head back. Haven is keeping watch vigilantly, her knife held in a tight grip, so I feel like it's safe to doze off. I close my eyes.
A minute or so later, I hear: "Finnick, Peony."
My eyes open, and Peony and I both look at Haven, who has turned around in a flash. She has a softened sort of look in her eyes.
"I'm glad we met," she says quietly, thoughtfully. Like she'd been wanting to say it for a while. "It's rare to meet strong people with good hearts. As I think you've seen."
Peony seems touched. "Thank you, Haven. I'm glad, too."
She nods once. "I wish we could have met differently. Really."
Her tone is genuine. A bit saddened. "If only," I say.
She smiles at us, then shortly turns back to her post. Absentmindedly, she begins to twirl her knife around in her hand. She does this for a few seconds before gripping it tight again. With a quick head turn, she glances at us.
"Goodnight," she says quietly, yet kindly. The way a friend would.
"Goodnight," I reply. Taking her word as final, I adjust my position and get ready to sleep. Peony does the same.
The world around us is quiet until we do.
~~~
...
When I open my eyes, I'm not in the arena. I'm home, in Four, sitting in my living room with my mother and father. Annie is there, too, I notice. She's sitting across from me on the adjacent couch, smiling at me. Her bright eyes are sparkling.
"Finnick, you did it. I knew you could. I always did."
Did what? I think to myself.
"You won," she says, as if reading my mind.
"You won the Hunger Games," says my mother. Her smile is broad and chipper, just as I remember. "Because you're the strongest, bravest person I've ever known."
"Our shining star," my father says. His grin makes me feel proud, yet it's still humbling. "I'm so proud of you."
"I did it for all of you," I find myself saying. Though I can't seem to remember how I did it. "I had to see you again."
"You kept your promise," Annie says, standing up from the couch. I stand up with her. "I always believed in you, you know."
"I know," I say, walking a few steps closer to hug her. "Thank you."
Next, I hug my mother. Then, my father. The hug with him seems to last the longest.
"Be brave, son," he says in my ear. "I love you."
I tell him that I love him back. I say it to my mother, too. They're all looking at me like I'm the happiest memory they've ever remembered.
That's the only way I can think to describe it.
...
~~~
When I open my eyes, it's no longer dark. It isn't bright, but the damp, cool air gives it away that it's morning. Once I come to my senses, I'm startled because I realize I was supposed to be woken while it was still dark, to take over Haven's watch. I quickly look around and see no sign of her. Beside me, Peony's still asleep, too. Her head is tilted to the side, her expression content in sound sleep, and it's clear she hasn't been disturbed either.
I'm quick to wake her, and when she opens her eyes, she also seems alarmed at seeing daylight. Her eyes are questioning, and I tell her that Haven never woke us for watch. When Peony also sees no trace of her, she starts to worry. Then she reaches to the side, where her hand stops, hovering a few inches above the ground. It's the spot where she left her bow. The weapon's gone.
"Haven took the bow," Peony says to no one. She seems shocked more than anything.
"Maybe she's hunting something," I suggest. Though I notice that her bags and supplies are gone, too.
"Finnick, she didn't wake us. She probably left while we were asleep," she says, her tone a little less than angry. She stands up and walks around the area, searching. "Why would she leave?"
"I don't know," I say, though I can't think it was with any ill intent. "To look for Scalver, maybe. She took the bow; her strong suit was archery."
Peony looks bothered. "Why wouldn't she tell us?"
I think back to last night, what Haven said. The way she said it. "There aren't many of us left. Maybe she thought it'd be easier, to disappear."
She seems confused. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," I say, "maybe she didn't want to have to fight us."
Her expression softens after that.
"She would have killed us otherwise," Peony says in realization. "While we slept."
"She would've tried," I partially agree, partially correct her. I sling my bag around my shoulder and equip my trident. "But she didn't. She wants us alive."
"What should we do?" she asks. I can tell she's nervous and hopes I have an answer.
"I think we should move," I say. She's satisfied enough with that, it seems.
Peony doesn't comment further on the loss of her bow, merely equipping her hunting knife in a ready grip. But I can tell she doesn't feel as safe without it. I'm not sure if Haven's intent was to indirectly weaken us, but I decide to give her the benefit of the doubt and say that it wasn't. Haven likely sought out to take down Scalver. A bow would give her a better chance at succeeding.
The two of us pack up what's left of our supplies and head out. We have one bag each, and we're both armed with our strongest weapon. Even though the chance of stumbling into Scalver is rare, he could be anywhere. And now that there's only two of us, we have to be prepared. More pressure has been put on me now, to defend her. I'd never say it to her face, but Peony wouldn't stand a chance one-on-one with Scalver. Even with a knife.
"Do you think that's why she left?" Peony asks, once our old camp is out of sight. "To find Scalver?"
"Maybe," I say. "But we won't know."
"It wouldn't make sense, her leaving just to avoid a fight," Peony says, mostly to herself. "Last night, she told me I had to accept it. That it's the way it might have to be."
"She could've changed her mind," I suggest. Peony thinks it over, and then sighs.
"I was always told they were brainwashed," she says, referencing the Careers. She seems reflective, like she's pulling from an old memory. "In the sense that, when it came down to it, you'd kill your closest allies to win the pride and glory--even if you trained with them your whole lives. Because that's what they were expected to do. Nothing was personal; that sort of thing."
"So you were expecting a fight?"
"I didn't want one," she says, "but I knew it might happen. I imagined her killing me."
Her words, as dark as they sound, came across as surprisingly casual. She takes my momentary silence as a pass to carry on. "At the end of the day, I didn't think it'd matter to her. Not long-term; not if she won."
"Peony, I think it would. She likes you. She likes us," I tell her, thinking once more back to last night. "I don't think she was prepared for that."
That simple sentence seems to have a lot more meaning than I intended. Peony asks, "What'll we do if we find her again?"
I don't look at her. "I don't know."
Silently, I hope my words get the message across that I'm not counting on finding her again. Peony seems to catch on, and she becomes silent as we walk. The aura is slightly grim again, as it was after Phoenix's death, and it's unsettling.
It's nowhere near cold, but I shiver.