BY THE TIME Alex exited the stage and met up with the others in the waiting area, Iko was ready to inhale her dinner and go to sleep. Her black heels dangled on their straps from her fingers. Hidden by the skirt of her dress, her feet were sore and pinched and aching. Iko wondered if that might affect her performance in the Games. Or if Aeneas even cared that he'd possibly caused an inconvenient dent in the start to the Games when he insisted on fashion over comfort. Irritation crawled under Iko's skin. Iko thought if she caught him alone tonight she might pluck all of his front teeth out. But she'd been through worse. Even at her lowest, she'd managed. She always managed. But Iko didn't want to do anything but excel in these Games, where death was the consolation prize and winning was the only guarantee of life.
I am my own guarantee of life, Iko thought, as the group—the two mentors, Aeneas, their stylists, and Alex—made their swift exit. Everything she has worked for came down to this. Tomorrow. No looking back.
"Want me to carry you?" Alex offered in a mocking tone as he watched her half-limp towards the elevator on blistered feet in blatant amusement.
Iko cut him a withering look.
Neither of them bothered staying for the rest of the interviews. Observation period was over days ago. What the other tributes had to say didn't interest her. In her mind, they hovered between conversation and exit, waiting for the violet hunger of lights to flash and the crowd to scream their approval or clap politely in dissatisfaction before leaving the stage, one step closer to dying in a place far from home. Now that that behemoth of a glamorous distraction was out of the way, they could focus on the real problem.
When the elevator doors closed on them, Iko cast Alex a furtive side glance.
As if sensing the weight of her stare, he turned to her, lifting a brow. "What?"
Iko opened her mouth to ask the question that'd been perched on the tip of her tongue since his interview. But decided against it. She shook her head, letting it turn to ash in her mouth. "Nothing."
"Just say it." Alex nudged her impatiently.
"Fine." Iko blew out a disgruntled breath, unease digging into her ribs. "Who's the girl? You told Caesar there was someone back home you had in mind. I know for sure you've never had a girlfriend, and you never told me about any girls who you've liked since Eris Harlowe in seventh grade."
Alex smirked. "Jealous?"
"No," Iko said in tone made of ice, unable to meet his eyes. "Just curious."
Alex laughed. Before she could needle the answer out of him, the elevator doors opened to their apartment, and the tantalising spread of food on the table had robbed them both of their ability to form coherent sentences.
At dinner, perhaps it's the pungent aroma of the rich food infused with the hostile glow of anticipation for what's to come tomorrow, or perhaps it's that they're all dressed to the nines and so unlike themselves, the illusion that they're part of the Capitol because they're wearing Capitol clothes and sitting amidst expensive ornery not pretending but one step closer to believing that the sparkling beverage between their teeth tastes like the glory they'll be bringing home for the district—whatever it was, it seemed to put everyone in a good mood. Even Enobaria was grinning unreservedly, razor-sharp teeth flashing in the light, as Evander and Alex debated weapons, while Aeneas and the stylists listened, pitching in on the outcome of tomorrow's terrain. Iko watched, occasionally slipping in her own predictions when the conversation turned to her for direction.
"It's absolutely vital that you remember the rules the academy's been drilling into you from the beginning," Enobaria said. "The first sixty seconds are crucial. You calculate your surroundings. You look out for water sources. You seize the Cornucopia, you seize the water supply, and you control the two biggest elements of survival."
"Most importantly," Evander chipped in, jovially, lifting a finger emphatically, "don't do anything stupid. And don't be a hero."
Enobaria nodded in agreement. "You can put on a good show for the people who're watching, but not at the risk of jeopardising your chances at winning." She flashed her teeth at them. "Trust your instincts, but don't act on impulses. There's a difference."
Three Avoxes materialised soundlessly by the table, pouring glittering champagne into all their glasses, and it was only natural that Evander proposed another ridiculous toast. Judging from his rose-red cheeks, his too-big smile, Iko could tell that he's had a little too much to drink. Her own glass, as well as Alex's hadn't required refills. But when Evander hit his steak knife against his glass, his expression was sombre, once again the stone faced Career tribute who'd slashed his victims to death, the mood to celebrate slowly seeping out of the atmosphere.
"Tonight is the last night we'll all be together," Evander said, the sobering severity of his words staking into their skulls as he pinned Alex and Iko with a meaningful stare. "The world will be expecting top performance from the both of you. Everyone back home is counting on one of you to bring home the crown and the other to die with honour. I believe that you're very promising, very dedicated tributes. I look forward to seeing one of you when this is all over."
When he raises his glass, they lift theirs in unison, and the room is tomb-silent.
* * *
THERE IS NO TIME TO MOURN THE CHILDREN THEY USED TO BE (and the people they could've been). Leading normal lives in District 2 meant working relentlessly in the stone quarries, blacksmithing, teaching, training to become Peacekeepers or training future tributes. Every so often, there would be the odd jobs in between to keep the district together in its perfect patchwork of function. But what made District 2 stand out amongst the other twelve districts was their warrior spirit. Always the quickest to violence and brutality, the coldest, most disciplined killing machines, the most confident in their abilities. There's a reason why so many felt themselves drawn to the notion of glory. But so little who were actually cut out for it.
Growing up, Iko was painfully aware that she has held more weapons than she has held hands, and so does Alex. So does every Career-tribute-in-training. Softness does not become a Career tribute, because softness means weakness, and to be a Career tribute is to excise emotion. Everything they feel comes in adrenaline rushes. Everything they do not they lock up deep inside where it's too dark to see. Logically, Iko knows that, at some point, it all has to come out. When, is the question. How, Iko doesn't even want to think about. It's too dangerous now, anyway. Retrospect does nobody any good.
When they were finished with dinner, Enobaria had ordered them to get an early night's rest. Wordlessly, Alex and Iko had headed to their rooms. Still encased in her makeup and interview dress, Iko felt childish. Like she was a little girl playing dress-up in someone else's clothes. Catching her reflection in one of the mirrors mounted along the walls of the corridor sent a sudden chill biting down on her bones as the discomfort crawled over her skin. This girl was not her. This girl was not who the Capitol would remember her by when the blood begins to spill and she is in the arena, carving the other tributes to pieces.
Back in the confines of her room, Iko wondered why Alex had been quiet the entire time, avoiding looking her way like she wasn't there at all. Perhaps he thought it better this way. Going in like they were strangers. Perhaps he didn't recognise her either. It took her fifteen minutes to figure out a way to get out of her dress without ripping it, and barely succeeded. As it fell to the floor, the dark, shimmering fabric pooled around her ankles. Her silver laurel wreath crown had been left on her nightstand. In the shower, Iko scrubbed all the make-up and glitter off her body with a vengeance until her skin went pink, watching the colours swirl down the drain. When she stepped onto the bath mat, warm air blew her dry. Iko caught her reflection in the mirror again, her dark hair falling past her shoulders, her expression clinical and her face plain, relieved to find herself staring back. As she finished changing into a fresh set of pajamas, Iko kicked her dress and her heels under her bed. Out of sight, out of mind.
Even though she was tired from the day's work, sleep wouldn't take her after she slid under the covers and shut her eyes. In the darkness of her room, Iko glanced at her door, half-expecting Alex to be on the other side, waiting for her to let him in. But there were no shadows under the door, and the light crept in through the small gap, uninterrupted.
Pressing her face further into her pillow, Iko ignored the small tug in her chest.
Looking for him would mean I care too much, Iko thought, letting reason resolve the unrest in the back of her mind. It means I'm conceding to the weakness. To softness. That isn't me. I am a weapon, and weapons don't weep. I am a Career. There is no time to be anything else other than cold and heartless and decisive.
But he was her best friend. And no matter how much she reasoned, no matter how solidly the years of conditioning had cemented those values of a Career tribute into her, she couldn't ignore years of history. That didn't mean she needed to break her conditioning.
Just one goodbye, Iko thought, throwing the covers off her. Setting her jaw, she padded over to her door. Before she twisted the knob to let herself out, Iko paused. And listened. No detectable sounds were discernible through the wall separating their rooms in the silence. Just her steady pulse. Just the Capitol people celebrating on the streets. Just one goodbye, she promised herself. For closure. In case I don't get the chance in the arena.
When she opens her door, the world froze.
"Hi," Alex said through a mouthful of food, grinning sheepishly as he leant against the wall on the other side of the corridor, just shy of her door, so she wouldn't have been able to see his shadow from the inside. Like her, he'd showered and changed into sleep wear. In his hand, a sandwich sat, half-consumed. How long he'd been standing there was beyond her. Possibly ages.
Maybe he was saying goodbye, too.
"What are you doing?" Iko asked, shooting him an incredulous look.
Alex merely shrugged.
"What are you doing? Are you going anywhere? Can I come?"
Iko rolled her eyes. "I asked first."
Flashing her a devilish grin, Alex took a bite of his sandwich instead of gracing her with an answer.
Her suspicious gaze flickered to the sandwich in his hand.
Peanut butter and jelly. His mother always made him those kinds of sandwiches for lunch when they were younger. When they first became friends, during the snack break granted to the trainees at the academy, Iko had watched as he dug through his lunch bag, envy creeping through her veins. School lunches had sustained her the entire day out until dinner. That was part of the reason why she'd started out as a scrawny little scrap of a girl. But he'd surprised her then. When he'd noticed that she was empty-handed, glaring at his lunch bag with palpable hostility, he'd ripped his sandwich in half and offered the bigger piece to her. Tentatively, she'd taken it. From then on, they always shared his snacks. And when they'd gotten a little older, and Alex had begun to fill out a little more in muscle mass, he'd started bringing a second lunch bag. At first, Iko had thought both were his. Until he'd thrust the second lunch bag into her arms without ceremony, only smirking at her when she'd blinked at him in disbelief.
Naturally, Alex offered it to her, but she declined. In one single bite, he crammed the remainder of the sandwich into his mouth.
"You didn't answer my question," Iko said, pointedly.
Alex sighed. "Okay, so maybe I was waiting out here trying to... figure out what to say. But then you're out here now, and I still don't know what to say."
Bewildered, Iko lifted a brow. "You? Not knowing what to say? Who are you?"
"It's a little difficult trying to figure out the right words when you're walking into a place knowing you're not coming back out."
Iko slanted him a sharp look. "Don't say that."
"As opposed to me saying you won't come back out instead?"
"No," Iko grunted, stuck between places, fighting to shove every piece of renegade feeling slithering out from the floorboards of her perfectly built composure back into the abyss below. "I—"
"This isn't the way I wanted it to be," Alex said, his voice scraped rough with some indecipherable emotion. He pinned her with a steady gaze, his amber-glass eyes gleaming with a soft intensity in the warm light of the hallway. There was no fear on his face. No sign of pain or regret or guilt. She wondered what he'd look like in his final moments. Would he break? "I didn't plan on hurting you. But you know what happens to people when they defy the academy."
If he'd refused to volunteer, they wouldn't let him back in for next year. Even if he was only seventeen now, and still had one year left to compete. Someone else would take his place, and then he would be just like everyone else.
But he'd still be alive. She'd take that version of him over dead any day.
Iko regarded him with a cold look. "You didn't hurt me."
Alex shot her a flat look. "That's a lie and we both know it."
"I'm not lying," Iko said, even if that chipped away at her insides a little bit, all this ugliness blooming from her mouth like pyroclastic ash clouds. "I'm giving you absolution. There. You're absolved. I absolve you."
Struck speechless for the second time today, Alex frowned, not expecting that answer from her. It wasn't what she wanted to tell him either, but it was what needed to be done. As much as she wanted to scream at him, hit him in the face just like all the choices he was forcing her to make had hit her the moment he'd stepped up to volunteer, she knew it wouldn't be fair to him. His intentions were never cruel. One step closer to goodbye. One step closer to closure.
A beat of silence passed between them. Iko waited. But he didn't respond.
Iko crossed her arms over her chest. "If you're not going to say anything, then I guess we're done here."
This was goodbye. In her own way. In the way that she'd always preferred. The way she'd said goodbye to her mother. To the father she never knew. To the home she never stopped thinking about leaving. Cold, impersonal, final. A mental severing. This was the way it should always be.
A shadow passed over Alex's face as his jaw tightened. Without wasting another second, Iko turned back to her room.
Before she could enter her room, she felt his calloused fingers wrap around her elbow, stopping her in her tracks.
"You're wrong."
Iko flicked him a look of annoyance. It was time they finally looked at what they'd done, cast off the illusion that they had time, because they'd run out the moment he'd volunteered. There was nothing left to justify. Haven't they done enough? Hasn't everything that needed to be said been put out in the open? Was absolution not what he'd been searching for?
He pulled her into him. Before she could resist, before she could give into her mother's voice in her head commanding her to fight back, he wound his arms around her, engulfing her in his warmth. Through his shirt, she felt his heartbeat against her ear, an erratic thrumming, like something electric had come alive.
"Just this once," he murmured into her hair, holding onto her like she wasn't made of sharp edges, like she would melt right into him and they'd become a single entity forever. Like he was holding onto this moment in time, never willing to let it pass, immortalising their embrace in cobwebs for eternity, until they were just bones clinging to each other, until they were just ashes mixed together on the floor. Never to be separated again.
"Just this once," she echoed, winding her arms around him, pressing her face against his chest, fighting to hold onto the sound of life in his heart. Hold onto it, cherish it, a cruel voice in her head warned. It won't last. Her gaze latched onto the jagged scar on his arm, exposed where the sleeve of his shirt had crept back a couple inches. She'd made so many marks on him, but she never really considered the ones he'd left on her. Those ones, you couldn't see. Those ones, only she would ever know.
Alex was the first to pull away. He drew in a shaky breath, and Iko realised that just because he didn't look afraid didn't mean he wasn't.
"Are we good?" He asked, a small smile ghosting his lips.
Iko nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
"Okay." He scratched the back of his neck, unable to tear his eyes off hers. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight," Iko said, and held his soft gaze for a second longer before ducking into her room and shutting the door behind her.
For a moment, she leant against the door, sinking into the darkness of her room, an eternity drawn out like a note on violin strings. This was goodbye. Just a secret under lock and key. Not the way she liked it, but the way it would always be. Messy and crude and septic with everything they couldn't say because it wasn't part of who they were raised to be.
For a moment, Iko shut her eyes and saw flashes of the girl she used to be, the girl they called weak and useless, and the boy she'd hated the first time she laid eyes on him because all she'd known in the moment was that he was wealthier than she was, and if she didn't win, they'd be right about her. The boy who would become her only friend. The boy she'd just said goodbye to.
One by one, the memories surfaced like a stitch undoing itself seam by seam. There was Alex holding out half his sandwich to her. Alex pointing out the missteps in her footwork while they were sparring. His face while she critiqued his flawed stance when knife-throwing. Weekend mornings after a sleepover with Alex's mother piling pancakes onto Iko's plate. Alex beating her in hand-to-hand combat again and again until she'd finally learnt to duck. All the sleepless nights tracing out their stories, trading secrets and scars in the dark. There was the secluded lake behind the stone quarries, the sweltering evenings in the summer they'd spent floating in the water, talking about what their lives would look like once the Games were over, imagining their houses in Victor's Village, side-by-side, his kids playing on her lawn, and as the sun set over the district, bleeding the sky of its colours, she saw them painting his bronze skin in their vibrant hues. One by one, they spilled out from the little gaps in her mind like sand pouring out of a punching bag.
Then, the moment elapsed and she opened her eyes—