“Hey,” a distant voice rang in Hazel’s ears as her eyes flew open. Above her, the moon was clear but not as bright as before. The cool air caressed her skin as she breathed in deeply; the scent of dew filled her senses. She was lying on her back in an ocean of swaying blades of grass. The last thing she remembered was the limp, lifeless Caleb disappearing into the night as she fell off the Cornucopia.

She pulled herself up, boots flat on the ground, hands pushing herself to sit straighter. Wincing, she braced for pain that she thought would inevitably follow. She had expected burning, agony, something, but there was nothing.

The arena was murky, and the golden Cornucopia’s wide mouth glittered above her. Gone were the hanging tributes and the spider monster. Hazel cradled her hand into her lap as she examined it in the darkness; her intact palm confused her. Pearly, undamaged skin shone under the moon’s light. No dirt, no grime, and no blood. Gone was the jagged hole. She groped at her shoulder, but the bulk of the thick pink bandages were also missing. Am I dead?

“Hey,” the voice was closer now. Searching the dodecagon, she located a figure above her, peering from the shadows above the mouth of the Cornucopia. He swung his legs over the edge.

“Hey, Hazelnut,” the redhead called as he climbed down. “That was quite the dismount.” His skin and clothing squeaked as he slid to the earth below.

Hazel buried her head in her unblemished hands. Definitely dead.

She forced her fingertips against her temples, pushing away a throbbing sensation that thrummed inside her skull.

“You know, I expected more out of the afterlife.” She rubbed her thumbs harder along her brow ridges without looking up.

Two warm hands covered hers, peeling them away from her temples. Cedar was kneeling before her; his green eyes twinkled with warmth, even in the darkness of the night.

“You aren’t dead.” He tilted his head, watching her closely. A sparkle of humor flashed through his eyes.

She pulled her hands into her lap, further studying her unblemished palm. “Aren’t I?”

Cedar shook his head but said nothing. She shivered as her frown deepened.

“You really should be happier about that,” Cedar smirked.

She studied her intact hands in her lap, all humor absent from her tone, “I was ready. I am ready.” She paused, staring up at him. “Ready to send Silus home to Seven. Ready to see you again.”

“It’s not time for that yet.” Cedar’s eyes softened, and he ruffled her hair, “And you see me all the time.”

She looked away from him, staring at the grass. It is not the same.

“Ah, you mean the real me.” Cedar sank to his knees before her.

Hazel chewed on her lip but didn’t look at him.

“I understand. I am just a placeholder. A shadow of who he was.” He whispered.

Hazel's brows furrowed, “You are a ghost haunting my dreams. Haunting me.”

His eyes searched hers, “You’ve been haunting yourself. Torturing yourself. You’ve merely attached your beloved uncle’s face to the executioner of your self-punishment.”

Hazel scrunched her nose and scowled at the midnight sky. Haunting myself…

Cedar leaned forward and placed a palm against her cheek, turning her head to face him, “A mind can do incredible things to protect itself.”

“Protect? Mine seems to be hell-bent on torturing me.”

“I’m not saying it's perfect, but there is a way to make it stop. There’s a path to peace. “

Hazel stared into his emerald eyes, a questioning look formed on her features. She gestured wildly around her, “Look where I am. Peace is no friend of mine. Peace won’t get Silus home.”

Cedar’s face fell, “It’s time to let me go.”

Hazel’s eyes hardened, and she scoffed. “How is that going to help anything?”

“You need to heal, move past this grief. The one who clings to the anchor will drown. Release what’s holding you down, so when the storms inevitably come, you won’t sink.”

“Does letting go mean I won’t see you anymore?

Cedar nodded solemnly, meeting her eyes without wavering.

Hazel shook her head vehemently. “I’d rather see a shadow of you than never see you again, even if you’re just a creation of my mind.”

Cedar’s green irises glowed brighter in the light of the moon. “Then your grief will drown you.”

Hazel closed her eyes and covered them with her palms. “I’m not afraid to die. I just can't. Not now.” Tears welled at the corners of Hazel’s eyes, but she didn’t look up at him. “I’m not ready.”

Cedar moved closer, placing both hands on her shoulders. “You can. You have the strength within you to realize it. Remember what I’ve always told you. You, my girl, are capable of amazing things.” He sighed, voice barely above a whisper. “Goodbye, Hazelnut.”

“No,” Hazel choked out. “Not goodbye. See you soon, Cedar.”

The hands that had held her shoulders released their grip, and as the wind picked up, a heavy scent of rain filled the air. “Wait…” Hazel’s voice cracked with emotion, thick and hoarse.

She pulled her hands away from her face, but Cedar was gone. Her world spun, grass cradled the back of her head once again.

“Haze?” Silus chocolate eyes raked over her in terror. She was lying on her back, the moon above her shrouded by thick rain clouds. “It’s me.”

Her brow crumpled in confusion, “Silus?”

She moved to sit up, but the throbbing in her head exploded into a burst of vertigo. She scrambled to steady herself, focusing on remaining conscious as her nervous system notified her of more, sharper pain in her shoeless foot. Her left hand throbbed; a thick reddish-brown crust stuck to her lacerated palm.

“Don’t move,” Silus warned, eyes wide and wild. He searched her from head to toe, pausing at her feet, “I think you have a broken ankle.”

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Hazel lay back against the grass, the cool blades tickling her neck. She pressed her fingers harder against her temples. The pounding in her head and the threat of passing out distracted her from the growing ache in her left foot.

“You really should pick up some shifts at the hospital. Ms. Larkin would love you.”

Silus turned back to her face, shaking his head, “And a concussion, apparently.”

She moaned as she tried to move her foot, but a sharp stabbing sensation shot up her calf.

“Don’t,” Silus warned. “Hold still.” He dumped the contents of the backpack out next to her. The bandages scattered all around them. He dragged his fingers through the items, pulling out the pink wrap and tape.

“You found it,” she mused in a light, almost hysterical tone. A spark of satisfaction filled her; the blooms were within reach once again.

“It wasn’t hard; you left it in the middle of the field.”

“Right,” she chuckled under her breath. “I was going to go back ….” She waved a loose hand in the air, “after…thought Ruby would need some of the bandages.”

She froze for a second and moved to sit up again.

Silus stiffened and paused his sorting of the supplies to grip her shoulder, “Woah, Haze.”

“Where’s Ruby?” she asked as blinding pain made her vision blurry.

Silus placed both of his hands on her shoulders, “Lay back.”

“Where is she, Silus?” Hazel asked, gritting her teeth and peeking out at him in between winces.

Silus stared down at her before he glanced at the Cornucopia. “She’s here.”

Hazel scowled in confusion, “Here?” She followed his glance toward the Cornucopia, squinting through the pain.

“She’s in there,” Silus sighed, chewing on his lip. He pulled the pink wrap out and began encircling her ankle in tight loops. “She is in bad shape, Haze…..Caleb got her good.” His eyes flickered to hers before returning to her ankle.

Hazel searched for Ruby in desperate glances, “Can I see her?”

Silus sighed and shook his head, “Figures you would break your leg, get a head injury, and still be incredibly stubborn.”

Hazel nodded and gritted her teeth, hissing as Silus pulled her ankle off the ground to secure it fully with the wrap.

“What happened to Caleb?” Silus questioned, but from his tone, he had an idea of the answer.

Hazel looked up into the sky. There was nothing left of Caleb outside of the knife protruding from the Cornucopia, streaks of bloody handprints, and her lone boot lying in the field. “Gone.”

Silus gazed down at her, “You tried to sacrifice yourself for me again.” His eyes were hard as brownstone as he finished his bandaging.

“Nothing you wouldn’t have done. Did you expect any less?”

Her ankle now sported an obscene amount of pink wrapping. It would have to make due for the time being.

“I shouldn’t have, I guess.” Silus gaze met hers for a lingering moment. He searched her face a beat longer before placing his hands on his thighs, “Ok, let’s get you out of here before it rains.”

Above them, storm clouds made the impossibly dark sky an even deeper shade of black.

“Agreed,” Hazel replied again, trying to sit up before pain forced her back prone.

“Easy,” Silus warned as he placed a large arm under her knees and another behind her back. With a gentle motion, he stood, pulling her up from the ground with him.

Hazel chewed her cheek as another wave of agony washed over her entire body. Pain bit and licked like fire along her nerves. She sucked in a sharp breath and squeezed her eyes closed.

“Sorry,” he whispered as he carried her under the covering of the Cornucopia.

He kneeled and, as gently as he could manage, laid her down next to a tiny form, snoring softly. Hazel covered her mouth as her eyes met an unconscious but breathing Ruby. Crimson stained her chest and neck. Haggard strands of her hair were clotted with dirt and blood. Pink bandages were wrapped around her throat and shoulder. Her eyes remained closed, but a gentle snoring sound came from her dusty purple lips, and much of the rosy color her cheeks usually sported had faded.

Hazel ran a trembling finger over the girl’s soft curls. Tears pricked behind her eyes. Silus was right; she was in a dire condition. Was the injury really this severe? Her unconscious state was alarming and could only mean a handful of things, and none of them were ideal.

“Oh Rubes” Hazel murmured.

Silus coughed and stood up, “I’m going to get the supplies before they are all ruined.”

He trudged off toward the backpack and the wound care supplies scattered in the grass.

Hazel scooted herself closer to Ruby, her back against the metallic wall. She pulled one of the girl’s dainty hands into her own, running her fingers over the soft, brown, and red-stained skin. This is all my fault.

“Hang in there, little one.” Hazel’s voice cracked as she whispered.

Ruby didn’t respond but continued to snore, eyes shifting beneath her eyelids.

Silus returned as the rain started, dropping the bag at his feet before settling beside Hazel, his axe resting across his lap. He glanced at Ruby, his expression pulled taut.

She could barely make out a tear working its way down Silus's face in the dusky light. It was like a drop of dew in the dim hours of the early morning.

“Silus?” Hazel whispered, leaning her head back against the metal, trying her best to ignore her screaming ankle.

Silus swatted at the tear on his cheek, “I’m alright. I thought you were…I thought he got you. You scared me.”

“And here I figured you had faith in me.” Hazel winked at him.

He scoffed, covering a slight twitch of his lips, “I do.” He sighed, commenting in an even softer tone, “More than you know.”

“Hmmmm,” Hazel replied, closing her eyes and leaning further against the structure. She patted the grass next to her. Silus grunted and scooted closer until he was sitting beside her, leaning against the Cornucopia’s wall. Hazel leaned her shoulder against his. His red-bladed axe rested in one hand while Hazel curled her fingers around the other.

After a few quiet moments of listening to the gentle rain, Silus asked, “Who were you talking to when I woke you?”

Hazel’s eyes flickered to him before she let out a lingering sigh, “Cedar.”

A flash of melancholy understanding crossed his features.

“Do you ever dream of Dahlia?”

Silus leaned further against the Cornucopia, “Sometimes, more when I was younger.”

“Does she ever talk to you?”

Silus shook his head, “Not really. It’s always the same dream. We are in the woods. It’s early morning, calm, quiet. She smiles, just like I remember. I know she wants me to follow her. I try, but I can never keep up. She then disappears, just like the day she left.”

Hazel hummed softly as she listened, “I’m sorry, Silus.”

“Don’t be.” Silus eyed her, “I used to be so angry she left us. But if she hadn’t…” He closed his eyes, leaning his head back, “There would never have been Sage, Linden, Lily... and then, of course, there is you.” He reopened his eyes, tears clearly welled within them. “I used to wish she would come back, but I would never trade our family now.”

Hazel nodded and leaned her head against his shoulder, “I wouldn’t either.”

Silus sighed, rubbing his eyelids, “What does Cedar say?”

Hazel pushed the throbbing to the back of her mind, “Depends on the day. But this time, he said that I have to learn to let him go.”

He shifted, and she could tell he was peering down at the top of her head.

“We’ve already lost so much,” her voice cracked, “I’m not letting go of anything or anyone.” She tightened her grip on Silus’ hand.

His exhale pushed her hair across her face, his voice deepening and softening, “It’s not terrible advice, Haze. You won’t find peace until you do.”

Hazel opened her eyes and looked down at Ruby's serene features. She pulled the girl’s hand further into her lap, stroking small circles over her knuckles.

“That’s funny, he said the same thing. But I don’t need peace.” Her voice trailed off. Silus pressed closer, running a soothing finger over the skin of her hand.

The pull of sleep clouded the edges of her consciousness. The storm thickened around the cornucopia, and the tangy smell of fresh rain seeped into her pores. Tinkling raindrops danced overhead on the metallic surface. It was the most serene the arena had been.

Even from this distance, Hazel could make out the hint of the last blue flower shoved at the bottom of the backpack. Tomorrow, I will sneak it out when Silus isn’t looking. Forgive me, Cedar, but healing won’t matter soon anyway.

Hazel glanced at him over her shoulder. He was staring at her, jaw tight.

“Wake me up every couple of hours, will you?”

“Of course.”

“Love you always, little brother.” She murmured, closing her eyes once again, resting her head fully on his arm, his hand trapped within her own.

“Always,” He murmured against her hair.

Hazel allowed the throbbing in her head and the overwhelming urge to sleep to take over. Within the hour, she was too far gone to detect how the gentle patter of rain crescendoed into thundering showers. Nor did she notice the soft snoring fading away, a warm palm in hers growing icy, or the metallic clink of a key turning.