The downpour slowed, the lightning ceased, and the thunder faded. Eventually, the storm cleared completely, leaving behind soggy earth in the dark hues of the early morning. Despite the storm's relenting, the smell of rain, mud, and iron hung in the atmosphere. Without the thrum of rainfall, the arena became quiet outside of Hazel’s sobs.

She gulped in rapid mouthfuls of the dewy morning air, sputtering as if she were drowning in the forest. Her airway was scorched, and her chest was being crushed under the weight of profound loss. No matter how hard she tried, it was as if she couldn’t get enough oxygen. The growing warmth of the coming day did little to stop her bone-deep shivering. A grief-stricken sob broke through her lips; it sounded distant like it hadn’t come from her own mouth. None of it seemed real, yet at the same time, reality was suffocating her. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was supposed to be me.

Biting her lip, she willed her breathing to calm and the ache in her heart to lessen, but neither obeyed. Thick streams of tears poured down her face, dripping off her chin and soaking into Silus' matted shirt. His body vibrated as she sobbed over him, her ear pressed against his chest. She didn’t dare move, hoping to hear the thud of his heart restart. Come on, Silus.

"You can’t do this to me," she murmured into his chest, salty tears sliding down her lips. The taste made everything more tangible. She was truly here, falling apart next to her brother’s lifeless body.

Her personal bubble of hell shattered when a flinty, disembodied voice rang out above her, "And we have our winner of this year’s Hunger Games! District Seven, Hazel Marlowe!"

The overwhelming silence that followed would have been laughable if it wasn't the most devastating statement she had ever heard. Another round of sobs shook her, and a sound that was neither a scream nor a cry escaped her lips, crafted from guttural, soul-crushing anguish.

Balling her fists in Silus's shirt, she pulled herself closer to him. For what seemed like hours, she remained there, hunched over her brother’s body, oscillating between sobbing uncontrollably and staring blankly in an unnatural silence.

The sun had nearly reached its peak in the sky when the crunch of footsteps through the underbrush met her ears. It started soft but grew louder and closer, like numerous pairs of boots weaving through the devastated forest. They are coming for me.

Hazel buried her head in the mud-stained fabric of Silus' shirt. The rich smell of rain-soaked earth and pine and the unique scent of Silus burned her sinuses. She willed herself to memorize it.

"Miss Marlowe," a foreign feminine voice called out to her. It was high-pitched yet carried an authority she recognized. Hazel didn't need to see the person to know a Peacekeeper when she heard one. She didn't move to acknowledge them, instead squeezing her eyelids shut.

Whispers followed slow, deliberate steps. Boots crunched closer until a heavy grip landed on her shoulder. Hazel's eyes snapped open, and she whirled around, shoving the offensive hand away, leaving a dirty imprint on her pristine uniform sleeve.

"Don't touch me," she hissed, her green irises wild. The young Peacekeeper's wide brown eyes met hers, and she retracted her arm as if nearly bitten by a snake. She backed away with her palms raised, staring at Hazel like a rabid raccoon.

Hazel’s bright, shimmering emerald eyes were rimmed with harsh red, filled with both sadness and anger. Her ginger tresses were matted and wild, the ends coated in various shades of earth. Her clothing was tattered and stiff, stained with the dark tan of crusted mud and splashes of crimson. Her entire body trembled, and her left palm sported a thick, ugly black and brown scab. Hints of dull pink peeked out from the collar of her shirt and her left calf. She internally scoffed. Given what she had endured over the past few days, she thought she probably resembled a wild animal more than a tribute.

The young Peacekeeper retreated further, her attention darting from Hazel to Silus. A flicker of sadness crossed her features as she continued to back away as if expecting Hazel to lunge at her at any moment.

The Peacekeeper squad formed a strict semicircle around Hazel. Their crisp, clean white uniforms harshly contrasted with the broken forest. Each held their weapons at the ready; all attention remained fixed on the blood and mud-soaked redhead, who had a turbulent glint in her eye. A few glanced at the knife near Hazel's knee but made no move to retrieve it.

Hazel shot a hard look at the weapon, which still bore faint traces of Silus's blood despite the downpour. Just looking at it seared her very soul. She wanted to throw it off a cliff, burn it in a fire, anything to wipe it from the earth and her memories. It was the reason Silus was not here.

Hazel tore her gaze away from the knife and looked back at Silus's stoic face. His features were relaxed, as if he were lost in a deep, serene dream. She couldn’t even remember the last time he looked so at peace. With trembling fingers, she peeled away a few strands of dark hair stuck to his face, tucking them back in place.

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“Come back to me, little brother,” she whispered. Among the squad watching her, the young female Peacekeeper straightened, her eyes softening slightly. Hazel didn’t care if they heard her or if they thought she had lost her mind. You all did this to Mia, Aaron, Ethan, Ruby, Kai, Silus, my family, and me—all of you.

The thought of her family back home and the fact they undoubtedly knew of Silus's fate brought a new wave of loss flooding over her like a cold bucket of water. An agonizing bubble of grief expanded within her chest until she felt it might burst. Her nose stung as a fresh well of tears burned behind her lids. Hazel clenched her jaw and pushed away the images of her family’s faces, willing the tears and panic down.

Someone mentioned cutting the live feed, and a hushed murmur of agreement moved through the group like a wave. Hazel scoffed at the thought of inconveniencing the audience. Anger sparked within her like the first flash of heat from a Firestarter.

Once at a distance she apparently deemed safe, the Peacekeeper who had touched her leaned toward one of her colleagues, whispering something low but abrupt without taking her scrutiny off Hazel. Another Peacekeeper pulled a radio to his mouth and murmured a few short phrases in hushed tones. He listened intently before responding with a low, "Understood, Sir."

The growing group of Peacekeepers didn't speak or attempt to touch her again. Instead, their footsteps softened as if they were slowly spreading out. Soon, what sounded like ten or so Peacekeepers grew to at least twice that number. They whispered about the evident destruction and the games as they crunched loudly through the forest until they were all around her.

Silus’s skin grew cooler against hers, the likelihood of his heart restarting slipping away. As the afternoon settled in, Hazel’s own skin began to warm, and her clothes dried, but despite the growing heat, her very bones and ligaments trembled as if it were a bitter winter.

Minutes melted into hours until the sound of long, confident strides through the underbrush cut through the gossiping, bored Peacekeepers. The footsteps were different; they didn’t sound like the heavy thud of boots; they were lighter but faster. And whoever it was was closing in on her until they paused just a few feet away.

A lingering sigh and a deep, utterly familiar voice followed, “Miss Marlowe.”

Her tears dried, and a sob died in her throat as the spark of anger grew into a flame at the sound of his voice. She peeled herself back from Silus, narrowing her gaze as she turned to the newcomer.

Senator Snow crouched beside her, close enough to reach out and grab her, but he merely observed. His gloved hands were folded together before him. His blonde hair shone like the white roses he so favored in the bright afternoon sun. His elegantly tailored gray suit looked out of place, just like the Peacekeepers and their neatly pressed uniforms. Despite his professional attire and confident posture, dark purple and grey tones encircled his blue eyes. Edges of Snow’s fine suit were wrinkled. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. A small bit of satisfaction filled her. Good.

He was one of the last people she wanted to see. Why was he here? Why send him? To further thrill the audience? The notion of continuing any charade in her current circumstances made her want to tear out her hair, especially with the man who orchestrated her brother’s death.

He tilted his head as he observed her; his observation softened a fraction as they met hers.

Hazel said nothing, barely blinking as she stared him down. Her body was exhausted, her soul crushed, yet anger simmered in her heart. This was as much his fault as anyone's. Actually, no, it was more his fault.

“It’s over,” he finally whispered to her. His eyes flitted over Silus's form, pausing on his wrists before returning to meet her gaze.

“No,” Hazel croaked, shaking her head, her grip unwavering from Silus’s shirt.

“He’s gone.” Snow’s voice lowered.

Sorrow and fury washed over her from the tips of her hair to her toes, and involuntary tears trickled down her cheeks. Him saying it out loud made it all too real. The new tears retraced the previously dried trails. She turned away from Snow, rubbing her shoulder against her face to wipe them away without letting go of Silus. She eyed the knife for a brief moment before Snow continued.

“I know you are upset, but it’s time to let go. Let us take care of him.” His voice grew closer, and she could hear his shoes shifting nearer. She turned back to him, glaring at his shiny dress shoes. He scanned her, his scrutiny pausing on her multitude of injuries and bloodstains. "Take care of you,” he said. An almost understanding expression filled his features. She glanced around, wondering if the live feed was back on as anger continued to sizzle within her. Impressive performance.

“Take care of me,” Hazel nearly spat out the phrase under her breath.

Snow murmured, ignoring her mutterings, “Come with me. Let me help you.” He reached his gloved hand out toward her. His palm was turned up toward the forest’s canopy, and the dark leather gloves reflected the bright sun.

I’ve had enough of your help. Hazel merely glared at his hand, “I’m not leaving him.”

Snow let out a lingering sigh, whispering in an even softer tone, “You have won. You are the victor. You need to accept it.”

Hazel's eyes met his again. Warm tears snaked down her skin as her lip quivered. "I don’t want it. I never did."

He held her gaze for several beats, then withdrew his outstretched hand and nodded his head almost imperceptibly. He glanced briefly at the forest behind her before locking eyes with her once again. He tilted his head to the side, his voice soft and grave: “I know.”

A 'whoosh' sliced through the tension. A sharp sting bit into Hazel's neck, and she gasped, releasing Silus. She instinctively reached for the source of the pain, but before her fingers could reach it, the world spun. Trees, branches, leaves, and blood melded together. The last thing she saw was the blue of Snow’s eyes melting into the arena’s sky before she slipped into darkness.