As the sun dipped lower, dark clouds gathered in the distance. Hazel wrapped her arms around her legs, digging her toes into the cool sand beneath her. The breeze, once warm, now carried a chill as the day faded into evening. She breathed in deeply, savoring the refreshing scent of approaching rain and the rhythmic lull of the waves. The soothing sensations allowed her to momentarily escape the lingering, metallic stench of blood and death that clung to the air.
Resting her chin on her knees, Hazel remained still, her stare fixed ahead. The tears and blood had long since dried, leaving a blush-tinted residue on her skin.
Near the water's edge, the black blanket was now draped over Aaron's body. The rising wind licked at its corners, making it flutter like a macabre flag. Hazel let out a shuddering breath as she stared at the figure. She envisioned Mayor Garth Shepherd's elegant face, realizing he would never see his son alive again.
Hazel buried her head in her arms, inhaling deeply. What if Heath had left well enough alone? What if Oren had? Perhaps Aaron would still be breathing. Hazel's eyes blurred as a tear escaped, trailing slowly down her cheek. She brushed at it absently, her fingers leaving a damp streak on the fabric of her sleeve. Each droplet felt heavy, burdened with the weight of her guilt.
Behind her, the murmur of voices felt like white noise. The rest of the group was quietly conversing and eating. The jokes and daydreams were long gone.
Ethan, with a new bright pink strip of bandage adorning his shoulder, repeatedly thanked Ian for saving his life. Ian shrugged and brushed off the gratitude.
Ruby said little, offering a soft thank you to Ian but remained close to Ethan's side. A new bandage of her own in place.
Kai tried to engage Ruby, but she largely ignored him.
Hours had passed since their confrontation with District Four, yet Hazel's nerves remained frayed. The group's casual chatter faded into background noise like the lull of the ocean. Lost in her thoughts, Hazel flinched as a hand landed softly on her shoulder. Her heart raced, a sharp intake of breath cutting through the silence as her muscles tensed instinctively.
Silus settled into the sand beside her. "Easy, it's just me. You want something to eat?" His voice was thick, yet he managed to keep his emotions in check. He's so much stronger than I am. She sighed, wiped her eyes and offered him a brief smile that resembled more of a grimace but declined the offer.
Silus didn't press her but simply nodded at her refusal. He shifted closer until their shoulders rested against one another. His presence was comforting, and Hazel was almost grateful he was here with her. Almost.
"So, you are after that blue haired bastard too?" Ethan's voice suddenly rose, pulling Hazel's attention back to the group. Ethan, holding a strip of smoked trout, paused, and looked at Ian across the gap between them.
Ian's face grew serious as he took the trout. "You could say that" he replied tearing off a bite.
"Well, I'm going to make sure that prick gets nothing from these games." Ethan replied, talking with his mouth full of partially chewed trout, "We are already halfway there, considering Eve is... you know," Ethan said, his voice trailing off as he met Hazel's eyes.
"I would think allowing mentors to bet on the games would be illegal," Silus questioned, taking a sip from one of the glass water bottles.
Ethan sneered, bits of soft chewed trout raining from his mouth, "As if the rules apply to him. He believes he's above the law. "
"And do you know what?" Ian leaned in, "He's right." Ian observed Ethan's expression thoughtfully, drawing his braid over his shoulder and idly twirling the ends between his fingers, "Or at least, he believes he is."
Ruby edged closer to Ethan, her pick in hand, "How often does he visit district eight?"
Ian frowned deeply, "Too often."
"It sounds like we're after the same thing," Ethan responded.
"That's what it sounds like," Ian commented, working at unweaving his braid.
"Who would have thought I'd find common ground with you," Ethan said swallowing down what was left of the trout with large gulps of water. "No offense, but the murderous tribute from district eight is hardly the person I pictured myself agreeing with."
"Understandable," Ian shifted his gaze to the sea. "The games are nothing if they aren't full of surprises," he observed his gaze briefly meeting Hazel's.
Hazel silently watched him finish undoing his braid. He raked his fingers through, pulling at the knots with his nails. With his hair down he looked more innocent, younger. It was almost as if he wasn't the same boy who had murdered Ava and Iris Overstreet.
"Do you think Caleb sent district four?" Ruby chimed in, glancing over at Aaron's body.
"Does it matter?" Ian questioned. "Regardless of Caleb's involvement, the responsibility for your friend's death rests with the Capitol. Those tributes are merely executing the Capitol's orders."
"Careful, you sound an awful lot like a rebel," Hazel pointed out, meeting Ian's intense gaze.
Ian's eyes moved from Hazel to Aaron's still form and back again. "Maybe, but we all rebel in our own ways, don't we?"
Hazel's stomach dropped and was thankful she had not accepted food. She shifted uncomfortably at the insinuation he was making.
"Watch yourself," Silus warned in a deep voice, and Ian pressed his lips together, his attention shifting to his hands.
The sound of distant thunder broke Hazel's concentration on Ian. The dark clouds turned a deeper shade of gray blue, lit intermittently by flashes of lightning.
"I'll stay up tonight," she announced, "Keep watch on the sea, in case Marina decides to return. And I'll watch over... him."
The group gave her a look but offered no objection.
"I'll keep watch with you." Ian offered.
Hazel contemplated him for a second, before relenting, "Alright."
Hazel rose and swept another look over the group before striding towards the ocean as the air filled with static and a biting edge.
Silus' breathing grew louder behind her as he quickened his pace to catch up.
Silently, he accompanied her to the shoreline, where the ocean kissed the sand. The sunset painted the edges of the ominous clouds in neon shades of orange and pink, casting a warm glow over the water. She continued walking until the waves' chilly sting nipped at her toes.
Beside her, Silus stood, throwing furtive glances her way amidst his thoughtful observation of the sea.
"It's not your fault, you know," Silus remarked softly.
She stayed quiet, dodging his look. Her lip quivered as she struggled to stay calm under the burden of his statement.
"Maybe. Or maybe not," she murmured. She was unable to shake the guilt that ate away at her conscience. Regardless of Silus's opinions, their family was inextricably linked to Aaron's death, particularly Heath.
"What are you doing?" he eventually inquired.
She paused, letting the silence stretch between them before moving deeper into the waves.
"Haze?"
"Looking for my axe," she said softly, "I won't be much of an effective night watch if I'm unarmed."
Moving further in, she searched the water below. The eels had disappeared, leaving an eerie calm. She waded in until the tide lapped against her calves, welcoming the numbing sensation that spread over her toes.
"Are you going to be okay keeping watch with him?" Silus asked, moving closer to her.
She nodded, resting a hand on his shoulder, "I'll be fine. Get some rest, little brother."
"Don't stay out here too long. I'd bet money those eels aren't far off. If you don't find it in ten minutes, I'm pulling you out."
"Understood, mother," she responded, giving him a weak smile.
He rolled his eyes, nudged her shoulder, and walked back towards the palms and their group. She felt his watchful eyes on her as she waded deeper into the water. Suddenly, her foot hit something solid. It was the grim head of Flynn's harpoon at her feet. She recoiled, shivering at the thought of finding Flynn or whatever was left of him. She plunged her hands into the chilly water and retrieved the heavy, cumbersome weapon. Might as well salvage whatever I can find.
With another step, a recognizable shape emerged from the waves. Stooping, she retrieved one of the throwing axes. It lay in her open hands, devoid of any blood or signs of the battle. It was unblemished. If only erasing her own memories could be as effortless.
Fastening the axe to her belt and slinging the harpoon over her shoulder, she gave a final glance at the sunset, painted in shades of orange and red, before making her way back to the shore. Retrieving her boots and socks from where she had left them that morning, it seemed as though a lifetime had passed since then. She grasped her belongings and approached the group.
Everyone had settled into their resting spots. Ruby snuggled up to Ethan, while Silus and Kai sprawled out on the sand. Ian leaned back against a tree, his head resting on the trunk, Mia's knife lying across his lap.
Hazel whispered to Ian, "I'm going to get closer to the beach, just in case."
"Okay," he responded, his eyes briefly scanning the harpoon in her hands, though his expression remained stoic.
Her voice sounded awkward as she fiddled with the handle of the harpoon, "Oh, and thank you for helping us today."
"Don't thank me," he replied. He flashed a dismissive smile, waved her off, and started combing his fingers through his hair to re-braid it.
Relieved that he seemed uninterested in discussing the day's events further, Hazel sighed and left him to his task.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Hazel chose a secluded part of the beach, allowing her space yet enabling her to watch over the group. She sat on the sand, putting on her shoes and socks, lacing them tightly. Then, crossing her legs, she gazed out to sea.
As the hours crept by, Hazel absorbed the nocturnal chorus of the island. The escalating unrest of the eels resuming their tumult in the waves provided a harmony to Ethan's steady snoring. The blanket flapped rhythmically in the persistent wind. The image of the black blanket plagued her vision, like a dark ghost.
On the distant horizon, almost imperceptible against the night sky, the thunderstorm brewed. It approached the island at a glacial pace, so slow that Hazel initially wondered if it was merely a trick of her imagination or a frozen shadow lingering just beyond the arena. Occasional flashes of lightning, far off and muted by the distance, were the only indicators of its steady, inexorable advance. The air grew heavy, charged with the electric anticipation of the storm's arrival.
Despite the distant lightning and the full moon overhead, the darkness begged her to succumb to unconsciousness, but she resisted. The last thing she wanted was to drift into sleep, fearful of what was waiting for her in her dreams. With her eyes closed, she tried to summon images of her home, Rowan's laugh, Lily's flowers, Linden's drawings and Sage's curls—anything to momentarily escape the reality in which she was trapped.
She inhaled deeply, allowing her chest to expand until it was almost painful, her ribs pressing against the fabric of her clothes. Her feet sank further into the beach, the sand growing cooler the deeper she went. Wait. Opening her eyes, she looked down at her bare feet, her boots, lying undone beside her. She could have sworn she had put them on. Hazel ran a hand through her hair and rubbed her eyes. I'm losing it.
"Hazel," a deep voice whispered in the darkness, making her jump. The air had grown eerily calm. She glanced back at her companions. All were asleep, even Ian, who rested with his head rolled to the side against the palm. Turning back to the sea, she saw no one. The crescent moon's reflection danced on the serenely dark waters.
"Hazel," the voice called again, this time louder. Hazel stood up, drawing the axe from her belt and spinning around to find the voice's owner. But the beach was empty, except for Aaron.
"Hazel!" The call sent Hazel's stomach into somersaults as she pinpointed the sound's origin. Her hand flew to her fibrillating heart. The voice emanated from the silhouette under the blanket.
"Aaron?" she whispered, inching closer with hesitant steps. It couldn't be. He had been lifeless for hours.
"Hazel," the voice beckoned again. The figure remained still; even the blanket's edges were unmoving. His tone was altered, deeper, yet not foreign either.
Hazel approached the covered figure, her tentative fingers grasping the edge of the fabric. Inhaling sharply, she pulled back the cover. Her instincts screamed at her to close her eyes, fearing the sight of Aaron's lifeless face again. Green eyes locked onto hers. Yet, the shade was off; it wasn't the light jade hue that she knew belonged to Aaron, but a rich emerald.
As she gasped, covering her mouth, the figure greeted her, "Hey Hazelnut."
Hazel scrambled backwards, tumbling into the sand. She covered her face with her hands as panic surged through her veins. Shaking her head, she pressed her palms harder against her eyes. Wake up, Hazel.
"Why are you doing this to me?" Hazel gasped.
Cedar sat up, his red hair and clothes dusted with sand. He tilted his head towards her in the darkness, an all too familiar gesture that now twisted her heart with pain.
Hazel's surprised expression melted into a glare, her fear morphing into anger. "Why are you haunting me?" She loved him, yet his persistent presence in her dreams was becoming a torment she could not escape.
Cedar brushed the black blanket aside, rising slowly in the moonlight. He approached and crouched before her. "I'm not doing this," he said, gently pulling her hands from her face. His expression was sincere, his green eyes—so much like her own.
She shook her head, her mind seemed intent on tormenting her, unwilling or unable to move past the grief that clung to her like a second skin.
He knelt and enveloped her in his arms. She held onto him tightly, hiding her face in his sleeve. A coolness brushed her forehead like a frosty kiss, followed by another, then another. Thunder grumbled in the distance and the wind picked up around them. Slowly, the scent of Cedar faded, replaced by a new aroma. It was like perfume but more subtle, more natural. Roses. Puzzled, she pulled back. The green eyes had morphed into a deep, mesmerizing blue. Cedar had vanished, and warmth flooded her face as she realized she was in the strong embrace of another familiar figure. She pushed herself backward and shoved him, scrambling several feet away.
"Snow? What are you doing here?" Hazel choked out; her palms pressed against the sand as she steadied herself.
Snow emitted a soft chuckle before locking eyes with her. "Indeed, that is the question, Miss Marlowe. Why am I here?" His tone was teasing, almost playful.
Hazel stood up, feeling dizzy as she staggered a few steps back to widen the gap between them. Snow's attire was out of place and formal—a crisp black suit that matched the dark hues of the blanket. Notably absent was his signature flower. A blonde curl fell across his eyes, and he casually flicked it away.
"Should've known you would be wearing a suit, even on the beach," Hazel raised an eyebrow.
"Don't look at me. This is your dream, after all." He flashed a playful smile and winked at her. "Though I do know women generally appreciate a man in a suit."
She spared a glance to the harpoon, "If I harpoon you in my dreams, do you die in the real world?"
Suddenly, a loud crack of lightning startled her, and the sky lit up with a blunt white strobe, sharply contrasting with the dark clouds.
"I'm never going to sleep again." Hazel rubbed the skin between her eyebrows.
"Doubtful," Snow replied with a lazy smile. He glanced upward and his smile faded, where the previously distant thunder now grumbled ominously closer, and the intervals between lightning flashes grew shorter. As the storm brewed with increasing ferocity, he moved closer to Hazel, his voice intensifying against the backdrop of growing thunder. "You must run."
Hazel snorted at the absurdity of the statement. "What?"
Snow advanced another step toward her. She stood her ground, despite an instinctual urge to flee, reminding herself that he wasn't real. "Run." His voice cut through the thickening air, as the sky pulsed with electric tension.
Hazel scanned the deserted beach, illuminated intermittently by stark white lightning. Seeing nothing—and not that it mattered in a nightmare—she scoffed, "Funny, isn't it? Last time you haunted my dreams, you ridiculed me for running. Make up your mind, will you?" Her laugh was dry, but Snow's expression remained intensely serious.
Snow took several large steps until he was right in front of her. She raised an eyebrow at him, and just as she was about to step away, he firmly grasped her arms. "Snow, don't make me get the harpoon," she demanded, attempting to pull away by grabbing his hands and pushing against his arms, but he maintained his grip.
As another peal of thunder rolled overhead, Snow's voice became louder, more insistent against the howling wind. "Listen to me, run!" he urged. Each word was accentuated by the storm's increasing ferocity, as if nature itself was emphasizing the urgency of his plea.
Hazel was abruptly torn from her dreams by a crack of thunder and the feeling of cool frozen flakes caressing her face. Was it snowing? As she opened her eyes, she sensed something amiss. She was on her back, lying on the beach, with lightning flashing overhead and tiny snowflakes tangling in her eyelashes. Snow coupled with lightning was a phenomenon she had never witnessed. Yet, as awareness crept in, she realized that wasn't the sole irregularity. Her limbs were heavy, like they were lead. She was being held down by something. A dark braid obscured her view. No, not by something. She found herself gazing into Ian's deep, midnight eyes.
He had her pinned to the sand, but what was more disturbing was the cold touch of metal at her neck. A sharp terror zipped through her, electrifying every inch of her body from head to toe.
"Same side, huh?" she croaked, gazing up into his hollow irises while tugging at her legs pinned to the ground by his knees. The axe at her belt dug into her back, and from the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of the harpoon's silhouette. The weapons were within reach, yet they seemed miles away.
"I didn't exactly lie. I said I'd show you which side I'm on." He replied, one hand held Mia's knife to her throat, while the other held her arms to her chest.
"Clearly. And here I thought I wasn't the center of the games. At least not yours"
"Ok I did lie about that," he responded, his dark eyes devoid of fear or regret, "You were never the bait." He moved the knife closer to her neck, and she recoiled further into the sand.
On the edge of her vision, she noticed the other tributes still sleeping, undisturbed. She silently hoped the thunder and lightning would rouse them.
"If you scream, I'll be forced to kill them all," Ian warned, shifting his weight, and glancing at the sleeping tributes before returning his attention to her.
"Why are you doing this?" Her eyes began to sting with fear and panic.
"I thought you would have figured that out by now."
Hazel struggled to keep her thoughts clear of panic with the knife in her neck. Tears began to slide down her temples, dripping into her hair and the sand.
"Don't cry. It may not seem like it, but I'm doing you a favor, Hazel." Ian tilted his head searching her face.
Hazel scoffed, forcing more warm tears to slip down her face.
"I know it doesn't seem like it now..." His eyes became distant and hard. "But I promise you, a valiant death is better than anything waiting for you outside this arena."
"Is that what you told Ava?" She questioned; her stare unflinching.
Ian's eyes gleamed in the moonlight, replying softly, "Actually, yes."
"What do you think happens when you're a victor of the Hunger Games, Hazel? Do you think you belong to yourself?" he probed, his gaze piercing into hers before sweeping over her and then returning to her face.
She shifted, uneasy under his gaze, and averted her eyes. The insinuation left a bitter taste in her mouth, stirring nausea.
Ian leaned in closer, whispering in her ear, "Death would be a welcome ally compared to the predators awaiting your victory. And yes, that's what I told Ava. I spared her from a fate far worse than death." He paused, a tear welling up in his eye that he brushed away with his elbow, "Someday her mother will be grateful to me."
Hazel cursed him under her breath.
A sense of dread filled Hazel at the thought, "I don't believe you."
"Whether you believe it or not doesn't really matter," he persisted.
"I still don't understand. This is about Snow, isn't it?"
Ian's hold grew firmer, and the knife drew nearer. "It's far more than just Snow," he murmured close to her face. "The Capitol is teeming with people who make what I have done look like a children's bedtime story."
More tears leaked down her face as she closed her eyes, "At least tell me why I have to die."
Ian pulled her wrists that were in his hand down until they were resting on her abdomen and backed the knife away from her neck. It was still hovering around her collar bone but at least it wasn't snuggled against her jugular. She opened her eyes, and he was searching her face. For several moments they stayed there in silence, as if he was contemplating what to say. Or how much to say.
Ian's eerily calm voice cut through the howling wind, "Snow isn't the only one who will benefit from you being the victor. There are numerous wealthy donors betting on you. And from that delivery from your mentor, their numbers are even greater than I had anticipated. I refuse to let those butchers get what they want."
"So, you became a butcher yourself?"
He snorted and shook his head. "I might have blood on my hands..." At that moment, the ground shook as another crack of lightning streaked across the sky above them like electric branches of a tree. He smirked up at the sky before his gaze returned to her, "They are bathing in it."
Another crack of lightning made Hazel jerk. Ian's form was illuminated above her, his hair standing on end as static circulated around them. The strobing flashes lit up his eyes, rendering him equally mad and terrifying—worse than any monster Gaul could invent.
His focus drifted from her face to his knife, and his fingers twitched involuntarily. Hazel's pulse spiked, and her mind raced for any escape route.
"I thought you wanted Augustus to lose these games, just like Ethan," Hazel interjected, grasping at whatever thread she could to unravel his intentions.
"Ethan and I may share a common goal, but our methods for achieving it are quite different," Ian replied slowly, his voice low and steady. "If he knew what I know, he would have killed you long before I ever had the chance." Hazel shook her head, keeping the knife's edge in her peripheral vision. "And unfortunately, I need to act sooner rather than later—before you all finalize your plans to kill me," Ian added, exhaling sharply with a dismissive snort as he raised an eyebrow.
Hazel's jugular throbbed visibly against the skin of her neck. "How did you know that?"
"I was raised by my mother. She was deaf...." Ian's expression softened, his gaze shifting as he searched the beach, "And she taught me to read lips."
"What would she think of all this? Of you?" Hazel pressed, hoping to find a way to reason with him.
His gaze remained fixed on the sand next to her head. His voice grew so soft she almost didn't hear his response over the storm, "I don't know. You'll have to ask her."
Hazel squirmed as her stomach heaved; the axe at her belt felt like it was cutting into her spine, and she was getting nowhere. She was running out of time and had more questions than answers, but none of it mattered—she was about to die. Hazel looked up at the raging thunderstorm, the wind tugging at Ian's braid and unraveling it, sending strands whipping around his face. His reasoning remained wholly unclear. "You don't think you will win, do you?" Hazel questioned.
Tears glistening in his eyes amidst the near constant flashes of lightning. "I knew I would never go home the day they called my name."
"What about the rest your family?" Hazel implored, desperate for a sign of empathy. As she spoke, glittering snowflakes drifted down from the heavens, ensnaring themselves in his lengthy dark braid like pale insects caught in a web.
Ian shifted his gaze to the tempest overhead, allowing the snowflakes to settle on his skin where they dissolved swiftly, "We will all be together again soon."
Hazel grunted as she struggled against his wiry, desperate strength, but his grip was unyielding. He shifted the knife, positioning its tip over her heart as he shushed her. "I'm truly sorry, it is just the way it has to be," he mumbled softly.
Hazel writhed beneath him, her plea barely audible, "Please..."
He hoisted the knife above her, its tip pointing down toward her chest as lightning reflected in its surface. He pulled his eyes away from hers staring at her heart. She realized he was aiming. He held her stiffly as she kicked her legs trying to dislodge him and pulled on her arms in vain. A chilling scream, rivaling the thunder around them, escaped her lips as Ian plunged the knife downward.