A sharp cry of pain pierced the air as Hazel's pulse reeled. Owen came to an abrupt halt, glaring down at his impaled shoe. The deep blue, feathered end of an arrow protruded from the rounded toe of his leather boot. He bent forward, resting his hands on his knees, his eyes darting from his foot to the surrounding trees behind Hazel and Silus. Beside him, Grace froze; her arm fell limp at her side. Her dilated pupils brimmed with alarm but also something similar to acceptance.

A figure emerged from the shadows of the District Seven tract. Stray strands of ashy blonde hair clung to his forehead, framing a face marked by a tight jaw and light grey eyes that sparkled. A sleek, navy-blue bow stretched taut between his hands. A new arrow was already nocked, ready to fly at his command.

"Good afternoon, everyone," Ethan announced, a dry amusement coloring his tone as he surveyed the scene before him. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards while he examined the toe of Owen's boot.

Owen, wincing, extended a hand towards the feathered shaft, but Ethan's stern warning stopped him. "Go ahead and leave that there," he advised, the tension in the bowstring increasing subtly as he pulled back just a fraction more. Ethan's footfalls barely disturbed the dirt beneath his boots as he moved with a hunter's fluidity toward Grace and Owen.

Festus had never said they had an alliance with District Twelve. Yet, the blue feathered arrow that adorned Owen's shoe spoke louder than any formal agreement could.

Aaron, still clutching Mia's arm, glanced back and forth between Ethan and the two District Nine tributes, a look of realization washing over him. Seizing the moment, he helped Mia to her feet, and they limped across the last stretch of the field. Mia's eyes sparkled with gratitude and shock, even as her body trembled.

Ethan's voice carried as he addressed the tributes from Nine. "Wasn't expecting you two to be the ones ambushing Seven and Ten." He continued to move toward them with deliberate slowness.

Deep moans escaped Owen's throat as he struggled to draw in short, ragged breaths. Grace, with her spear now dangling at her side, shuffled, her eyes darting over her shoulder, a fleeting glance filled with unease. "We're just doing what we have to do."

As Hazel observed them up close, the evidence of their encounter with the Capitol's peacekeepers was unmistakable. A deep purple bruise, now turning a sickly shade of olive, almost completely obscured Owen's eye, with just a hint of his light blue iris peering out.

Grace bore purple and maroon bruises that bloomed like wild roses along her jaw and extended down her neck, while her clothing was spattered with dried, rusty brown stains across the sleeves and front. The reddened, chapped skin around her wrists peeked out from the cuffs of her shirt. "Maybe we can align with you guys?"

"Hmmm, depends." Ethan's voice lowered. "Either of you got a handcuff key on you?"

After a few silent moments, Grace shook her head, "No."

"Then, no, go on that alliance, darlin'." Ethan's eyebrow arched, and he tilted his head. "How'd the cuffs come off?"

A strained look passed between Owen and Grace. Grace bit her lip, and the two of them lingered in an awkward stance. But no words found their way to Ethan's question.

"If you don't have it, then someone else does and took the cuffs off for you?" Hazel found her voice despite her throat still feeling like sandpaper.

"Can I just... take out the arrow?" Owen looked back up at Ethan with his pale cerulean eye.

"Answer her question, and I might consider it," Ethan, un-swayed, inched forward, his bow still trained on the pair. "And go ahead and drop the spear, honey, while we're at it," Ethan directed his bow toward Grace, using it to indicate her limp, spear-wielding arm.

Grace hesitated, her fingers tightening around the handle. Ethan raised an eyebrow again. "Unless you would like a matching boot ornament?"

Grace's eyes grew distant and cold as she threw down the spear in front of her. It landed on its side, making a soft thud in the field. Owen grunted again; both of his knives lay in the grass around him as he gripped his knees harder.

Silus stepped forward, red axe in hand, and collected the discarded weapons. He deftly secured them in his belt and pockets before grabbing the long spear from the ground. Silus handed the spear to Hazel. She ran her fingers over the handle, the weight so much different than that of an axe. It was lighter but much longer. Its handle was covered in sweat and drops of blood. Her stomach churned at the thought of who the blood belonged to and how it got there.

"Answer the question," Ethan pressed, his voice growing more serious, the earlier smirk fading from his lips.

Grace and Owen looked at each other, seeming to contemplate the risks versus benefits of further divulging the truth. Grace pursed her lips ever so subtly.

"I saw you both at the beginning," Hazel drew their attention. Owen and Grace turned toward her. "When you fled to the District Nine tract, your cuffs were still on. If you had the key back then, freeing yourselves would've been your first priority," Hazel continued, scrutinizing their reactions. "Which means someone else must've freed you. But I don't see any other alliance partners around. If you do have an alliance, they're pretty lousy partners to leave you both to fend for yourselves and to attack us even though you are outnumbered and without backup."

Grace's lips parted, her gaze drifting from Hazel to the ground, her demeanor guarded. "Like I said."

"You're doing what you have to do," Hazel acknowledged. Grace nodded in agreement, the muscle in her jaw tight as she returned to staring at the grass at her feet.

Ethan suggested, "Why don't we search them, just to be sure?"

"Better to be safe than sorry," Silus nodded, sharing a quick, understanding look with Hazel. Together, they began moving closer to Owen and Grace.

"You two stay put while my lovely assistants conduct a brief search. Any sudden movements, and you can probably guess what I'll do." Ethan added, using his bow to point at Owen and then Grace.

Hazel found herself standing awkwardly in front of Grace, studying her closely. Grace's face bore crystalized traces of sweat and dried tears, her midnight hair tangled and unkempt, with specks of taupe grain seeds poking out amidst the strands. I have never searched for anyone before. Hazel patted down the pockets of Grace's pants, and her fingertips brushed against something hard and metallic. Grace drew in a sharp breath but remained still. Closing her hand around the object, she withdrew it, holding it up to the sunlight that bathed the arena.

In her palm lay a dark metal coin, its surface rusty and weathered yet still bearing the smoothness of age. Etched onto its face was a delicate wheat flower, once undoubtedly beautiful but now worn down by years of use. Hazel traced a finger over the image; it still held the faint remnants of its former glory. Flipping the coin over revealed the opposite side, adorned with a sickle. The tool resembled an axe. She glanced up at Grace, whose jaw was clenched, her umber eyes betraying a hint of tears.

"Is this from home?" Hazel whispered.

Grace's gaze dropped to the coin in Hazel's hand before returning to meet her eyes. It was as though she was transported to another time before she murmured, "Yes, it's my grandfather's."

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Hazel released a deep sigh, her other hand skimming the necklace beneath her own shirt. She ran a finger over the pendant. Then, with a gentle touch, she returned the coin to Grace's pocket, their eyes locking in a silent exchange as Hazel stepped back.

She could hear the heavy footfalls as Aaron jogged over to join them. Hazel glanced back, noting Mia's absence from the scene, hidden within the trees.

As Silus rummaged through Owen's pockets, the latter winced, doing his best to minimize movement and the agony it brought. Once satisfied, Silus straightened up, stepping back to blend with the group, his voice clear and firm. "No key on him."

Turning her attention back to the pair from District Nine, Hazel weighed their expressions, their fatigue, and the desperation etched into their features, "I believe they're telling the truth."

Surprise illuminated Grace's gaze, quickly crossing the distance to meet Hazel's.

"What should we do with them?" Silus's questioned.

Fear etched into Grace's expression.

"Whatever we decide, let's make it quick. My arms are killing me," Ethan remarked, adjusting his grip on his taut bow.

The group fell into a tense silence until Aaron spoke up. "If we let them go, they may come back to kill us later," he suggested, "They were ready to attack Mia without a second thought."

"We took their weapons. Owen is clearly injured," Hazel started, her voice steady despite the turmoil swirling within her. "And we outnumber them, and they know it. They might have chased us, but in the end, they're just trying to survive, like us. Let's keep their weapons and let them go."

"But if we truly think they are working with other tributes, that might not matter," Aaron countered, his shoulders squared.

"We could take them with us." Silus shrugged, peering over at the two for a brief second.

"As what?" Hazel's brow furrowed, "hostages?"

Silus shifted his weight, and his axe changed hands, "Yeah, I guess. That way, we can keep an eye on them. Plus, it keeps potential threats under our eye instead of behind our backs."

Ethan looked away, his expression unreadable for a moment before he finally spoke up, "An alliance is not an option. So, we drag them through the arena, hoping it doesn't slow us down or get us all killed?"

"We are setting ourselves up for whoever they are helping, finding out where we are," Aaron replied, rubbing his boot in the grass.

"Okay, you ready to kill them then?" Hazel scanned the faces of the three boys. Each bore a different expression of hesitation. Aaron avoided her gaze, finding interest in the dirt beneath his feet. Silus's grip on his axe loosened slightly. Ethan, too, looked away, his expression tense.

Faced with the decision of what to do with two tributes caught in the same madness as her, Hazel couldn't bring herself to agree that killing them was necessary.

"I know. Me neither." Hazel took a deep breath, her eyes moving from the agonized expression on Grace's face to the conflicted looks of her allies. "We're not executioners. We're tributes, just like them."

"Okay, let's let them go. But not before a little parting gift," Ethan declared. The sound of another arrow made Hazel shudder. It found its mark in Grace's calf with a sickening sound, prompting a piercing scream of agony from her. Hazel recoiled as deep red blood began to seep down Grace's leg, the arrow protruding.

Hazel shot Ethan a reprimanding look, her eyes then flicking back to Grace. "That wasn't necessary."

Ethan merely shrugged, "Just making sure they don't consider returning, not to mention making it a little harder for them to come back here physically."

Owen worked to remove the arrow from his foot. A sickening squelch filled the air as the tip was dislodged.

Meanwhile, the arrow in Grace's leg was wedged in the side of her calf; it seemingly had avoided any major arteries. Grace moaned in pain as she pulled it out and tossed it aside.

Hazel considered the absurdity of the situation – enemies by circumstance yet bound by a common struggle for survival. In her heart, she rebelled against the game's and Snow's rule that compassion was a weakness. Hazel unzipped the backpack slung over Silus's shoulder. She rummaged through it and pulled out a piece of fabric, once part of a makeshift face mask. A few shakes sent a cloud of sand particles flying from the fabric. She then used her axe to split the fabric into two, preparing makeshift bandages. With gentle concern, she approached Grace, who was clutching her injured leg in distress. Owen watched nearby, his expression troubled.

Hazel extended the mangled cloth to Grace. "Here. Wrap this around it as tight as you can stand." Grace accepted the wrap, her fingers stained with blood and grass as she secured the remnants of the face mask around her leg, knotting it in place. Hazel approached Owen next, handing the other piece to him. He took it quickly, distrust shining in his good eye.

Despite the risk of helping two tributes, she should consider her enemies; she found a certain humor in imagining Snow's reaction to it. Would he sneer, frustrated at her refusal to conform to his vision of kindness being weakness? The thought brought an unexpected smirk to her face.

With Grace and Owen managing to stand despite their injuries, they faced Ethan, who kept his bow aimed at them with unwavering focus. They stood close, supporting each other, their eyes flicking back to the group as they prepared to make their exit.

"Go ahead and run off, you two," Ethan said, a slight nod of his head signaling their release. Just as they turned to leave, Hazel's voice halted them. "Oh, and Nine?" They stopped, turning back with looks of apprehension. Hazel held their gaze, her expression serious. "Give Caleb and Elara my regards."

A brief moment of recognition, then resignation passed over their faces. Owen, favoring his injured foot, limped, his determination clear. Grace met Hazel's gaze one last time, a silent acknowledgment between them, before she, too, started to jog beside Owen. Supporting each other, they moved with difficulty, casting wary glances back at Hazel and her group, their figures blending into the landscape until they vanished into the foliage of the arena.

Meanwhile, Hazel and her companions retreated, backing into the dense underbrush of the District Seven tract. The forest seemed to swallow them whole, their cautious steps taking them deeper into the safety it offered. Mia's figure slumped against a redwood, greeted them, her trembling hands braced against the trunk.

Despite her shivering, Mia managed a weak but grateful smile toward Ethan. "You're a lifesaver," she murmured.

Ethan's lips twitched upwards, a hint of pride in his posture. "Don't mention it." Ethan tilted his head again, "I figured you lot would need me to save you. I just assumed you'd head straight here after the bell rang. Where did you go?"

"We ended up in District Ten's tract," Hazel replied, her eyes scanning their surroundings, weapons at the ready in case of any surprise visitors. The ground was littered with pine needles and the occasional fern, the air fresh and cool, a soothing relief after their ordeal in the desert.

Ethan's nose wrinkled in distaste as he looked over the sand, still clinging to them. "How was that?"

The wind cooled Hazel's sand-dusted skin as they shared a knowing look with Mia and Aaron. "Not ideal," she admitted, a smirk playing at her lips. "Seems Festus forgot to mention an alliance with District Twelve."

With a playful wink directed at Hazel, Ethan teased, "I thought sticking close to Senator Snow's favorite tribute would be the safest bet after the bell."

Hazel's snort was soft but filled with amusement. "Or the most dangerous," she countered, curious. "What's the real reason you're here?"

Ethan peered at the group with a half-smile. "Thought it'd be good to team up, even without making it official. I assumed you, Silus, and ten wouldn't object. "

Mia, catching Ethan's eye, nodded in agreement. "We definitely don't object now," she said, her voice carrying a tone of gratitude.

Silus, stepping over a fallen branch, "Couldn't agree more," he affirmed.

Ethan glanced around the forest, his casual shrug blending into the greenery. "Looks like we're making our own rules."

As they delved deeper into the woodland sanctuary of District Seven, the forest's ambiance enveloped them—a majestic mix of towering redwoods and pines, their canopies interlocking high above. The air was rich with the scent of pine and earth, a welcome relief from the desolate air of District Ten they had left behind.

Hazel surveyed the tract; remnants of the fallen trees were scattered around the ground on her first visit to the arena. The memory of falling to the forest floor with Snow and Festus filled her mind. Though the downed tree trunks had been removed, their large stumps remained, surrounded by sickly, wiry roots illuminated by the fading orange light. She stretched her left arm, and the rough texture of worn bandages stretched against her skin. The bandages, soaked in sweat and sand, clung to her. I need to change these soon. She made a mental note to ask Festus for wound care supplies.

Ethan, noticing her distraction, redirected their focus. "This way," he motioned, his voice cutting through the hush of the woods. "Found a spot that might give us the upper hand." He ventured ahead with ease, the navy blue bow slung over his shoulder, catching the last rays of sunlight.

Silus stepped closer, curiosity lacing his tone. "So, were you just hanging around here, waiting for us to show up this whole time?"

Ethan led the way with an ease that seemed almost too calm as he glanced back without missing a step. "I spent some time in the District Twelve tract first. Found some sweet tunnels to hunker down in. But," he paused, a grimace contorting his features, "Ran into some wicked growling noises during the night that didn't exactly welcome company."

Aaron's head perked up at that, "We ran into some bizarre-sounding creatures ourselves in the District Ten tract. They sounded like monstrous cows or something."

Acknowledging his input with a short nod, Ethan's attention returned to the path ahead. "Yeah, well, it was enough to scare me off. So, I made my way here, figured this tract would be where you all would end up eventually."

As they continued, Hazel wrestled with a nagging question that had been gnawing at her since she saw his figure emerging from the woods, bow in hand. Finally, she couldn't hold it back any longer. With a voice softer than intended, she asked, "What happened to Ruby?"

Ethan's steady pace faltered, then came to a complete halt.