A bone-chilling breeze swept over Hazel, icy tendrils licking at the exposed skin of her face and arms. Shivering, she opened her eyes and wrapped her goose-fleshed arms around herself. She was in the woods, again, alone in the center of a fresh clearing. Wide stumps were scattered across the space like haphazard polka dots. The mossy ground was tinted brown with sawdust and shards of limbs. Several downed trees were abandoned and shattered in a winding row. The area had all the telltale signs of illegal domino felling but not a soul was in sight.
Despite the bright blue sky, she trembled. Her eyes slid closed as she drew in a deep breath. She sighed at the familiar smell of the air, Cedar. It was one of her favorite scents in the whole world. None of the other woods could quite compare. Much of the furniture in their house was made of cedar - their dining room table, her mother's hope chest, and even the little animals her uncle had once carved for her were crafted from the fragrant softwood. It embodied everything that was home. Everything that was District Seven.
'Snap'. Hazel's eyes shot open at the sound behind her. Whirling around, she rechecked the clearing. A small movement at the tree line caught her attention. Squinting, she realized it was a flash of a deep green coat tail moving through the underbrush.
'Snap.' The sound came again, closer this time. A tall figure was draped in a dark green coat, the silhouette standing out against the forest backdrop. The person appeared to be facing her. She swallowed down her fear and moved forward. As she drew closer, Hazel could finally see emerald eyes and a lock of auburn red hair peeking out from under his hood. He remained silent, just watching. He didn't seem to be armed, nor did he make any move to harm her. Hazel took a few more steps closer as if approaching a wild animal. He stood, motionless and silent, as she neared him.
"Uncle Cedar?" she murmured. At the sound of his name, his face registered a brief flicker of recognition, but he remained otherwise still, continuing to watch her without speaking. "Why are you here? Why are you haunting me?" Hazel’s voice quivered. The memory of him dying seemed distant and surreal now that he stood before her. Don’t disappear. He remained silent, observing her without blinking. Time seemed to stretch on in the quiet of the forest.
Gradually, his expression shifted as she neared. His face remained stoic, but his eyes betrayed a deep pain, and soon, a tear trailed down his cheek. She paused; she had no memory of him ever crying when she was a little girl. He had always been joyful and fun-loving, a constant source of happiness in her life.
Another tear broke away from his eyes, and Hazel closed the remaining distance between them and wrapped her arms around him. His body was cool, almost damp to the touch, unlike the warm hugs she remembered. But to her, the physical sensation was inconsequential. She would have given anything to hug him one more time when she was a child.
He began to move, reciprocating her hug. He rested his cheek on top of her head. After a brief moment, Hazel heard his voice, not exactly as she remembered but similar enough to stir a deep sense of familiarity. "Hey Hazelnut.”
Cedar was the only one who had ever called her that. She had not heard the nickname since she was five. She tightened her embrace, fearing that he might disappear if she loosened her grip. In all the time she had nightmares, he had never let her get close enough to hug him.
As they held each other, his coolness soon gave way to an unnatural warmth. The odd sensation spread across her chest and down her back. At first, she thought it was body heat, but the sensation was different, like warm soup being poured over her. Confused, she pulled back. To her horror, she saw her shirt covered in red blood. Startled, she shot a look at Cedar, whose eyes were solemn and fixed on her, but he began to sway.
Hazel grasped his arms to steady him. Her eyes fell to his chest; blood was seeping through his jacket, saturating the fabric right over his heart. Two matching stains darkened each wrist of his green coat. The stains expanded, and as they did, Cedar's face grew pale.
"Oh my god," Hazel choked out, pressing her hand to Cedar's chest as she guided him down. He complied, but his movements were uncoordinated as he lay flat. Despite her efforts, the blood continued to pour, pooling around her palm and spilling over the sides of his chest onto the soft ground beneath him. Both his hands were coated in deep red liquid.
Cedar placed his hand over hers, their palms soaked in the pool of his blood. "I am not haunting you." He reached up to cup her cheek, and Hazel felt the coolness of his hand but also the sickly warmth of his blood. What? "I am here to warn you," he whispered as he evaporated into thin air, and the loud sound reverberated around her like knuckles against wood.
Suddenly, Hazel shot up in bed, the dream dissolving into the nightmare of her reality. A loud knock echoed through the room, jolting her further. She reached up to touch her face, half expecting to find blood, but there was nothing. The dream had felt so real, so visceral. Her heart pounded as the door swung open.
A peacekeeper entered, a fabric bundle in his arms. He tossed it on the floor, "Get dressed; we leave in 20 minutes."
Hazel's mind was still reeling from the dream, but the abrupt intrusion and the peacekeeper's words snapped her back to her current situation.
Hazel took a few deep breaths to steady herself, looking out of her window at the dark morning sky. She dragged herself out of bed and picked up the pile of clothing. The outfit consisted of dark gray pants, a white undershirt, and a green plaid top.
The thought of the day ahead made her shudder. She dressed and checked the bandages covering her scratches, tucking Cedar’s necklace under her shirt. She pulled her long hair up, securing it out of her face.
Her gaze then fell on the white rose. She stared at the delicate flower for a few moments before tossing it in the trash. There was something about the card that compelled her to keep it, and she slid it into her shirt pocket.
As Hazel finished lacing up her sturdy dark brown boots, the door to her room unlocked and swung open again. This time, Festus stood in the doorway, his usually neat curls frizzy and disheveled. There were bags under his eyes, and the air filled with a faint tinge of posca. He looked as though he hadn't gone to sleep yet.
"Festus?"
"I need to speak with you before they take you to the arena," he said, his voice carrying a sense of urgency.
"You are going to have to be fast. What do we need to talk about?”
"Alliances. I was able to secure one with Districts Ten and Eleven,” Festus’s eyes swept around the room that had been her home for the last few days with a hint of mild disgust.
"And District Twelve?"
"Waste of time," Festus dismissed. "If you had played nice, I might have been able to get District One."
She shook her head, "Talk about a waste of time. Ten and Eleven are good."
Festus strode closer, his demeanor more somber than she had ever seen. He placed his hands on her shoulders and looked her directly in the eyes, "Listen carefully," he started. "In the arena, your first instinct might be to rush towards the center for supplies, but you need to exercise caution. If you don't have a clear shot at the weapons, it's safer to stay away from the center. It often turns out to be the deadliest spot. I'll do my best to help you and Silus by sending what I can. We have enough sponsor money, so don't worry too much about finding food or water. Let me help with those. Focus on surviving the other tributes, and let me take care of the necessities."
Hazel took a moment to really look at him, studying his face. Festus's approach took her aback. Her previous resentment towards the Creeds lingered, yet it had dimmed in light of Festus's support. She recognized that Festus had his own motives for wanting a victory, but he also seemed to be an ally in the current circumstances. Even though she wasn't entirely convinced of his genuine care, she appreciated his assistance.
Festus paused, allowing Hazel a moment to grasp the significance of his advice fully. "And don't underestimate the qualities you possess. You're observant and quick to adapt – these traits can be your weapons, just as much as any blade or axe."
His stare grew more intense as he continued, "You downplay your strengths because they're not wholly physical. But in the arena, it's these very qualities that could make you a victor."
I’m no victor. Hazel pondered his words for a moment, then, to her own surprise, responded with a slight smile, an expression she never thought she would direct at Festus Creed. "You're smarter than you look, Festus."
He shrugged, his curls shifting as he seemed to take the insulting compliment in stride. "I like to think of myself as a wolf in sheep's clothing. I prefer to be... unexpected."
“You are definitely that.” With as much sincerity as she could muster, she continued, "If I don't see you again, thank you for your help."
Festus seemed to take a moment to consider her gratitude, his expression softening. Their conversation, however, was interrupted as the peacekeeper from earlier barged into the room. "Hurry up, let's go," he barked. He secured the handcuffs around Hazel's wrists before she had a chance to react. His stern gaze then shifted to Festus. "You need to go. I gave you the two minutes you asked for. Get out of here before we both get in trouble."
As the peacekeeper began to drag Hazel forward, she managed to steal one last glance at Festus. He called out to her as she was pulled away, "Oh, and Hazel, don't be afraid to get your hands dirty."
Hazel watched him for a brief moment, absorbing his words before the peacekeeper pushed her out of his eyeline. The Manor was still shrouded in darkness, and a few lamps were lit, providing just enough light to navigate the stairs and pathways. The peacekeepers were herding the tributes through the hallways and out toward the idling buses. Hazel's heart continued to race. She looked around, trying to spot Silus amidst the dim light and the hurried movements of the other tributes, but she couldn't find him.
Commander Percy stood in the front garden, off to the side, watching the scene unfold. His expression was unreadable in the dark behind a pair of sunglasses. The faint glow of a cigarette illuminated his face.
The soft crying of one of the female tributes filled the air as they were all loaded. Hazel was pushed into one of the bus seats and slid to the window. The same peacekeeper who had been in her room earlier sat down next to her. Each tribute was seated next to a peacekeeper. Despite scanning the bus, she still could not see Silus. "Head forward," the peacekeeper next to her commanded, and Hazel sank, trying to scan with her peripheral vision.
As the buses started their journey, Hazel rested her head against the cool window. Her breath fogged up a small patch on the glass. Time seemed elusive; she couldn't gauge how long they had been driving, but the bright lights of the Capitol whizzed by outside. Under different circumstances, the city lights might have been fascinating. She took another deep breath; the cool air of the bus filled with the scent of fear. The continued soft crying of the tributes formed a solemn soundtrack to their journey.
Once again, the buses came to a stop at the same open field they had visited a few days ago. However, this time, the atmosphere was different. There were no cameras, no VIPs, and notably, no Dr. Gaul or Senator Snow. It was simply an open field, with helicopters standing by, their rotors frozen as they waited.
The peacekeeper next to Hazel stood up and dragged her to her feet. Hazel craned her neck, searching as they were corralled out into the open. Then she spotted him. Silus was disembarking a different bus. His head was also swiveling around. She longed to call out to him, but that was definitely not an option.
A sharp pull on her arm directed her forward, and she tripped on the hard metal steps of the helicopter. She was then pushed in, and a stiff seatbelt, which felt more like a restraint than a safety measure, was pulled over her and secured. A wave of gratitude washed over her when she saw Silus being loaded onto the same helicopter. Their eyes met as he ascended the steps.
Silus surged forward and dropped into the seat next to Hazel before anyone could assign him a different spot. One of the peacekeepers glanced at him, about to object, but then seemed to reconsider and secured Silus with a seatbelt of his own. The peacekeeper then took his seat across from them, his weapon cradled in his lap.
Silus’s eyes were wide, yet his brow furrowed. “Are you alright?" he asked, concern evident in his tone.
"As good as I can be. Are you?" Hazel replied. Silus nodded, but it was less than convincing. Despite the constraints of the handcuffs, Silus managed to shift closer to her, their fingers intertwining. The warmth from his skin infused into hers. The roughness of his callouses and stitches rubbed against her palms as his arms trembled.
"Festus came to see me earlier. He managed to secure alliances with Districts Ten and Eleven," Hazel ran her thumb along the outer edge of Silus's palm, attempting to soothe the shaking.
“Really? He didn't come to see me," he remarked, his eyes searching Hazel's face for a moment. "That's good to hear, though," he added.
As they spoke, a peacekeeper was making rounds in the aircraft, placing blindfolds on each of the tributes. Hazel remained motionless, her gaze fixed on Silus's face, etching his features into her memory. Then, abruptly, her view of him was obscured as a fabric blindfold was secured over her eyes. The smell of sweat mixed with a hint of morning dew assaulted her senses; the blindfolds probably hadn't been washed in the last two days.
"Is it really necessary to blindfold us now?" Silus asked.
The peacekeeper's voice had moved to where Silus was seated. "For most of you, it won't matter, but the Capitol doesn't want the victor to be able to give away the location after you all get done killing each other, either. Now sit back and enjoy the ride," he said, tone mocking.
As the helicopter blades began to whir above her, Hazel took a couple of deep breaths, gripping Silus' hand tighter. He reciprocated, squeezing back. The sensation of the helicopter lifting off the ground brought a weightless, unsecured feeling that was unnerving. The air around them cooled the higher they rose. Maybe a fiery crash would be merciful.
The passing time felt like an eternity. She found herself longing for the ordinary life they had back in District Seven, a life she now realized she had taken for granted. In retrospect, her everyday existence, which she had once thought of as unremarkable, now seemed like a precious gift she hadn't fully appreciated.
Her thoughts drifted to her family. The first image that came to her mind was of Sage. She envisioned his wide, innocent eyes and his curly caramel hair. She could almost hear the sound of his voice, full of excitement as he told his long-winded stories, barely pausing to take a breath in his eagerness. Hazel smiled, recalling how Sage's eyes would sparkle at the sight of any living creature. Animals seemed to naturally gravitate towards him as if they could sense his kind heart. The idea of getting him a puppy for his birthday, or even a mouse, crossed her mind. She amused herself with the thought of her mother's reaction to having a mouse in the house, knowing full well it wouldn't go over well. She held onto the hope that perhaps one day, her mother and Oren would get Sage a pet, something to help him cope with the impending sorrow that would inevitably follow.
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Hazel's thoughts drifted to Linden and Lily. When they were younger, Linden would call them the "three musketeers.” They would stay up late at night, telling scary stories, playing cards, or rolling dice on the warm wooden floor of their shared room. They had only been caught once by their mother, who had threatened to split them up. But they had all vowed never to allow it, and they continued their late-night fun, just significantly quieter.
A sigh escaped her as she attempted to picture the drawings that adorned their space—charcoal depictions of sunsets, trees, and the faces of their neighbors. Linden's fingers were stained from hours of drawing, shading, and re-drawing.
Lily, however, didn't always share the enthusiasm for Linden’s art. She begged Linden to add color and draw more flowers, often teasing him about the "depressing" black-and-white. Lily was very much the feminine touch in the house, and Hazel adored her for it. She loved to gather wildflowers, placing them in vases on the windowsill or craft daisy chains to hang from the top of her bunk bed until they crusted into little brown husks, and her mother insisted on throwing them out.
Linden, for his part, didn't always seem to appreciate these floral additions, something Hazel attributed to the challenges of being a growing boy confined to the same room as his sisters. But deep down, Hazel suspected that he did enjoy being part of their close-knit group and cherished his role as a musketeer, even if he never openly admitted it. Sorrow filled her heart as she thought of her empty bed back at home and how they passed it every night before they went to sleep.
Rowan occupied her thoughts next, and her heart ached as she recalled their last hug at the train station—the way he avoided making eye contact. Rowan had always been tough and resilient, a result of never knowing his own mother or having any memories of her, which made his life a continuous struggle. Sometimes, she could discern a hint of his inner turmoil when he watched the younger children playing with Fern. There was a profound longing in his eye, and she couldn't fathom what it would feel like to have no memories of her mother.
Rowan and Hazel’s bond had formed early in their parent's marriage. He used to look up to her when they were younger, often mimicking her actions. As they grew up, he began to show signs of becoming more like her—a thought that filled her with both pride and concern. She prayed that he would find the strength to endure whatever the outcome of the Games might be, but she wasn't entirely certain if he could withstand any more loss.
Then there was Silus; of all her siblings, she was closest to him. They were so similar in age and had endured so much together during their early years. Absently, she ran her fingers over the stitches on Silus' palm. He had always been her protector, her guide, and her best friend, despite being younger. They hadn't always seen eye to eye, even now, but he had her back, and she had his. Among all the people who could have been chosen for the Hunger Games alongside her, Silus was undoubtedly the worst possible one. Tears welled up in her eyes as she thought of him and the uncertain fate that awaited them. Don’t think about that.
Her mind brought up images of her mother next—the way her cerulean eyes would light up upon seeing her, her ash brown hair falling into her face as she worked tirelessly over the stove, preparing meals for all of them. The way she'd fix Hazel's shirt collars or braid her hair with her strong, nurturing fingers. Her mother was a woman Hazel could only dream of emulating—strong, loving, protective, and hardworking. Tears welled as Hazel thought of her sweetness, her nurturing nature, and how she held their family together. The memory of her guttural cries during the reaping caused Hazel's heart to clench; it was a sound that would be etched into her memory for as long as she lived. For however long that may be.
That sound and the look on Oren's face during the reaping tormented her. Oren had done his best to be a father to her. He was a genuine man who worked hard and lived his life by a code of ethics she had rarely seen in others. Their relationship had not always been easy. She had kept Oren at arm's length her whole life, loving him but also afraid of fully embracing him as her parent. Over the years, they had settled into a comfortable relationship. Now, she wished she had told him how much she appreciated his care during her upbringing, along with the many life lessons he tried to instill.
Oren's lessons and his parting words at the train station echoed in her mind. I wish I could follow your advice, Oren. I really do.
Oren had advised them to stick together, and she intended to honor that, to stand united with Silus as long as she drew breath. But his other advice, to not let the Capitol change them, weighed heavily on her. As she squeezed Silus' hand one more time, she wondered if she could keep that promise. Maybe, she mused, she was more like Heath than Oren after all. Deep down, a nagging sensation told her Oren shouldered some of the blame for Silus and herself or being there, even if it was unintentional.
Heath. A surge of disappointment and anger welled up in her heart, intertwined with a deep-seated pain. For most of her life, she had mourned the lack of a meaningful relationship with him, a relationship she had longed for but knew would never materialize. Despite the hurt he had caused her over the years, a part of her still harbored love for him. She didn't wish him any harm, yet it seemed he was hell-bent on not only ruining his own life but also everyone around him. Bitterly, she questioned whether she would ever be able to forgive him, especially if he had played any part in her and Silus' current situation. No, I'm not like him. She might change, but her transformation would be driven by the desire to save others, not to destroy those around her and drag them to hell with her.
As Hazel lost herself in her thoughts, the sound of the helicopter blades slowed. A sense of anxiety churned in her stomach, akin to the discomfort of food poisoning. If there had been any food in her stomach, it would have long been expelled by this point. The approaching footsteps of a peacekeeper grew louder, and then, with a sudden motion, the blindfold was ripped from her face. Her hair whipped around her shoulders, and she blinked several times to allow her eyes to adjust. Silus was also blinking repeatedly. The early morning sun painted everything in soft pink hues, seeping through the windows of their aircraft. Its gentle light began to illuminate the surroundings, revealing the churning ocean below. The rugged landscape, she knew, was a deceptive facade, stretching out to meet the waves.
Hazel turned her attention outside as the helicopter started to descend, the arena below coming into clearer view. The top of the structure opened up as if it were a venomous plant, swallowing the helicopters into its depths.
The light inside the arena was noticeably brighter than the blush-tinged dimness outside, creating a vivid differentiation. The helicopter landed in the grassy twelve-sided star-shaped center. The arena was now imbued with a sense of foreboding. At the heart of the arena stood a large, imposing golden object. Towering and curved, it resembled a fallen bell, its metallic surface catching the artificial sunlight.
Hazel's eyes scanned the vast expanse of the arena and how the different terrains seemed to stretch towards the horizon, meeting the edges of the massive structure. Despite some areas of the arena exuding tranquility, the knowledge of the lurking dangers made the entire scene feel like a beautifully crafted lie.
Silus squeezed Hazel's hand and whispered, "Haze." She turned to look at him. "Remember the plan.”
"Of course," Hazel replied, searching his eyes for assurance, "I love you, little brother."
"I love you too, sis," he echoed back to her. His eyes were more serious than she had ever seen before, reflecting a maturity far beyond his years. Suddenly, he seemed much older, no longer just the boy she had grown up with. A peacekeeper then approached them, separating their hands, and soon they were standing.
Stepping off the helicopter onto the soft grassy field, Hazel's attention was immediately drawn to the scattered items around the golden cone. Among them, a wide array of weapons caught her eye, including a large sword with a blade as long as one of her legs. Several bags were scattered around that seemed to hold supplies, possibly their exact contents hidden from view. On either side of the cone's opening stood a couple of sleek black display stands, each adorned with a glass tray on top, yet they were empty. They seemed out of place, as if they were intended to showcase art or historical items in a museum.
The grassy area encircling the golden cone was bordered by circular stone discs embedded in the ear. They were evenly spaced apart, forming a complete loop around the center. Upon closer examination, Hazel noticed that each disc bore a number etched into its center. A peacekeeper, gripping her good arm, guided her toward one of these stone circles. Glancing down, she saw the number "7" carved into the stone beneath her feet.
"Stand in this circle. If you know what's good for you, you will not move," the peacekeeper instructed. The stone beneath her boots felt solid as she stood in place.
Hazel complied, her metal cuffs clinking softly as she stood in her assigned spot. The other tributes were also positioned on similar stone discs around the central cone. It appeared they staggered the tributes by District. Silus was on the opposite side of the expanse. To her left, Lara Montgomery, with her slender frame, was slumped and panting. Her once golden blonde curls were now clumped together, stained a dark crimson. Despite the warmth of the arena, she seemed to be shivering.
Another stone disc laid to her right, with the number "8" engraved in its center. A sense of dread washed over her as peacekeepers led a handcuffed and shackled Ian Threader to that spot. The unsettling knowledge that the boy next to her had already murdered two unarmed women weighed on her. His head was bowed, and his appearance was utter dishevelment. Blood and dirt clung to his body and clothing. Layers of grime obscured his skin, and bruises marred his face, arms, and neck in uneven patterns. He looked like a patient who had a rolling log crushed. One of his now bright red eyes fleetingly met Hazel's, holding her gaze before he looked down at his disc. His distant expression gave the impression of a person disconnected from the reality of the situation.
As each tribute was positioned on their assigned disc, Commander Percival Drayton cleared his throat, "Welcome tributes to the 15th annual Hunger Games.” He stood before them, still wearing the dark sunglasses and his commander uniform adorned with several medals displayed on his chest. His posture was upright and rigid, with his chest puffed out to emphasize his decorated chest.
Hazel looked around for the cameras she knew were capturing this whole ordeal. She couldn't imagine what her family was thinking watching this if they could stomach watching it at all. She hoped her mother at least kept Sage away from the television until it was all over.
The thought of her family's suffering gnawed at her as Commander Drayton began his approach, traversing the field toward the first stone. Julian Bright stood at the far end of the expansive central area. As Percy approached the boy, he extended his gloved hands, gesturing for him to hold out his hands. Julian complied without hesitation. Percy smiled and unlocked the cuffs, tossing them into a bag over his shoulder.t
"Before we begin, let's go over a few ground rules," Percy continued, his voice carrying through the arena as he then moved to Julian's right. Eve Preston held out her hands expectantly. Percy smiled wider as he easily removed her cuffs. “Not that there are many rules in the Hunger Games.”
He proceeded to District Three's Anita Cordell and paused, giving her a long look, but he moved on without unlocking her handcuffs. Anita's brow furrowed in confusion, and she glanced around, then back at Percy. He appeared unbothered as he continued to the next tribute, Flynn Waters, and then Zoe Powers from District Five, releasing each of their handcuffs in turn.
"None of you will move from your designated spot until the starting bell is sounded," he instructed.
He next reached Ryan Maxwell from District Six. With a light scoff, Percy did not undo his handcuffs, instead striding toward Silus. Hazel chewed her lip as Silus tensed up, his body rigid as Percy stood before him. Hazel exhaled a sigh of relief, feeling a momentary ease in the pit of her stomach as Percy grasped Silus's hands and began to unlock and remove them.
Percy then walked by the empty spot next to Silus, pausing to look down at the marking "8" on the ground. He shook his head before ignoring Owen from District Nine. Hazel's attention followed Percy as he approached Mia Pastoor from District Ten, unlocking her wrists.
Percy unlocked the cuffs of Iris from District Eleven, then Ethan from District Twelve. Standing next to Ethan was Elara from District One, followed by Caleb from District Two. Hazel couldn't help but roll her eyes as Percy unlocked Caleb's cuffs.
He continued down the line of tributes, heading towards Hazel. Notably, he again skipped the tribute from District Three. "If you move from your spot," he warned in a stern tone, "You will be shot." After unlocking the handcuffs of the tributes from Districts Four and Five, he approached Lara Montgomery. Lara was struggling to stand upright, her head tilted downward, her eyes closed, and her body swaying as if she were intoxicated, still shivering.
"As you can see, there are weapons and various items at the Cornucopia. It's first come, first serve, of course," Percy stated. He watched Lara for a few seconds, but she merely shivered in response. With a sneer, Percy left her hands cuffed and turned his attention toward Hazel.
"As Dr. Gaul said, every tract of the dodecagon contains the environment, advantages, and disadvantages of a specific district," Percy continued as he approached Hazel. She could tell he was scanning her despite his sunglasses. Hazel glanced down at her feet, making sure they were within the boundaries of her circle.
Percy’s boots brushed the stone, and he reached out, his gloved hands grasping Hazel's bound ones and jerking her towards him. Hazel stiffened as her toes slid towards the boundary of her disc. She tugged on her arms as she raised her eyes to meet his. Percy's face held a trace of dark amusement, an unsettling confirmation of Hazel's belief that he might derive pleasure from seeing her shot. The notion that a man who could harm his own brother might relish in her suffering seemed all too plausible.
"You might actually find some surprises," Percy called over his shoulder.
Then, focusing back on Hazel, he inserted the small silver key into her handcuffs, pausing and not turning it. Leaning in close, he whispered, "I should leave these on you. And that 'brother' of yours. You both deserve to suffer as the others have." Hazel's heartbeat accelerated, and her stare turned hard. Percy tilted his head, peering down at her over the rim of his sunglasses. Purple-blue bruising surrounded his right eye; the eyelid was swollen and fragile. Hazel maintained eye contact for a tense moment before finally averting her gaze.
With a deep sigh and apparent reluctance, Percy turned the key. He released her hands, pulling the cuffs away and tossing them into the bag. "They would have my head if I did. Or maybe my tongue, " he muttered under his breath, swallowing.
"Is that what happened to Leo?" Hazel asked, her voice edged with a rising hatred for the man standing before her. His dark eyes flared in response to her boldness.
Percy's eyes met Hazel's before shifting to Ian standing beside her. "Besides, our buddy from eight, I think I will enjoy watching you and your brother die the most.”
"At least I won't be the one to end my own brother's life."
Percy responded with a dark, twisted smirk. "You might surprise yourself, Cherry. However, one thing that should not come as a surprise is the consequences of actions. My brother learned that the hard way, as did I." He paused, sliding his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, "And so will you."
After another glare, Percy stepped away back and moved toward Ian. He whispered something to him, not pausing in his stride. Ian's hands and ankles remained shackled. Ian spat at Percy's boots as he passed by. Percy merely laughed in response, continuing to skip the tribute from District Nine.
Percy finally reached Ruby, and he leaned in close, whispering to her. He glanced over his shoulder towards Hazel's direction and then walked away, heading towards the center of the grassy arena. Ruby’s eyes grew large, and she called out to his retreating form, "Wait. I didn't do anything wrong." Commander Percy continued to stride forward as if he couldn’t hear her.
Hazel's gaze returned to Ruby, the sunlight glinting off the silver handcuffs that remained locked around her wrists. Anger and disbelief surged within Hazel. That bastard. Ethan's voice rang out from across the circle of tributes, his tone filled with contempt, his feet on the edge of his disc, "You asshole!"
Ruby's face crumpled into panic and blubbering tears. A wave of guilt washed over Hazel. Percy stood in the center of the arena with a predatory grin, seemingly satisfied, "Although it might be too little too late, as you all can see, some of you are getting a lesson in actions and consequences today." Psychopath.
"As Dr. Gaul has told you, this arena will test every one of you. You will have to decide whether you choose to kill or be killed. Whether you choose darkness or light. Help your fellow tribute or help yourself." He raised his hands, displaying two handcuff keys between his fingers. "There are two keys, and they can unlock those cuffs. First come, first serve, of course."
He then turned and walked towards the center of the arena. Reaching the display stands, he placed one key on each stand; a small clink echoed as he dropped them on the glass. "We aren't totally heartless," he laughed. "Good luck, everyone, it's been... memorable."
As Percy made his way to the helicopters, he jumped in without even a glance back. The helicopter blades began to whirl, stirring the air and bending the grass around them. Hazel's hair was caught in the tumult, whipping around her shoulders in the forceful gusts sweeping through the arena. The wind picked up the earthy scent of grass and kicked up loose dust, creating a brown fog that swirled around them. Hazel felt the weight of their grim reality sinking in. She took deep, steadying breaths, fighting to control the fear that was escalating within her.
As the countdown began, the arena was filled with an unnerving tension. High above, illuminated numbers materialized in the sky; the number 20 glowed against the serene backdrop of a cloudless summer day. A smooth, disembodied voice cascaded through the space, marking the countdown. "20...19...18..." A soft chime accompanied each number. "17...16...15...14..." Hazel's breathing grew rapid and shallow, her chest heaving as waves of anxiety coursed through her. She struggled to breathe, eventually resorting to drawing air through her mouth as her nostrils seemed inadequate.
Her eyes darted back to the central structure, which she had come to understand as the Cornucopia. She studied the various items she could make out: bags, knives, a bow, a sword, and deeper within, something that caught her attention. "11...10...9...8.." She squinted, "7...6...5...4..."
Turning to Silus, she noticed he was watching her. He nodded when their eyes met, then shifted his attention towards Ruby. The young girl was crying and frantic, tearing at the cuffs binding her wrists. She caught Silus's expression, filled with concern, as he turned back to Hazel. He didn't have to say anything for her to know what he was going to do when the bell rang. Don’t. But she knew she wouldn’t be able to stop him. Silus was nearly impossible to dissuade when he had his mind made up. Panic surged within her as she fixated on the object inside the cornucopia—a large, sturdy axe, "3...2...1..."