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chapter thirty-two
MIGHTIER THAN THE SWORD

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tw: violence, character death
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The deeper they travel through the jungle, the more Ptolemus feels like he's suffocating. The air is thick with moisture that clings to him and the others as snugly as a blanket. Hardly any light shines through the dark and large canopies of the trees looming above them, shrouding them in emerald shadows. Foliage brushes at their sides in all forms — vines, roots, and leaves reaching out with their fingers. But the density and humidity of the jungle isn't the only reason he feels so trapped.

It's like the Gamemakers have stolen his nightmares from his mind, cracking open his skull and allowing them to flood the Arena for sinister inspiration. Though he knows the likelihood of them targeting him personally is slim to none, it is uncanny. A part of him feels like he's lived this already. Numerous times over a decade.

Another part creeps up on him and whispers that it's all finally coming to fruition. He adjusts his sweaty grip on his sword as he tries to build a barrier between himself and his fears. It's a wall made of thin glass, barely keeping them separated, and if he turns his head ever so slightly, he can still see them lurking there and waiting.

He keeps his eyes on Sage to anchor himself. To remind him nothing has come to fruition — and nothing will. Not if he has anything to do with it.

They've been trekking for hours with no signs of fresh water nor any other Tributes. They try to follow what's left of the singular pair of footprints through the thick foliage and dark spongy ground. Despite all the moisture and sweat drenching his body, the inside of his mouth and throat are dry, aching for just a sip of water. He can see that even Sage and Shep are uncomfortable too, the heat in Ten a dry one rather than the soupy air they're trudging through.

Sage slips on the damp hill, and her ragged breath hitches when she reaches for a nearby vine. Ptolemus has her by the bicep within a second to steady her and hold her up. When he looks to Shep, he notes his legs are shaking from all the climbing with no water. Another bead of sweat drips down his own brow and lashes, and he wipes it away with the back of his hand to temper the momentary blindness.

"Let's take a rest," Ptolemus calls up to the front of the line.

Enobaria peers over her shoulder to glare at him, using her spear like a walking stick to heave herself up a set of slippery boulders. No one else seems to share her same determination as they pause in their climb. Even Augustus drops to a crouch, leaning on his sword while Cashmere perches herself along a rock. Sage and Shep sit too, the former wiping beads of sweat off her brow, the ponytail of her dark hair clinging to the back of her neck. Ptolemus leans against a tree next to them.

"We need water," Cashmere huffs, twirling her blade in her grasp mindlessly. Her blonde hair is starting to frizz at the ends while her scalp is drenched in sweat as if she's just taken a fresh dive. She peers up at the sky shrouded above them by the dense, dark foliage. "You hear that big bro? Dying of thirst is not how I want to go."

No response besides the rustle of wildlife and chirping of birds. Sage knows that where there's animals there's water. The Gamemakers are just making everyone work for it.

They really do want to get these unpopular Games over with.

Augustus slices at the fabric of his wetsuit almost desperately, grinding his teeth together until he cuts away the top to reveal his sweaty torso. He uses the remnants to wipe at his dripping face before searching the jungle surrounding them. "There's got to be some in the Arena. Cooking us alive isn't exactly riveting."

"Well there is food lurking around here somewhere," Sage pipes up. She gestures to the trees. "I've been hearing birds all day."

Shep blinks sweat out of his eyes. "I saw some kind of rodent earlier."

"Well why don't you two get hunting then?" Enobaria huffs and arches an annoyed brow. She flings her spear down to the rock beneath her with a clatter before following suit. "Livestock District, right? You should know how to slaughter an animal for dinner."

Sage isn't amused, folding her arms across her chest. "I'm from the Dairy Sector."

"Caprinae," Shep adds pointedly. "I was just a herder."

Enobaria rolls her eyes, and Augustus squints. "Capri-what?" he repeats.

"It's sheep and goats, dumbass," Cashmere drones in annoyance. She glowers at her District Partner then scoffs when he raises a surprised brow at her. Sage remembers that same irritation she had at Training the other day and notes how she twirls her knife more now.

Perhaps she hates him more than anyone else here, beating out even Sage and Ptolemus.

Doubtful.

Just when they're about to argue whether who's responsible for dinner, the soft tinkling of a parachute drifts through the air like a refreshing breeze. Everyone stiffens, and their heads snap toward the sky. Ptolemus swears he's salivating, the thought of just a drop of water almost enchanting. The tinkling grows louder, and the tune starts to echo. It's when Sage spots two gleaming silver canisters floating toward them that she straightens curiously.

"Thank you, Gloss," Augustus whistles, standing sharply from his crouch. He reaches for one of the parachutes headed toward himself and his District Partner with outstretched hands like a greedy child.

Cashmere snatches it out of his looming grasp before he can graze a finger as she uses the rock beneath her to her advantage. She shoots him a warning look. "My brother sent it, I get to open it."

He clicks his tongue with irration and narrows his dark eyes at her. "Spoiled brat."

Meanwhile, Ptolemus watches as the other parachute gently floats into Sage's lap. She blinks at it dumbly, hands hovering around it as if it were a figment of her imagination. A pessimestic part of her wasn't expecting anything these Games, not with them probably drugging Barrow up with meds to subdue him enough in the Viewing Room or to make him presentable to Sponsors. Then she remembers what he said to them before they left.

Look up.

Her wary eyes peer over at Shep beside her, who's just staring at it too. He clears his throat, giving her a nod of permission. "Looks like it's yours."

Sage glances up to Ptolemus briefly, who urges her with his eyes to open it. Untangling the parachute from the canister, she pops it open with a satisfying click. She can hear Cashmere doing the same.

When she picks up Barrow's note, she frowns, nothing on it other than his initial signing the card. What's coiled up beneath it causes her to visibly deflate, and her dry tongue burns in her mouth. Ptolemus tries to hide his disappointment as she plucks the gift out of the container to inspect.

Nylon rope.

"Oh great. Your loony Mentor sent us something we can hang ourselves with," Enobaria snaps from her rock. Shep shoots her a glare.

Augustus scowls at the contents of his and Cashmere's gift too. "Fatherhood has done something to Gloss's brain." He pinches the small silver tool in his fingers with disgust. "What the fuck is this supposed to be?"

Cashmere shushes him and snatches it back. Her brows are knit into a frown as she rereads the note he left her.

"What's it say?" Sage dares to ask. No one snaps at her luckily. While she doubts her and Shep's gift will grant them all water, there is still some hope with Cashmere's.

"Sixty-three."

"Like his Games?" Ptolemus queries.

Augustus huffs shortly. "Did he stab somebody with one of these?"

The light-bulb moment straightens Cashmere like a pin. Her blue eyes beam as she peers up at the sky gratefully, before quickly clutching the tool to her heart. "No. This is how he got his water."

Everyone frowns as they try to remember Gloss's Games. Sage was nine at the time, them simply a blur in her memory. All she can remember is his golden hair and deadly throw with a knife.

Meanwhile, Cashmere whips out a dagger from her belt, driving it home into a nearby tree trunk. She digs and stabs to create a hole. "There was no obvious water in his Arena either. It was in the trees."

Enobaria quirks a skeptical brow. Cashmere must be satisfied with the hole she's created, because she shoves the tool through it. Sage can't help but be impressed at the woman's knowledge. They all wait and hold their breaths for what feels like minutes. Dehydration slows time down.

Augustus glowers impatiently, clenching and unclenching his jaw. He shoots a glare at his District Partner's head. "I think you could stab somebody with it. Thinking about it right now, actually."

"Would you shut it man?" Ptolemus snaps. He's starting to have a throbbing headache.

It's in that instant that the water comes trickling down the spile. Everyone gasps at the sound, and Cashmere quickly ducks below for a sip. She groans in relief from the freshwater, taking several gulps before sliding out of the way. Enobaria shoves herself beneath next.

Cashmere straightens with superiority and accomplishment. "Everyone always thinks I'm just another pretty face."

Sage and Shep stand from their perches, but neither of them move forward, waiting for someone to tear their heads off like territorial dogs. Ptolemus pushes them forward gently before Augustus can stick his palms under the water. The Victor from One shoots him a look that he ignores as he blocks his way. Sage lets Shep drink first. Then it's her turn, and Ptolemus guards, the blade of his sword hovering inches away from his ally's ribs.

Just when Augustus looks like he might weasel his way in again, the Legacy shoves him stumbling away with a gloating smirk. "Doubters drink last."

Sage looms near him, watching Augustus carefully as he scowls. Her grip on her hatchet tightens when he sends her another smirk.

Ptolemus crouches down, gulping in streams of water before splashing some of it onto his face. It's surprisingly cool, not necessarily chillingly cold, but not soupy and warm like the air either. Just refreshing. They all continue to take turns drinking from the tree in the same order for at least three rounds before they seem satisfied enough. Like a flower, Sage is already perking up, and Shep is standing a little taller too. Now that his thirst has been quenched, Ptolemus's body shifts its focus onto the next necessity for survival.

Food.

"Well that was useful," Augustus sighs, plopping onto the ground. He locks his elbows loosely around his knees as he clutches his sword. Then he juts his chin to the rope Sage has tied onto her belt. His voice is thick with a mocking accent. "Now why don't you go lasso us up some dinner, darlin? Isn't that what you folks say down there in them parts?"

"I liked Enobaria's suggestion better, actually," Sage quips sharply. Then she raises her dark brows. "Wanna be the first to test it out?"

Augustus chuckles in dark amusement somewhere deep in his throat. It's unsettling. She rolls his tone off her shoulders, not allowing it to sink into her bones and draw terror. When he isn't insufferable, he's petrifying, as much as she hates to admit it.

There's a reason everyone was so stunned from his Games. A beautiful, perfectly polished and well-mannered boy that spoke so eloquently of his country from One turned into an absolutely ruthless, animalistic and gory terror the second that gong rang.

What's that saying? All that glitters is not gold? Eerily true in Augustus's case. Sometimes the glittering is just wet blood all in the name of glory.

"I see why you like her so much Ptolemus," he whistles, jabbing his sword boredly into the dirt beneath him. "Lots of passion."

She hates that word. Especially when it comes from his or President Snow's lips.

Ptolemus inhales a sharp and irritated breath through his nose as he ignores him, glancing to the others. "Sage, Shep and I will hunt for some food. You three can hold down the fort."

"Hunt for food or makeout in the bushes while Sheep Man here hides from his own shadow?" Enobaria jeers.

Shep's eyes narrow at her again. Doesn't look so afraid of his own shadow now.

"I'll chaperone," Augustus volunteers as he stands. He tilts his head side to side, cracking his neck and plucking one of his spears. He stuffs his sword in his hilt along with his daggers. "Been a few hours since I've gotten my hands dirty — I'm itching for some excitement."

"Scratching an itch can make it worse," Ptolemus warns, glaring at the Career.

He clenches his jaw when Augustus pats him roughly on the back. "But it feels damn good when you do."

Ptolemus adjusts his grip on his sword. The blond doesn't glance over his shoulder to see if they're following, simply marching into the jungle. Sage peeks up at a stiff Ptolemus, who is still just glowering uneasily at Augustus.

Eventually, he huffs and meets her gaze. "Stay behind me. Alright?"

Sage glares at Augustus's back. Then she peers back at Ptolemus and offers a faint nod, still clutching her hatchet. As the four of them begin their excursion for a meal, Cashmere has already started weaving some vines together for a hammock, and Enobaria is sharpening her sword.

They only stray maybe fifty yards in an attempt to find food, navigating further east from their current campsite. Augustus leads the hunt, clutching his spear and dark eyes combing the jungle. Life echoes and flutters around them but maintains its cover elusively. Ptolemus lurks just behind him, keeping a solid body between the violent Victor and Sage. Shep trails the end as he grips his machete anxiously. Every few trees, he hacks at it once, leaving a mark to maintain their trail so they can find their way back to camp.

Ptolemus notes a flash of sunset pink in the corner of his eye, a contrast to all the dark greens enveloping them. His stomach growls at the thought of food, but when he looks, he sees it's only some kind of tropical flower. A different idea comes to mind, and he glances back to Sage. He quirks a brow and points. "Safe?"

She follows his gesture. She digs through her memory carefully. "To touch, yes. Can't eat it though."

He smiles and plucks the flower with a soft snap of the stem. Her brows furrow, and she goes to shake her head, lips parting to remind him that's it useless. The words don't come out as he gently moves a loose and sweaty strand of hair away from her ear, and he tucks the flower behind instead. The petals tickle her flesh along with the blush creeping up her cheeks. She grins lightly and kisses his cheek in gratitude. Ptolemus straightens with a pleased smile on his lips.

"You two make me want to vomit," Augustus gags up ahead.

They both scowl as they continue to follow. Sage huffs. "The feeling's mutual."

Behind them, Shep's running his fingers over his token and staring at it quietly. The chunk from his favorite flannel gifted to him by his mother and doctored up with Penny's thread. Sage's heart aches at the thought of the woman probably holding the shirt to her chest and watching anxiously back home with Arlo. Or perhaps she's off on another walk.

They're supposed to come too. Tomorrow, at Midnight.

Don't be late.

Sage is just thinking about her own token gleaming around her neck when a different gleam catches her attention. Her hatchet looms at her side in her tight grip, reflecting the faintest crack of light between the canopies with her next step.

Zea's dried blood is still on it. That wet sound of her flesh and bone returns to her memory, intertwining with Niels and Carnelia. Four. She's killed four people now. All of them she barely knew, but she still saw their faces. She still heard their bodies go silent.

She can't take it anymore as she crouches down to the dirt. Shep barely side-steps around her, peeking down at her warily. She ignores him as she digs the blade of her hatchet into the soil. Had she not been dying of thirst she would've thought to run it under the water, and she can't wait until they're done their hunt to use the spile again. She wants Zea's blood gone and she wants it gone now.

Ptolemus and Shep linger back with her and watch quietly. Augustus doesn't even stop as he continues to stalk nonexistent prey. It takes a few tries, but eventually, her blade is clean, the moisture of the soil helping. Sage slowly stands from her crouch, waiting for the crimson to ooze back with a wary heart. She must be staring too long, because a gentle and familiar hand squeezes her shoulder. She sees the message in Ptolemus's eyes as he stares.

It's not your fault.

Sage just sighs and squeezes his hand on her shoulder. Then she juts her chin to where Augustus went, gesturing for Ptolemus to follow. It doesn't take them long to find the Victor from One.

"You shouldn't do that to your blade, sweetheart," he calls from around another tree. "Dulls it."

She rolls her eyes and ignores him.

Ptolemus shrugs as he helps her step over a fallen log slick with moisture and moss. "Think I know what's scaring off all the food."

Augustus adjusts his spear and stops, peering up at the trees and vines. "Your horrible haircut?"

"Nah, your sickening ego."

"At least mine was earned," Augustus quips. "Nepo Baby born with a silver spoon, hm?" He snaps his fingers loudly and points in Ptolemus's direction with a smug look to his face. "Wait a minute. What was that you said during your Interview? Mommy and Daddy never loved you?" Another shrug. "Explains the lack of parachutes then."

Ptolemus tries to conceal his reaction to his pokes and jabs. They'd be easier to ignore had his mother not just confirmed such an idea only hours ago. Everything he always strived for as a child, yet always failed to reach. They never loved him. They never could. So whose fault is that? His or theirs? That's a question that could drive him insane.

"And yet you're the psychopath," Sage pipes up, irritated gaze lazily finding Augustus's arrogant form. She squeezes Ptolemus's bicep comfortingly as she sidles up beside him now.

He grins like it's a compliment. "Not your type?" He cocks his head to the side with a false pout to his lips. "What a shame."

Ptolemus points with his sword past the man's shoulder and to the jungle. It looms only a foot from his beating heart. "You gonna lead the hunt, Tough Guy or what?"

"Sure." Augustus adjusts his grip on his spear and swivels on his heels. "And if you're lucky, I'll give you the scraps."

A few more paces, and Sage feels a tap on her shoulder. She turns. Shep holds something up for her to inspect between his fingers. He raises his brows in question. "Edible?"

She takes the nut to inspect, rolling it around in her palm warily. She digs through her mind for an image of something that matches closely to this from the Edible Plants Station. She doesn't remember what it's called, but she does recognize it, associating it with the glowing green light for "safe." It reminds her of a walnut, but not quite.

A shrug. "I think so."

Not totally reassuring. Shep eyes it skeptically.

A devious spark burns in Sage, and she whirls back around to face Augustus. His back is to her about ten feet ahead. "Hey Augustus. You hungry? Shep found some nuts."

He swats a dismissive hand in her direction. "You can keep your trail mix, sweetheart."

"Suit yourself." She shrugs. "Shep and I've been eating them all day. They're more filling than you'd think."

Ptolemus and Augustus turn at that, and the two from Ten play up their rouse, both pretending to chew. The Legacy arches an almost wounded brow at the fact she hasn't shared any with him all day, his stomach growling so ravenously he's sure she's heard it. Then he notes that devious spark in her eye.

Augustus narrows his stare, and she swears she hears his stomach growl. He huffs shortly through his nose, holding his hand out. "Give it here then. A man needs sustenance on a hunt."

"Of course."

Sage lobs it at his head, feigning it as a bad throw. It bounces sharply off his temple, but he catches it with his palm in annoyance before it can hit the ground. Her and Shep both watch stiffly as he tosses it into his mouth, grimacing at the crunch his jaw makes.

Over the next few minutes of their hunt, they watch and wait, partly hoping the Career will drop dead in the middle of the jungle. When he doesn't, they have a different victory to celebrate. The nuts are definitely edible.

She hands Ptolemus a few that she finds scattered along the ground. He leans down toward her, voice a careful whisper. "What was that about?"

"Needed to see if they were edible," she murmurs with a sly grin.

He snorts, struggling to hide his chuckles under his breath. He plants a proud kiss on the top of her head before continuing.

While her and Shep gather more nuts for the others, Ptolemus and Augustus scan the jungle for prey. Hopefully something meatier than foliage. Just when it seems hopeless, there's a flutter of something crawling down a tree trunk. Everyone stiffens, mouths watering at the thought of fresh meat over a fire.

"What is that?" Ptolemus murmurs. The animal appears docile, dark eyes simply blinking at them and nose twitching in the air.

Shep's voice is barely above a whisper. "That's the rodent thing I saw earlier."

Augustus nods, adjusting his grip on his spear and preparing to hurl it through the air. "Looks like dinner to me."

Everyone holds their breath as the Career inhales a sharp breath, angling his body with lethal precision. In one smooth motion, he sends the spear flying through the air and right to the rodent. The longer Sage looks at it the more it reminds her of a possum. But the animal must sense the looming danger, because it scurries away, right out of the spear's trajectory. It makes a disheartening thud into the tree trunk as he misses.

"Congratulations," Ptolemus huffs. "You caught bark for dinner."

Augustus looks like he could rip his head off, and Sage's stomach churns, taking a step closer to Ptolemus with her hatchet ready. He doesn't seem the least bit concerned as he glowers at their escaping food. With nostrils flaring, Augustus turns back to retrieve his spear from the tree. He pries it free with one firm yank, and he glares in the direction that the rodent fled.

Just when it seems like he might chase after their lost meal, the sound of pounding footsteps and rustling leaves behind them freezes everyone in place. A twig snaps nearby and Ptolemus tenses, sword poised and ready as he pushes Sage behind him. Even Augustus's head reers at the sound, and he wields his spear with a narrowed glare. Shep drops the nuts he's been collecting to grip his machete instead with a trembling hand.

The rapid and frantic pounding grows closer and closer. Whoever or whatever it is, they're about to be right on them.

Sage's brows furrow warily as she watches those dark green leaves rustle. She's got her hatchet hanging in her grip. She isn't sure if she'll ever be ready to stain it with blood again, her stomach tying itself into knots. A slender gleam of silver hacks down, and her knuckles tighten to swing.

It couldn't be them, right? She swears she saw them run to the other end of the Arena. It has to be another Trib—

An alarmed Enobaria and wide-eyed Cashmere burst through the foliage, cutting down vines and leaves while leaping over rocks and logs in their path. The other four straighten in bewilderment as they blink.

Augustus shakes his head. "What—"

The two woman blitz right past them like a gust of wind. Cashmere shouts one word. "RUN!" They start to hear some kind of strangled roar echoing behind them.

None of them object to that. That singular command born in a well-known desperation turns them on their heels, breaking into sprints to follow their fleeing allies. Ptolemus grabs Sage by the hand as he tugs her with him, and she doesn't resist. She only turns to glance over her shoulder for Shep, relief flooding her when she sees he's racing right behind them.

She doesn't see what's chasing them. But she does hear some kind of thick gurgling chorusing with the rapid pounding of their footsteps. The trees rustle, and she turns, deciding not to look back again as she almost trips over a root. Ptolemus's unwavering grip on her hand keeps her from stumbling. She feels like she's back on that log over the ravine again, Midas's panting right against her neck.

Don't look back, don't look back, don't look back.

Ptolemus tries to follow the glint of Augustus's golden head of hair just ahead of them. The Careers swing and hack at foliage in their way as they sprint through the jungle with vicious and desperate grunts, an invisible adversary looming right at their heels. He almost gets tangled up in a net of creepers, but the strength of his strides just causes them to snap. It doesn't take him long to know that whatever's chasing them isn't a Tribute. Enobaria and Cashmere would've handled them easily.

It's another nightmare from the Gamemakers. And there's only so much he can do to protect Sage from their hellish concoctions.

The gurgling grows louder and louder. Similiar to a drain sucking up the last bit of water in a tub. Except its ravenous, threatening, starved. Ptolemus propels himself faster and drags Sage with him as his mind tries to identify the danger. Mutts? Could it be Mutts?

Between their pounding steps and hearts they almost don't hear Enobaria's sudden gasp of surprise — like a mouse caught in a trap. Sage's bones jolt, and it looks like Cashmere and Augustus have stopped right in their tracks. The gurgling shows no slowing down behind them as the other three try to keep running.

"What?" Ptolemus calls, heart hiccuping with panic. He gapes behind him, then snaps his head quickly back ahead. Another desperate stride and hack of his sword at a curtain of vines. "What is it?!"

They only get about ten more strides before his question is answered. The gurgling snatches them up with a slow but unwavering hand, and Sage's heart drops like lead with her body. They fall into the earth beneath them, half-expecting to plummet to its core. There's a thick splash that sounds more like a slap, and wet mud envelopes her and Ptolemus's frame up to their hips. It's too late for her to warn Shep as he runs right into the trap too. When they try to lift their feet off the ground, it's to no avail.

The earth pulls them down. Wraps around their shoes and ankles, all the way up to their hips like wet concrete. The more they move, the deeper they sink, Augustus already up to his chest as he thrashes and spreads his arms in a poor attempt to tread.

Ptolemus curses under his breath in realization, muscles straining but unable to move more than inch. "Fuck."

Sage finds Shep's terrified green eyes peering over at her only five feet to her right. Cashmere, Enobaria and Augustus struggle three to her left. The jungle almost seems to laugh a hearty and gutteral laugh at them as they've fallen into its trap. Sage closes her eyes in disbelief, feeling her and Ptolemus sink slowly but surely. The name of their captor comes to her quickly.

Quicksand.

Her head snaps around in search of something to latch onto. Ptolemus is trying to use his sword as an extension of his arm to pull a vine toward them, but it's no use, and he sinks another inch. Augustus is still thrashing.

"Stop moving!" Enobaria scolds as she stands deathly still. "It'll only make you sink more."

"I don't know if that matters too much," Cashmere breathes.

She doesn't elaborate because she doesn't need to. They can all feel it. The suction of the sand pulling them down like a magnet. It's unnervingly steady. They'll be under in fifteen minutes. The thought of drowning on land draws terror to them all.

When Sage glances to the largest tree about fifteen feet away, she swears she sees the levels of the thick gray mud creeping up along the trunk. It gurgles in response.

"How'd you two get out?" Augustus pants, chest heaving. He clings to his spear futilely as if it were leverage. "You only find quicksand once you're stuck in it."

"We heard it first," Cashmere explains. It's starting to creep up past her hips, covering her belt of daggers. She rips one out of her hilt before it can be swallowed up. "Then we saw it rising up the hill."

Ptolemus's nostrils flare, and he tightens his grip on Sage. Bitterness oozes out of his tone as he imagines Plutarch laughing at the Band of Careers now. "How creative."

Sage looks to Shep, and she notes how pale he is now. The shadows have completely shrouded his eyes, and she knows he isn't with her anymore as he clenches and unclenches his jaw nervously. He's trapped in an old memory, in an old Arena, in an old trap similar to this one. His chest moves unevenly, and tears brim his eyes.

"Shep," she tries. He grunts at his name, but no acknowledgment otherwise.

They have to get out of here. The sand continues to rise steadily, covering Sage's belt with her spare weapons and Barrow's gift. Ptolemus feels the panic pulsing through his body as he frantically tries to find a solution. Something to get Sage out.

She can't die like this. They can't die like this.

Ironically, he feels it all slipping through his hands like sand again, his sword useless against this kind of opponent. Himself useless against this kind of opponent.

It's when she stares at a petrified Shep once more that she remembers how he won his Games. What kept him and Dowlas safe from the mud slide. She snaps her gaze to that big looming tree again. It's too far away.

Augustus's features flush red, and he glowers up at the sky. "This is not what I meant about getting my hands dirty." He slaps his fists into the quicksand with a wet splash and snarl. He only sinks more, now just two inches below his shoulders. "Let a man go with dignity at least!"

"You'd need to have dignity in the first place," Cashmere huffs. Some of the quicksand has splattered into her hair from his tantrum, and she wipes it away with irritation. "Your stupidity is what's going to get you at this rate."

"Oh yeah? Well what's your big plan then princess?" Then he peers over at a pale Sage. "Or you? Aren't you the clever one?"

"Not that," the Victor from Ten snaps pointedly.

Sage can feel Ptolemus trying to use his height and his grip on her hand to keep her elevated as much as possible. His chest heaves, and his gaze desperately searches for a solution somewhere in the jungle. He makes one more attempt with his sword to reach that damn vine, but it's no use. There's nothing to grab onto. Shep is peering up at the sky now as the thick, wet sand swallows her up to the waist and past her belt.

The idea comes so plainly she curses herself. "Holy shit."

Ptolemus tenses, and she can feel his stare in her direction. She ignores it as she still uses one hand to cling to her spare hatchet. Then she releases his much to his dismay to dig at her belt. The struggle causes her to sink two more inches, and Ptolemus lunges forward to grab her and pull her up again. He sinks too.

"Wait," she tries. She strains to pull the rope free from her belt. Grinding her teeth together, she finally pries it from the cakey sand.

Ptolemus frowns curiously as he watches her work quickly, the sinking feeling of terror and helplessness pausing. Sage finds the end of the rope, uncoiling it and tying it around the handle of her hatchet. She tugs at the triple knots tightly to ensure they won't unravel. Then her eyes lift to that massive tree only fifteen feet away. Next to it is one that seems to have fallen over, its large roots exposed from the ground and reaching out like fingers.

The others have begun to watch too, and she hands Ptolemus the other end of the rope, it stained by the sand. "Can you hold this?"

He nods and takes it, following her gaze. Sage adjusts her grip on the hatchet's handle, then stares at the fallen tree's roots for another agonizing moment, the sand beneath them gurgling and pulling. It's starting to creep up to her chest now. She raises the hatchet in the air and aims. Everyone holds their breaths, even Ptolemus.

The blade makes a dull thunk against the roots, before clattering back down into the sand. Before she can urge him to, Ptolemus is quickly pulling the rope to drag the hatchet back.

Augustus curses and clicks his tongue, up to his collarbone in quick sand. "Aim for the trunk, sweetheart."

Sage ignores him, getting ready for another throw.

"If she throws it to the trunk it won't stay in long enough to hold our weight," Cashmere growls. She shakes her head at him. "I seriously don't know how you're a Victor."

He glares at her. "I'd be happy to remind you when we get out of here."

Another throw, and another disheartening splash back into the sand as it latches onto a root, then bounces off. Ptolemus keeps drawing the weapon back to them and handing it to Sage.

He gives a nod. "You can do it," he breathes.

She nods a shaky nod, the handle getting slick from the wet sand. Her eyes bore into a gap between two roots. Wide enough for her hatchet to fly through, but with the right angle, would get stuck when trying to yank it back. Some strategy, mostly luck. She inhales a quivering breath as she rasies her arms, muscles poised and praying for a miracle.

She can't let Ptolemus and Shep die here.

The hatchet whistles through the air, and they all watch the rope trail after it as they hold their breaths. It soars right between the roots and disappears behind. Ptolemus quickly tugs, and they wait to hear a splash.

THUNK!

"Shit," Ptolemus gapes, a crack of a relieved grin tugging at his lips. He looks to a just as bewildered but grateful Sage with starry-eyes. Another tug on the rope, and the hatchet doesn't budge, perfectly lodged between the roots. "Holy shit, yes!"

He reaches for her hand, ready to pull her to his waist. "C'mere, c'mere, quick."

Sage strains to sidle up beside him, sinking to her collarbone. She clings to him for support, wrapping her legs around his waist, and he hands her his sword. Ptolemus's knuckles wrap around the rope sent to them by Barrow, using all his strength to slowly but surely tug them through the gurgling quicksand. It resists against them, its grasp almost like iron, and his muscles burn with lungs heaving.

After about a minute, they finally reach the massive roots, and he helps Sage hoist herself up to safety. She crawls onto the trunk, careful not to fall back into the rising quicksand. When she turns to offer Ptolemus her hand, he's already pulled himself up as well. Before he can check if she's okay, she juts her chin out to the others.

"I'll make sure the hatchet stays lodged," she pants. "Get Shep next."

Ptolemus nods and turns.

"Do it quickly," Enobaria snaps. "I'm next."

"Maybe I should be next," Augustus pipes up through ground teeth. He's sunk the most out of them all. "Since I'm up to my fucking chin!"

Cashmere glares. "Whose fault is that?"

Shep is up to his chest in the stuff, and his green eyes are still so lost. When Ptolemus throws the rope out to him, it hits his shoulder, and he yelps in terror. The man tries to climb out of his mind first before he can climb out of the Gamemakers' trap.

"Shep," Sage calls. He flinches and wheezes as he fights back his memories. "Shep you're okay, just grab the rope. Barrow sent us a rope."

The Mentor's name does something to him, some of the fog clearing. Not so much so he's stopped panting, but enough that he follows the direction, grabbing onto the rope. He mumbles those words their Mentor said to them before they left this morning. Eleva la vista, eleva la vista, eleva la vista, over and over.

Slowly but surely, he also tugs himself through the quicksand, it gurgling hungrily in response. Ptolemus pulls him onto the stump once he's close enough, and Shep's body heaves. Before Sage can check on him, he's already latching onto the big tree right next to them, climbing so fast he disppears into the branches within seconds. It's probably a good idea, the fallen trunk incapable of holding them all safely. Especially not with the levels of the quicksand rising as well.

A dark thought gnaws at Sage when she sees the other Careers waiting to be rescued. Sinking further and further. It'd be so easy to leave them. To let them die. No human threats to Katniss and her allies as she upholds her deal.

She bites down on the inside of her cheek hard, almost flinching at the capabilities of her mind. She still holds the hatchet in place, and watches Ptolemus hesitantly prepare to throw the rope again.

They're all probably going to die. But Sage isn't going to let it be because of her — well, for at least as long as she can help it. She can't bear anymore blood on her hands.

Following her request, Enobaria is tugged to safety next. She follows where Shep went, climbing up the large tree for higher ground. The sand rises and covers some of the roots as Ptolemus throws the rope over to Cashmere. Augustus looks like he could decapitate someone as he tilts his head up to the sky for a breath of air. He's almost completely submerged.

"Fuck you all," he growls.

"Ladies first," Cashmere shrugs, straining to pull herself over. Augustus makes this awful strangled sound as he's tugged further under.

By the time she's climbed up onto the roots and Ptolemus goes to throw the rope to the Victor from One, he's nowhere in sight. Completely submerged. Even Sage feels herself stiffen when she notes it's almost like he were never there, not a single sign of him. Ptolemus straightens warily as he listens.

Did they just watch him die?

Cashmere snatches the end of the rope from Ptolemus and huffs. "Strength in numbers, right?"

She clenches her jaw as she glares where Augustus once sank. There's a bubble or two popping in the direction that she throws the rope. It lands with a Slap!, before the end slowly sinks. All that can be heard is the gurgling and the pounding of their hearts as they wait for a cannon.

Sage's bones jolt when a fist bursts through the sand with the force of an earthquake, the soupy mess rippling ever so slightly. Augustus gapes for a breath, covered in muddy gray as he clenches the end of the rope in his grasp. He blinks away the sand and yanks. His raspy breaths grate against the air as he heaves himself to safety. He refuses to take Cashmere's hand when she offers to hoist him up along the trunk.

Ptolemus quickly gestures for Sage to climb the tree, and she snatches her hatchet from the roots. She hands him back his sword. Augustus crawls up onto the rubbery trunk as he tries to shovel air back down his throat. She feels his glare boring into her back, and she climbs the tree faster, Ptolemus right behind her. Eventually, Cashmere and Augustus must follow suit, the panting echoing where they go.

They find Shep and Enobaria balanced carefully on the branches. The former's ragged breathing has slowed, but his eyes are still muddy and blinking the terrors away. Meanwhile, she cleans off her weapons with jerky and irritated motions.

Sage finds another branch to catch her breath on, and Ptolemus sidles up beside her. Cashmere tries to shrug the sand that remains caked on her frame, while Augustus wipes it off his face angrily. He's covered head to toe, hacking up quicksand every few breaths.

Ptolemus's palm finds the small of her back as he peers over at her carefully. "You good? You alright?"

Sage shakily nods, eyes boring into the rising sand beneath her. The roots of the tree only poke out at the very end, like an outstretched hand's fingertips just grazing the surface. The gurgling grows louder as she watches it be swallowed whole, and she shudders.

Ptolemus smooths down her hair, tucking some of it out of her face before he draws her temple to his lips, the adrenaline and terror still making his chest heave. Sage leans into his ribs.

"That was amazing." Another grateful kiss as he tugs her into him even more. And it was close. Too close. "Quick thinking down there."

She shakes her head. "It was Barrow." Her gaze flickers back over to Shep, who's pressed his clammy forehead against the bark of the tree. His eyes are half-open in a daze. Her heart sinks. "He must've seen the quicksand somewhere on the screens."

"Guess you're both good for something," Enobaria mutters.

Augustus must have caught his breath, because he straightens along his branch. His dark eyes narrow at his company bitterly. "Glad to see the whole gang's here." He rakes his fingers through the clumps gathered in his golden hair. He shoots daggers to no one in particular. "Thanks for jumping to my rescue back there, guys."

The Legacy just meets his glare evenly. "We tried. Not like you would've done the same."

"Quit whining," Cashmere snaps. She tugs off her shoe carefully, turning it upside down and allowing the sand to fall beneath them. "I threw you the rope, didn't I?"

Before they can argue, Sage clears her throat. "Guys."

Everyone stiffens at her tone. Then they follow her nervous gaze boring into the earth below. The gurgling grows louder the more the quicksand swallows. Like a ravenous beast, it never seems to be satisfied as it rises higher and higher. The thick darkness steadily inches closer, only halfway up the trunk of the tree they've found sanction in.

Ptolemus's heart drops back into his gut, and he feels his bones trembling at the thought of one wrong slip along the branch. He clings to Sage tighter. The Gamemakers Quicksand threatens to consume the entire jungle — the Careers included. It seems to be making headway even faster than before the longer they watch. Augustus groans.

"I think we're going to need some higher ground."

Soundlessly, they all climb with an animalistic sense of urgency, that ingrained desire to survive ignited. But it's futile, the amount of sturdy branches that can hold their weight slim. They manage to crawl up one more set before it seems their luck is about to run out.

The quicksand rises, and rises, and rises like a strong high tide. Sage looks for another escape, another tree to leap to, but they're all the same in height. They're all meant to succumb to the same fate as the gurgling and starving sand prepares to quench its hunger and swallow them whole. Ptolemus clings to Sage, and she clings to him as they watch breathlessly.

This is it. This is how they're going to die. The Gamemakers seem clearly set on it, squashing their solution and reigning more terror. It was all for nothing.

Enobaria cranes her body to dodge the sand rising to her foot. Even Augustus appears unsettled as he stiffly watches from his crouch. He grips his spear futilely.

All of them are so used to watching it steadily rise that when it suddenly goes still it feels like the Universe has paused the clock. A glitch between moments. How else could it be possible? Sage's lungs freeze in her chest too as she just stares. Ptolemus is too afraid to move. The quicksand hovers only two inches below their toes, like a predator just watching and waiting its prey.

But instead of going for the death bite, it appears disinterested, retreating instead. As if the Gamemakers have pulled the plug, the quicksand gurgles and drains slowly. The trees and rocks are still caked in it, coated by the muddy gray. Ptolemus and Sage exchange looks as they watch the jungle floor finally reveal itself once more.

As if nothing even happened.

━━━━

»»————-　♡　————-««

Thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed!!! Feel free to comment, I love hearing from you :)) thoughts, opinions, worries or predictions?

Ahh this chapter ended up being so much longer than I anticipated! I hope it wasn't boring :(

I wasn't set on doing quicksand for this sector (they're currently in 5-6) because my original plan was to do a forest that sort of eats you like the maze from Harry Potter goblet of fire and Sage was going to burn it with matches that barrow sent then I remembered the arena is a rainforest and it would not catch fire that easily unless dried out! 😃 so that didn't work lol so I hope my alternative was still exciting.

Also, I'm just saying, if mateo were in these Games our guy would've ended Augustus by now screw alliances. Would've caused all sorts of trouble!

Please let me know what you think :) I love hearing from you! I put the tw about character death mainly because Augustus nearly died but yeah. Peep Sage and her brilliant mind saving the day :)

Thank you for all your love and support on this story! It means the world to me and I love seeing your comments :) ❤️

ALSO — FLIP ON OVER TO THE NEXT CHAPTER, I DID A DOUBLE UPDATE :)

Word Count: 7900