The third week of the games passes without much fanfare. Jungkook and I patrol the city carefully. We don't run into anyone else. But at the same time, we miss the clues. The golden fireworks still light up the sky. But they are much too far for us to have a chance to get there in time.

Jungkook's movements are almost sluggish. We take breaks multiple times throughout the day. He's more quiet than usual, and a part of me thinks he's given up. I know he's grieving the boy he knew from middle school. So I don't push too hard. I let him have his moments to himself. Even though time is slowly running out. It is falling out of my possession like sand through my fingertips.

We sleep, we steal food, we walk in circles in hopes a clue will appear near us. I think exhaustion is haunting us both. The adrenaline in our bodies is running out, making way for the want to sleep longer and take breaks from wandering every hour.

On Sunday, we return to the company empty-handed. Third week down, five more to go. I count the participants who have survived. Thirty-five including me and Jungkook.

"We have to do better this week," I say, as Jungkook and I eat at one of the banquet tables. Today's menu is barbecued kalbi and roasted vegetables. My family could never afford a meal like this. But instead of enjoying it, my worry for Jungkook seems to eliminate my sense of taste.

Jungkook grunts in response. He moves his food around his plate, and he's barely eaten anything.

You can't grieve like this in the middle of the competition, I want to say. Save it for afterwards, when we steal the items and win. But I know emotions don't work that way. Seeing Jungkook so affected makes me think about my own sins—the girl who died from my bullet. I think both of us will have nightmares that may never go away. No matter how much time passes.

"You should eat," I say, even though I know my opinion may be worthless. "Keep up your energy."

Jungkook shakes his head. But he takes another bite of kalbi, chewing slowly.

I can't help but steal glances toward the six idols. I send my most scathing look toward Taehyung, the idol who cheated us out of his friendship ring. I study the rest, wondering what sort of artistic task they'll require of us. A part of me feels like I'm in a circus. Why not just have us fight to the death? Why have us perform like show dogs?

My spirits are a bit higher as we leave to begin the fourth week of the games. Jungkook and I set out west below the Han River. Going past Seocho and Dongjak, we move into the Yeongdeungpo district. Our plan is to head as far west as we can before midnight strikes. We've already walked for hours, and midnight is only a half hour away.

I hear them before I see them. Their footfalls trampling across the grass. If they've been stalking us for long, Jungkook and I were oblivious.

Quickly, I turn around. Five bodies are silhouetted in the moonlight. I don't have to think too hard to realize they're the allies of the boy Jungkook killed.

It's not yet midnight. They shouldn't be attacking us yet. But I'm sure vengeance is blinding them—just as Jungkook and I are blinded with regret.

One of the girls fires straight at us. Her aim is true. Jungkook gasps, falling against me. I sink to the ground with him.

"I hope you die slowly," the girl says, words laced with venom. She and her allies turn away, running in the opposite direction.

I am firing at them before I even realize it. I use up all my bullets, blinded by rage. I know I don't hit any of them. But that doesn't stop me from trying. Even when they are too far away—just dots in my vision, I fire one last time in hopes the bullet will at least graze one of them.

I holster my pistol and turn my attention to Jungkook. He's on the floor, bleeding out on the grass.

"Where are you hurt?" I ask, afraid of the worse. Maybe he will die in the next minute. Maybe in the hour. It's all uncertain for me right now, like hovering at the edge of a cliff but not realizing the drop is a hundred meters.

"I guess I deserved that," he says. I'm afraid he'll start coughing up blood.

His hands are pressed against the side. Peeling away his jacket, I survey the damage. The bullet passed through the left of his abdomen. It is distant from his major organs. I hope. I pray.

"We need to get you back to the company," I say, not thinking straight.

"No point," Jungkook says, in between gasps. "We won't make it back before midnight."

I press the jacket against his wound. When Jungkook groans, it pains me too—but I'm relieved that he can still feel, that his senses are still alive. I tie his jacket around his torso. Hoping the pressure will stop the bleeding. I kneel down. "Roll over and get on my back," I say.

Jungkook loops his arms around my shoulders, and I stand bearing both of our weights. A fear strikes me like lightning. That the group of five will come back and decide that our lives should end now. That Jungkook deserves a certain death, not one that hangs in suspense.

But we're all alone. I carry Jungkook with strength that I didn't know I had. Yes, Jungkook is around my size, but the only boy I've carried on my back is Zion—and he's half the weight. No matter, I find it in me to carry Jungkook down perpendicular to the river.

Once we reach the nearest building, I set Jungkook down carefully. The first floor is a small grocery store. Without Jungkook's lock picking skills, I have to rely on brute force. I use the hilt of my dagger to break the glass of the front door. I turn the knob from the inside. Again, with Jungkook on my back, I lead us inside. I pass the ramyeon aisle and the fresh fruits and vegetables. I lay Jungkook in the backroom, where more dried goods are stored. I prop him against the back wall, turning on the light.

Scared of what I'll see, I untie Jungkook's jacket and get a closer look at the wound. I realize it's a deep graze, taking off a quarter inch of my partner's flesh on his left torso. But the bullet isn't lodged. The bleeding is bad, but not irrecoverable.

I know the hospital will never admit him, being that we're participants of League of Fame. I scramble throughout the whole grocery store, looking for a first aid kit. Finally, I find it in the bathroom closet. I look inside. Only a tiny bottle of antiseptic and a roll of bandage. I guess it will have to do.

Sunday, he could get treatment from the nurse at the headquarters. That's what I received for my wound on the forearm. But Sunday is a whole week away.

Jungkook hisses when I apply the antiseptic. My bandaging skills are horrid, but he doesn't comment. He must be too much in pain to notice how my hands shake when trying to wrap the bandage evenly around his torso.

"Stay here," I say, once I'm done. The bleeding is a bit more controlled now. But I ran out of bandages. I need more. I also need medicine to dull the pain.

I take Jungkook's gun. I leave him in the backroom, turning off the light. "I'll be back soon," I say. Survive, please. His labored breathing is the last thing I hear before I make a decision to rob the nearest hospital.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Feel free to vote and leave a comment.