"Why are you following me?"

Shit. He didn't turn back once. Maybe my feet aren't as light as I thought. I pause in the alley. Unfortunately, I'm near a heap of rubbish. The smell doesn't make it any easier to think, and neither do the rats scrambling about unseen but obviously present.

"We need to team up," I say.

"Need?" He doesn't move, but I imagine he wants to cross his arms. I imagine his eyes narrowing in scrutiny.

"You'll have double the chance of winning," I say. "You heard Mr. Fame. There are six items, which mean six potential winners."

"I prefer to work alone," Jungkook says.

I move forward, thankful that he doesn't shift. Once I'm by his side, I see that his brows are furrowed in annoyance. Cosma Yang chasing after a boy. Who knew my family's welfare would come to this.

"I'll make you a deal," I say.

"Another deal?" Jungkook says, spitting out the words. "Another half of your spoils?"

"That was your idea," I say. I speak without thinking, too focused on gaining his trust. "If we come across an item, I'll let you have it—the first one. As long as you promise me that we'll look for two."

"Why are you so desperate to ally with me?" Jungkook says.

I can't explain that since he saved my life the day I signed up for League of Fame, we're meant for more than being simple competitors. "Won't you be lonely?" I ask. "Trying to win by yourself, I mean."

Something like pain flashes across his face. "I'm used to being lonely."

I take a risk, reaching next to me to grab his hand. "Jungkook. We can win if we work together." I don't know why I feel so strongly about fighting by his side. I just know my instincts. I know we are meant to share more than just an accidental encounter in the outskirts. I keep seeing him pointing his gun at the man who attacked me. I see his eyes widening in warning at the banquet earlier today.

He pauses after a long sigh. "Fine, Cosma. Let's make an alliance."

I smile, letting go of his hand. "Jungkook, I mean what I said. I believe we can win. We're smart and strong, and together we'll be hard to beat."

"You don't even know how to fire a gun," he says.

I place one hand on my holster. "I'm a quick learner."

He shakes his head and walks, forcing me to follow along. "I hope you're at least good with a knife."

I keep my mouth shut. It's embarrassing that I almost always forgot to take a weapon with me to scavenge. I always relied on my legs—running away was my form of protection. Even so, I remember my dish-washing days, how many knives I polished with my bare hands. "I'm good with a knife."

"Where are we heading?" Jungkook asks.

"If we head to the outskirts, the other competitors won't find us so easily," I say. "But I believe the clues will be in the city. We should stay somewhere in the middle."

"I agree," Jungkook says. "Somewhere in the middle would be good. We have until midnight until the fighting begins. We should use this time to get a good home base."

"Finding an abandoned apartment will be impossible," I say. "What about staying close to the Han River?" The rich live south of the river, below all the agricultural land and factories north of Seoul. "Since you're a thief, you could steal food from the wealthy, and maybe we can find a shed to live in."

Jungkook thinks about it for a moment. He gives a slight nod. "Let's do it."

On the way, we see several competitors going in the same direction. I avoid their gazes. Some of them have gathered in groups of four, five, or six. I guess they're betting on stealing the majority of the items. As Jungkook and I walk, we separate from them. And soon we see no one but random citizens. They take one look at our uniforms and shuffle quickly away. They don't want to witness the blood bath. I don't blame them. In the past three years, my parents made Zion and I stay in the entire two months League of Fame ran on. They make the city into a war zone, my mother used to say. I want you and Zion to have nothing to do with those madmen.

I suppose I'm one of those madmen now.

"What are you going to do if you win?" I ask Jungkook as we walk in the direction of the river. I can't help but hear the echo of Mr. Fame's words, that we're being watched at all times. Maybe conversation is what I need to forget that. Besides, Jungkook's voice is interesting—simultaneously calm and angsty.

"I want to be a singer," he says, sounding almost far away. Like he's lost in a dream. "I've always wanted to perform in front of a big crowd. I want to travel to New York or London. Maybe join the past six winners of League and perform together."

"Would you perform with me?" I ask. I don't know what prompts me to. I can't imagine being on stage, the fear of being scrutinized by thousands at once too much for me to comprehend.

"I would," he says, without a pause. "I think you'd make a great performer."

We squeeze through a tight alley, between two apartments that appear to be crumbling at the seams. "Why is that?"

His shoulder is almost pressed against mine. He gives a grunt that somehow feels like a sigh. "You're pretty, first of all."

I want to roll my eyes. But something in his voice makes me think he's not trying to flatter me. Jungkook doesn't seem like the flattering type. He's much too honest for that. "That's debatable," I say, not able to accept the compliment. I don't know what's with me. With any other boy, I wouldn't doubt them. I'd probably flip my hair and agree, saying something like Of course I'm pretty, you're looking at me after all. But Jungkook is different. I'm afraid of what he would think of me.

What exactly is wrong with me?

I tell myself that it's the looming threat of death that is making me think differently. I am already sweating, not because of the walk, and I keep imagining a bullet through my own skull.

"Are you a good singer?" he asks.

"I can sing in the shower," I say. "But no, I have a horrible voice. Maybe I could dance. We could do a whole number, you singing and me prancing about the stage."

He laughs. I find his laugh beautiful, like a stone skipping across a tranquil pond. "Thank you, now I'm imagining that horrible performance."

"Horrible?" I find the thought of death floating away, even though in less than ten hours we'll be fighting for our lives. "I think I'd blow the audience away."

Jungkook exhales through his nose, and I think maybe he'll swiftly become sick of my jokes. Zion always humored me, and once he learned what sarcasm was he kept calling me the master of it. Teach me to be funny, Cosma. My friends at school never laugh at my jokes.

The thought of Zion brings me back to the competition. At least a hundred others vying for one of the precious six items. There will be blood spilled, alliances made and broken, backstabbing, until there are only a few left to claim the prize. Or maybe even none. That could be a possibility, especially if the six idols guard their items skillfully.

"Once we're alone," I say, "you're going to teach me how to shoot."

Jungkook shrugs. "Sure, we're going to need all the firepower possible."

As the day moves on, my heart beats rapidly. The sun sinks below the skyline, and soon the sky turns into the confusing gray and purple. The in between time when it is neither day or night.

Twilight. My mother hates this time, says it's when the devil does most of his work. I rolled my eyes whenever she said that. I don't believe in God, I would reply.

"Do you believe in God?" I ask Jungkook, looping him into my thoughts.

He replies without a pause. "I believe in God. I'm a Christian. I went to a Christian school."

"Really?" I say. "I'm an atheist."

Jungkook shrugs. "If either one of us dies, or both of us, we'll find out pretty quickly which one of us is right."

"That's pretty dark," I say.

Jungkook just grunts in reply. I like how he doesn't feel the need to always be talking, like some boys would when I attended school. In his silence, I find little fragments of peace. I feel safe. Even though I've known him for only a week. We continue to walk, keeping a healthy pace. When I squint, I make out the bridges built across the river. It'll take us the rest of the night to reach the waterfront, but we should make it in time before the games officially begin.

"Let's win, Jungkook," I say. "There can't be any other option."

This time, it takes a while for him to reply. "Okay, Cosma. Let's win."

Believing is the first step, isn't it? Jungkook wouldn't say something he doesn't mean. I've only known him briefly, but I don't find him the type to sugarcoat things. If he can believe, I will as well. As we walk at the same pace, I fight the urge to loop my arm around his. I'm sure he would push me away, so I keep my distance.

Even though I might die within the next twenty-four hours, I don't focus on that thought. I only hear Jungkook's voice calling me pretty.