Jungkook keeps checking his watch. As we draw near to the waterfront, looking for shelter. As we crouch down together in an abandoned boat house. As the sky completely darkens. I feel his anxiety heighten. It doesn't help my own racing heartbeat, or the sweat that breaks out on my forehead.

The boathouse we found is small, housing only two motored boats. It smells like rotting wood, and a single window overlooks the river. It includes a measly little lock. Someone could probably bust open the door with one good kick.

The next time Jungkook checks his watch, I turn from where we're both resting our backs—against the wall across the window.

"If you check your watch one more time, I'm going to throw it into the river," I say.

Jungkook shrugs. "Fifteen more minutes," he says. "We could die in fifteen minutes."

"But we aren't," I say. "What happened to winning?"

He remains silent, but I know what he's thinking. He's calculating the odds. There are a hundred others vying for survival. Surviving the bloodbath is one thing. But then we have to steal an item from one of the six idols. It seems almost impossible. Mr. Fame believes that stardom shouldn't come cheap. I can almost picture him overlooking the entire city, watching the participants like his chess pieces. If he wants a game, I'll have to give it to him. For my parents. For my brother.

"Teach me how to use a gun," I say. "We don't have much time."

Jungkook stands, and I follow. He gestures to the gun at my side. "Imagine you're shooting at the window. Go ahead and hold it."

I take out the gun from the holster, feeling the foreignness of its weight. I look to Jungkook for approval. He simply nods.

"Hold it in the web of your hand," he says. "You're going to grip it with your middle and ring fingers. Always point the pistol downwards when you're not firing. Or you could hurt someone."

I follow, watching as Jungkook demonstrates with his own gun.

"Keep your feet apart, your left foot slightly forward," he says. "Raise your gun, keeping it level. With your left hand, support the gun. The front sight and rear sight should line up. That's how you know it's pointing true. Then, turn off the safety. Hold your breath and fire."

I lower the gun, committing all his instructions to memory. "I'm not looking forward to firing my first shot."

Jungkook just shrugs. "You'll get used to it."

I want to ask, get used to what exactly? Jungkook said he was a thief. I wonder how many people he hurt with his pistol, whether he killed anyone. Maybe it's a relief that there is blood on his hands. At least one of us has experience.

I gasp when the first firework lights up the sky. It's the official ushering of League of Fame, a one-minute show where the sky is bursting with life. Instead of a new year, the fireworks are a harbinger of death. Only a few of us will make it through the games. Maybe none at all.

Jungkook and I exit the boathouse just for the minute of celebration. Every color imaginable, but especially gold and silver, illuminate the midnight. Once the last sparks die out, we enter the boathouse again. I feel the hectic events of the day weigh down on me.

I lie down on a bed of wood, using an old rag that was hanging on one of the boats as my pillow. Across from me, Jungkook lies, his chest rising and falling steadily. I close my eyes. I imagine it will be impossible to sleep. The adrenaline lights a fire in my chest. But exhaustion wins in the end. Even in this illusion of safety, I manage to dream.

In my dream, I see Zion on his bed. Zion in the hospital. Zion running and jumping to greet me after a day of my scavenging. His grin is wide, his dark hair falling over his eyes which always hold the whole universe within them.

I wake to a gunshot.

The sound is like a knife slashing my ear drums. I sit up rapidly, checking the door. For a moment I imagine that Jungkook is dead. That we've been found out, and it's my turn to face the afterlife. To find out whether Jungkook or I was right about God.

Jungkook is sitting up too. He shakes his head. "They're fighting, Cosma," he says. "But far away. Maybe a mile into the city. You're safe."

It's like he can sense my thoughts. My ears are ringing now, rebelling against the silence. How am I supposed to survive if a single gunshot rakes panic throughout my body? I nod, steadying my breath. "Okay, let's try to get more rest."

I lie down, but sleep doesn't come again. I imagine a hundred more gunshots. Some are probably real, too far away to be certain, but others are ghosts in my imagination.

Two months. I have to grow up quickly and fortify my defenses, wearing armor of steel for Zion and my parents. And of course, I cannot let Jungkook down. He allied with me because I told him we could win together. If I go back on my promise, I'll be a coward and a liar.

I am neither. 

A/N: Thank you for reading! What are your thoughts on the story so far?