THIS IS NOT A DREAM.

All around Alecto, the water glittered under the sun bearing down on them, a blinding, undulating mirage springing tears to her eyes. After all that time in the dark, the sudden exposure to the sun felt like a flaying, stripping her of her skin and her vision, leaving her vulnerable and naked, a raw nerve flinching from the intense brightness.

Inside her head, the tempest raged on against the deafening roar of the waves. Water lapped at the edges of her platform, vicious and ravenous, as if tempted to catch a taste of her flesh, drag her under, the salt spray cooling against the back of her calves. Alecto blinked the tears from her eyes until her vision adjusted, and cupped a hand against the sun to shield her face. Still, none of it felt real to her.

Overhead, the sky was a strip of vibrant blue, a blue she only saw when she went up the Rockies with her father, a blue that signified open space, a blue that signified freedom from the lifeless quarries and the drag of life back in their colourless District. Waves rolled against the shore, the air filled with a mist that stung the inside of her nose each time she inhaled. When was the last time she'd taken a swim? Behind her childhood home in Victor's Village spanned a clear lake, its waters undisturbed and rippling with a calm each time a breath of cool wind blew in from the mountains. In the summer, her father would take her swimming in the shallow parts, and they would watch for the dolphins and the killer whales from the pebbled bank.

But Alecto had never seen the ocean in person until her Victory Tour last year, where she'd been taken on a guided walk down the sandy beach of District 4. When she looked over at the ocean that day, the unbroken horizon so different from the view from the mountains, this vast expanse of blue and sky and a line that blurred between the two mediums, Alecto felt, for the first time, like weeping.

Under the surface of its beauty, though, the current sought to devour.

This is not a dream.

A coppery tang flooded her senses, and the inside of her cheek blazed with a searing pain, blood welling in the valley of her gums. She'd bitten down on the soft skin, tearing open a wound that would be sure to nag her for days. But the pain plunged her back into reality. Back into the arena. With less than a minute to gather her bearings, to piece together a plan, Alecto shoved the disorientation down, fought through the veil plastered to her eyes. In all this light, there would be no March Hare. There was no Nikolai. There were no shadows to taunt her. Only a stark clarity, a moment cleaved down to pure instinct.

Heart pounding, Alecto squinted against the light and searched for her father, but couldn't see anything but water and silhouettes in the salt spray misting the air, the sun beating down upon them a blind pulled over her eyes. The Cornucopia gleamed in the sun, its golden sheen glaring, and from the flat island of rock it sat upon, twelve spokes protruded toward the tributes, slicked with saltwater but undeniably the only pathways to the Cornucopia on the surface of the water. Quickly, Alecto found Cashmere two spokes away, though she hadn't seen Gloss anywhere. To her left, on the other side of the spoke attached to her launch plate, one of the morphlings from Six stood, swaying, her skin sagging against her skeletal face, gaunt and hollowed from years of the insidious drug. Alecto prayed, for a moment, that the female tribute would fall off her plate, get blasted to pieces in the water, to cull the competition—not that either tributes from Six were any threat to her.

Panic threatened to collapse the steel she'd fortified her focus with, but she smoothed it away with a steadying inhale. Sweat plastered her blonde hair to her temples and the nape of her neck, the ponytail her stylist had slicked her fair hair back into suddenly pulling tight on her scalp. Alecto searched once more, just to be sure. Just to know. Two years now she hadn't left her father's side, and now she couldn't stand to have him out of her sight for this long. Since she couldn't find him, she assumed he must be on the other side of the Cornucopia.

As the timer ticked down, the count running closer and closer to zero each time she blinked, Alecto called up the advice Iko had given her during her first Hunger Games. At the two second mark, she made her final split-second decision. When the gong went off, Alecto launched herself off the plate and dove into the water.

1. Assume nothing.

The cold was an instant shock to her system, spikes of ice slicing down from the crown of her head, down her spine and through the soles of her feet as she plunged through the darkness. Without wasting a second, Alecto pushed through the feeling, kicking up toward the surface before her muscles could seize up. Within her first gasp for breath, Alecto glimpsed the frantic scramble of tributes dashing toward the Cornucopia. With quick strokes, she cut through the water, pushing against the current and the rocking waves threatening to sweep her off-course. She clenched her jaw and forced herself to focus on pushing through the water, keeping her splashing to a minimum and keeping pace with each powerful stroke. Whatever was above the surface didn't matter. Not until she actually reached the rocky bank. Whatever weapons remained, she would fight for. Even if she only get her hands on a single blade, Alecto knew she could make do. She'd done it before. She could do it again.

But so had everyone else.

Before she could let herself spiral, Alecto hit solid rock. As she pulled herself ashore, Alecto barely felt the burn in her muscles as the numbing surge of adrenaline spurred her on. She went for the first weapon that caught her eye. It wasn't until her fingers closed around the gilded hilt of the glinting sword that she heard the sharp hiss of sand shifting in the ground behind her.

2. Never go against your gut.

Without having to think twice, Alecto snapped round and swung the sword upward. She met the stunned gaze of Cecelia, female tribute from District 8, her brown eyes widened as she glanced down at the sword impaled through her sternum. With a sharp twist, Alecto drove the sword deeper, forcing a choked gurgle from Cecelia's throat. Blood dribbled from her mouth, seeping into the front of her quickly darkening grey jumpsuit. The knife in her hand clattered to the ground as she clawed ineffectually at Alecto's blade, staggering backward. Before the force of Cecelia's fall could drag her forward with the momentum, Alecto jerked the sword out of Cecelia's body, the blade dislodging with a sickening squelch, blood spurting from the sucking chest wound, its unsettling warmth splashing across Alecto's face and painting the sand a vibrant crimson. Cecelia's body hit the ground with a dull thud. Alecto barely heard the cannon signifying her death amid the high-pitched tone ringing in her ears.

The attack came from behind. Pain exploded in her back as someone slammed into her with the force of a freight train, knocking her to the ground. There was a flash of silver, the sear of pain ripping up her side. Alecto snarled, thrashing violently as she slammed her elbow over and over into her assailant's head. She felt the crunch of bone under her arm, then an agonised howl ripped through the air. In that moment, Alecto felt her muscle memory click on, felt her body flush with electricity as she flipped out of their slackened grip and landed on her feet. Her vision tunnelled as she snatched her sword off the ground and swung. Metal crashed against metal, blades hissing against each other, as the tribute flipped back onto their feet and pushed back. Going stroke for stroke, Alecto and her opponent clashed and retreated, slashing and hacking at each other without relent.

Every inch of her body screamed. The gash in her side wept, but Alecto barely felt the pain. This was no place for weakness.

Finally, Alecto found an opening. She dropped low, sweeping her opponent's leg out from under them with a kick. As they stumbled, Alecto lunged. Three quick strokes. Throat, chest, gut. Only when her opponent dropped to their knees, one hand flying to the gaping wound in their throat and the other clutching their ravaged abdomen, intestines slipping from the gash, did Alecto's vision clear. Did she finally see the face of the female tribute from District 10 as she collapsed in a heap in the sand.

Chest heaving, Alecto turned to the spokes, and scanned the bloodbath for her father. Amidst the clashing tributes going at each others' throats, the vicious battle rising around her as more tributes made for the pile of weapons in the heart of the Cornucopia, Alecto struggled to locate him.

She couldn't afford to burrow deeper into the Cornucopia to scavenge. Unlike her Games, the Cornucopia only contained a mountain of weapons, but no other supplies. As far as she knew, she was one of the first Career tributes to reach shore. There was no time to ruminate, no time for hesitation. Who were these people to her, anyway? Out there, they were barely familiar faces and forced formalities. In here, they were just bodies standing in the way of the exit.

Alecto heard the quiet whistle of the arrow grazing against her left ear before it struck the wall of the Cornucopia and glanced off, snapped in half from the force.

3. Everyone is potentially under opposition control.

When she spun round, bloodied sword flashing in the light, Alecto locked gazes with Katniss. At the very last second, she stopped her swing short before the blade could slice through Katniss' neck. With the tip of Alecto's sword poised at her throat, Katniss eyed her warily, lips pressed into a thin line. In her hands, her golden bow gleamed, the string drawn taut, an arrow nocked and ready to fly. Unlike in the training facility, there was no one who could stop them. Something warm and liquid trickled down the shell of her ear, and where the arrow had grazed her, the cartilage stung. Alecto's gaze narrowed, chest heaving, adrenaline singing through her veins.

For a moment, something passed between them. Their Games were just one year apart, they were both the youngest victors in this arena, and yet, both so different. Katniss had saved her District partner. Alecto had gutted hers. Katniss had sparked something no one could explain, her presence a burning pile of memory, ghosts slipping from the smokestack one at a time. Alecto had faded into obscurity, recoiled into herself the way a soul retreated deep into a body as the light faded from its eyes. They were not the same, and Alecto did not delude herself into thinking that she could've been the one standing in Katniss' place had she been a little braver. And yet.

They knew nothing except survival.

And they would kill without blinking an eye if it meant keeping their respective tribute partners safe.

"Alecto," Finnick's voice drawled over her shoulder, as if he were coaxing a cornered and feral animal into a state of compliance, sending a shower of prickles down the nape of her neck. "Put the sword down."

Hackles raised, she felt his presence now, looming behind her the way a scorpion's tail came up over its head. Alecto didn't need to take her eyes off Katniss to see that he had his weapon trained on her back. Already, her mind was spinning, seeking out the angles she could take to fight her way out of this corner. Dismantle the girl with the long-range weapon trained on her heart or the man twice her weight in muscle mass with the prongs of his trident at her back?

"Back away from my daughter, Finnick." Atlas Heller's voice cut through the melee, his tone icy enough to turn the ocean into a tundra, and the tension between Alecto's shoulder blades dissipated. The force with which the elation struck her through the chest sent the blood in her body rushing to her head. Giddy with relief, Alecto let the mask slip, baring her teeth in a vicious grin. Her father was here. He was alive. And he had her back. For a moment, Alecto felt Finnick's reluctance as the trident hovered by her lower back. Then, slowly, Alecto heard the soft thud of the trident staking through the sand.

Atlas spoke again, his voice level, this time, to Katniss, who kept her arrow trained on Alecto. "Let her go. We're not here for you."

A shadow of confusion flickered over Katniss' face, a mask of stone and palpable mistrust. Alecto didn't lower her sword, but turned to glimpse her father standing at Finnick's shoulder, spear in hand, resting upon his shoulder in a manner that lacked threat, though Alecto knew from experience that if Katniss so much as leant in the wrong direction, it would be let fly and impale her in a blink. With his left hand outstretched, Atlas regarded Katniss with a stern look, his glacial eyes trained on the younger girl. Saltwater dripped from his jawbone, his dark hair slicked back out of his face, and the front of his grey jumpsuit was dotted with blood. Alecto found no entry wounds, no tears in the fabric, which meant that the blood wasn't his. Finally, she met her father's grim but not malicious stare, and spotted the gleam of the gold band on his ring finger.

"You, too, huh?" Finnick mused, lifting a brow, seemingly spotting the token. Slowly, he carded a hand through his sandy hair, but both Atlas and Alecto caught the vivid flash of gold—the same shade of gold as the ring on her father's finger—of a bangle, patterned with flames, encircling his wrist. Alecto lowered her sword then. "I don't suppose your other alliance is aware of this?"

With a subtle shake of his head, Atlas kept his gaze on Katniss, who hadn't moved a muscle, the bow still aimed right at Alecto, though the conviction behind the threat had begun to weaken. "We need to go. Now. Before they come for the boy."

It didn't take a genius to figure out who Atlas was referring to.

"How can I trust you?" Katniss hissed, grey eyes narrowed, the bow now trained on Atlas. "How do I know you're for real? Where did you get—"

A flicker of movement over Katniss shoulder drew Atlas' attention and as his gaze sharpened, lips pursed, Alecto knew he'd made a split-second decision that sent everything spiralling into motion. It happened so quickly neither of them had time to react. Without warning, Atlas' arm snapped out and let the spear fly. Alecto found herself moving before her mind could make sense of it. All she knew was the flash of the arrowhead, the string going taut, then her body crashed into Katniss' in a rough tackle that knocked her aim askew. They hit the ground hard, Alecto making contact for a second before she rolled off of Katniss, just as Atlas' spear struck the dark body rising from the water with such force that it knocked them backward into the waves laving with ravenous intent at the shore, hungry for blood.

A pair of calloused hands wrested Alecto off Katniss without much ceremony. On instinct, Alecto flinched out of their grip, and met Finnick's bemused stare with an icy glower. Katniss blinked, and turned to look over her shoulder at where the spear had landed. Stunned, the four of them watched as Gloss' body floated up to the surface, the spear jutting out through the center of his skull bobbing in the water. His dark eyes, once shark-like and predatory, were now empty, glassed over.

"Like that," Atlas said, his tone void of emotion, his expression betraying no grievances about what he'd done. He met Katniss' shocked gaze with a burning look, the severity of his conviction etched into the harsh lines of his face. There was no going back now. All their cards were on the table. "Now we have to get off this Cornucopia before Cashmere comes to kill us all."

For the risk he'd taken, Alecto shot her father a sharp look as he went to retrieve his spear before stalking back over to the Cornucopia. From the pile of weapons, he drew a belt of knives and a set of short swords sheathed in twin scabbards. He flung the latter at Alecto, who caught the swords with ease. If Gloss had reached them already, there was no doubt that Cashmere would follow suit. And if Cashmere were to witness what had just happened, how quickly her father had severed their alliance for Katniss' sake, there was no doubt in Alecto's mind that she would unleash hell upon them. In truth—and Alecto didn't want to admit it, let alone think it—he'd doomed them all.

Neither of them spoke a word as Finnick went to retrieve Peeta, who stood on the edge of his platform, watching, waiting, and the rest of them followed. They found Mags in the water, paddling around Peeta's platform. Together, they swam quickly toward the shoreline, not once daring to look over their shoulder to see what was coming for them. Alecto kept her eyes forward, kept swimming until she felt her feet touch sand, and the moment she rose out of the shallows, she turned to drag her father out before anyone else could touch him.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," Atlas panted, spitting saltwater and gulping in mouthfuls of air as he staggered onto the sand. He turned to offer a hand to Mags, who flashed him a toothless grin, pink gums gleaming, and took his hand. As she watched her father help Mags out of the water and onto the sandy shore, her tremorous frame one gust of wind away from shattering, Alecto wondered how she'd made the swim from the launch plates to the shore. Frankly, she wondered how the old victor even survived the bloodbath at all.

The six of them gathered on the beach, brushing the saltwater out of their eyes and catching their breath.

"You're insane," said Finnick, shaking his head as he reached out to clasp a hand over Atlas' shoulder. "You and your kid. But I'm glad we have you."

"You kids okay?" Atlas turned his gaze on Katniss, who planted herself in front of Peeta, a protective shield. "Alecto hit you pretty hard. Your baby—"

"Will be fine," Peeta said, stepping forward with a reassuring smile, one hand resting on Katniss' lower back. "We'll be fine."

Jaw clenched, Katniss didn't answer, but she didn't flinch from Atlas' stare. Tension strung her shoulders, and the grip on her bow tightened, knuckles blanching paper white. She wasn't swayed. But that didn't matter. Finnick knew. Finnick must've been in on the plan all along, whatever this plan was, considering how quickly he'd bought Atlas' display of loyalty. In all of this madness, Alecto had forgotten the little nugget of information Peeta had shared with the whole of Panem during his interview. It went without saying that Alecto didn't quite believe it, didn't quite understand what Peeta's endgame was, but that latter part was attributable to the fact that she didn't understand the appeal of babies. To Alecto, this announcement merely painted a bigger target on Katniss' back. It was a weakness, some soft underbelly exposed to the arena's teeth. More unfathomable was the fact that Katniss was two years younger than Alecto, and already an expecting mother. If she really was pregnant, if this wasn't just some ruse to lull everyone into the jaws of some bear trap, Alecto knew that, even if Katniss escaped in one piece, the baby wasn't going to make it out of this arena alive.

Alecto tugged at her father's wrist impatiently. Whatever Katniss believed didn't matter as much if they didn't get a move on while there was still light. More importantly, while Cashmere was still a body of water away.

"Into the jungle," Atlas said, his voice gruff, but gentle. "We need cover."

They didn't need to be told twice. Peeta and Katniss went first, disappearing into the thick shrubbery, as Finnick hoisted Mags onto his back. Atlas watched them go, one by one. By now, all the tributes had scattered into the arena.

4. Don't look back; you are never completely alone.

From the shore, they heard a keening cry, a bone-chilling note that cleaved through the air and the hush of the waves, and an eerie silence settled over the beach. Alecto lingered for a moment as the others slipped into the tree line, casting a glance over her shoulder at the Cornucopia, where Cashmere's radiant hair shone in the sunlight as she bent over the body of her dead brother. Alecto knew nothing of siblings, had none of her own, but she knew about family, and she suspected that there must've been something that ran deeper than the blood, a connection fostered between two people whose faces echoed each others' like twin mirrors pointed toward each other. A thread severed only in death. This wasn't the cry of someone who'd just lost an ally, but one of someone who'd felt one half of themselves die.

Which made Cashmere all the more dangerous.

"Come on," her father's impatient voice urged. Atlas frowned, one hand planted against Alecto's shoulder blades, nudging her toward the forest. "Let's go."

Alecto nodded, and peeled away from the shore, the whisper of leaves brushing against her shoulders as she followed Finnick, Mags hitched on his back,

Despite what Iko said, and despite the ache in her joints as she plunged through the plumage of trees, the sleep she'd gotten was one of the most peaceful she'd had in a long time. Under the bed, her father's breathing body lying beside her, no nightmares plagued the dark of her mind, and for the first time in two years, Alecto slept through the entire night without being torn back into consciousness from the carnage of a dream. That night, there were no March Hares in her periphery, no visions of Nikolai and his serpentine smile. No venom and no vitriol.

But now, as Alecto lunged through the jungle, her father following in suit at her heels, all she could see were the shadows jumping out at her from within the underbrush. Now, she clung to Iko's voice, a harsh echo in the shell of her ear, like a lifeline, the red thread pulling her out of the dark twists of the labyrinth in her head.

5. Go with the flow, blend in.

Eventually, the sand of the beach darkens into a soft, rich soil and the greenery thickens into a rich viridescence, no longer the bleached, dry bark of driftwood and almond mangroves on the tree line. Though the canopy sheltered them from the harsh burn of direct sunlight, the heat remained in the thick, humid air. As they pressed forward, silent as shadows, too wired to say much at all and risk alerting anyone else hiding in this section of the arena, Alecto struggled to breathe properly. Eventually, the foliage closed in behind them, swallowing the view of the beach between a thicket of trees.

6. Vary your pattern and stay within your cover.

As the ground beneath them gave way to a steeper incline, she felt her father's steady presence at her back, his footfalls a calming rhythm as they hiked up the slope. They wove between the trees, picking their way carefully over roots. If it weren't for the emergent circumstances, the fact that they were in the middle of a death match, their lives signed away to the public eye, Alecto would've felt right at home. Ahead, Peeta spearheaded their venture into the jungle, his slow gait setting the pace. Finnick trailed him, slowed by Mag's added weight. Behind him, Katniss kept her arrow nocked, eyes glancing furtively around, watching Peeta's back, watching her own back. Alecto observed her for a moment, trying to divine what was so special about her. What made them so different from each other.

Until Katniss, sensing the extra set of eyes drilling into the back of her skull, turned and met Alecto's piercing stare.

7. Lull them into a sense of complacency.

Alecto didn't look away until her father cuffed her lightly on the back of her head.

She sent him a scowl, rubbing the back of her head, and Atlas rolled his eyes. "Play nice."

A pained look flickered across Katniss' expression as she watched the interaction, the most curious storm of emotion that dissolved when Katniss seemed to remember herself then. The mask slid back into place. She pressed forward, refusing to look over her shoulder again. Alecto didn't much care for Katniss, if she were to be honest, but she did wonder what Katniss had seen. Alecto knew that look Katniss had worn, just moments ago. She saw it in Iko's carefully guarded face each time something vaguely reminded her of Alex. She saw it in her father, closed-off as he were, each time he went down into the basement to the punching bag. This was the look of the haunted. A memory, perhaps, but of who?

8. Pick the time and place for action.

Mercifully, they stopped when Atlas deemed them deep enough into the jungle that Cashmere wouldn't be able to track them, and watched Katniss scale a tree so she could help them make sense of the arena, gather their bearings—though Alecto suspected that she'd simply needed to get away from the rest of them to collect herself where they could't reach her.

They'd lost sight of the Cornucopia's odd configuration on the water. Peeta had likened it to a wheel, and no one contested. Finnick had set Mags down to roll out his shoulders, his trident in hand, a casually defensive position that Alecto knew from his deceptively relaxed stance, was poised for immediate reaction. She had to give it to him, really. Mags was, realistically, nothing but dead weight. If this alliance fell through, Finnick was all alone against four formidable opponents. Peeta didn't prove much of a threat in the weapons department, but he was of considerable size, Katniss had her arrows, and Alecto and Atlas were both skilled and able-bodied enough to take Finnick down in three seconds flat.

Quickly, Katniss vanished from view. Peeta leant against the base of the tree and shook one of his legs out. Alecto hung back with her father, far enough from the group that they wouldn't be the first ones within Finnick's range of attack, but close enough that they didn't look as though they were about to split off and make a run for it. This, Alecto thought was a much smarter option. She turned to her father, the question poised on her tongue. But no sound came out.

Atlas only glanced down at his daughter with a disgruntled look. "Looks like you won our little bet. Coastline, beach, water. Not an abandoned city."

"What?" Peeta asked, confusion furrowing his brows.

"We were wondering what this year's arena would look like," Atlas said. "I thought it'd be an urban setting. Alecto thought it'd be, well, this. She won, clearly."

Peeta blinked, still evidently perplexed as he regarded Alecto. "I don't mean to be rude, but, I didn't think you—"

Alecto lifted a brow, just as Peeta cut himself off, flushing a vibrant red.

Atlas smiled, seemingly understanding what Peeta was getting at. He laid a hand over Alecto's shoulder. "You don't need words when you understand each other."

In minutes, Katniss descended from the tree with feline grace, dropping onto the ground squarely. Finnick straightened, his gaze hardening as Katniss regarded him with a steely look.

"What's going on down there, Katniss?" Finnick asked, his voice a patronising drawl. "Have they all joined hands? Taken a vow of nonviolence? Tossed the weapons in the sea in defiance of the Capitol?"

Katniss scowled. "No."

"No," Finnick echoed back, a confrontational edge to his tone, "because whatever happened in the past is in the past. And no one in this arena was a victor by chance." He flicked his gaze toward Peeta. "Except maybe him."

Katniss' expression darkened. Ultimately, Finnick was right. Though they'd joined hands on stage during the interviews, that brief moment of camaraderie meant nothing the moment the bars slid shut behind them, the moment they were locked into the arena with one ultimatum: the last one alive gets to walk away. In here, only the strong survived. In here, the arena turned everyone inside out, wrapped its claws around the soft, fleshy parts of their most primal instincts and cut away all the grizzle of reason. Just the night before, Alecto had held Gloss' hand. Just five minutes ago, her father had put a spear through his head.

For an endless moment, Finnick and Katniss stared each other down, the air between them grown terse, soured by the dawning realisation that, despite what had just happened at the Cornucopia, they were not friends. Katniss flexed her grip on her bow. Finnick's trident begun to slide back.

"Enough." Atlas' voice cut through the silence, his tone short, whetted with impatience. He slanted the two tributes engaged in a silent stand-off an unyielding glower. "We don't have time for this. You." He jabbed a finger at Finnick. "Don't take your frustrations out on her. She's just a kid. She's been through enough as it is. And you." Under the quiet fury of Atlas' stare, Katniss didn't wither away, didn't flinch. Only returned it with a defiant glare, but otherwise slackened her stance and crossed her arms over her chest. "There are at least a dozen tributes still out there waiting to get the jump on you. Whether you trust us or not, we're all you've got. You, alone, cannot protect yourself and Peeta—yes, I've noticed his leg's been giving him trouble, which means that everyone else in this arena would figure it out in the same amount of time. This alliance has its weak spots, but if we play our cards right, we can survive long enough to thin the herd and see the voluntary dissolution of this alliance. Understood?"

With a lackadaisical grin, Finnick tapped two fingers to his temple in a mock salute. "Yes, captain."

Katniss stared Atlas down for a long moment. Tempted to speed along the process, Alecto drew one of her swords out of the scabbard she'd strapped to her back, turning the blade over and over in her hands as she eyed the younger girl.

A beat passed. Katniss gave Atlas a stiff nod.

"So how many are dead?" Peeta asked, stepping between Katniss and the others, his back turned to them.

"Hard to say," Katniss said, reluctantly. "At least six, I think. And they're still fighting."

"Let's keep moving," Peeta suggested. "We need water."

"Better find some soon," Finnick said. "We need to be undercover when the others come hunting us tonight."

A hungry gleam crossed Atlas' face as he met Alecto's knowing grin. He patted his belt of knives. "Let them come."

Let them come.

9. Keep your options open.

This is how you survive the wild, Iko had said, the night before Alecto had gone into the arena, two years ago. This is how you stay ahead of the game.

Alecto glanced between the six of them.

This is not a dream, she reminded herself. There is no waking up from this.

AUTHOR'S NOTE.

hello hello long time no see! unfortunately, from now on we may not see iko for awhile until they make it out of the arena. However! i am going feral for alecto and katniss' slowburn friendship. their parallels. the narrative foils. also, atlas literally becoming a FATHER FIGURE TO ALL OF THEM.

also i have something special planned for when alecto finally speaks lollll i will be sobbing btw!