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Caelum's groans of pain snapped Daphne back into action. She whirled around, finding him swaying weakly on his feet, feebly collecting the discarded supply bag. His left hand was pressed against his wound, looking awfully like he was holding his own rib cage together.

Daphne rushed forward, positioning herself beneath his arm as he began to slump dangerously. He braced himself against her, despite the fact that he was a whole head taller. Daphne was briefly concerned with the slightness of his weight, the bones jutting out along his spine. She swung his arm around her neck, wrapping her own around his waist.

"Can you walk?" She asked, trying not to stare at his blood gushing onto her own vest.

"Does it look like I can?" Caelum grunted, his eyes glazed over in pain. "It doesn't matter, we need to get out of here."

"Here," Daphne tightened her hold on his waist. "I'll take a step, and you match me."

She placed a foot forward. Caelum did the same, sucking in a breath. Daphne took another step. Caelum mirrored her. Again. Again. Again and again.

They heaved themselves across the plaza, dripping a trail of blood like a twisted Hansel and Gretel, stopping only so Daphne could pick up Theron's discarded crossbow and bolt. Daphne was on edge, desperately wishing they could go faster. If someone attacked them right now, Caelum would be done for.

He was obviously holding in his pain, if his gritted teeth and sweaty brow said anything. He couldn't suppress a hoarse moan as they made it to the cover of the nearest alley.

"Hey, you're safe now," Daphne said, forcing her voice to remain steady and soft.

"No," His eyes were screwed shut. "No, we have to get inside a building. We're still too exposed."

"Can you-"

"I'm fine, let's go before someone finds us."

They made their way down seven buildings, just enough to put a bit of distance between themselves and the Cornucopia. Even as another spasm of pain gripped his body, Caelum insisted on going further.

"Shut up, Caelum, you're literally holding in your own kidney right now." Daphne glanced down at his blood, the crimson stain seeming to spread rapidly.

"Well, you technically only need one to live."

Daphne rolled her eyes, prying open the door to the nearest tower and guiding Caelum towards the stairs. "I would smack you, but you're already in enough pain."

"That's so considerate of you."

"Don't get used to it, dumbass."

Caelum grunted a laugh, which just sent another pulse of blood leaking between his fingers. Daphne acted as a brace for Caelum as they made their way up the stairs. Her arm was beginning to ache from the pressure of holding him upright, but it didn't cross her mind to let go. Caelum was there when she was at her most vulnerable, but even if he hadn't, Daphne had a feeling she would've bent over backwards to help him anyways.

Caelum stumbled as they reached the second floor, nearly doubling over and taking Daphne down with him. Daphne remained on her feet, murmuring words of encouragement as she urged him upright. He was beginning to shake, sweat gleaming across his forehead. Daphne would've preferred to go up another floor, but Caelum seemed to be hanging on by a thread. She wasn't sure if he'd be able to make it up another flight of stairs.

So they walked together to the room at the end of the hallway, Daphne gentle and steady, Caelum weak and staggering. As soon as they got inside, Caelum slumped on the ground against the far wall, shrugging off his vest. He discarded his bow and quiver, taking care to lean them neatly against the wall despite his pain. Daphne swept around to shut the door, setting down the bag of supplies that she'd miraculously kept hold of the whole way back. She then lay Theron's crossbow and bolt carefully on the ground, as if they were a landmine that may explode at any given moment.

She untied the supply bag, finding several items: a filled bottle of water, stitching materials, several yards of bandages and various pills and ointments. She loosed a breath, surprised at how generous the Gamemakers had been. They must really want the tributes to struggle, if they were giving out such powerful healing supplies. It would be such a show for them, the tributes being badly injured but springing back into action faster than ever.

When she turned back around, Caelum had stripped off his shirt. Daphne did a quick double-take. His wound was stark and jagged, an angry red slash between his two bottom left ribs. Blood coated his side all the way down to the belt of his pants. More was slowly pulsing from the gash.

Caelum looked up at her, eyes slightly squinted. "It really hurts," he stated, as if pointing out a simple observation.

Suddenly, tears began to roll down his cheeks. "Damn it, Theron! Goddamn you, you psychopath." He dragged his hands down his face, sobbing weakly. "Why, why-?"

Daphne could sense he wasn't just crying about his injury. Theron was dead. She'd killed him. He'd been Caelum's friend at one point, so even if they had ended on such bitter terms, of course Caelum was going to grieve.

Guilt seeped into the pits of her stomach. Despite the fact that Theron had been trying to kill them, it had been her knife who'd taken Caelum's friend from this world.

Daphne shook her head to clear her thoughts. She had much bigger things to worry about right now. She grabbed the supply bag and knelt beside Caelum, trying and failing to not grimace. She'd never been much of a squeamish type, but seeing the gaping tear in Caelum's torso was enough to make anyone avert their eyes.

Caelum promptly cursed as Daphne took out the needle and thread from the bag.

"Of course you have to stitch it," he muttered, throwing his head back against the wall. He'd stopped crying abruptly, though his green eyes were still watery.

"Well, I think this is an anesthetic pill if you want it," Daphne suggested, screwing open one of the vials. "It's got morphling in it, so I wouldn't take it repeatedly. It'd be a shame if you got addicted."

"Just give it to me," Caelum rasped, holding out a trembling palm. Daphne dropped a singular pill into it, then handed him the bottle of water. She thought about her own water bottle, still in Azalea's backpack somewhere along with her plaid blanket and some apples. Azalea had left it in the alleyway right before the Career attack. Daphne wondered what had happened to that backpack.

She watched Caelum down the pill, then take a long gulp of water as if he'd been dehydrated for hours. Dryness of the mouth and throat were symptoms of worsening blood loss. She had to hurry.

Caelum's body, which had been rigid and tense with pain, suddenly went slack. His eyelids drooped, his chin sank down. Daphne blinked, brows knitted together in concern. She snapped her fingers in his face, to which he responded with a mild grunt.

Daphne squinted at the label on the vial. It said 'fast acting,' but she hadn't expected it to be so immediate.

She examined Caelum's wound, wishing there were a more sanitary way of fixing him. She remembered watching her mother sewing blankets from homemade wool fabric, either to sell or to keep Daphne warm at night. Esther's fingers had navigated the fabric with expert precision, every stitch identical and strong along the edges.

A pang of sadness struck Daphne then. If Esther were here, she'd know what to do. But Esther wasn't here. She'd never be. It was likely Daphne would never see her again.

Daphne sucked in a determined breath. She'd been on her own for about a week and a half now, she could figure out how to stitch a bodily wound. Caelum would bleed out soon if she didn't. She tried not to think that if she were to ever see her parents again, Caelum would have to die anyway.

No. There had been two victors once, long ago. Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark had defied the Gamemakers during the seventy-fourth Hunger Games, threatening a double suicide. Daphne hoped it wouldn't come to that. Surely the Gamemakers wouldn't fall for it again. She'd have to figure out another way, some way for both her and Caelum and make it through alive. She wasn't sure she could bear it if he was the one who-

No.

Now is not the time to think about this.

Caelum's eyes had closed. Daphne snapped her fingers by his face again, then gently patted his cheek. This time, he made no response. Assured that he was asleep and wouldn't wake up anytime soon to feel anything, Daphne set to work on his wound.

It was messy, and her unsteady hands didn't speed up the process. At least the wound didn't look like it pierced any organs. As Daphne tied off the last stitches, she couldn't tell whether she wanted to throw up or simply lay down and sleep. The slash itself had stopped bleeding significantly, though Daphne couldn't help but wince as she stared at the inflamed flesh, the crimson stained strings woven in to keep his skin together.

She hated it. She hated everything. Why did Caelum have to be the one who got so injured? It wasn't fair. He was a gentle bookworm, a guy who loved losing himself in worlds a thousand miles away. How could he deserve this?

Daphne began to mop the blood from Caelum's torso. He was thin. He'd always been gaunt, which wasn't unusual for a citizen of the outlier districts. Now, after nine days in the arena, his skin seemed to hug his frame even tighter, his bones poking out starkly. He looked so fragile, his narrow chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

Outside, the sunset was giving way to twilight. The last rays of sunlight streamed inside through the window, erasing the shadows beneath Caelum's cheekbones and turning the ends of his eyelashes to gold. He looked so peaceful, almost serene in this lighting. Daphne had to tear her gaze away.

She could feel the heat radiating from his skin as she soaked up lost blood with a gauze, then applied some pain-killing poultice from the supply bag onto his wound. Despite everything, she found her face reddening as her fingers bumped over the outline of lean bones and muscles.

Her hands seemed to grow a mind of their own. They traveled further, further up, tracing the grooves of his stomach, his chest. The curve of his throat, the arc of his jaw. The softness of his cheek.

Daphne jolted backwards, her heart thundering in her chest.

What the hell am I doing??

Face on fire, fingers suddenly uncoordinated, she hastily wrapped a bandage around Caelum's lower torso to keep the gauze in place. She then crossed the room, desperate for something to do to keep her busy as her flustered mind kept reeling.

After laying Caelum's discarded shirt out on the floor to dry, looking through the supply bag three or four more times than necessary, figuring out how to work the crossbow and finally cleaning her knives and counting Caelum's arrows, Daphne lay down on the opposite side of the room and tried to sleep. She was too exhausted to think about keeping watch the entire night.

She watched the memoriam through the window before letting her eyelids fall. She saw Theron's face with a pang of anguish, which grew deeper upon seeing Pavel up after him. Pavel, the slippery, clever fighter from District Twelve. It was hard to imagine him dead. She immediately hated whoever had killed him.

When she did fall asleep, she was assaulted with nightmares of Theron as a gorey, half-decomposed ghoul running her through with that damned stick.

She woke several times throughout the night, covered in cold sweat. Around the third or fourth time, she reluctantly shifted closer to Caelum. The next, even closer. Then closer.

By the time she stirred awake and the mid-morning streams of light filtered into the room, she found herself mere inches from where Caelum lay still propped against the wall. Her arms were outstretched, as if she'd been reaching for him unconsciously. Daphne blinked away the last visions of a demonic Theron, pushing her sweat-damp hair back from her eyes.

Daphne rose to her knees, her body aching in protest. Caelum's eyes were still closed, but something was off. Daphne furrowed her eyebrows, examining him. It took her a couple seconds to realize what was wrong.

Caelum was not breathing.

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