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Caelum felt like he was being watched.

Daphne had gone off to relieve herself, and Caelum couldn't have asked to accompany her without seeming like a pervert. So she'd vanished around the side of the house, and Caelum had palmed his bow and fidgeted, straining his ears for any sign of danger.

He knew he was being ridiculous. Daphne had been setting up the trap for almost an hour now, and in that time they hadn't picked up any hints of a nearby threat. He knew he'd heard something while out earlier, but he'd dashed back inside before he could investigate.

Maybe it really had just been a squirrel. Or maybe it had just been the Gamemakers playing a little joke on him. Or perhaps it was actually a tribute all along, waiting for the perfect moment to strike while Daphne was out of his sight.

There were only eight tributes left alive in the arena. Things were going to get bloody sooner or later.

And right now, Caelum still felt like he was being watched.

His heart gave a startled jump as a small leaf fluttered down and landed upon his hair. His gaze shot skyward, scanning the green mass of the tree looming over the porch. He couldn't see much beyond gnarled branches and leaves, but he drew an arrow nonetheless.

Not three seconds later, something came barreling down from the tree, leaping right atop Caelum. Caelum went down, crying out in surprise as his arrows scattered across the porch. He lashed out with his bow, cracking it over his attacker's head.

His attacker made no noise as it was knocked off his body, crashing against the wall with an eerie crunch. Caelum snatched one of his spilled arrows, having it nocked and launched before the tribute could recover.

The arrow buried itself into its right thigh, and Caelum blanched as the blood that splattered was ink black instead of crimson. The putrid odor struck him harder than a tangible weapon.

Then he noticed the gaping wound in the back of the tribute's neck, wide and dark against the ashen skin. As if a knife had been embedded there, only to be hastily ripped out. There was also a hole through one of the tribute's biceps, like an arrow had been shot right through.

Caelum was suddenly dizzy. He stumbled back against the railing, horror tearing like icicles down his spine.

No, it can't be...

NO.

There was nothing he could deny as the tribute's head swiveled around, creaking grotesquely as the severed bones of his neck grinded against each other.

"You're dead!" Caelum sputtered, suddenly finding it harder and harder to breathe. "I watched you die!"

Theron Dahir smiled. A horrible, twisted smile like a slash across his face. His skin was stretched tight over his bones, yet it seemed to sag at the same time. His eyes were dull and cartoonishly sunken in, his brown irises holding no spark of his usual animated charisma. They were completely, utterly lifeless.

The sight of him sent a rush through Caelum's mind. He remembered Theron smiling as they'd sat beneath the plum tree, joking about his stick. He remembered Theron's yowl of agony as Caelum's arrow had gone straight through his arm. Caelum's own fiery pain flashing red across his vision as Theron had slashed him across the flank.

Theron yanked Caelum's arrow from his thigh without a single wince. Caelum shrank back as Theron took a staggering step towards him, his movements jerky and irregular like a malfunctioning robot. The wrongness of it all threatened to stop Caelum's heart altogether.

This was not Theron. The real Theron would've made a joke by now, maybe done something stupid to make the audience laugh. Theron is dead. Daphne had put a knife through his neck when he'd tried to kill Caelum. Theron is dead.

And yet here he was, advancing towards Caelum like a zombie from a horror movie.

Caelum's body was frozen with terror, even as Theron came close enough so they were nose-to-nose. Theron's body somehow didn't reek of decay, but the main source of the odor was the rotten blood that welled out of his fresh thigh injury–which didn't seem to pain him one bit. Curiously, no blood leaked from his neck or arm wounds, leaving torn skin and a clear window into his body. Caelum refused to look closely. He didn't trust himself not to vomit.

With Theron so close, the stench of his rotted blood flooded Caelum's senses. Caelum covered his nose and mouth with his hand, hoping to block out the smell. A silly part of him wondered if Theron would be offended.

Caelum could hear Theron's heart thudding faintly in his chest. He was alive, somehow, but not by a lot.

Theron merely cocked his head to the side, his neck making an inhuman crack. The chilling smile hadn't left his blue, split lips. He lifted his skeletal hands, his fingers strangely elongated, the tips blackened and clawed. An immense pressure bubbled around Caelum's mind as Theron dug his fingers into Caelum's temples.

Caelum screwed his eyes shut, feeling his mind slowly begin to blank as Theron's clawed hands–icy cold as death–sank deeper into his skin. Pain prickled at each contact point.

Caelum fought. He could tell Theron was doing something to his mind, or perhaps he was simply trying to crush his skull. Either way, Caelum could feel his ability to freely think begin to slip from his grasp. The pressure was growing, flaring out to burn through his thoughts.

Caelum kicked out with his legs, hooking Theron around the knee and sending him wheeling backwards. His hands tore from Caelum's head, leaving claw marks across his left cheek. The pressure abruptly vanished, and Caelum's mind flooded back to him with a startling intensity. He clutched at his temples, groaning as he choked back vomit.

Theron was back on his feet, reaching for Caelum's head once again. Caelum gathered his bearings, then charged at Theron and barreled him straight into the wall. He tried not to shudder as he felt stiff muscles and tendons within Theron's body squelch like a sponge. Caelum darted out of the way, gathering two arrows from the ground.

One after another, Caelum fired them straight into Theron's chest. Black blood spurted as the arrows pierced his heart in succession, bursting a new wave of foul odor that nearly buckled Caelum's knees.

Theron collapsed on the ground, his limbs spasming. His oily blood continued to stream from the arrows in his chest, then out of his mouth as well, but in an odd, goopy manner. He fell still moments later.

There was no cannon shot. Of course there wasn't. He'd been dead all along.

Sobs threatened to break from Caelum's throat. One of fear. One of relief that whatever monster had worn Theron's face was dispatched. One of desperate confusion: what the hell was that?

And one of grief, for he'd now witnessed the boy who'd slowly become his close friend die twice.

He didn't allow himself to dwell on it; not yet. Daphne was taking far too long relieving herself, and she would've surely been alerted by the noises of the scuffle.

Alarm seized Caelum's brain, and though his body ached and his head was spinning, he quickly gathered his arrows and dashed towards the far side of the house, yelling Daphne's name. He skidded around the corner, his boots scuffing against the gravel, bow armed and ready. He nearly dropped it in shock.

Daphne was slumped against the wall, clearly unconscious with an angry, bleeding cut across her forehead. Crouched atop of her was none other than Azalea Espinoza, her long, claw-like fingers pressed against Daphne's temples. Azalea's head whipped up as Caelum appeared, the bones in her neck cracking grotesquely like Theron's.

Azalea looked even worse, which was to be expected. She'd been dead a day or two more than Theron. Reddish froth was leaking from her nose and the edges of her mouth. Parts of her body were showing signs of bloating, one of the stages of decomposition.

There was a hole slashed through the flesh at her heart. Caelum caught a glimpse of a raw, pulsing organ through the wound, repaired and functional, and fought the urge to vomit once again.

"Get your filthy undead claws off of her," Caelum snarled, letting an arrow fly. Azalea twisted at the last moment, and the arrow landed a couple inches to the right of her exposed heart. Like Theron, she too didn't give any indication that she felt any pain. The oily blood that seeped from the arrow's mark filled the air with its reek.

Azalea's dead eyes held Caelum's as he reloaded, but before he could fire again, Daphne suddenly snapped to life. She shot to her feet with an animalistic hiss, her features twisted with primal rage and hunger. She turned on Caelum, armed with a knife, and Caelum jumped back in alarm.

Her eyes were white as slates, those dark irises nowhere to be found. Yet somehow, they focused right on Azalea. Azalea lifted a blackened finger, pointing straight for Caelum's throat. Daphne sprang.

She barreled Caelum to the ground, pain jarring through his spine as he toppled. Daphne loomed over him, knife brandished, her knee pressing painfully into his groin. Her bladed hand came down in an arc, but Caelum caught her wrist before she could bury the knife into his flesh.

"Daphne, what the hell?" Caelum grunted, channeling every last scrap of power into his arm as he wrestled Daphne's knife. "It's me, Caelum. You wouldn't want to kill me, right?"

Daphne didn't seem to hear him. Her blank eyes were inches away from his own, spittle flying from her mouth. She shoved down with her knife, inching closer and closer to his skin. Caelum's face scrunched with the effort of keeping her at bay.

"Daphne, please," He rasped. "Fight this. Azalea's mind-controlling you somehow, this is not you. You are not a killer-"

"But I am," Daphne's voice came out cracked and hoarse. "Don't you see? I am a killer."

Even though she was under some sort of brainwash, Caelum knew that deep down, she believed those words were true. He couldn't deny it without being a liar, Daphne had made several kills. He knew she hated herself for it. And now, he hated Azalea for making Daphne want to kill him. If she succeeded, Caelum knew she would probably never recover from another ally falling by her knife. And Azalea relished that.

"It doesn't matter if you're a killer or not," Caelum ground out, Daphne's knife slipping another inch closer to his throat.  "You know what else you are? A fighter. You never give up. You're stubborn as hell. Fight this, Daphne. Fight it!"

Tears leaked out of her blank eyes. The sight of it sent chills down Caelum's spine.

Her knife faltered. Caelum seized the opportunity to push upwards, throwing Daphne off of him. She let out a squeak upon hitting the ground, and Caelum winced.

Daphne was up and hissing within a second, slashing her knife. Caelum jerked backwards just enough for the blade to faintly graze his collarbone, no deeper than a paper cut. Daphne lunged again, slamming Caelum's already-throbbing head against the wall. His vision swam and he sank to his knees.

"You have no right," She whispered, her voice quaking with intensity. "You have no right to tell me who I am, Caelum Caflisch. Not after you've made me feel like I was worth less than horseshit for so long, like you would never be caught dead enjoying my goddamn presence."

Daphne jammed her knee into his stomach, prompting a yelp and a fresh wave of nausea to roll across Caelum's senses. As she brought her knife down once again, Caelum punched the blade straight out of her hand. In the same movement, he unbuckled her belt of knives and hurled it far out of reach. It bounced against the gravel, skidding yards away.

Daphne, now unarmed, resorted to swinging her bare fists. She caught Caelum repeatedly across the face, threatening to strike the consciousness right out of him. Caelum went limp, feigning surrender. He let his eyelids flutter shut.

He watched through his eyelashes as Daphne picked up her knife, advancing silently. She raised her blade in a leisurely manner, no doubt thinking she had all the time in the world now that Caelum was knocked out cold.

But Caelum surged forward in a blur, ramming into her abdomen and sending her flying backwards. In those precious moments in which she collected her bearings, Caelum had taken hold of his bow and an arrow. He drew back the bowstring, swinging around towards Azalea, who'd been standing and surveying the whole fight.

This time, he didn't miss. His arrow struck home, right in the center of Azalea's raw, beating heart. Pinkish mass quickly turned to black, erupting fresh greasy fumes. Azalea dropped like a stone, dead. Dead like she should be.

Daphne went limp as well, sprawling on the ground. Caelum hurried to her side, checking her pulse and gasping in relief to find it stable. Azalea must've knocked her unconscious, judging by the long bloody cut across her forehead.

Caelum repeatedly patted Daphne's cheek. She didn't stir.

Lifting her into his arms, Caelum returned to the front porch. Theron's body was gone. Caelum stared at the spot it had been just minutes ago. With a sigh, he carried Daphne inside the house.

Holding her like this reminded him of the night he'd finally found her. Had it really only been two days ago? She'd been covered in blood, some dry and flaky, some fresh. It had been the night with a record amount of cannon shots–aside from the Bloodbath–and Caelum had been nearly delirious waiting for the memoriam to check if Daphne had made it out alive.

Caelum set Daphne down on the floor of the kitchen, out of sight from the front door. He then sat and stared as she breathed, finding the steady rise and fall of her chest relaxing. It meant she was okay. She was alive.

As were Theron and Azalea.

Caelum buried his face in his hands.

Theron had died twice. He would've been fine if Caelum hadn't dragged him into the arena. Over and over on the train ride, the penthouse they'd stayed in during the pre-Game events, Theron had assured Caelum that he wanted to be here. They'd both known the risks upon swearing a vow that if one were to be Reaped, the other would be the one who followed.

Sure, the first time he died he'd been out to kill Caelum, and Caelum really, really appreciated Daphne for making sure that didn't happen, but it didn't change the fact that Theron and Caelum had truly been close. Caelum hadn't realized it before, merely dismissing Theron as just an acquaintance he hung out with in a class or two. Caelum dug his nails into his palms, blinking back tears.

"You have no right to tell me who I am, Caelum Caflisch. Not after you've made me feel like I was worth less than horseshit for so long, like you would never be caught dead enjoying my goddamn presence."

Caelum struck the wall with a yell, splitting his knuckles and leaving a splintering hole in his wake. Anger, rage, simmering hate for himself boiled deep in his heart. It had always been there, no matter how he tried to deny it. Tried to convince himself that he was doing the right thing.

He could've been happy. Daphne could've been happy. Instead, Caelum had soured whatever they had like a frightened, paranoid idiot. How could he have been so damn stupid?

Daphne and Azalea's year-long feud had been his fault, in a number of ways. If he'd just handled the information better, maybe the two might've still been best of friends. In a way, Daphne was furious at Azalea because of what Caelum had become, thinking that if Azalea hadn't said anything, they'd still be on good terms.

Maybe then, Azalea wouldn't have picked Daphne into the Games. Daphne would be okay. Caelum looked down at Daphne's slumbering form, seeming so vulnerable on the kitchen floor.

He whispered, his voice coming out as shattered as his heart.

"I'm so sorry."

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