My first night in the arena is a sleepless one. I spend most of it curled next to Tressa's warm body, scouring the forest for any sign of life. There's nothing, though. Time ticks by slowly, uninterrupted by wildlife or canon fire.

The silence bothers me, and I spend the better part of my watch trying to figure out why. By first light, I have my answer: they don't want us dead. Not yet, anyway. We're all at our physical peak, beefed up on a weeks' worth of food from the Capitol. One night in the cold won't be fatal. And that's important, considering that the games started less than twenty-four hours ago and fourteen of us are already dead.

Tressa wakes up with a smile on her face. It's forced, I can tell. But I don't mention it. She's probably just trying to ignore last night's news about her district partner; to forget the image of his pale face floating in the sky.

"We need to head east," she says abruptly, taking her knife back. "I figure there might be some caves near the foot of that mountain."

I follow her gaze, eyes landing on the snowy peak, and try to ignore how empty my palm feels.

"Sure."

Our two-person procession moves quickly and Tressa fills the time by talking.

"I hope my parents are alright," she says after a long while.

I raise my eyes from my boots to look at her properly. She isn't far from tears.

"I mean, I know they're not," she adds. "They can't be. But still…"

Her voice trails off and I can tell that this is the part of the conversation where I'm supposed to say something comforting, but all I can come up with is, "Well, you're still alive, aren't you?"

I regret the words the instant they leave my mouth, but Tressa actually laughs. It's a wet laugh – somewhere between amusement and tears – but I'll take it.

Then she burrows into the folds of her coat and looks at me, eyes curious.

"What about you?"

I frown. "What about me?"

"Your parents," she says, treating the word carefully as if it might set me off. "Do you think about them too?"

I pause, trying to work out if this line of questioning is a joke. But Tressa's face is anything but insincere.

"I don't have parents," I say before stopping to correct myself. "Well, I do. I kind of have to, but I never knew them. I've been in Medler House my whole life."

Guilt pools in Tressa's eyes at once and I raise a hand to stop her before she can start.

"It's alright, honestly," I say, voice surprisingly light. "Given the circumstances, I'd say I'm pretty lucky, actually."

Tressa nods slowly, clearly unsure about whether or not she can agree out loud. It doesn't bother me, though. The subject of parents never has. Four is something of an anomaly amongst the Districts – at least, from what I can tell. The Capitol only ever presents our best side: an impressive line-up victors, picturesque neighbourhoods nestled against the nape of the sea, charming marketplaces bursting with fresh food. Everyone focuses on what the cameras are pointing towards, not what they are turning away from.

If they did, they would see the rest of us – the desperate ones. Four is an immensely overpopulated district. Some say it's our sailors blood. That large families are an inevitable part of life. But I know better.

I know that our training centre is the real problem. People figure that if they have enough kids, eventually they'll pop out a victor. Of course, things hardly ever work out that way. Unless you come from a rich family, you'll be relying on scouts. Scouts decide who joins the career academy depending on potential. That's why so many boys start working on the docks before the age of ten. They want to be seen; to be chosen. If they make the cut, they are trained at a reduced price and prepared to volunteer.

In the end, hardly anyone makes it to the arena… even less return in one piece. And what are their families left with? Debt and despair, mostly. That's where Medler House comes in. We're sort of a clean-up service, established to mop up whoever is left behind – a glorified storage space for District Four's unwanted kids.

Still, that's not what happened to me, though. I am – according to my best guess – a part of the second problem. The Peacekeeper problem. According to law, Peacekeepers are not allowed to have children outside of their home district, which is usually Two. Regardless, it happens all the time. Doubly so given Four's large population. Every now and then, you'll hear of a Peacekeeper who refuses to abandon their newfound family, but it's uncommon and rarely ends well. Mostly, the kids end up in Medler House and the Peacekeepers nowhere to be found. Not on public record, anyway.

I don't like to think about it too much.

"Do you hear that?" Tressa says suddenly, pulling me from my reverie.

I nearly jump out of my skin. "Hear what?"

She pauses, still as a statue. "It's like…" she fumbles for the word. "Static."

I strain my ears, angling my head towards the not too distant sound of rushing water.

"White water," I breathe.

Tressa looks confused, shivering on the spot. "What's white water?"

"Nothing good."

I take the lead, then, escorting us towards what I hope I am wrong about. It takes about fifteen minutes before we reach it.

"Ah," Tressa says, materialising at my side. "Now this could be a problem."

I hum in agreement, although I'm almost certain my voice is lost to the deafening sound of rushing water. In front of us is a rapid, several metres in width. I size it up carefully, noting where the water bubbles a vicious white colour. That is where the current will be fastest.

"No chance we can go around?" I ask lamely, already knowing the answer.

"And miss giving the gamemakers a chance to kill us?" Tressa returns jokingly, but I can hear the apprehension in her tone.

"Well there's no way we can get across here," I say. "We need to find a crossing."

Tressa nods thoughtfully before approaching the edge of the rapid. She pauses for a moment and then, ever so gingerly, pokes the toe of her boot into the water.

"It's doesn't look that deep," she muses.

I pull her back, unable to shake the feeling that we're too exposed out here. Unless there's a particularly gory scene playing out elsewhere, all cameras will be trained on us. And that means that something is going to happen sooner rather than later.

"It's not about depth," I say. "The current will sweep you under in seconds."

Tressa turns to face me. "I'm a good swimmer."

"Great, that'll come in handy when the rocks tear you to ribbons."

I don't mean to snap, but feeling so watched makes me feel uneasy. And there's another thought in here, too. One that, despite my best efforts, keeps worming it's way to the forefront of my mind… How easy it would be to convince Tressa to go first. I wouldn't have to do a thing. I could just hold the backpack and let the current sweep her away. Alliances fall apart all the time, and no one could blame me. After all, there are only ten of us left. Is it any kinder to wait? To leave things until there's no other choice?

"Wren?" Tressa says, waving her hand in front of my face. "You okay? You look a bit sick."

I shake my head quickly, forcing a smile that looks more like a grimace. "I'm good," I breathe. "Just nervous. I don't want to stick around here for too long."

Tressa nods, resolute. And her face is so genuinely understanding I feel disgusted at myself.

"Then let's move."

It's not long before we come upon a convenient crossing: a fallen tree that just about bridges the gap between where we are and where we're going. It's unstable. That much is obvious. It has a slick coat of bark that's glazed in a thin layer of ice and, somehow, I know that the gamemakers have placed it here deliberately. They hope to tempt us into crossing; into risking our lives.

"I don't like this," I say, turning to look at Tressa, although I struggle to hold her gaze.

She glances between the spot where we stand and the other side of the rapid, eyes narrowed in concentration.

"There's no shelter this side of the arena," she argues. "What's the alternative?"

Before I can answer an ear-splitting roar rips across the arena.

"What the-"

There's an even louder scream, a mangled howl of pain, and then the unmistakable sound of canon fire.

My brain throws up images of a disfigured tribute, torn to pieces by a raging mutt. A mutt that sounded way too close for comfort.

There's no need to tell Tressa what we both already know. The gamemakers have grown bored with our indecision. They mean to force us into action.

And it's working.

"Ready?"

Tressa nods so hard her head almost falls off, and just like that we're sprinting towards the crossing. It's only when Tressa has one foot on the icy tree that she hesitates.

"Move!" I snap, eyes darting back and forth between the treeline.

Tressa's eyes are glued on the rushing water. "Maybe it's gone?" she says, voice like a small child.

The words are barely out of her mouth before another roar thunders through the forest. This time, much closer.

"Maybe not!"

Her blue eyes flick towards the treeline and then lock onto mine. She looks desperate, frozen in fear.

"Look," I say, itching to move. "I'll go first and take the backpack and you follow behind, okay?"

She doesn't move.

"Tressa, there's no time," I say, shaking her hard. "We need to move now."

That pries a small sound of agreement from her chest, which is all the answer I need to pull the backpack from her rigid body. I sling it over my shoulder at once and climb onto the trunk, suddenly comprehending the full force of the rapids.

The tree groans under my weight, threatening to lurch onto its side. Panic burns in my chest, white hot and paralysing. But there's no time to give into it. If I hesitate, I die. If I slip, I die. If I stay here, I die. So, really, there's no option but to move.

I take half-a-second to steady my footing and adjust the backpack before I run. Just before I push off, I fix my gaze on the treeline. The bark is slick beneath my feet and I'm suddenly reminded of Fenwick's warning: You won't find ice to be your friend.

She's right, I don't. But I am moving so far and so fast, there's no time to linger on it. I slip inches from the end, careening off the trunk and into the snow at an awkward angle. My hands fly out instinctively – attempting to break my fall – and I hear a snap.

Pain jolts up my right arm in waves but, for now, the adrenaline coursing through my body subdues it.

I get to my feet at once, searching frantically for Tressa. She's still standing on the other end of crossing, frozen to the spot.

I hear the roar again, so close I'm certain we've only got seconds to spare.

"Tressa," I yell, fighting to be heard above the rapids. "You need to move now!"

She jerks into action, as if the danger of our present situation has only just caught up with her.

She takes a clumsy step onto the tree, panicking when it shifts under her weight. I do my best to guide her, calling a chain of instructions whilst cradling my arm to my chest, but it's painful to watch.

I yell at her to move faster; she hesitates at every sound. I tell her not to crawl; she drops to her knees.

She's about half-way clear when I hear the warning sound of twigs snapping underfoot. There's a half-second delay, and then it's here.

A hideous, half-bear, half-hound bursts into the clearing. Its body is gnarled and twisted, ribs protruding from its sunken chest. It moves in bizarre spasms, howling in pain. The wispy, white fur around its muzzle is stained a bright, arterial red and there's something sharp protruding from its milky eye.

Tressa lets out a gasp of fear, which is all it needs to lock onto us. Its body arches back unnaturally and it lunges for the tree.

"Wren!" Tressa screams, clinging onto the bark so hard her knuckles turn white.

Every camera will be trained on us now. Everyone in Panem will be watching: Finnick, Fenwick, Clara…

I can't die like this.

Then I look at the desperation twisting Tressa's soft features and correct myself.

We can't die like this.

I don't think about what I'm doing, I just launch myself at the tree and scramble towards Tressa's inert body.

From here, I can smell the creature. It's an awful, acrid smell. Like something left to turn in the sun.

"Take my hand!" I yell, thrusting my good one towards Tressa.

She grabs it right away, dragging herself towards me.

The mutt moves too, jerking in our direction. And the tree, which struggled enough under my weight, finally gives in.

The end furthest from my body rolls into the rapid, throwing us all on our side. The mutt – which I now realise must be at least partially blind – suffers the most. Its hind legs are swept under the icy cold water at once, and it clings to the trunk with a pair of gnarled, yellow claws.

I still have a hold of Tressa, who can't be more than a few steps from safety.

"Come on!" I scream, feeling the trunk beginning to turn.

If we stay here, it won't be the mutt that kills us. It'll be the water… And I don't want to be known as the first tribute from Four to drown to death.

And then Tressa throws herself forwards. It happens so fast that I am knocked back onto the snowy bank. I keep a hold of Tressa's hand which, one moment, is barrelling in my direction, and the next, is being jerked backwards by an unseen force.

I am confused when she lets out a howl of pain, and then I see the mutt. Realising that the tree has given up altogether, it had taken one last, desperate swing at Tressa.

And that swing had landed.

Its gnarled claws were buried in her left calf.

"Wren!" Tressa shrieks, although it sounds mangled in her mouth.

My focus narrows to a pinpoint, and I pull her towards my chest, hard.

Under any other circumstances, the mutt would have pulled us both to our deaths with ease. But I hear it yelp in pain, body slipping further and further under the water. It lets out one final, garbled howl and then the rapids heave its twisted body away, claws cleaving through Tressa's soft skin like a knife through butter.

The release in pressure is instant, and I feel Tressa's weight on top of mine.

Blood pumps through my ears viciously, just as it pumps from Tressa's calf. Her face is a deathly ashen colour and, although her mouth is moving, I can't make out a word.

"It's okay," I say, pushing myself onto my knees. "You're going to be okay."

And I know it's a lie. If I was at home right now, I could predict exactly what Clara would say. She would tell me that we were going on a walk. That we didn't need to see what happened next. Only, I can't go for a walk now. I can only look at the terror in Tressa's eyes and try not to let it reflect in my own.

"You're going to be fine," I repeat, pulling my coat off.

It knocks my right hand painfully but there's no time to waste. I reach for the inner lining, looking for a weak part in the seam. But this is a Capitol made coat, it won't rip so easily. So I change tact, grabbing the knife from Tressa's belt. It fits in my palm like a glove, and I have a makeshift tourniquet in seconds. I tie it just below Tressa's knee as tight as I can and watch the bleeding slow. It's not a miracle, but it'll give us more time.

"Wren," Tressa forces out between heaving sobs, desperately trying to communicate something. From the defeat in her eyes, I know it's nothing good.

"Tell my family-"

"No."

"Tell them-"

"No," I repeat, voice hard.

Only now do I realise why Finnick hated it so much every time I brought up the likelihood of my own death. Why he refused my every attempt at giving up. I always thought it was worse on my end of things: staring down the barrel of your own demise.

But I was wrong.

Watching someone else do it was far worse.

"The bleeding is going to stop," I say. "We're going to find shelter and we're going to get sponsors, and we'll get you medicine-"

"Wren-"

"Tressa," I pause, forcing the rising hysteria out of my tone. "That's what's going to happen, okay?"

I don't wait for her answer, I just pull her to her feet and sling her arm over my shoulder.

"We can't be that far from the foot of the mountain. Can you walk?"

I can't face looking at Tressa but, after a moment, I feel her nod her head.

"I can try."

We hobble through the frozen forest for what feels like hours, and Tressa requests a steady stream of breaks to rest her leg. By dusk, we have eaten through the last of our food supplies and I can feel a horrible sense of dread boiling away in my stomach.

We have travelled too far from the cornucopia to double back and steal from the careers, and I haven't seen a single living creature since the mutt. If you can call it that.

"Wren," Tressa breathes, just as the sun dips below the skyline. "Over there."

I had been so preoccupied running over the obstacles in our path, I hadn't even bothered looking at what was right in front of me.

The snow beneath our boots had thinned out into a patchy sludge, which was peppered with small, jagged rocks. And, whilst we weren't exactly at the foot of the mountain, we were close. Close enough to be in throwing distance of a set of caves.

I feel a smile creep over my face. This was the best news we'd had since the gong went off.

I waste no time half-carrying, half-dragging Tressa into the mouth of cave. It's not too deep, but I make sure to light a match and investigate, just in case there are any mutts lurking.

Once I've confirmed that we're safe – or, as safe as we can be – I get to work retrieving our sleeping bag from the backpack. There's no snow inside the cave, so we don't have to worry about getting it wet, which is a blessing because I'm not sure Tressa could survive a night out in the cold.

"Your hand," she says, sweat-sheened face creasing in concern.

I follow her eyes, landing on the bow of my right wrist. It's about double the size of my left one and throbs painfully. Though I know I can't exactly complain, given the state of her leg.

"It's fine," I say. "I can't tell if it's broken or sprained, though. I heard a snap, but that could have been anything."

Tressa frowns. "If it was a bone breaking you wouldn't be able to move your arm at all."

I raise my eyebrows, tucking her into the sleeping bag as best I can.

"Must be a ligament," she continues.

I let out sigh. "Lucky me."

Then she looks at me, curious.

"How do you do that?"

I look back, confused. "Do what?"

"Pretend that everything's alright?"

The question takes me aback and I struggle to find an answer. She beats me to it, though.

"I remember that first day in the training centre, when you argued with the trainer" she breathes, and I can tell that just talking takes her effort. "I knew I wanted to ally with you. You were just so…"

"Stupid?" I offer.

"Honest," she corrects. "I told Woof and Cecelia I wanted to team up with you right off the bat."

Something tugs at her features.

"Woof was all for it, but he's wasted half the time. Cecelia was a little more cautious, though."

I rack my brains, trying to place the name: Cecelia was one of Eight's only living female victors.

"She's the one with kids, right?" I say, picturing the three children that clung to her hip during Tressa's reaping replay.

She nods, smiling sadly. "Funny you should say that."

"Why?"

"She said that if any of her kids got reaped, she would do exactly what Finnick Odair was doing."

"What Finnick was doing?"

Tressa looks at me, confused. "You didn't know?"

"Know what?"

"Cecelia said he was with the mentors from One and Two twenty-four seven trying to secure you a place in the career pack. And if he wasn't doing that, he was chatting up potential sponsors. Like, to the point of obsession."

I almost drop the match I'd been fiddling with. "Me? In the career pack? There's no way."

Tressa laughs, although it comes out more like a wheeze. "That's what Brutus and Enobaria said."

I frown, trying to figure out if Tressa is messing with me or not.

"That makes no sense, Blythe would have me killed in two-seconds flat. Finnick knows that."

"He probably also knows the careers were your best shot." Tressa returns, looking down, towards her mangled leg.

I tip her chin up, looking her straight on. "We've still got one leg and one arm between us. That's not so bad."

She laughs softly. "See, you're doing it again."

I remove my hand, suddenly realising just how badly I needed Tressa to be okay. The thought of sitting in this cave all alone, or worse, with the career pack was enough to turn my stomach. And to think, I was debating her death a few hours ago.

"Anyway," Tressa continues. "Cecelia said she'd never seen him like that. Not to me, of course. I don't think she wanted me to worry. But I overheard her one night talking to Woof about her children."

She pauses, a distinct shade of uncertainty colouring her features.

"She said it was every victor's worst nightmare… to have your kid in the games."

She looks up at me, then, face gentle and sad.

I can't suppress my laughter.

"Tressa," I say struggling between snickers. "Finnick's only eight years older than me… I'm pretty sure that's impossible, even for him."

She punches my arm lightly. "I'm not saying that!" she huffs. "God, I'm not that stupid."

"Had me fooled."

"I'm just saying, it must be nice to know that someone's looking out for you like that."

I roll my eyes, trying to stifle my concern when I realise just how weak she really sounds.

"I'm looking out for you like that," I say, tucking the end of the sleeping back up around her chin.

She relaxes into its hazy heat, wincing slightly when she adjusts her leg. Then her stomach growls loudly.

"I'm starving," she complains.

"Well, we ate our last piece of jerky a few miles back," I reply, getting to my feet. "I can go and get us some tree bark?"

She arches an eyebrow. "Tree bark?"

I nod. "It's gross but it's good. I won't take long, don't go anywhere."

She laughs at that, closing her eyes and leaning against the mouth of the cave. "As if I have a choice."

The anthem goes off just as I reach a tree about a five-minute walk from our camp. I'm cautious to stray too far, just in case Tressa needs me. Staying within shouting distance seems reasonable. Especially given the state of her leg.

There are two tributes dead today. The boy from Seven and the girl from Nine. At least one of them must've been killed by the mutt. Maybe both. It's impossible to be sure. I try not to linger on their faces, afraid of the scenarios my brain might conjure up when I fall asleep.

I rip off a few handfuls of wet bark – nice and easy to chew – and slip them into my pocket. When I turn around, I catch sight of something small and shiny floating past the tip of my nose, settling a stone's throw from my feet.

A parachute!

I drop to my knees at once, unfurling the string with fumbling fingers. Inside the silver container is a small pot, the size and shape of lip-balm tin. I sniff the contents carefully, nose tingling at the sharp, medicinal scent. Tressa's leg! I beam at the sight of it, glancing up at the sky gratefully.

"Thank you, Finnick."

At once, I pocket the balm and double back on my tracks, heading towards the cave. The cost of this medicine would have been astronomical. Not one but many sponsors must have contributed to buy me this gift.

I hold it carefully in my palm, as if it is glass, and busy myself imagining the look on Tressa's face when she sees it. Something warm and hopeful blooms in my chest at the thought.

We're going to be okay, I think to myself.We're actually going to be okay.

I can survive on a diet of tree bark and bad jokes if that's what it takes to keep Tressa with me. And we can't be doing too badly if so many sponsors have come to our aid, can we?

I am just rounding the corner towards our small camp when I catch sight of Tressa. I had expected to find her sleeping or, at best, zoned out. But her blue eyes are wide and alert, fixed on a point far beyond me. Her hands, pale from blood loss, are not tucked into the sleeping bag where I left them. Instead, they are clutching desperately at her throat.

Her throat, which is slit wide open.

She scrambles and chokes where she sits, trying to form a word or a warning but it's already far too late.

Because standing above her, just to the side, is the last person I wanted to see. The first person I wanted dead, and the only person that could possibly find this situation bearable.

Tressa's canon fires just as Blythe meets my eyes.

"Hello, Four." She wipes the bloody end of her knife on her trousers. "Have I been looking for you."