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Lamina didn't go into the games thinking she would kill anyone.
If she was going to die, she was going to die with dignity. The Capitol was not going to take that from her. She would die as herself, not as a killer.
But then she'd seen Marcus and it was one of the cruelest things she had ever witnessed, the way he had been strung up like he was nothing more than a piece of cloth on a clothesline. Beaten and bloody and broken but kept alive so that he wouldn't even be able to die gracefully.
She hated the Capitol. Hated the things they stood for and what they'd done to her family and her home.
But even she hadn't thought they were capable of this. How was it that the Capitol hated the Districts that much? That an eighteen year old boy wasn't given the dignity of a private death? Even a private death that was a beating or a whipping or a shooting would have been better than being forced to be a spectacle.
So after the haze of the blood bath, Lamina had crept out from her hiding place. She didn't want to kill Marcus, but she couldn't stand to watch him suffer every time he took a breath anymore.
So she'd axed his throat, sorry that she had to do it in front of the cameras, and did the best she could to give him some privacy by cutting his arms down from their ropes and letting him drop to the floor.
She hadn't told Pup that she didn't plan to kill anyone but she guessed he must’ve figured it out himself (or simply thought she was too weak to) because they'd both agreed that when the coast was clear, she'd get to higher ground and stay there for the entirety of the games.
The beam wasn't so bad. If she closed her eyes and imagined the concrete beneath her was rough wood and that the deathly silence of the arena was actually filled with leaves rustling and the sweet chirping of birds, she could pretend she was back home.
She'd watched with interest as one of the Capitol boys cried over Marcus's body. How he'd even gotten into the arena, she had no clue. Why he would want to get into the arena, she also had no clue.
But it was sweet. She couldn't imagine Pup crying over her body, and at least Marcus had someone other than her to weep for him.
Then the second one had shown up and begged him to leave. That was one too many Capitol boys for her liking. She'd watched them glance up at her nervously and almost laughed out loud at the fear in their eyes.
She was the one stuck in a game fighting for her life and yet they had the audacity to look afraid. If she'd been a worse person, maybe she'd have dropped down and taken a swing or two.
Except then she'd be left with two dead Capitol boys, more blood on her hands, and still no way out of the arena.
She'd watched as Coral's group whooped from the tunnels, running after them, face twisting into a grimace when she heard Treech's shouts.
She barely recognized him now.
Maybe that was for the best though.
Treech may have been ok with killing, but she was not.
So when Coral and her District partner had begun to climb up her beam, she'd stood, bracing herself, readjusting the grip on her axe, and sent an apology to her father.
She didn't plan to kill Coral, honest. She'd only hoped to deter them. Get them to leave her alone.
Coral was the faster climber of the two and had the longer-range weapon. She was the deadlier one. Plus, if she could get Coral to go away, Mizzen would follow without question.
She couldn't wait for them to finish climbing though, she knew that. Once they were on the beam she'd have no chance. She met Coral just as she was beginning to reach the top and swung hard, deflecting her trident.
There was a moment where Coral reeled back, preparing for another strike, and instead of continuing to back up like she wanted to, Lamina swiped with her axe again.
Glancing nervously over her shoulder at Mizzen as she did so, she wasn't expecting to feel the pushback of her axe as it made contact with something.
That was not supposed to happen.
Lamina looked back after Coral's instinctive scream of pain, and as they stared at each other, Coral appeared just as shocked as her, Lamina's axe embedded into where her neck met her shoulder.
Coral snarled and weakly with her other arm tried to slap Lamina away.
Lamina ripped the axe out with a sickening splash of blood and backed up.
Coral no longer seemed to have the strength to hold on to the beam, and her body slid down it, falling sickeningly to the floor. Lamina covered her mouth in horror as Mizzen screamed out.
Hands shaking and heart trembling, Lamina turned back around to the young boy who seemed caught between rage, despair, and fear.
He'd only just made it up to the top.
They stared at each other, and at first, Mizzen looked as though he was going to charge her, his eyes already welling with tears, but then his eyes dropped to her cheek, where Coral's blood had splashed onto her, and then down to her axe.
With a snarl, he turned away, clambering back down one side of the beam. Lamina watched as he tripped over to Coral, shaking her shoulders frantically, screaming at her to get up.
It was unreal honestly, watching the biggest threat in the games die, and Lamina wondered if maybe she'd fallen asleep on the beam and was simply dreaming.
But then, dreams couldn't recreate smells, and no one could deny the sharp coppery scent of blood pooling around them.
Lamina almost fell off the beam when the boy from District Ten went up behind Mizzen and slit his throat, a grim look on his face. She gasped, hand to her mouth as tears slid down her cheeks.
Treech let out a shout as Mizzen dropped on top of Coral, eyes turning in alarm to his ally. Lamina couldn't hear what he said to him, but he looked angry, and he shoved the other boy's shoulder.
District 10 grabbed him by the front of his collar, and briefly, Lamina wondered if she was about to watch Treech die, but all the boy did was say something roughly to Treech, before letting him go harshly and stalking off.
After a moment, Treech followed him with one last glance at the District Four tributes.
Treech looked up at her as he walked off and for once in her life, she couldn't decipher what he was thinking, the carefully constructed mask she’d always been able to see through a mystery.
He turned away, and she hoped he never looked at her again.
The one bad thing about the beam was that Lamina saw everything.
She saw the little girl from Eleven die and witnessed the grief of her District partner. Watched him tear down the flag and cover the dead tributes with it, screaming at the cameras.
She didn't quite know what good he thought that would do but didn't fault him for it. People coped in different ways. And privately, she was very glad to not have to look at the dead bodies of District Four anymore.
She'd tried to get the blood off of her axe on her pants but had no luck and was instead forced to stare at it as she waited. She scrubbed her hands and cheek as best she could with the water she'd been rewarded (rewarded) with, but nothing could erase the feeling of sticky blood.
Reaper sat below her in silence, in solidarity, and how she wished he would either just kill her or die himself. She hated this. Hated the waiting and the wondering of who she would kill next.
She didn't want to kill, but she had, and she really didn't want to have killed for nothing. How wasteful would that be, to steal Coral's life— and by extension Mizzen's— and then have nothing but a few hours to show for it?
Treech and his ally had wandered around, seemingly a bit lost without their leader, and Lamina shoved down the rogue sense of smugness at having been the one to rob them of her.
She would not be changed. She would not find joy in someone's death.
Without Coral, there was no real driving force of hunting, and Tanner was a pale comparison. However, they had managed to corner the colorful Lucy Gray inside a tunnel. The two boys split up, Treech grabbing a spear from the cornucopia as he ran to the vent she had originally gone through.
Lamina watched with a forced disinterest as he stabbed it through the vents. She was not the Capitol. She would not find entertainment in someone else's death.
(Had she already been changed? Could being in the Capitol have changed her so quickly?)
Away from Treech, where Tanner had been trying to catch her, Lucy Gray ran out and Lamina was surprised when Tanner didn't follow her. Had the songbird killed him?
Treech ran down from the vent, having caught sight of Lucy Gray. He dropped his spear in favor of ripping his axe out of his belt. She backed up as she saw him racing toward her but the deafening sound of a helicopter made everyone stop in their tracks.
Lamina never thought she'd hear those sounds again after the war, and she cowered at it. Planes never brought anything good. Only bombs that killed her mother and destroyed her home.
Maybe they hadn't been entertaining enough? Maybe the Capitol was bored of them and just decided to wipe them out themselves?
But there was no bomb, only a large tank lowered down in the center of the arena. For a moment, all was silent except for... except for a vaguely familiar sound.
In a flash, she was brought back to District Seven. To the hundreds of times she'd been out in the forest working after school and had heard the hissing of venomous snakes, watched grown men get cut down like they were nothing because they'd been stupid enough to let themselves get bit.
Except, this couldn't be just one snake, it was too loud. It had to have been thousands.
Treech, either realizing that whatever gift the Capitol had presented was no gift or recognizing the same sounds Lamina did, began to back away, axe hanging limply at his side.
"Is it over?" the little girl from 8 asked, sniffling, walking toward the tank. "Can we go home now?"
Lamina knew the Capitol was not that kind, but she felt her heart break all the same.
"Wovey," Reaper warned from below her.
Treech ran, and not a second after did the glass break apart, snakes pouring out of it like a sick version of a waterfall. Wovey screamed as they overtook her.
Lamina scrambled up from where she'd been sitting, gripping her axe.
Snakes can't climb, she repeated like a mantra. They can't climb. They can't climb. They can't climb.
But Treech could.
She'd never seen him move so fast in his life, and in the fear and haze of her mind, she had the wild thought that she was grateful he'd never had that kind of speed when they were kids, or she'd have never won tag as much as she did.
Lamina blinked and he was next to her on the beam, watching in horror as the snakes overtook the arena floor. The beam shook with the pressure of it and vaguely, she decided it would be really sad if it gave out, and she died not only from the fall but also in a sea of snakes because then her father wouldn't even have a body to bury.
Lucy Gray ran and ran, making it up onto a slab of rock, but it was not vertical enough to escape the snakes. They overtook her too, and just as quickly as it happened, the carnage stopped.
Now, there was nothing but the sound of snakes slithering below her, and Treech's heavy breathing beside her.
They breathed together for a moment, the stillness stifling, before finally, finally, turning to look at each other.
As they stared at each other, it seemed as though they came to the realization at the same time.
The only thing standing in the way of home… was each other.
Vipsania had to withhold a cheer as Dean Highbottom explained how he'd caught Coriolanus sneaking into Dr. Gaul's office with the intention of cheating and promptly expelled him.
Eighteen years of that fucker and he was finally gone! It must've been her lucky day!
Seriously, she was considering getting the dean a gift as she watched Treech and Tanner discuss a plan to kill Lucy Gray.
She honestly felt bad for the girl. What kind of rotten luck did you have to have to not only get Reaped but also to get stuck with Coriolanus as your mentor?
Oh well. Better her than Vipsania.
Truly, everything was on the up and up. Coriolanus had been kicked to the curb, Festus shut up with the unexpected death of his tribute (Go Lamina!), and Treech was still kicking!
Bruised, bloody, and sad, but hey, kicking was kicking!
The only people still on the floor were herself, Domitia, Clemmie, Hilarius (please let Wovey die soon), and Pup.
Clearly, she was the only competent one left and Treech was going to fall to his knees in awe of her great mentorship when he walked out of there a Victor.
To say she was grinning like a Cheshire Cat in her seat would be an understatement.
"Yikes!" Lucky exclaimed happily as they watched Tanner fall to the floor, dead.
"What the hell happened to him?" Domitia asked, baffled.
"Probably another one of Coriolanus's tricks," Clemmie responded, scratching at her neck as she rolled her eyes. "Figured out how to murder telepathically or something."
Vipsania barked a short laugh. "Don't give him that sort of credit."
Lucy Gray banged on the bottom of the vent she was in and it finally gave way, allowing her to run out of the alcove Tanner had died in and out into the arena again.
"What's that?" Pup asked dumbly as the rumbling sound of engines sounded through the speakers.
Vipsania stood in anticipation. This had to be the retribution Gaul had mentioned. Privately, Vipsania thought it was a bit dramatic. It's not like the Tributes had personally killed Felix.
"Wovey," Hilarius whispered sadly next to her as the little girl approached the tank and Vipsania rolled her eyes. Not for any particular reason, of course. His mere presence just bothered her.
She had to hold back a grin as Treech began to run, smart enough to have the foresight to get as far away from whatever Gaul had decided to drop on them. She was so grateful she was as hardworking as she was because clearly the past eighteen years of dedication were being rewarded with Treech as her tribute.
He scaled the beam his District partner had taken up residency on and for a boy from the districts, Vipsania had to give him credit. The kid was a genius. Not only was he getting away from the snakes, but he'd given himself the perfect opportunity to shove the weepy girl off the side. Go Treech!
She withheld a frown as he did nothing but watch Clemmie's Tribute and Lucy Gray get swept underneath the thousands of snakes. No matter. He was probably just waiting for the commotion to be over so that he could give the viewers a real show with an intense fight between himself and Lamina. He was clever like that.
The audience cried out at the loss of their songbird, Lucky lamenting about how good the song she might have written about her experience in the Capitol would have been, and not for the first time, Vipsania wondered what crime she had committed in a past life to be forced to be surrounded by idiots.
"Isn't this exciting!" Lucky said as Treech and Lamina turned to face each other. "Two District partners! One— a betrayer, the other— betrayed. Will Lamina finally get her revenge? Or will Treech continue to do anything to win?"
Vipsania rolled her eyes, severely unimpressed by Flickerman’s attempts to make the Games anything other than they were. They were gruesome, and horrific, and sickening. But that was just the way of things. It was a competition after all, and both she and Treech intended to win.
"I hope she stabs him in the back," Pup said brightly from behind her. "Bit of poetic justice and all."
Vipsania scoffed, crossing her arms, eyes never leaving the screen. "If she can see through her tears."
Vipsania held her breath as the two stared at each other, trying to mentally scream at Treech to go ahead and cave her head in. The longer they looked at each other, the stronger the urge to rip her hair out became. Her gaze switched to the red-headed girl.
Coriolanus definitely wouldn't ever be able to figure out how to mentally kill someone, but maybe she could.
After what felt like ages of them just staring at each other (seriously, why were they so invested in each other's faces?) Lamina appeared to let out a sharp laugh, and instead of swinging at Treech, she sat down heavily on the beam, legs dangling off the side. She made a motion with her hand as though telling him to get a move on. Vipsania was inclined to agree.
"What is she doing?" Pup demanded, coming to stand side by side with Vipsania.
Vipsania's grin widened. "Giving Treech the perfect opportunity to bury his axe into her back." She glanced over sweetly at Pup. "Poetic justice and all."
However, instead of doing so (What the fuck, Treech?), he gave one abrupt shake of his head.
Vipsania's eyes bulged out of her head as he dropped his axe off the side of the beam, the snakes swallowing it.
"Well, this is..." Lucky seemed unable to find the word. "Unexpected."
Lamina barely glanced at Treech as he sat next to her, shrugging her shoulders.
"They won't do it," Pup realized breathlessly. "They aren't going to kill each other."
"They have to," Vipsania insisted. “It’s the Game.”
"They won't," he said firmly and begrudgingly, as she looked at Treech's tight jaw, Vipsania couldn't deny it.
"So," Pup continued. "Wanna split the Prize 50/50?"
Lamina watched Treech tighten his grip on his axe and despite herself, gave a bitter laugh.
"You're pathetic," she told him, shaking her head as she sat down with a thump! on the beam, trying to ignore the stab of pain at the thought that he was expecting her to attack. She set her axe down beside her and brought her hands behind her, leaning backward as she swung her legs. "Your hold's been wrong this whole time."
Treech didn't say anything and Lamina gave a small gesture with her left hand. "Go on then," she said. "Go ahead and win."
She didn't want to die, and her eyes stung with fear and heartache. She wanted to win. Wanted to go home and forget about this whole nightmare. She wanted to sit with her dad and let him hold her and feel the trees underneath her hands and smell the scent of pine until the day she died. She wanted to fall in love and dance and laugh and live.
She wanted to live. More than anything.
But she couldn't kill Treech.
She loved him. Nothing he could ever do— lie to her, betray her, even kill her— would ever be able to change that.
She couldn't kill him, would never be able to bring her axe down on him the way she had Marcus and Coral, and the Capitol could do nothing about it.
She couldn't remember her life when Treech wasn't a part of it, and— call her selfish— but she refused to know one without him. She refused to kill him just to go home and never get over him.
She just really hoped her dad knew how sorry she was.
Her dad and Coral, because now the girl had died for nothing.
Out of the corner of her eye, Treech shook his head.
"No," he said quietly.
He stood a moment longer before holding his arm out over the side of the beam, dropping the axe defiantly. She heard it clang onto the ground before it disappeared beneath the snakes.
Treech sat down wearily next to her, legs hanging over the edge in a sick mirror of the way they'd always sat next to each other in the trees of their home.
"I won't kill you," he said softly, his voice firm.
Lamina paused, not expecting that, and eventually shrugged her shoulders heavily. "Well that causes a bit of a problem doesn't it?"
It rained all night that night. Cold, dreary, and absolutely, utterly miserable.
Lamina wasn't sure how long she and Treech had been up on the beam for, watching the snakes drown and shivering with nothing to cover themselves, but she knew it had to have been days.
Treech had taken up one side of the beam, and she the other. They didn't talk, didn't make a move toward each other, nothing.
Neither of them had been fed and Lamina wondered if their Mentors had been told to try and starve them into killing each other.
Like that would work. Neither of them were strangers to hunger pains.
Lamina's back was heavy against the floor of the beam, her legs propped against the side of one of the ends as she tried to sleep through the nightmare that was being thrown into the 10th Hunger Games. She held her axe on her stomach, fingers tracing the cracks of the wood.
Treech stood with his back to the other side, whistling.
"Would you shut up?" she finally asked through gritted teeth.
Lamina wondered if this was her punishment for killing Coral, to be stuck in an arena surrounded by the bodies of kids her age and younger, with Treech— who had taken up whistling to pass the time.
Treech scoffed. "If I'm bothering you so much, why don't you go ahead and shut me up?"
Lamina scowled and swung her legs around easily, shifting so that she was sitting up to face him. "No."
Treech shoved himself off the concrete. "Why not, Lamina? I know you're hungry and ready to go home. Won't you just win already?"
She didn't bother to reply. If Treech was so dumb as to not be able to figure out why she refused to kill him, she was not going to dignify him with an answer.
Treech huffed, ripping a hand through his hair, and began to stalk his way toward her. She watched him warily, wondering if he had finally had enough and was intending to shove her off the edge.
"Why won't you just kill me?" he demanded.
Lamina looked away. "You're unarmed."
Treech laughed derisively. "We both know that doesn’t matter in here."
"Well then why do you want to die so bad?" Lamina shot back instead, standing to face him as he left only a foot of space in between them.
Treech didn't say anything, but Lamina saw his face. She laughed bitterly.
"You feel guilty," she stated. She crossed her arms, axe in her right hand. "Well, tough luck, Treech. You aren't going to turn me into a killer just because you think the only way to ease your guilt is to let me win."
"Why do you always have to be so stubborn?" he asked angrily, moving closer to her.
Lamina held her ground. "Why do you always have to be so pushy?"
Treech threw his hands up. "I'm giving you an out, Lamina! I'm telling you to kill me and you won't take it!"
"No," Lamina argued, forcing herself to stay calm. "You're giving yourself an out."
Treech grabbed her axe harshly, his hand squeezing hers so tight it hurt. He brought it up roughly in between them. "Go on," he urged brutally. "You're the one who knows how to use it so well. Use it."
Lamina tried to back up, to get him to let her go, but he refused, and his fingers dug into the back of her hand. "Stop," she said through gritted teeth.
He hadn't done this since they were kids. Hadn't used her own emotions against her to get what he wanted. He used to think it was funny, to rile her up, but eventually, he’d either outgrown it or gotten bored of it. Gotten bored of her.
It was nothing new to find that the arena brought out the worst in people, but it hurt all the same.
"Treech," Lamina warned. "Back up."
He shoved his forehead hard against hers and she was forced to shove back to hold her balance. "What Lamina?" he seethed. "Scared?"
Lamina shoved him away by the shoulders and he stumbled. Her heart lurched as he did, but her feet stayed planted. Treech righted himself and she knew he would never let himself fall. His balance was almost as good as hers. He was laughing.
"There we go!" he exclaimed, his expression exasperated. "Finally a little emotion out of you."
This was just like Treech. To feel unsettled by something and to take it out on her.
Lamina forced her temper to cool, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of her yelling back, the way she knew he wished she would. "If you want this to be over so bad," she started evenly, dropping her axe and kicking it at his feet. Seemingly on instinct, he stopped it from sliding over the edge with his own. "Then kill me yourself."
All the fight seemed to drain out of Treech and his shoulders slumped, eyes downcast. "I can't do that," he muttered.
Lamina stared at him, at the way he hung his head. She hated him so bad. Hated that he’d never let her go, that she would never be able to get away from him. Hated that even after they’d gone their separate ways, first in District Seven, and then in the Games, somehow, some way, they would always be pushed back together.
She wished he would kill her, wished that for once he would show some semblance of strength and end her life, because by now he must know she was too weak to end his and much too weak to end her own.
Lamina shook her head in disbelief. "If you aren't going to kill me," she said, going back to her previous position of lying down, eyes closed. "Then shut up and leave me alone."
"Yeah?" Treech spat. "And what happens when we both starve to death and then neither of us goes home?"
Lamina squeezed her eyes shut tight. “You know how starvation works, Treech,” she said quietly. “We won’t die at the same time.”
She couldn’t see him, but she could feel the heat of his eyes on her.
“Is that really your plan?” Treech questioned hotly. “To wait it out and see which one of us kicks the bucket first from malnourishment?” He laughed. “For someone so smart that’s really fucking dumb when this could all be over now.”
A muscle in her cheek twitched as her temper flared again. “You’re the one with the axe,” she replied softly. “If you’re so desperate to go home. Go home.”
There was a long moment of silence and then, very quietly, Treech whispered, “I don’t think I’ll ever go home again.”
She heard the clanging of the axe as he kicked it over the edge and the rustling of his clothes as he sat back against his side of the beam again, and this time, there was no whistling.
"Please, sir, this is ridiculous," Pup pleaded with Dean Highbottom on the seventh day of Treech and Lamina's stand-off.
Vipsania, personally, was still holding out hope that Treech would shove her off the side.
"Just let them out," Pup begged. "They clearly aren't going to kill the other and they're starving in there."
That was true of course. They'd been forbidden from sending them anything, even water, in hopes that maybe one of them would snap.
Lamina looked as though she could care less as she spent most of her time with her legs in the air against a slab of concrete, napping. Vipsania winced every time she looked at Treech who appeared to be constantly switching between heartache, anger, and the urge to scream.
"Well folks, I gotta say," Lucky lamented, and Vipsania thought that every time she looked at him he looked more and more like he was regretting taking this gig. "After that display, I think my vote might be leaning more toward 'something more'.”
He waggled his eyebrows and Vipsania rolled her eyes. To try and keep the audience entertained, Lucky had set up a betting system where they would go over footage from everything leading up to the Game and try to figure out what Treech and Lamina were to each other. Friends, family, or as Lucky had just so gracefully put it 'something more'.
Vipsania didn't know and she didn't care. She was too caught up trying to mentally strangle Treech for getting literally forehead to forehead with Lamina and instead of snapping her neck and tossing her over the side, he'd let himself be shoved backward. She’d watched his face fall at whatever Lamina had said once she lied back down, and privately, Vipsania worried that the emotional damage they were doing to each other being stuck in there was worse than any physical damage they could do.
Not that they could do much after Treech kicked the remaining axe over the side.
She was pretty sure she’d lost ten years of her life from the stress these stupid Games were putting her through.
"Get out of my face, Mr. Harrington," Dean Highbottom sighed, looking immensely bored.
"But sir—"
"There is nothing I can do if the doctor says no," Highbottom interrupted.
And that was the nature of it all. Dr. Gaul was being a massive bitch and refusing to let either of them out. This whole experience was making Vipsania deeply resentful of scientists in general.
"This is dangerous, sir!" Pup insisted, on the verge of hysteria.
"It's the Hunger Games, Pup," Vipsania snapped. “That’s the whole point, you idiot.”
"I know that, Vip," Pup shot back. "But at this rate, they're both going to starve and then there will be no winner!"
"The Plinth Prize will still be given out based on who Mr. Plinth deems fit," Dean Highbottom assured uninterestedly, sinking deeply into his seat as he leaned further back into it.
"I'm not talking about the stupid Plinth Prize!" Pup exclaimed in frustration, looking like he was very close to stomping his feet on the ground like a toddler throwing a tantrum.
The Dean paused, looking as close to intrigued as Vipsania had ever seen him. She scowled.
"Please," Highbottom said, giving a vague gesture. "Enlighten me."
Pup huffed and glanced around anxiously, wringing his hands. "This is how revolution starts," he claimed, voice quiet.
Lucky whistled and Pup jumped, clearly surprised someone else had heard that. "Some big words from Mr. Pup Harrington over there."
Pup scowled. "It's the truth!”
Vipsania rolled her eyes as he doubled down.
“We've promised the Districts that one of their kids will always come back. If we go around and start killing them all, what's to stop the Districts from rebelling again? When they're damned if they do and damned if they don't?" Pup’s expression was nervous as his voice lowered and he said, "My dad says the people in Four are always looking for a fight. What do you think will happen when they realize they have nothing to lose?" He swallowed thickly. "It’s not even just that it’s—” Pup gestured wildly at the screen to where Lamina had her arm over her eyes and Treech was sitting with his head between his knees. “Look at them! It's been seven days!” His eyes turned beseeching. “They aren't going to kill each other,” he whispered. “They're from the same District and care about each other so much that they’re starving themselves just to prove it.”
He turned to look around at their classmates, hands spread wide, and in the deafening quiet of the room asked, “Can any of us say we’d do the same?”
The question rang throughout the room and Pup continued, clearly gaining some sort of strength from the stunned silence. “Truly, can any of us say that we have someone we’d starve for? Someone we’d die for?” He was quiet for a moment and then— “Because I can’t.”
"That makes you very strong, Mr. Harrington," Dr. Gaul purred from where she’d appeared at the top of the stairs and Vipsania almost jumped. The woman gave her the heebie-jeebies. “I’m impressed one so young as yourself has understood so quickly the true nature of humans. That our nature will always be one of destruction and selfishness.”
“No,” Pup whispered, shaking his head. He lifted his eyes, staring down the doctor. “No,” he repeated. “It makes me weak.”
A beat. His eyes shifted to the screen. “Lamina's fifteen and she's starving herself so that she doesn't have to kill Treech. Treech’s first instinct on that beam was to make himself as easy a target as possible by getting rid of his weapon. They aren’t destructive. They’re good.” He glanced around. “How many of us can say that we’d be able to do that?”
Vipsania started as Pup’s eyes met hers, before moving to meet Clemensia’s, and then Domitia’s, and on to Hilarius, and everyone else’s in the room like he was personally asking them that question.
“How many of us would be able to willingly lay down our weapon in front of someone who was armed? To give up our lives for someone else’s? We’re weak.”
Finally, his eyes met Dr. Gaul’s. “We think we’re so much better,” Pup hissed. “We think we’re so much wiser and stronger and superior.” He spit the words like they left a bitter taste on his tongue. “And yet in a room full of people who claim to be each other’s best friends—” He looked between Lysistrata and Clemensia— “Lovers—” Festus and Persephone— “Family—” The Ring twins— “And yet not one of us could say we would die for each other. Not one of us can say we’d trust someone else to love us enough to die for us. How is that better? How is that stronger?”
“If we’re so much better,” Pup continued, eyes defiant. “Then let them go home. Let them be an example of how much better we are. Show the Districts that we recognize the qualities in their children that we too claim to have. The qualities of strength and courage and endurance.” Pup’s eyes lingered on the screen. “Show them we’re better, by being better.”
Vipsania wanted to scoff. Pup was an oaf, incapable of caring about anything other than himself. One weakling girl from District Seven couldn't change that.
And then— then she looked around the room. Saw the way her classmates glanced at each other as if wondering if Pup’s words were true. Wondering if they truly could claim to love each other if they only loved each other as far as they loved themselves. She saw the tears in Sejanus’s eyes as he watched Pup, saw the pride in Lysistrata’s, and wondered if maybe she was the one who was late on the uptake. That maybe everyone else had been thinking the same thing and she was the one who was blind.
"They aren’t getting any younger, Doctor," Highbottom said in his usual monotone, one hand waving at the screen. "I think at this point we either kill them ourselves or free them, however—" he gestured to the stands of students, a small, smug smile on his face, like he had beaten Dr. Gaul at her own game— "Why would we deny our audience a Victor?"
There were many things Vipsania should have been thinking about at that moment. Like when the hell had Pup developed a sense of morality, or how that whole speech made him a better candidate to win, but for some odd reason, all she could focus on was the fact that Treech had little sisters.
Two of them, both below Reaping age, and while he'd refused to say any more, he had told her that. Treech had two little sisters.
There were two little girls out there who were waiting for their brother to come home. A brother who wouldn't let himself win because of a red-headed girl he refused to kill. A brother whose kindness would be his killer. A brother who would be able to go home, if only she tried harder.
"Let them out," Vipsania said quietly. "They aren't going to kill each other. We're wasting time and effort trying to get them to."
Sejanus, who'd been waiting on the sidelines, seething with quiet anger shouted, "Let them out!"
All around her shouts rose, begging for the two to be sent home, for the Capitol to show mercy, a word so foreign on all of their tongues that it tasted weird.
"I'm inclined to agree," Lucky said brightly. He winked at the camera. "Once they're out, we'll finally have an answer on our betting pool."
"Please," Pup said, his voice cracking, yet resilient against all of the others. "Let them out."
It was deafeningly quiet for a moment and then, in an even tone of voice, Dr. Gaul turned to her assistant as she walked out of the room and said, "Let them out."
Much to Lamina's surprise, she was told that Pup was the one who convinced the Gamemakers to let them out.
She and Treech had only been out of the Games for a day and a half. It'd taken the Peacekeepers a while to convince them to come down from the beam, and it wasn't until the man that she recognized as the one who'd overseen all the Mentor meetings came and explained that the Capitol was actually letting them out did they make the hesitant climb down.
Lamina'd nearly fallen to her knees when she watched the Peacekeepers uncover the bodies of the dead tributes and she'd caught a glimpse of Coral's sharp orange hair. Only by the gentle guiding of Treech's hand on her arm did she make it out of the arena.
She'd shaken him off roughly once they'd made it out onto the street, but that was neither here nor there.
There were citizens waiting for them when they'd gotten outside. Citizens who stared at them like they had never seen them before, even though many of them had enjoyed watching them like zoo animals before the Games. Lamina'd avoided their eyes, afraid that one wrong look at her and she'd lash out and strangle these careless, colorful people.
The flashy man who had conducted their interviews shoved a microphone in their faces, asking too many uncomfortable questions about their home, why they refused to kill each other, and who they were to each other.
He'd looked vaguely disappointed after Treech had weakly answered that they'd been friends once upon a time, and had made a comment about tragedy bringing people back together.
Because that was what the Hunger Games were to these people. Just passing heartache that would fade in a month and return with excitement when July 4th rolled around the next year.
Lamina hated them. More than she ever had before.
They'd been dragged to some fancy building that was all white but had construction ladders scattered outside. She thought she might have been looked over by someone in a white coat, but then again, she could be wrong. It was all a blur really.
She didn't know what time it was when they'd been dropped at the train station, maybe afternoon by the sun's position. Just that it would be the first time she and Treech would be alone. Clearly, the Peacekeepers could care less about what happened to them once they'd won.
Or it would have been their first moment alone if Pup, Treech's mentor, and the mourning Capitol boy from the arena weren't waiting for them.
"Lamina," Pup breathed, standing up from where he'd been sitting next to Treech's mentor on a wooden bench. He raced towards her and took her by the arms, pulling her into a tight hug.
She was stiff in his hold and he pulled away, arms on her shoulders. "You're alright?"
"What do you think?" Treech snapped from her right side, moving closer to stand by her shoulder.
It wasn't right to hold onto anger and bitterness, Lamina knew that, but it was the only thing keeping her from fading into the fog of her mind. "I don't need your defense, Treech," she retorted. To Pup she said, somewhat warily, "The doctors looked us over. Said we're mostly healthy— if that's what you meant."
She knew it wasn't. But that was her answer. The only one she had. Physically, she was alright. Everything else, well... it hadn't even been two days. She wasn't sure.
"Thank you, Pup," Lamina said quietly, staring at her boots. They'd been provided with clothes, but both she and Treech had elected to stay in their dirty, sweaty, District ones. The Capitol had already taken so much from her, she wasn't going to let them take her clothes too, even if they were covered in Coral's blood. "For getting us out of there."
Pup's face hardened and he dropped her arms. "About that—" He pulled her to the side as Vipsania stepped up stiffly to Treech. "You two need to lay low."
Lamina's brow furrowed. "What?"
Pup looked around as though he were afraid someone was listening and bent his head down. "I’m worried for you,” he said honestly. “Most of the Capitolites see what you and Treech did as an act of love, one we should all be replicating, but some see it as an act of defiance." He frowned. "You know how they feel about defiance."
Lamina felt like she was trudging through fog, trying to understand what Pup was saying. "What do you mean?" she asked. "We didn't mean— it's not like we— Pup, we would have killed each other if we could have. You must know that we just—"
"I know, Lamina," Pup said gently, stopping her with a hand to her bicep. "I'm as much to blame as you are. I tried to twist it so that letting you out was seen as an act of the Capitol’s own choice but… some of the elitists aren’t happy.” He tried to smile. “Nothing's going to happen," he told her firmly. "As long as you and Treech go home, and go back to your old lives."
"Our old lives," Lamina repeated faintly, feeling herself begin to fade already.
"Yes." He squeezed her arm gently.
"So that's it?" she murmured. "Throw us into the arena, tear us out, and send us home, expecting everything to be the same?"
"I know, Lamina, it's..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "It's the best I have right now. But I promise you—" his voice dropped even lower— "things will change."
Lamina stared at the train tracks, not really hearing him. "And you? What will you do?"
"I'm going to Four," he replied gently, back straightening in confidence. "Vip's taking the scholarship. I don't need it, nor do I want it. Sejanus and I—" He beckoned the other boy over, who appeared shy as he joined the conversation. "We're going to change things. He's going to the University to study politics. I'm joining the Navy, underneath my dad." He grinned ruefully. "Might as well start using the nepotism to my advantage."
Lamina didn't think she'd ever be able to think of District Four the same way again. After all, there were two families who had dead children because of her living there.
She missed the look Pup and Sejanus shared, didn't notice Pup stepping back and allowing a moment of privacy between the two, and started in surprise when Sejanus spoke.
"I know it might be weird that I'm here but uh..." The boy trailed off, swallowing thickly.
Lamina thought he looked very sad.
"I'm sorry about your Tribute," she told him quietly, and that seemed to drag him out of whatever hole he'd fallen into.
His face hardened ever so slightly. "Friend," Sejanus replied thickly. "He was my friend."
Lamina searched his gaze. She gave a small nod of her head. "I'm sorry about your friend then."
There was a pause. "Thank you." Sejanus swallowed, and Lamina thought he looked as though he was trying to gather his courage. "That's why I came. To thank you. For being kind to Marcus in the end."
Lamina tried to smile. It didn't work and instead, she looked away. "It's what he deserved."
"It's what they all did," Sejanus agreed.
Lamina should have felt comforted that those in the Capitol seemed to be sharing the same thoughts she did, but all she felt was empty.
Sejanus slipped out a piece of paper from within his coat, and Lamina realized that none of them were wearing their Academy uniforms. Were they not supposed to be here?
"This is an address where you can write me," Sejanus told her softly, trying to hand her the piece of paper.
Lamina shook her head and backed up slightly, trying to refuse it. "Districts aren't allowed to send letters."
"I know," he admitted. "I tracked down some people in Seven who would be willing to slip in your mail to the shipments sent to the Capitol. Their names are inside." He pressed the slip into her hand and squeezed it tightly, not letting go. "If you ever need anything, please, don't hesitate to ask."
"Sejanus—"
"Pup is right, Lamina," he pressed, a strength in his voice she hadn't yet heard. "Things are changing. My classmates are starting to recognize that what they've been taught is wrong." He smiled without any real emotion. "The most dangerous thing they did was force us to be Mentors." He nodded to where Vipsania and Treech appeared to be locked into a stiff conversation, the girl wringing her hands. "It forced them to care." Sejanus looked back at her, finally letting go of her hand and stepping back. "You forced them to care. You and Treech and all the others they were forced to know and then lose. I won't waste what you've given me, Lamina. I promise."
Lamina thought he was wrong. She hadn't done anything. Certainly not anything powerful enough to change the young Capitolite’s minds. All she'd done was fight for her life and steal the lives of others in the process.
The scratching and whistling of a train interrupted them and Lamina watched it pull to a stop without interest.
"Lamina," Treech called and for a moment, she was thrown back into those days before the Game, when she had heard his voice asking for her and attempted to follow, only to be unable to move as he turned away from her.
Treech stood at the entrance of a train car, one that even from the outside looked much nicer than the cattle car they had originally arrived to the Capitol in. "It's time to go," he said, and this time she could tell he wasn’t going to move until she joined him.
Sejanus squeezed her shoulder. Pup walked with her to the cart and helped her up as she decidedly ignored Treech's outstretched hand.
"Live your life, Lamina," her Mentor said. "You fought for it— you won it. Enjoy it. And we'll make sure no one else has to."
She took one last glance at Pup. What was she supposed to say? Thank you? I'm sorry? I don't want this? Give this life to someone else?
Lamina said nothing, her face blank as she nodded back, and shoved past Treech into the cart.
The ride back to Seven was a long one. Yet, it passed in a blur. Lamina was beginning to realize that most things in her life now, were going to pass in a blur.
But then, how else could they pass, when she was not there to see it?
She was there of course, but only in the most shallow definition of the term.
Finally, though, she began to recognize the tall trees of District Seven. The ones on the outskirts, that had been left untouched by the Lumberyards. Left to grow wild and free and uninhabited. Lamina wondered what that must feel like. It felt like every part of her had been touched and bruised by the Capitol. She felt dirty and used and there was no fixing it.
Maybe that was the real point of the Hunger Games. To uproot twenty-four children from everything they knew, kill twenty-three of them, turn them all into something they couldn't recognize, and then throw their Victor back with nothing left, effectively stealing twenty-four District children.
Except this time, the Games had only managed to kill twenty-two. Because Treech— cowardly, kind, terrifying Treech— was still there with her.
But as the days on the train passed, and they sat silently across from each other in one of the carts, Lamina wished he wasn't.
She was never going to forget now.
The train made its way through the edges of District Seven. Treech stared out the window as he asked quietly, "Will you please say something?"
There was a pause, and then Lamina sighed. "What is there to say?"
Treech shook his head slightly, eyes watching the trees turn into wooden cabins. "I don't know," he whispered. He finally turned to her, his brown eyes home and hell all at once. "Yell at me, punch me, cry, just—" He ripped a hand through his curls, his hat long lost in the arena. His voice broke. "Say something to me, Lams."
Her heart seemed to shatter at the nickname. The nickname he hadn't called her in years, and the one she no longer deserved to be called. She'd lost the innocence that was required for it. "I can't do any of those things," she told him softly, stomach constricting at the sight of the schoolhouse.
"Why?" he begged.
Lamina bit the inside of her cheek to stop the stinging of tears. "Because it would be dishonest," she said, folding her arms over her chest. "I can't punch you, or blame you, or yell or anything it is that you want me to."
"Lamina, I know—"
"I don't blame you," she admitted, cutting him off. They were both quiet. She sighed. "I don't blame you, Treech," she repeated wearily, finally dragging her eyes away from the window to meet his own.
His eyes searched hers and if it had been two years ago, maybe even only two weeks ago, she would have given in, would have fallen into his arms, and let him hold her as she held him. And she wanted to. She wanted to so badly it was a physical ache.
But she couldn't. She wouldn't let herself. Wouldn't let him.
"I know why you did what you did," Lamina told him gently. "I get it. I can't fault you and I don’t but I'm hurt and I'm scared and there's so many things I need to forget, and that’s the only thing I have right now to hold on to."
Treech's brow furrowed. "Forget? Lamina, how are we supposed to—"
"We have to, Treech," she insisted, thinking back to Pup's words. "Pup said we need to go back to our old lives." She swallowed. "I trust him. So we're going to."
Treech began to shake his head. "No, Lams, I can't—"
"Don't call me that!" Lamina snapped. Treech flinched and she tried not to lose her resolve. Softer she said, "Please... don't." Even softer, she continued, "We aren't friends, Treech. We haven't been for years."
"Lamina," Treech whispered, aghast, the hurt in his eyes accusing. "I know I— but— I was ready to die for you."
"I was ready to die for you too, Treech," she said, trying not to sound too accusing.
"I know, Lamina," he whispered, turning away from her. "Which is why I don't understand how you're expecting us to go back to our lives like nothing happened."
"Because what else are we supposed to do, Treech?" she hissed, temper rising again. "Do you want to remember the Games? Remember everything that happened during them and all the awful things we did?"
He said nothing, but she could see the crease between his brow deepening the way it always did when he was trying not to cry.
"Because every time you look at me, that's all you'll be able to see," Lamina continued harshly.
She knew it was true. Knew it was true for him because it was true for her. Every time she looked at him, all she saw was Marcus's beaten body, the look in Mizzen's eyes as he watched Coral die, the feel of blood on her hands, and the sight of a sea of snakes. She knew she had a life before the Games, knew that it was mostly good, that Treech had been a part of it for a time, but the life with him before the Games was nothing compared to the life during and now... after.
If she wanted to forget the Games, she'd need to forget every reminder of them. When she got home she was going to burn these clothes, even though this vest had once been her favorite and the ribbon in her hair was her mother's. She was going to rub her skin raw in the hopes that her pores would empty themselves of Capitol air. And she was going to forget Treech. Forget her best friend and her District partner.
After all, it might hurt, but remembering would hurt worse.
Anyway, he was alive, and that was all that mattered, wasn't it? That he was breathing and his heart was pumping blood into his veins? He was alive. That was what mattered. That was what she had almost died for. Not a relationship, not an apology, only his survival.
Lamina moved to stare back out the window.
"We'll go back to the way things were," she said resolutely, trying to convince herself she was saying this for Treech and not herself. "Back to not talking. I'll finish school and you'll go back to the lumberyards, and when I join you in a year, we'll continue to act like we don't know each other. We'll forget the 10th Hunger Games ever happened."
The train screeched to a stop before Treech could say anything, but Lamina could tell by the look in his eyes that whatever he'd wanted to say she would not have wanted to hear.
Lamina stood first and only after a moment did Treech follow her. A Peacekeeper she didn't recognize opened the cart door for them, and her throat seized with panic at how things in Seven might have already changed in the short time she'd been gone.
Their families were waiting for them on the platform. Lamina's eyes skipped past Treech's mother wringing her hands tightly, his two little sisters bubbling with excitement, and his elderly father’s worried brow as he leaned heavily onto a carved cane. All she saw was her own father, who was holding his hat in his hands as he stared anxiously at the train.
She tripped over the last two steps in her haste to leave the train and step onto District Seven’s soil, away from everything the Capitol had stolen from her and into her father's arms. He let out a sob as his eyes rested on her and he met her in the middle, arms wrapping tightly around her.
"Lammie-girl," he whispered into her hair, hand coming up to cup her head. "Oh, my girl."
She wanted to sink to her knees and stay in his embrace until she could no longer move and no one remembered her as a Victor.
Her father pulled away, moving his hands to cup her face, as he searched her gaze. For once, her eyes were dry.
He knew better than to ask if she was ok and so all he said as he pulled her back to him was, "I love you. Thank Gods you're safe."
All she could do was nod back weakly into his neck, because yeah, she was safe. She was in no immediate threat to her life and had no need to hold an axe in a grip that would determine whether she lived or died but... she wasn't sure if there was such a thing as being safe after surviving the Hunger Games.
Over his shoulder, she watched as Treech's father wrapped the taller boy in a hug, one of his sisters latched tightly to his side.
Lamina's dad released her slightly, bringing a hand up to brush over the ribbon in her hair. "Come on," he said gently, wrapping an arm around her shoulder as he began to lead her out. "Let's get you home."
Despite herself, she looked back.
And when she did, she found that Treech had looked back too.
One of his sisters, the youngest, Tilia, was on his hip, while Elowen clung to his hand tightly. His mother had her arm wrapped around his waist as the family made its way out the opposite side of the station.
However, Treech, sweet Treech, who she could never seem to escape, first because he'd been her best friend, then because he walked by the schoolhouse on his way to work, and most glaringly because they'd survived the Hunger Games together, only had his eyes on her.
She relished in the sight of him in a way she hadn't allowed herself to before. Committed every mole, every curl, every scar to memory. Stared at him for as long as she could because she knew once she turned away, she wouldn't ever let herself look back.
But eventually, they both made it to the exits, and Lamina knew if she looked at him for a moment longer she'd race to him and never let him go, so she allowed her dad to open the door for her and dug her nails tightly into her palms as she turned from Treech for the last time.
A year later and Lamina was still waking from nightmares of Coral and Mizzen.
The dreams were always mostly the same, the smell of blood startlingly realistic. Mizzen would appear with his neck still bleeding, Lamina's hand still on the axe in Coral's neck as she was told she was wasteful, and cruel, and had killed them for no reason.
She'd watch Treech be run down by the snakes, or worse would somehow end up with her own axe cleaved into his skull.
She'd scream and cry and beg for them to stop, to make it end. But they didn't and she was beginning to fear they never would.
It'd been a year. A fucking year. The 11th Games had come and gone and she was still plagued by memories.
As she bolted up in her bed, the end of a scream on her lips, her father raced into the small room, like he did every time it was one of the worser ones.
He stood at the foot of the bed, clothes wrinkled from sleep, dark hair tousled. He knew better than to touch her when she was just waking up from a nightmare, and let her come to on her own.
The blanket pooled at her waist as Lamina ripped a hand through her loose hair, breath frantic, heart racing.
Treech had killed her himself in this one.
She swung her legs around so that her bare feet touched the wooden floors, but didn't dare stand, knowing from experience her shaky knees would not have the strength to hold her up.
"Lammie," her father sighed as he sat next to her, a space between them.
Ever since the Games, she'd hated being touched.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, desperately fighting back tears.
She hated this. Hated waking him up with her screams. Hated the fact that she was pathetic and weak and couldn't move forward. Hated the look on his face when he found her after the dreams. The pity.
"Don't be," he told her softly, his own hand running through his hair.
They were quiet until he finally said, "You aren't getting better."
"I know," she replied after a moment, staring at her hands folded in her lap.
Because she wasn't. She'd been foolish to think she'd ever be able to get over the Hunger Games. She should have died in those stupid games. Let Coral stab her or forced Treech to kill her or jumped off that godsforsaken beam herself. She should have died. She wished she had.
Her dad sighed. "I know you don't want to but maybe—"
"I'm not talking to Treech," she interrupted.
If she couldn't even get over the Games herself, there was no way in hell reconnecting with one of the last tangible reminders of them would help.
"Lamina," her dad said, voice weary. "It could help."
"No," she said sharply, hands clenching together. "It won't."
"He's the only other person who understands, Lamina, you know he is."
"I don't need somebody to understand," she said stiffly.
"Yeah?" her dad asked, voice bordering on sharp. "So we aren't even going to try to get better anymore?"
"I am trying," she argued.
Maybe. Kind of. Not really.
It just— Getting better would mean actually confronting everything that happened in the Games and Lamina... she just couldn't do that. Didn't have the strength for it. She barely had the strength to drag herself out of bed every day.
She preferred to try her damnedest to forget they ever happened, even if that clearly wasn’t working. It would work eventually. It had to.
The fight in her father drained out of him and his shoulders slumped next to her. He sighed. "I know, sweetheart. I'm sorry." He raked a hand through his hair. "But the fact of the matter is... you aren't getting better."
"How am I supposed to get better, Dad?" Lamina asked finally, voice raising, as she shot up from the bed and faced him, eyes desperate. "You said you watched the Games, didn't you? You saw what happened— what I saw— what I did— and you're expecting me to just 'get over it'? How the hell am I supposed to do that?"
"By letting people help you, Lammie," her dad urged, reaching to grab her wrist.
She ripped it out of his grasp. "I don't need help."
"Really?" he exclaimed, standing to meet her. Lamina was tall, but her dad was taller. "Because you're certainly not helping yourself." He bent so that they could look at each other eye to eye. "Lamina, baby, I can't ever imagine what being a Victor must be like, but I can guess that it's incredibly lonely."
He grabbed both her wrists and held them tight as she avoided his eye.
"But you don't have to be alone," he continued. "You're forcing yourself to be. You've spent the past year dragging yourself through your life. School, work, home, sleep. That's all you do. You don't go to dances. You don't go to the market. You don't even want to eat supper at the table with me half the time— and that's not the way you should be living." He held her gaze, eyes filled with pain. "And if you think it is... then why did you fight to live in the first place?"
Lamina said nothing, attempting to step back, and with a sigh he let her. Her back hit the wall soundly.
"You wanted to live, Lamina. I know you did. That's the only reason why you picked up that axe in the first place, why you fought District Four..." He took a deep breath. "Yet, you were willing to die for Treech in there, and now you can't even look at him."
She crossed her arms defensively over her chest. "I don't want to talk about Treech."
"You don't want to talk about anything to do with the Games. Ever. But you're going to have to. You can't live like this."
"I've been doing just fine, Dad," she snapped.
He laughed incredulously, hands displaying her bedroom, the one that was clean to a freakish degree the way it never had been growing up, because it was the only thing she could control now. "You call this doing fine?" he exclaimed in disbelief. "You wake up from nightmares every night, you can barely hold an axe anymore, you've been avoiding letters from your friends in the Capitol like they’re poisonous—"
"They aren't my friends," Lamina interrupted, voice rough.
Her dad stopped abruptly. "Wow," he said quietly. "The people who saved your life in that arena, and you won't even call them your friends."
"No!" Lamina shouted, shoving herself off the wall. "Fuck that, ok? The only person who saved me in that arena was myself, alright? Me!"
They stared at each other.
"I don't even recognize you anymore," her dad said softly, his eyes in the most pain she'd seen since the twins died.
There was silence, and then Lamina began to cry.
She sank to her knees, deep, hiccuping sobs, raking her chest and tearing out of her in pain, no longer able to be contained.
"I'm sorry," she wept. "I'm so so sorry."
Her dad followed her to the ground silently, scooping her into his arms without hesitation. He tugged her close, holding her head to the crook of his neck, one strong arm wrapped tightly around her back, like he could hold all her broken pieces together through sheer strength of will.
He held her in a way she hadn't let anyone since before the Games, and she was falling apart the way she'd been so afraid to, the way she'd tried so desperately not to.
She wanted to hate him so badly for saying that. Wanted to shove him away, to run away from District Seven and into the woods she'd once found solace in, disappearing and never returning. She wanted to rip her heart out and stomp on it, get rid of the hole Mizzen and Coral had dug their way into, purge herself of all the memories the 10th Hunger Games had given her.
But she couldn't— the past year had proven that. No matter how hard she tried, how ferociously she fought, and how uncaring she became, she would always be a Victor. She could never escape it.
"Listen to me," her father said fiercely as she hiccuped, trying desperately to slow her tears, and he pulled back to hold her face in his hands. "I don't expect you to be the same person you were. Frankly, I'd be more worried if you came back and were exactly the same but Lammie— my girl, my sweet girl— you've lost yourself in these wretched games and I don't—" his eyes were wild— "I'm so afraid for you. I'm so scared."
Lamina cried harder. "I don’t know how to not be scared anymore, Dad," she sobbed into his neck. "I don't know who I am anymore and I don’t know how to fix it. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
He held her close. Let her cry until she couldn't anymore, and even when she was done, held her just as tight. Her arms hung loosely around him, numb and aching and more than a little fucking exhausted.
He shifted so that he was leaning with his back against the frame of her bed, her head still held to his chest, fingers smoothing down the length of her hair.
"I knew you were coming back you know," he said thoughtfully, voice barely loud enough to be heard.
Lamina started and pulled back from his grip abruptly, legs tucked underneath her. "What?" she rasped out.
He smiled sadly, hand still tangled in her hair. "I guess ‘know’ might be the wrong word but I just—" He swallowed thickly. "First your mom, you know? And then both Elmer and Acacius in that stupid shootout." He shook his head regretfully. "I couldn't accept that you would be gone too. I couldn't accept that the world was so cruel as to take you from me too. You're all I have."
Lamina stared at him— at the man who'd raised her, who’d been her only family since she was ten and her older brothers joined her mom. The man who'd lived through the war and fought secretly for the Rebellion, who had watched his friends and his wife die.
How could he still believe? How could he still trust in a world that had tried to take everything from him— a world that had stolen everything from her?
He smiled sadly, like he could tell she thought he was a fool. "I don't know how to help you, baby," he said honestly. "But I do know... people need something to fight for. Gods, do people need something to fight for."
He reached for her hand, squeezing it like a lifeline. "After your mom died, all I wanted to do was die with her, but I couldn't. I had you and the boys, and you had all lost someone too, and I couldn't leave you." He sniffed as he let out a light chuckle. "Not to mention she'd figure out a way to kill me a second time if I had." His eyes darkened. "And then the boys died, and it was like they'd taken what was left of my heart with them, and I was so angry. I was furious. How could I have lost three of the most important people in my life in the span of six years? How was that fair?" He smiled mournfully. "And then the night we buried them, I checked on you to see if you were asleep, and you were— well, you were snoring but you were also— you were so small, but you were so strong— even then. You held my hand the whole time they dug the grave and set Acacius's glasses on his coffin before they filled it in." His eyes shined with tears, and Lamina felt her own sting again. He held their joined hands to his heart. "And I looked at you, and I realized that my heart was still ok, because I still had you. And you needed me. I couldn't just lie down and give up because I felt like it— because there was a little girl who needed me. Who loved me. I had to fight for you. To fight for you the way your mom had fought for our family, and the way the boys had—” a regretful laugh— “In their own stupid teenage ways.”
He squeezed her hand and she wasn't sure if he was trying to ground her or himself. "People need something to fight for, Lamina. It's what makes the world go round. It's why we live, and it’s why we die. It's why wars break out. Without something to fight for—" he laughed— “Then what the hell's even the point?"
"And if I'd have died?" she asked quietly, eyes searching, not yet ready to accept what he was trying to say. "If I had died in those Games? What would you have done then?"
He sighed. "I won't lie and say that it wouldn't be hard. Probably the hardest thing I'd ever do." He swallowed. "I can't say in all honesty that I'd have been able to do it but— I like to think that I would." He threw her a look. "Would you have wanted me to give up after?"
Lamina shook her head harshly. "Never."
He nodded, a small smile on his face. "I know. And that's what would have pushed me on." He gave her a meaningful look. "People don't leave us just because they die. Even though your mom and the boys aren't with us, even if they all died in ways no one should, the love I have for them is still there. The love you have for them is still there. And they still loved us. That love is still floating around, it can't ever be destroyed. Love doesn't just go away because people are no longer around to give it. Nothing can change that. Not the Capitol, not the Hunger Games, not even death. It can't." His voice strengthened. "It won't."
"Why do we fight?" she asked weakly, thinking of the Games, and her brothers, and maybe even Treech. "If all it does is leave us broken and with holes we can’t fill?"
"Because we love," he replied simply. "And unfortunately— that is something no human is able to escape." He brushed a strand of hair back from her face. "You killed the boy from District Two because he was in pain, and you loved him enough to realize he didn't deserve it. You fought District Four because you loved me enough to try and get back to me." He cupped her cheek. "It's why you wouldn't kill Treech, even though it meant not knowing whether or not you'd be coming home."
Lamina shook her head, tears slipping down her cheeks once more. "I couldn't do it, Dad," she cried softly. "If I could have I would have."
"I know," he said gently, wiping the apple of her cheek with his thumb. "I know, sweetheart. You're so strong. The strongest person I've ever met. But you've got to trust yourself. Trust that your heart is strong enough to face whatever comes next. Trust yourself to live your life the way it's supposed to be, even at the risk of loss. Trust yourself to care enough to fight."
"For what?" she asked desperately, squeezing his wrist. "What do I fight for now? After all I've done to get here? Why do I deserve to?"
He smiled sadly. "I can't tell you, sweetheart. That's on you to figure out." He shrugged. "Maybe it's a job you want within the lumberyards. Maybe it's in the contents of the letters the Capitolites have been sending you. Maybe it's Treech," he said gently. "But you gotta trust yourself enough to know that whatever you choose, it's gonna be the right thing, and if it isn't, you'll be strong enough to get through it."
Lamina’s tears slowed. Her? Strong? All she'd heard throughout the Games was that she was the weakest link. Pup had believed it, Lucky Flickerman had believed it, Coral had believed it. Even Treech had admitted to it when he'd betrayed her.
So how was she supposed to be strong enough to move past the murdering and the dying and that stupid sea of snakes when all she'd proven was that she was weak?
And then she looked at her dad. Looked at the gray that was growing near his temples, at the scars on his hands from years of working with lumber and axes, at the green in his eyes that had never changed. He'd lost people. He'd lost everyone for a time, when she'd been in the Capitol. Yet, he was still living. Still fighting. Still loving.
"But Lamina," he said. "The things you did... they were what anyone would have. You can't keep beating yourself up over it. Because I know without a doubt that those kids in the 10th Hunger Games wouldn't want this for one-half of their Victors."
"You say you don't know who you are," he continued, withdrawing his hand from her cheek and helping her stand. "But I think all the things you've been avoiding, all the horrors you've been trying to forget. As awful and as much as they never should have happened— at the core of them is who you are." He placed his hands on her shoulders. "You're a girl who would risk her life for someone she barely knew all because they were in pain. A girl who only killed on accident, and who cried over a thirteen year old boy's death." His eyes softened. "A girl who wouldn't kill her best friend, even though they hadn't talked in years and he'd left her to die alone. Who was willing to starve if it meant he would live." His hands cupped her cheeks. "You're my daughter. You're the best person I've ever known."
Lamina hugged him tightly. "I want to be better," she mumbled. And then, a whisper, "I want to live."
She could feel him smile. "Then do so."
Lamina wasn't exactly sure how to start living when she'd spent the past year simply surviving, but she figured the best way to start was by revisiting her favorite place in the forest.
She hadn't been since before her Games, and had refused to visit after because it felt like she would be tainting the place if she did. As though the Lamina after the Capitol didn't deserve to enjoy the things Lamina pre-Capitol once had.
She slipped out of the house once her dad had fallen asleep and it was like rediscovering Seven. The stars were so bright, the trees so tall, and the air so fresh. She hadn't been appreciating it the way she probably should have been the past year. Too desperate to try and hold District Seven in a pristine looking glass, because if it were kept exactly as it had been before the Games, then maybe she would be exactly who she was before the Games.
She knew that if she had tried, she would have been able to see District Seven in a new light, in the light of someone who had fought fiercely to come back, and that was beautiful too. She’d always heard that two things could be true at once. That she could miss the District Seven of her childhood, wish it had never had to change, and still appreciate it for what it was to her now. Appreciate the trees that had given her the skills to protect herself, the people who had taught her how to properly hold the axe she’d used to defend her life, and the way of life that was so bright she’d never once questioned fighting to get back.
But those things weren’t true. Because every time she thought of something good, she thought of the bad too.
She hadn’t been able to climb a tree since the 10th Hunger Games, because whenever she looked down, all she could see was Coral's broken body. She couldn’t appreciate the once overwhelming comfort of an axe in her hands, because all she felt every time she held it was the way it felt to rip it out of Coral’s shoulder. And the way of life— what even was this way of life? Send two children off each year to fight for their lives? Look the other way whenever a Peacekeeper passed? Watch children keel over from hunger and have no way of stopping it?
Not for the first time, Lamina wondered just why she had fought so hard to come back.
She ran her fingers over the tree bark, the roughness of the edges catching on the cuts and calluses that decorated her palm. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine she was ten years old still, grieving the loss of her brothers as she stumbled upon the clearing for the first time. Soft grass sprouted from the soil, and the trees that surrounded it rose so high she had to crane her neck all the way back to be able to see the tops. Moonlight peaked through the leaves, dancing cheekily across her face and the sweet sounds of summer crickets whistled around her. It was just on the cusp of fall, but the trees were still green and the weather was still comfortingly warm.
She stared blankly at the clearing she had once found such solace in, the words of her father from a few weeks ago ever present in her mind, the way they’d been since he’d spoken them.
He’d said that he had found things to fight for after they’d lost her mom and Elmer and Acacius. That he still had her, and that’s what he had been fighting for.
But what did she have?
She had nightmares and a tense relationship with her father and the inability to hold an axe the same way as she once had. She had a newfound fear of heights and snakes and hallucinations of blood on her hands.
The Capitol had taken everything from her. Her belief in humankind, her sense of security, even her love for her District had been tainted.
They had stolen her innocence and thrown her back with nothing left. Pup had promised to change things and yet twenty-three more children had died this past July.
It wasn’t worth it. None of it was.
She had to find things to fight for, she knew that. She understood what her dad had been trying to say. And really, she wanted to. She wanted to live and to smile and all of the things she had thought about when she’d expected Treech to kill her up on that beam.
To live, she had to have something to fight for and unfortunately, her own survival just wasn’t cutting it anymore.
So what could she fight for? What did she have still?
“Lamina,” a voice breathed behind her.
She started, spinning around violently and stumbling back, attempting to put as much space between her and the intruder as possible, eyes darting around for anything to protect herself with when she registered the face of the boy who had called her name.
Treech looked the same as he always had. Tall, smooth skin, curly brown hair, and wide eyes that could freeze over with no emotion whenever he wished them to.
Yet tonight, there was no wall. No carefully guarded front to hide what he was really feeling. He was staring at her with all the same awe she might imagine one looking at the ocean. With the knowledge that you’re seeing something beyond your control and it both frightened you and refused to let you look away.
She’d seen him throughout the past year. There was no way not to. But she had never let him look for longer than a second and when she raced away from him when he did, she never looked back.
“Lamina,” Treech said again, swallowing and stopping dead in his tracks, like if he moved she would vanish in a wisp of smoke as though she were some sort of spirit.
Instinctively, Lamina had the urge to turn away, tear herself from the force of his gaze, and refuse to give in. Refuse to ask him the questions she wanted answered, refuse to let his eyes rake over her like he was drinking her in, and under no circumstances allow them to discuss what it was like to be a Victor.
But… in all honesty, she had missed him. Gods had she missed him desperately and at times it felt like she'd been missing him all her life and that she would never be able to stop.
They had fallen out two years before the Games when Treech had become friends with some of the boys he worked with, and their friendship had been reduced from days spent by the lake and childish games to lingering glances at monthly festivals and awkward conversations between two people who knew more about the other than their current relationship called for.
So she had missed him before the Games and then when they’d been Reaped, the one sliver of light had been that he’d held her hand on the train ride the way he always had as kids. They’d laughed quietly about the full circle moment of being thrown into a fight to the death with someone from your past and she’d thought that maybe dying with someone who loved you wouldn’t be so bad.
And then he’d joined Coral’s pack and through the anger and the betrayal, she’d found it in herself to miss him still.
And finally, though she was the one to push him away, she had missed him like an ache in her chest for the past year. Because, though she hated the things he reminded her of and the absolute tragedy that had become their relationship, he was still Treech and he would always have a part of her.
“I didn’t know you knew where this was,” she said quietly, fingers flexing as she tried to force herself to relax.
Treech’s left eyebrow twitched downward in hastily concealed confusion. She could tell this was not what he’d thought their first conversation in a year would start with.
Ever the one to breeze past emotions he deemed unworthy, Treech glanced around and answered, “I’ve been doing a lot of wandering at night. Found it a few months ago. It helps kind of— exploring, I mean. I’ve had trouble sleeping since…”
He trailed off.
“Ah,” she remarked softly, looking anywhere but his face.
Another pause and if Lamina had the capacity for any sort of amusement she might have been bitterly entertained by the awkwardness between them, so reminiscent, yet so different, to those years where the only hesitation between them was who was going to initiate a stilted greeting first.
“How uh—” Treech cleared his throat. “How have you been?”
She turned to inspect a nearby elkwood tree so that he couldn’t see the quirk of her lips at his cringe after he’d spoken the words. A dumb question and they both knew it.
“I just mean that—” he raced to explain— “I haven’t seen you… much. Around.”
Her fingers fiddled with a sproutling branch on the tree. “Yeah, I— I don’t go out much anymore.”
She knew he did. Had heard from her father that Treech had thrown himself into all the social events of District Seven; dances, festivals, extra shifts at work. Had even taken up tutoring the younger students at the schoolhouse. She wondered why. Wondered if he was looking for a distraction, or if he felt as though he needed to make up for certain things.
For the first time since she’d gotten off that train, she wished she could ask.
And it surprised her because for all her missing him, she’d never once regretted pushing him away. Always remained steadfast in the confidence that it was the best decision for herself and for him.
But— looking at him, so grown and warm and vulnerable, she wondered if maybe she had been wrong. Wondered if maybe she had needed him this past year.
Silence. Then at the same time:
“Lamina, I—”
“Why didn’t you kill me?”
Treech paused and Lamina started at the realization they’d both stepped forward, bringing them within a foot and a half of each other, and that her eyes were welling with tears.
He searched her face and instantly she knew he had figured out what she was really trying to say.
Still, she said it aloud anyway, something she hadn’t even admitted to her father.
“You should have,” she said quietly. “I wish you had. So why didn’t you?”
He stared at her, eyes soft and she wanted so badly for him to freeze again, swallow his feelings the way she’d never been able to if only so that she didn’t have to feel the heat of his gaze.
Treech shook his head gently. “I couldn’t. I love you.”
A beat. “I wish you wouldn’t.”
“I know.”
Treech sighed then. “I thought it would be easier,” he told her, hand running through his curls. “If I left. If we didn’t have to rely on each other to survive. That way if something happened, it wouldn’t be the other one’s fault. And then Coral and Mizzen came after you and I— I was so stupid, because if you had died up on that beam, then it would have been my fault because I left you for the very people that would have killed you. If I had been there with you, then maybe I could have protected you and you wouldn’t have had to—”
Lamina shook her head wearily. “You don’t owe me anything, Treech.”
She wasn’t surprised to hear herself say it. She’d never blamed him— not really. Sure, she’d felt betrayed and hurt and had bitterly questioned his loyalty, but that didn’t mean she blamed him.
“Don’t I?” He shook his head in disbelief. “Gods, Lamina, how could I not owe you? You were my best friend. My favorite person in the whole world and I was so afraid of dying that I didn’t realize I was more afraid of watching you die.” His hand twitched at his side, like he wanted to reach for her. “I’m sorry I realized it too late. I’m sorry you’re braver than me.” He gave her a small, regretful smile, looking up at her through his lashes. “You always have been.”
Lamina turned away. “I’m not.”
How could he stand there and call her brave when she’d spent the past year violently avoiding anything that forced her to confront her fears? When she’d pushed him away so hard they both were still feeling the whiplash of it?
She wasn’t brave and she wasn’t strong. She was a coward.
She’d vowed to never forget Coral and to not let the girl die in vain and yet her dad was right. She’d been living her life like a coward, too afraid to love and lose because of everything she had already lost. She’d holed up in her room to wallow in self-hatred and attempted to destroy any good thing that happened to her. Things like refusing a job with the older lumberjacks because it meant she’d have to hold the axe the same way she’d been gripping it when she killed Coral. Pushed her dad away and ruined the best relationship she had. Told Treech she never wanted to see him again when he was probably the only one she could stand to talk to on some of her worse days.
“What?” Treech asked in bafflement. “Lamina, what are you talking about?”
“I’m not brave, Treech,” Lamina hissed and she wished— not for the first time— that she could control her emotions the way he could. She laughed bitterly and gestured around. “Look at me. I’ve allowed myself to sink into my misery all because I’m too weak to try and figure out how to deal with life after everything I’ve done.”
Treech shook his head emphatically. “Don’t say that,” he demanded, and Lamina liked the fact that he was angry. Good. Someone else should be too. “You’re the bravest person I know, Lamina.”
Mouth curled in disgust she said, “I’m not brave.” She stared at him incredulously. “How can you call me brave? When I pushed you away and said you weren’t my friend all because I was scared? I’m pathetic, Treech. I’ve convinced myself to forget the Hunger Games and yet I can’t.” She looked away. “I should have let Coral kill me. This life of mine was not worth her dying. It's certainly not worth me killing her for.”
“No,” Treech said fiercely. “No! I won’t— I’m not gonna— I’m not gonna stand here and let you talk about yourself like that. I won’t.”
He held his hands out in between them and Lamina’s eyes dropped anxiously to them. If he grabbed her she wouldn’t be able to pull away and if she couldn’t pull away, she was afraid she never would.
“Lamina, listen to me,” Treech said gently. “You were fifteen in those games. You’re barely sixteen now. You can’t—” He shook his head. “You seem to think that you should be able to handle it. And I know it’s hard for you to understand that as strong as you are, even you have limits… but you do, Mina. I hate that you think you’re weak because you aren’t. But you are human.”
Treech stared at her intensely, and Lamina’s arms hung weakly at her sides, drained of all tension and defense.
“You can’t do everything by yourself, Lamina,” Treech said softly. “Those things we did, the things we saw—” He swallowed and looked away. “They hurt. They hurt a lot.” When he looked back, he was crying. “But I know you, Lamina. As much as you hate it I do. I know your heart. And you’re good. You’re so good. So to hear you say that you wished I had killed you or that Coral had it’s—” His expression hardened. “It’s wrong, Lams. It’s so wrong and if you would just let me I— I want to help you. I want to help you so bad I’m choking on it.”
Lamina stared at him, head shaking slowly in disbelief. “How can you say that?” she whispered in astonishment. “After everything I’ve done? I killed people. How can you stand there and tell me I’m good when I’ve dishonored every single Tribute by trying to forget them?” Distantly, she realized she was shaking as she showed him her hands. “I’m a murderer, Treech and I can’t— I can’t ever get the blood off my hands and it’s all I see.” Her chin trembled as she cried. “How are you gonna help me, Treech? How? Why would you want to? How are you gonna hold these hands knowing—”
Treech surged forward, grasping her hands tightly in his own and pulling them to his chest, head dipping so they were eye level. “Like this,” he said breathlessly. He squeezed her hands. “Just like this, Lamina. I promise you,” he said seriously. “I promise you I won’t ever let you go if you ask me not to.”
“Treech,” Lamina whispered, eyes wide.
“You say you don’t know how I can call you good—” A sad smile spread across his face. “It’s the same way you can stand there and tell me you don’t blame me, that I don't owe you anything. How you can hold my hands knowing I killed that girl from Five and stood there while Tanner slit a thirteen year old boy’s throat.” His eyes filled with pain and it took him a minute to gather himself again. He pressed their foreheads together. “It’s because I know you, Lamina. The good and the bad, I know you. And I love you. I haven’t ever stopped. And I know that you’re so much more than those Games. They don’t define you. They aren’t who you are, and if I’d have known that you’d make the mistake of believing they were I’d have never let you go. I’d have never let you walk out of that train station the way you did. I’m so sorry.” He sobbed. “Gods, Lamina, I’m so sorry for all of it. You’re so much better than me.”
She shook her head frantically against his. “Don’t say that, Treech, please—” She pulled her hands from his to cup his face where his jaw met his neck. “Don’t. I won’t stand for it.”
“I’ve been trying so hard to be better,” he whispered, eyes closed. “To make myself worthy of being someone you were willing to die for.”
“You are,” she insisted. “You’ve always been worthy.” She laughed through her tears. “Whether you tutor nine year olds or not.”
He snorted and despite everything, scowled playfully. “They’re such brats. Got punched in the shoulder by one the other day.”
Lamina laughed again and it’d been so long since she laughed that it only made her cry harder.
Treech wrapped her in a hug, pulling her tight to the crook of his neck. “What a pair we make, huh?” he teased, though he was still crying too. “Can shit on ourselves but Gods forbid the other one does.”
Lamina snorted at that through her tears. “I’ve missed you so bad, Treech. I’m sorry I’ve been acting like such a fool.”
He shook his head, nose pressed into her hair. “Don’t apologize. We both just— we’re both trying to deal and it’s— it’s hard and I screwed us up in the first place and I’m going to spend the rest of my life being sorry for it.”
Lamina pulled back and stared intensely at him, brushing a stray curl out of his eye. “I don’t want you to,” she told him honestly. “I want—”
“What?” he asked in an exhale. “Anything.”
Despite herself, she smiled and pulled his forehead back to hers, noses pressing against each other’s. “I want you to help me,” she said softly. “And I want to help you. And I want to answer Sejanus’s letters and I want to take that stupid job at the lumberyards that I turned down and I want to move past the 10th Hunger Games but I don’t—” She took a deep breath. “I don’t ever want to forget them.”
Treech pulled back to look at her and she smiled gently at the confusion in his eyes. “They don’t deserve that,” she explained, thumb brushing underneath his eye. “Not Coral or Marcus or Mizzen or Brandy or Lucy Gray or Sol or any of them. Not even Tanner.”
Treech nodded. “Then we won’t,” he agreed. “We’ll live, but we won’t ever forget.”
She grinned and pulled him back into a tight hug. “We’ll live,” she whispered.
Lamina discovers that while she had once thought the Capitol had stolen everything from her, there were very few things it could ever actually take and even fewer things it could keep.
She has her father, and a new favorite pair of trousers, and a really cool job that requires tons of upper body strength.
She has her humility, and the way her laugh lilts up at the end of it. She has a strength and a courage that have both been tested and tried and come out ok.
She has Treech.
Which— as the years pass— she realizes is her something to fight for.
She and Treech grow back together. It’s not easy, but it’s not always hard. He learns that some days are worse than others with her and she understands that he will throw himself into the community with no care for himself.
But it’s ok because he’s there to sit with her and read on the bad days, and she won’t hesitate to pull him back when he gives too much.
He’s safe and steady when she is flighty and unstable, and she is passionate and willing when he is cautious and guarded.
She learns that her father is right, and that they fight because they love, and she loves a lot.
She dances and she laughs and she cries, and eventually, she does fall in love.
It’s long and a process and fun and easy and inevitable.
She figures she probably should have known it would happen eventually.
Treech tries to say he always knew it would happen and that he was just waiting on her (as though he didn’t cry for weeks after because he was “Just so overwhelmed!”).
There are still moments where the grief of the Games feels suffocating, and the guilt of being able to grow up when so many others didn’t is like fiery knives in her heart, but Treech is always there. He never strays and he never falters, and she loves him more than anything.
And when Sejanus comes to their home ten years later, with talks of a political coup and rising rebellion within the youth of the Capitol, Treech’s hand in hers, she is ready.