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The Tributes were airlifted into a hovercraft, silent as they were seated side by side. Estella sat next to Aries, her eyes wandering around the unfamiliar vehicle, clearly trying to keep herself distracted. Aries, on the other hand, kept a watchful eye on her, his protective instincts overriding any curiosity about their surroundings.
No one spoke. No one dared.
The air was thick with tension, filled only by the occasional sound of shifting feet or subtle glances between opponents. Most kept their eyes on the floor or locked on someone else in silent observation.
A nurse approached, syringe in hand—one that looked unnecessarily cruel. She stopped before Aries first. "Be still, please. This is your tracker." He scowled, glaring at her with a mixture of suspicion and resistance, but Estella nudged him gently with her elbow, wordlessly coaxing him into cooperating. He reluctantly nodded. The injection into his forearm was sharp and painful, drawing a hiss from his lips, but he endured it without protest.
The nurse then moved on to Estella.
Aries turned to the window, watching the endless wilderness pass beneath them. His eyes drifted to Estella's face, and for a fleeting moment, they exchanged a glance—unspoken understanding passing between them. Both knew this might be one of the last moments they'd share together.
Then, without warning, the windows blacked out and were replaced by rising screens, cutting off their view entirely. "I guess we're getting close," Peeta murmured into the silence, the first voice to break the unbearable stillness.
Soon after, they were loaded into a blackout van, silence resuming. The only noises now were of nervous energy: fists clenching and unclenching, the soft thud of tapping feet, the occasional cough or throat clearing. Cato, annoyingly composed, passed the time doing push-ups, and the repetitive motion only irritated Aries more than any of the ambient sounds.
The van eventually vanished into a tunnel, swallowing the light whole. Minutes passed before a Peacekeeper began separating them. One took Aries to a room marked with a plaque: Launch Room, 74th Hunger Games — Aries White, Male, District 5.
Inside, Aries remained composed as the prep team dressed him without a word. They outfitted him in marine cargo pants, a tight-fitting black short-sleeved shirt, a thin hooded jacket made for shade, and leather boots. As they worked, he fidgeted with his fingers, trying to settle his nerves by taking deep, deliberate breaths.
He barely noticed someone entering the room—until he heard the voice. "Expect some cold nights. The jacket's designed to reflect body heat," said Dennis, his mentor.
Aries stared at him for a moment through the reflection of the tube's glass, not expecting his presence. He didn't answer at first, eyes drifting back to the floor and his breathing. It wasn't until his mind wandered to Estella that he finally spoke. "How's Estella?" His voice was quiet, laced with concern.
