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Estella — it was a dizzying, chaotic blur. Children were sprinting in all directions, scrambling for weapons, desperate to survive the bloodbath. Estella watched Aries bolt toward the golden cornucopia, swift and calculated, but her own instincts pulled her elsewhere — to the closest supplies she could safely reach without diving into the heart of the warzone.
Her eyes landed on a loaf of bread ten feet away, nestled beside a folded plastic sheet and an orange backpack. The pack looked heavier than the others scattered about, which meant it was likely more valuable.
She lunged forward, hands closing around the backpack — but another hand shot out at the same time. A young male tribute had been aiming for it too, and when he saw Estella claim it first, rage overtook him. His face turned beet red as he tackled her to the ground, sending them both crashing with a painful thud, the loaded bag sandwiched between their bodies.
The jolt made Estella groan, and in the process, she bit down on her tongue, drawing blood — nothing too serious, but it stung.
Her mind worked fast. From the corner of her eye, she saw the carnage unfold — tributes were already being slain, blood pooling across the dirt. She needed to get out of there before anyone else noticed her. Using both instinct and intellect, she kicked the bag away from them, hurling it closer to the edge of the forest.
The boy noticed and immediately let go of her, rushing after it, but Estella wasn't done. Acting on pure survival, she grabbed his ankle with surprising strength, yanking hard and causing him to slam face-first into the ground with a sickening crunch. His jaw snapped at the impact, a howl of pain rising from him.
She knew he wouldn't surrender easily. Aries's voice echoed in her memory like a mantra: "Hurt them the best you can." That's what he told her. And she intended to listen.
Swiftly, Estella scrambled around him. Locking her legs around his waist from behind, she wrapped her arms around his neck, tightening her hold until she began cutting off his air. Her grip was small but solid, and she leaned in with every ounce of weight she could muster. He thrashed beneath her, desperate, but she held on.
She knew she couldn't keep this up long — her petite frame made her vulnerable in hand-to-hand combat. It was one of the reasons she hated direct fights. But her size also meant she could slip into places others couldn't, manipulate situations to her advantage. And right now, she was making it work.
The boy choked violently beneath her, his face beginning to turn a purplish hue. Tears streamed from the corners of his eyes, his tongue poking out grotesquely as he gasped for air. "Sleep... Sleep..." Estella whispered like a lullaby. She didn't want to kill anyone—not yet. Not unless she had to. These were all kids, just like her. Most had families waiting for them back home, unlike her.
Guilt prickled under her skin, but she pushed it down. She adjusted her grip slightly, careful not to apply too much pressure, just enough to render him unconscious from oxygen loss. She wasn't here to kill. Not like this. Not now.
All around them, the air was saturated with screams, the shrieks of dying tributes, and the relentless boom of cannons marking the fallen. When the boy's pulse finally slowed, weak and fluttery against her arm, Estella released him gently and backed away, breath coming in sharp bursts. Without hesitation, she snatched up the backpack and slipped away from the carnage with silent, calculated steps, darting into the woods without ever looking back. The screams, the pleas for help, the chaos — she left it all behind, letting it fade into background noise as she ran.
Eventually, when the sounds dulled to a distant hum, Estella halted. She closed her eyes and focused all her attention on her hearing, tuning in to the forest, searching for any approaching footsteps or whispers of danger. Nothing yet. For now, she was alone.
Quickly, she dropped to her knees and dumped the backpack's contents onto the forest floor, inspecting what she had managed to claim. A thin black sleeping bag, a pack of crackers, beef jerky strips, a bottle of iodine, a box of wooden matches, a coil of wire, and a pair of sunglasses. Her gaze lit up when she spotted a silver dagger glinting among the gear — and coiled rope, strong and promising.
She smiled for the first time since entering the arena.
She packed everything back except the rope and dagger, choosing the nearest tree with a sturdy trunk. Using the blade, she stabbed footholds into the bark, slowly climbing her way up, branch by branch, until she reached a thick limb that could support her weight. It took her several long minutes, but finally, she settled on the highest branch that offered cover and visibility.
Letting her body rest, she leaned back against the trunk and closed her eyes. Her hands moved to her pockets out of habit, searching for the comforting weight of her journal. When her fingers found nothing, she groaned in frustration. She'd left it behind. That irritated her more than it should have.
With nothing better to do, Estella pulled out the sunglasses from the pack and slid them on, chuckling bitterly to herself. She must look ridiculous — sitting in a warzone, trying to survive, wearing sunglasses like she was lounging at the beach. But it was either laugh or lose her mind.
Ten minutes passed. Boredom crept in. Usually, Aries would be here by now, doing something idiotic or smug to entertain her. Instead, she was alone. She rose to her feet, balancing on her toes as she danced lightly along the branch, leaping gracefully from one tree to another.
The sun was sinking fast — the shadows grew longer, darker. The announcement of the dead would come soon. That alone soured her mood. She was sure Aries was still alive — he had to be — but the others? She didn't know.
"...Hey, my little angel..." A voice, ghostly and too familiar, shattered her rhythm. Estella dropped into a crouch, huddling into herself and pressing her hands against her ears as ringing overtook her mind. Her father's voice. It was so vivid, so raw, that it made her chest ache.
Why now? she thought desperately. Why here?
"...You listen to me carefully. You listen now..." she heard again. His voice, clear as day, was serious — different from the nightmare version. She remembered being so small, barely walking, as he knelt beside her, clean-shaven and full of hope. "...You're young. I wasn't able to make a better world for you... But... I won't give up... I'll make it... a better place for my angel..."
SNAP!
Estella's head shot up. A branch cracked below — someone was nearby. The memories vanished in a blink. Her instincts kicked back in. She leaned forward, peering through the leaves, spotting the source. Rue. The small girl was panicking, eyes wide, darting through the underbrush in search of something — probably shelter. Estella's gaze followed Rue's frantic movements, heart sinking. The girl was completely unarmed. No bag. Nothing.
Then, from behind her, came the shadows of the District 8 tributes — both of them — hunting, searching, slowly closing in. They hadn't spotted Rue yet, but it was only a matter of time.
Estella didn't hesitate.
She snapped off the closest branch within reach and hurled it down in front of Rue. The sudden noise startled the girl, making her freeze. Estella immediately followed up with hand signals, motioning clearly: Don't move. Her expression softened, gaze focused. She would help her.
