number thirty-nine

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Estella watched for a moment before rushing over to help Katniss to her feet, her eyes flicking back toward Thresh and Aries, who were already mid-conversation, catching up in their own chaotic way

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Estella watched for a moment before rushing over to help Katniss to her feet, her eyes flicking back toward Thresh and Aries, who were already mid-conversation, catching up in their own chaotic way.

Aries, naturally, wasn't about to pass up the opportunity to annoy the hell out of Thresh—an oddly consistent part of their friendship. Somehow, over time, that strange dynamic had morphed into a kind of brotherhood, and Estella couldn't help but wonder how expansive Thresh's patience had to be to put up with Aries on a daily basis. She, herself, often had to fight the urge to strangle him just to get through the day.

Still, despite the madness surrounding them, Katniss looked surprisingly free for someone who had just narrowly escaped death. She offered Estella a small, grateful smile, clearly recalling Thresh's earlier words—that Estella was the one who had told him everything. It was a rare, quiet moment of recognition, a soft breath in a world that offered none.

But Estella wasn't basking in it. Something didn't sit right. A subtle shift in the air, a whisper on the wind—her instincts sharpened, ears metaphorically pricking up. Her gaze turned cold and focused, scanning the trees around them. Her frown deepened, and though she hadn't said a word yet, Aries caught it. He knew that look all too well. She had fear in her eyes now, the kind that only came when her gut screamed danger, and she called out to Aries, voice edged with urgency, beckoning him closer.

She cast a glance at Aries, about to explain what she was sensing, but a sharp, chilling SWISH cut through the air before she could. It wasn't aimed at her or Aries—they were too far out of the line of fire. Katniss stood closer, but even she wasn't the target. That left only one person: Thresh.

"Thresh!" Estella's voice cracked as she cried out his name in a panic, sheer terror etched across her face. Thresh, already walking toward the #11 backpack, turned at the sound of her voice—just in time to see the dagger embedding itself in his chest.

A hush fell over the arena, an unsettling stillness that blanketed the scene. Time seemed to suspend itself; every tribute held their breath, unmoving, for what felt like an eternity. Then, a primal surge of instinct roared to life within Aries.

In the blink of an eye, his sword was drawn, the polished steel glinting in the arena's harsh light. He pivoted with blinding speed, his senses laser-focused on the source of the impending danger. His eyes narrowed, pinpointing the advancing threat as it hurtled toward them.

Cato had already breached their defenses, closing the distance with alarming speed. He stood a mere foot away, his presence radiating menace.

Thresh's face was a mask of raw, stark disbelief, his expression a tableau of shock and incomprehension. Estella reacted without hesitation, her survival instincts kicking in. She surged forward, a blur of motion, racing toward the fallen tribute. Her hands instinctively flew to the dagger protruding from his chest, her fingers fumbling in a desperate attempt to staunch the bleeding and somehow stabilize him.

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