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"What the hell is wrong with you!?" Katniss's voice cracked through the air like a whip, raw and thick with disbelief. Her chest was heaving, her hands clenched, and her gaze locked on Aries with a mix of horror and frustration. "I can't believe you're actually happy about this!"
The words struck Aries with a violence that had nothing to do with weapons. His shoulders tensed, his eyes narrowing as if Katniss had pulled the pin on a grenade lodged in his chest. Whatever fragile composure he had been clinging to shattered. "Happy?" he repeated, the word falling from his lips like acid. "You think this is happiness?" His voice shook, not from fear, but from the sheer weight of everything he had buried for far too long. "I'm sick of this. Sick of the Games. Sick of the lies. Sick of pretending this hellhole is anything but a meat grinder. I hate this whole ridiculous world!"
The fury surged before he could hold it back. Without thinking, Aries lunged—not with intent to harm, not really, but with years of grief and bitterness driving his motion. "I'm disgusted," he spat, his voice almost unrecognizable. "That everyone struts around like they're better than the rest of us because they can throw a blade or shoot a damn arrow! I'm done—done with all of it!"
But before he could get close to Katniss, a firm hand yanked hard on the back of his shirt, dragging him back. Estella, calm as a still lake under the moonlight, had pulled him down beside her, grounding him like an anchor in a storm. He collapsed against the earth with a huff, breathless, his heartbeat hammering in his ears.
"Think before you act, Aries," she said quietly, her voice low but cutting through the noise like a knife. Her tone wasn't scolding—it was controlled, even soothing—but it carried weight. "You're spiraling, and you know it. You're only hurting yourself."
But Aries wasn't in a place to hear reason. His breathing was shallow, his fists clenched tight, and his rage hadn't burned out—it was still roaring, still threatening to consume him. "I don't care anymore!" he shouted, not even looking at her. "Let them come. Let the cameras roll. I'm not playing by their damn rules anymore. I'm done being a puppet!"
And with that, he threw his voice to the treetops, into the sky, into the unseen lenses that broadcasted their every breath. "Do you hear me!? I'm DONE!"
Katniss and Peeta stood frozen, watching helplessly, unsure whether they should intervene. Estella glanced toward them and gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. Let him get it out, her eyes said. Let him break if he needs to.
Aries finally looked at Estella. She didn't flinch, didn't pity him, didn't look away. She offered only her presence. She stayed. A rare, small smile tugged at her lips—an anchor, not a life raft. "I'm going to kill them all," Aries muttered under his breath, the words barely audible but chilling in their intensity. It wasn't bravado—it was pain, twisted into resolve.
Estella said nothing at first. She simply leaned in and slipped her arms around him, pulling him against her chest. "You're not killing anyone," she whispered into his hair. Her touch was light but firm, like the way a hand steadies a fragile vase from tipping over.
