𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍 𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐒 | hunger games ✓

chapter 18

━━･❪ 🌸 ❫ ･━━

Azalea was still unconscious when Daphne woke up the next morning. She hadn't gotten a full night of sleep since the night she almost drowned in the canal, and Daphne couldn't keep track of how many days it's been. Two? Three?

The rest of the previous day had been spent mostly hanging around with Rye, talking while waiting for Azalea to awaken. Daphne was secretly grateful for the day of rest, since the lack of sleep and constant exploration of the arena was beginning to wear on her body.

Rye was propped against the window, munching on a handful of strawberries. "Rise and shine, sleepyhead. Strawberry?"

He tossed Daphne a berry, which she barely managed to catch. She blinked the sleep out of her eyes, took a swig from her water bottle and bit into the strawberry.

"How do you not sound tired whatsoever?" Daphne asked.

Rye shrugged. "I guess I'm just used to working late nights at the factory. Sometimes, we'd have to stay until the morning to try to meet the Capitol's weekly quota."

"Oh." Daphne's mind, still sluggish from sleep, couldn't think of much else to say to that. She wondered if that's how Rye knew how to make such complex traps; from putting together all sorts of mechanical parts to form functioning transportation devices.

The rest of the fifth day in the arena was rather uneventful. Daphne and Rye mainly stayed in the house, watching over Azalea. Daphne helped Rye reload his trap, replacing the snapped tripwires with new ones. Rye had been sponsored a spool of thin line recently, which he kept under a loose floorboard along with his bottle of poison powder.

Daphne was down to five knives instead of six, one having been lost when she'd unsuccessfully flung one at Cosmo and he'd kicked it away into some bushes. She hadn't bothered going back to look for it.

Still, some part of her kept glancing up and down the path, silently praying for a familiar, lithe boy with forest green eyes to come wandering over. She hadn't seen his face up on any memoriams. Nor had she seen his face anywhere in the arena so far.

The day of inactivity worried Daphne. No cannon shots echoed through the air. If the Gamemakers grew bored, they were sure to throw in some sort of deadly twist sooner or later. Daphne just hoped that it was later, much later.

***

Caelum bit into a plum, its flesh soft and plump with juice. What a way to begin Day Six.

It was a miracle he and Theron had stumbled across a plum tree. Caelum had barely eaten anything in the arena so far, somehow unable to find any fruit-bearing plants. He'd been living off the sponsored crackers that Theron had received a couple days ago.

The fruit eased his stomach, its juices seeming to quench a layer of dryness that had lined his mouth and throat like sandpaper. He'd eaten about six plums already, and he wasn't surprised if the two of them devoured the entire tree at that point.

The boys sat leaning against the tree's trunk, resting in the shade beneath its branches. Theron toyed with his sharpened stick, twirling it between his fingers. It was still stained dark from when he'd killed a tribute the other night.

"Get a new stick, will you?" Caelum muttered through a mouthful of plum. "It's stained, and it smells at night when I'm trying to sleep."

Theron prodded at his stick. "It's still kind of wet, too."

Caelum rubbed his temple. He had a headache coming on, despite the fact that his stomach was finally full after days of physical exertion.

Theron smirked. "Regretting your decision to bring me into the Games?"