‧₊˚┊simple living things﹗
a hunger games!au ellie williams fanfiction.⌇𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭 𝔵𝔦𝔵
summary. How does that one saying go? 'You only miss the sun when it snows'? Yeah, Ellie would know all about that.
content warnings. mentions of past death. depictions of loss and grief (riley). implications of death. graphic descriptions of corpses and gore. references to cannibalism (david). vomiting/puking. mentions of alcohol. depictions of being drunk. heavy angst !!
total wc. 10,735
notes!! once again, reminder that it's better read on ao3!
𝜗𝜚 series masterlist ⸝⸝ playlist ⸝⸝ ao3 𝜗𝜚
DAY SIX.
THE ARENA.
It’s been raining like this for almost an hour now. The heavy downpour has faded to a gentle drizzle, dragging sloppy trails of water down the priorly dusty window. Ellie watches silently as the glass is slowly cleaned by nature itself.
Riley loved the rain. She always dragged Ellie outside when she saw a storm cloud brewing, insisting that they had to be in the woods by the time it started to rain. Ellie hated it at first, loathed the feeling of being soaked. Though, as time wore on, she began to see the beauty in it. The way flowers stretched toward the water, craning their stems to drink it all up; the way the soil would turn soft, letting its guard down; the way Riley would smile and laugh while spinning in small circles with her arms extended outward.
It was all for nothing, though, because Ellie’s love for the rain died the moment Riley did. In truth, she loathes it now more than she did before. Because it reminds her of Riley, of her laughter and her smile. It reminds her of what she’ll never get back.
“She’s out there.”
Ellie lifts her head at the sound of Remy’s voice, her eyes trailing up to where he sits in the booth across from her. He’s staring out the same window, his arms crossed on top of the table between them. His jaw is set and he looks ready for war—he looks old.
“I want to believe that, too.” Ellie says softly.
His head snaps toward her, brows pinched together tightly. “Then do it. If you want to believe in her, then believe in her. Simple.”
“It’s more complicated than—”
“No, it’s not.” He says. “You’ve seen her fight and you’ve seen her keep fighting. Even in situations where most people would give up, she always keeps fighting.”
“Four cannons, Remy.” David chimes in. “There were four cannons.”
He shoots the man a scowl. “We should never have followed you. Now we’re in the middle of the city and she’ll never find us. We should have stayed at the lake and—”
“Stayin’ at the lake would’ve been a death wish.” David tells him.
“And following a strange man into his creepy restaurant isn’t?”
“Okay,” Ellie is quick to intervene as she senses the rising tension. “Okay, let’s calm down.”
“No!” Remy slams his hands onto the surface of the table. There’s nothing aside from pure rage and desperation on his face, painting his cheeks rosy and his eyes glossed. He then turns to Ellie. “You two are dating, right? You love her?” Ellie opens her mouth to respond but Remy cuts her off before she can get any words out. “If you love her, then trust her. Trust that she’ll make it to the lake and she didn’t die by the Careers. If anything, they died by her.”
Ellie exhales a deep breath. “Look, kid, I understand–” “Stop saying that!” He exclaims. “If you actually understood, you’d listen to me!”
With that, Remy exits the booth and storms out of the building. Ellie watches through the murky window as he stomps down the debris-filled street in the direction they came—the direction of the lake. She shifts in her seat toward the end of the booth so as to go after him, but only ends up hurting herself by stretching out the stab wound in her torso.
“I’ll get him,” David tells her, placing a kind hand on her shoulder.
She narrows her eyes, yanking her shoulder out of his reach. “Be back quick.”
“Y’got it.” He agrees, shooting her a grin before sliding out of the booth.
She watches as he rushes toward the front door, pushes it open, then goes out into the street. He jogs in the direction Remy had gone and, before long, disappears behind a building and therefore out of Ellie’s range of sight. Now alone, she sighs, relaxing her shoulders a bit as she leans into the cushion behind her.
After hopping the chain-link fence, David led the three of them a mile into the city before entering a resort. There, they found shelter within a shabby old restaurant that has a horrid smell coming from the back. Ellie plopped the backpack onto a random table, needing to get the weight off her shoulders, then slumped into the booth. Remy and David were close behind her, quick to follow suit.
Then they stayed there for the next hour or so until the rain died down a bit.
David told stories about how he survived the arena thus far. Remy, in turn, told stories about his journey with you and how important it is to get back to the lake. Ellie didn’t tell any stories, not wanting to talk about Riley or the loss that followed.
She leans forward and begins to rummage through the contents of your backpack. She pulls out the salve and scoops a bit of it into her fingers before smearing it onto her wound. The jar is only half-empty despite her and Remy using it all day long. It’s sickening, really, to see just how much the Capitol truly has. Yet they refuse to disperse these luxuries among the Districts. People starve to death in Seven daily, which means Twelve is likely to be littered with bodies. Still, despite being well aware of such atrocities, the Capitol continues to keep things like this—like a jar of magical ointment that doesn’t run out and instantaneously rids all feelings of pain—to themselves.
She screws the lid back onto the jar and tosses it inside the backpack. She then shuffles around until she finds the wilted, smushed flowers that you’d kept. She holds them in her palm and stares down at them. So delicate, fragile, small—everything you are not.
She doesn’t think you’re dead, not really. But she doesn’t trust the world enough to hold an ounce of hope for anything within her chest. She knows if she dares to hope for things such as your life, it’s certain to not be true. It’s certain to be ripped from her grasp just like Seven and Cat and Riley. So she decides to not think of it. She doesn't think of your lifeless body, nor does she think of your living one. She simply does nothing.
If you’re dead, she’ll see your face in the sky tonight and know that she’s fucked. She’ll no longer have a way to reach the audience via your romance ploy. Not only that, but she’ll no longer have a goal in mind. She’ll need to find another reason to keep going if not to keep you alive. Maybe Remy. Maybe she’ll take over your role as his protector. Though, in all honesty, she’s certain she’d not be as good at it as you.
Now that her wound has been—somewhat—tended to, Ellie scoots down to the end of the booth and pushes to her feet, using the edge of the table to support her weight as she stands. She then grabs your backpack and swings it over one shoulder.
Across the restaurant, scattered across the counter that separates the kitchen from the main area, reside David’s bags and weapons and food. Ellie walks over to them, having no issue with rummaging through his belongings.
She goes through his backpack first, picking through what she thinks is and isn’t useful. She leaves the pens and empty cans, but takes the roll of gauze and the extra pair of socks. If you’re still alive and able, she’s aware that you’re in need of an extra pair after you used one of yours as a makeshift bandage for Remy’s calf.
Then, after spending roughly ten minutes sorting through his shit, the stench from the kitchen grows too unbearable to leave alone.
With her newly refilled backpack on her shoulder, Ellie zips it while walking around the island to the kitchen. Inside, the counters are all messy. Some of them have empty cans of food scattered about, others have patches of stained blood embedded into the wood. She covers her nose with the back of her hand, her brows furrowing as she follows the miasma to a narrow door that leads outside. She twists the handle, but it doesn't budge. So she tries again and again. Still, it doesn’t give in until she slams her entire body weight into the door.
It swings open and Ellie falls right out of it. She pushes to her feet with a groan. The first thing she registers is the gentle pattering of rain against her body. The second is the horrid stench that embodies the area surrounding her—so repulsive that it causes her head to ache. She covers her nose again, but it doesn't take long to find the source of the smell now that she's outside.
Her eyes land on a dumpster that’s pushed against the side of the building. On it, thin streams of blood can be seen trailing down the rusted metal. Ellie—begrudgingly—steps toward it. She removes her hand from her nose to shove the lid open.
What she sees within it makes her stomach convulse.
A mound of dead bodies. Not only that, but their bones have been stripped of their skin, rendering them nothing but a skeleton and a whisper of the life they’d once held. Many of them are clickers. Their heads and hands have been sawed off, allowing the consumer to eat away at their flesh without being clawed or gnawed at. What catches Ellie’s eye, though, isn’t a clicker.
It’s a human.
Wearing a tribute’s uniform.
Wearing the face of Raven Hansley.
Ellie instantly slams the lid closed, turns to the side, and vomits into the dampened grass. She holds her stomach, puking and gagging until her throat is raw.
She remembers when Raven’s cannon went off. It was early in the morning, before you and Ellie had even fallen asleep. It was deathly cold outside, which means she probably came looking for warmth, for shelter. David probably gave it to her, putting up a front and acting kind. Just like he is to Ellie and—
Remy.
Within seconds, Ellie is sprinting around the building and heading in the direction that she’d seen Remy and David go. The rain picks up—which means the Gamemakers are entertained by the show. But it also means she can’t see as well.
She’s not sure how long she runs before she hears Remy’s screaming. Ellie follows the sound, her heart pounding against her ribs. Her thighs begin to burn. And yet, all she can think of is what you would do. How you would have handled this. How you would kill David once you got your hands on him.
She turns a corner and sees them.
David has Remy trapped under him, one hand pinning his wrists above his head while the other wields a machete. Remy is screaming—for help, for Ellie, for you.
She pulls her bow from her shoulder and, in one swift movement, drives an arrow through the back of David’s balding head. His movements stutter, then his body slumps on top of Remy—whose voice is now raw from screaming.
The cannon goes off and she runs toward them, kicking David hard in the ribs until his corpse rolls off of Remy. Then she crouches down beside him, holding his bloodied face between her hands. His eyes are big and brown and filled with tears. His bottom lip quivers at the sight of her.
“Are you okay?” She asks him frantically. “Are you hurt? Where did he hurt you?”
Remy shakes his head, shoulders shaking as he sobs. “No, he– I’m not hurt.”
Ellie exhales a deep breath of relief, pulling Remy into her arms. He sobs even harder, his entire body trembling while his tears soak into her shirt. He wraps his arms around her, his face buried in her chest. Ellie doesn’t even notice that her hands are shaking until she reaches up to run her fingers through his hair.
“Let’s head back to the lake, yeah?”
His head nods against her. “Yeah.”
18:20.
SAINT MARY’S HALL.
There was a time in Cat’s life when she adored the Capitol. She once held it at such a high regard that it could never meet the amount of reverence she’d felt. In fact, her only goal in life at the time was to become a Diamond and gain the adoration of president Fedra himself.
Those dreams were crushed, though, the moment Ellie’s name was called at the Reaping. Tilly Reymond wielded the scythe that doomed Ellie to her fateful demise. Cat watched, uselessly, as Ellie walked to the stage—grave, rather—and took her rightful place there. It was sickening. Sickening in a way Cat had never felt before. In a way that made her entire body feel heavy with the burden of Ellie’s inevitable death.
Since then, Cat has done everything in her power to make up for her past negligence. And, though it may not seem like it, breaking Ellie’s heart was one of the acts it took in order to redeem herself. To protect Ellie.
Cat, being a stylist, watched the Reapings before they were officially out to the public. She saw you—bright and brilliant and absolutely blinding. When you took the stage, you took all of the sun’s radiance with you. Your eyes were sharp, your posture was straight, your dress was pristine. You were lacking the flaws of any ordinary person.
That’s when she knew she had to cut ties with Ellie. Not because she wanted to or because she didn’t love her. She did. More than anything in the world, she did. But because she knew Ellie. She knew of her habit to chase—always in search of something bigger than herself; bigger than she could ever possibly handle. And that something was you. Cat, however, also knew of Ellie’s loyalty—which would keep her from reaching for you. Her loyalty to Cat would clip the wings she needed in order to fly toward your light. The light that Cat knew would, somehow, save her in the arena.
So, when it came to saying farewell to the tributes, Cat made sure she was able to speak to Ellie. And she knew it would break the girl’s heart, but she had to do it. She had to end whatever complexities tethered them together. Because they weren’t dating, but they were in love. Seeing Ellie made Cat’s days worth living and, though she’d never admit it, their separation hurt Cat more than she could ever put into words. She reminds herself every day that she was protecting her. That what she did was for Ellie’s sake. It was for good.
If, going into the Games, Ellie was still under the impression that she and Cat could work out, she would have had a weakness. A soft spot for the Capitol to dig their claws into; a wound for them to add the salt. Somehow, they would make her experience in the arena more of a Hell than they already have. Not only that, but Cat would have been punished for being in a relationship with one of the tributes under her care. She would have been turned into an Avox, or hanged in the town square, or possibly turned into one of those mutts they added to the arena. And, whatever Cat’s fate may have been, they’d have had Ellie watch.
So, yeah, ending their situationship was the best case scenario. And, if Ellie makes it out alive, Cat will be sure to explain everything to her.
“—And I said that I don’t really give a shit.” Joel is saying, though his words are a bit slurred and the glass in his hand is splashing whiskey around. Cat nods kindly despite being unaware of what the Hell he’s saying. “They ain’t the people they think they are, y’know. They think they got all o’the power but, in reality, they jus’ act—” “I’m sorry to interrupt.” Joel and Cat both turn at the sound of Tess’s voice. She pulls out a chair and sits down between the two of them. Her hair is pulled back into a half-bun—which is a style Cat has seen Ellie wear more often than she could count. Tess crosses her arms over the tabletop, leaning in as though to tell a secret. “D’you think we should intervene?”
She then nods her head toward level four, where Ruben is speaking with Thea. The two of them have been in a heated conversation for a while now. At first, it appeared civil. But the Avoxes kept handing Thea more and more drinks. So, twenty minutes later, she’s now drunk and grieving—which isn’t the best combination for someone of her standing. Not only that, but Ruben has grown a bit tipsy as well, it seems. He’s been watching the Games over Thea’s shoulder, keeping a close eye on your portion of the screen.
Not much has happened, though, when it comes to you. After you killed Cooper, you made sure to mourn him. You buried his body under a willow, then sat beside his grave for half an hour. Then, once you were able to do so, you pushed to your feet and began the strenuous journey toward the lake. Since then, you’ve remained perched on the edge of the waterline. For four hours.
“Nah, they’re fine.” Joel says, gesturing lazily in their direction. He then waves over an Avox and requests another glass of whiskey. The muted man nods kindly, taking his empty glass and walking off.
Cat sighs. “I think it’s time you begin slowing down on the drinks, Joel.”
“Why?” He asks defensively. “I’m jus’ gettin’ started.”
“Yeah, that’s the issue.” Tess tuts.
Joel huffs a laugh. “I wanna get like that guy.”
He points—rather obviously—to where your and Ruben’s father is laughing loudly with a group of Capitolites. It’s evident to everyone that he’s an alcoholic, but nobody would ever dare to point that out to him. Not with the power he holds in the Capitol.
Cat has never spoken to a L/n aside from Ruben. It was once her dream to be acknowledged by the family, though she’s now been a first hand witness to the corruption that lies within.
Your great grandmother, Penelope, is absolutely insane. Cat has never met her in person because Penelope thinks herself far too prestigious to make the trip to Saint Mary’s Hall. But Cat has heard enough stories to know her absence is a good thing. Penelope won the second quarter quell using nothing aside from brute force and shear strength. Not to mention how she slaughtered Sarah Miller, then proceeded to brag about it.
Your grandmother, Elina, is a more peculiar woman—far more difficult to fit into a box of definition. She’s brutal, yes, but she’s complex. She won the 57th Games, but, more importantly, conceived a child with someone double her age. It was a scandal, a drama for the Capitol to thirst over. And Elina loved it. She bathed in the attention, making sure all of her gowns would accentuate her belly. After she gave birth to her first child, Theodore, she was quick to have another. Her second child, Yasmin, would be deemed her golden child, for she was her only daughter. Her youngest, your father, would be the most neglected, yet would turn out the most like her.
The three children—Theodore, Yasmin, and your father—were all Reaped.
Theodore stood out for his kind heart. He was Reaped later than his younger siblings purely because the Capitol had no reason to torment him. However, two years after Ruben’s victory, Theodore was thrusted into the 64th Games. He was then a mentor for only two years before the guilt of watching children die became too much for him and he died by alcohol poisoning.
Yasmin, however, was raised in the Capitol. She thrived in the brutality of the Games and oftentimes egged them on. She would place bets on which tributes would die and how gruesomely. The Capitol loved her. Though they were blissfully unaware that she was manipulating them all into confiding in her. Because, to Yasmin, secrets are power.
Then, lastly, your father. There’s not much to say about him, though. He was neglected by his family because his mother didn’t see any potential in him. And, to make matters worse, he wasn’t Reaped for a long time—which made him think he would never have the chance to prove himself. Though, when he was finally Reaped, he became so traumatized that he resorted to alcohol—which he would eventually advise Theo to do to help with the nightmares.
“You will never get like him.” Cat tells Joel, her eyes trained steadily on the back of your father’s head. “You won’t.”
“Looks relaxin’.”
“Alcoholism?” Cat turns, shooting him an incredulous look. “You want to drink yourself dead?”
He scoffs. “Better than watchin’ another kid die.”
Cat opens her mouth, but finds herself speechless. She knows what happened to Sarah. Everybody does. After her death, Joel refused to grow attached to any of his tributes. He never showed up to watch the Games at Saint Mary’s until this year—until Riley and Ellie came along. Then, only a day in, he was forced to watch as Riley announced herself to be a rebel and therefore was killed in the most horrible way possible. And now he’s watching Ellie, who is unable to grieve her best friend because she’s in the arena and loss is normalized. She’s not provided with the luxury of time.
“I’ll intervene.” Cat says after a long moment of awkward silence.
She pushes to her feet, flattening her hands down the front of her dress. It’s crimson today, symbolizing the blood that’s been shed. As soon as Ariadne’s death cannon went off, Cat knew there would be a massacre. She didn’t know it would be to this extent, but she knew people would die.
Her chunky heels click against the floor as she descends to floor four, where Ruben is sitting haphazardly in his chair across from Thea—who is teary eyed and beyond drunk. She notices Cat before Ruben does, allowing her blue eyes to flick up to Cat’s face. Her words suddenly halt as she swallows harshly at the sight of another person. Cat places a gentle hand on Ruben’s shoulder.
“You should come sit at level seven with Joel, Tess, and I.” She tells him.
“Where’s Dina and Jesse?” He asks her and, upon hearing how slurred his words are, she realizes he’s far more intoxicated than she’d priorly deemed him to be.
“They went back to the Training Center, I believe.” She says. “Dina was pretty distraught after watching Cooper’s death. Jesse said it would be best for them to head back to the suite.”
“Oh,” Ruben breathes, “She lost both tributes.”
“It’s morbid.” Thea says, gaining both of their attentions. Her top lip is upturned into an expression of pure disgust and repulsion. She shakes her head. “They’re kids.”
Thea lost both of her tributes, too. Anthea died on the first day, killed by Thalia as soon as the timer went off. Even if Thea didn’t care for her the same way she did for Thalia, her death still must have affected her to an extent. Anthea was only sixteen.
Cat frowns. “If you were to head back to your suite, Thea, nobody would judge you for it.”
“I can’t.” Thea says.
Cat nods, turning back to Ruben. “Come on.”
Ruben obliges easily, standing to his feet with a grunt. His body sways a bit, and he requires a bit of help when walking up the stairs to level seven. When they get there, though, Tess is gone and her place at the table has been taken by Birdie—who wears the same brown-ish hues that she always does.
Cat adores Birdie. And, if she’s being completely honest, Birdie is everything Cat hopes to become—strong, independent, outspoken. She has no shame in telling people what she thinks and, oftentimes, what she is correct. Her clothing designs are riveting in a way that should make her into one of the most esteemed stylists in the country. However, due to her outward political beliefs, that’s not the case.
Their relationship is illegal, actually. Stylists and escorts are prohibited to mingle or scheme. Cat and Birdie, though, have schemed a lot. They started working together before the Chariot Parade, though their designs began to intertwine only at the interviews—hence Birdie's choice for gold in your gown and Cat’s choice for moth wings in Ellie’s suit.
“There you two are.” Birdie grins as Cat and Ruben take a seat at the circular table.
“Fuck you.” Joel grumbles, his face buried in his hands.
“What’s his problem?” Cat asks.
“I told him that he’s not allowed to drink any more.” Birdie says, waving a hand dismissively. She then turns to Ruben and narrows her eyes. “You either.”
Ruben huffs a sigh, slumping down in his chair. “Should’ve expected that.”
“Yeah, you should’ve.” She agrees. “Anyway, what were you and Thea talking about?”
“The usual.” He says. “War, rebellion, and death.”
The table goes silent. Cat’s eyes widen as she stares at Ruben in shock. She knew he was outspoken—mainly because the Capitol loves him so much that he can get away with just about anything—but she hadn’t expected him to say something that blunt. Cat turns to look at Birdie, unsure on how she’s meant to react.
Birdie, though, just laughs. “You’re funny.”
“What’s funnier is that ‘er mother’s tryin’ t’kill my sister.” Ruben says. His words all blend together, making it a bit difficult to understand him. Yeah, Cat really underestimated how much he’d drank. He continues without much of a pause. “Miss Thatcher is riggin’ the Games ‘n’ I know it. She’s hated the L/n family since the dawn o’time and she always goes out’a her way to insult me. So, now that she’s got a reason t’hate us, she’s usin’ it to try to villainize Y/n. As the head Gamemaker, she controls the rain. She made it start pourin’ as soon as Cooper was headin’ in her direction.”
“That’s a very valid theory, Ru.” Birdie pats his shoulder supportively, but says nothing more.
“But d’you believe me?”
“I believe that you have every reason in the world to think that—”
Ruben lets out a heavy sigh, plopping his head down on the table. “You don’t believe me.”
Cat and Birdie make eye contact, the two of them sharing a silent understanding with one another. They’ve been left to care for two drunken grown men. Joel—who gets tired and grouchy when he’s drunk. And Ruben—who Cat doesn’t know much about but, by the looks of it, seems to get very radical and vehement.
“I’ll take him back to the suite.” Birdie says while standing. Cat nods. Then, while she’s walking around the table, Birdie whispers in her ear, “Go to Seven. Talk to Marlene. Get this all sorted out.”
Before Cat can say anything in response or even process what she was just told, Birdie already has an arm around Ruben’s back and is helping him to his feet. Birdie calls out a haphazard farewell over her shoulder, then she’s out the door and heading back to the Training Center with Ruben.
Welp, Cat thinks, I guess I’m taking a trip to Seven.
DAY SIX.
THE ARENA.
It feels like Ellie has been walking for hours because, for some reason, she offered to carry Remy on her back. Whether it was out of pity for him or an attempt to be more like you, she regrets it now. Her legs are aching and her stomach wound is in desperate need of more ointment. Still, she doesn’t tell Remy to get off. Still, she continues on. Because she told him they’d go to the lake and she intends on keeping that promise. Not only that, but, if there’s a chance that you’re alive and waiting for them, she’d make this trip a hundred times over.
Remy hasn’t stopped shaking. He’s stopped crying, though, which must be a good sign. His arms are wrapped around her neck, his hands fiddling mindlessly with the hem of her tank top. She’s holding him under the knees—though his weight is almost doubled because he’s wearing the backpack.
It stopped raining a few minutes ago, though the trees are still dripping with water. The soil remains soft beneath Ellie’s feet, too, which is a bit annoying when she sinks into the ground whenever she stays in one place for too long. But it must mean they’re getting close to the lake because the dirt gets mushier closer to a source of water. Remy taught her that.
They ran into a few clickers during their journey, too—which was a pain in the ass. Every single time, it was the same: she set Remy down, killed the mutt, then hid the body because he’s still squeamish when it comes to blood. She’s beginning to think that the Gamemakers have a personal vendetta against her because how the fuck have they managed to make her life a living hell so easily? All they had to do was remove you from the picture and add David. From there, chaos ensued on its own. But, still, they’re not satisfied. So they’ve decided to add clickers here and there just to keep things interesting. God, the moment Ellie gets—
Remy lets out a loud gasp and, before Ellie has time to react, he jumps off of her back and lands with a heavy thud in the dirt. She blinks at him, confused and taken aback, then he takes off in a sprint.
“Wait!” She calls out, quick to chase after him.
It’s only a few moments later when she breaks through the foliage to see the glistening lake and a slumped figure perched at the edge of it. Her legs slow down to a stop and she watches with a heaving chest as Remy collapses into the figure’s arms without even stopping to check whether or not it’s you.
But then you turn to him and, within a few seconds, you’re hugging him tightly. You bury your face in his curls, eyes squeezing shut as you pull him against you. He’s sobbing, clinging to you with all of his remaining strength.
Ellie begins to walk forward again—much slower this time, as she fears to disrupt the moment. She then stands a bit awkwardly to the side as you and Remy bask in one another’s embrace. She bites the inside of her cheek, fumbling with her fingers.
You eventually pull away, holding Remy’s face between your hands as you check his body for injuries. He wipes at his eyes, blinking harshly as he attempts to calm down. He sniffles before pushing to his feet, offering you a hand. You take it, though it’s obvious you don’t actually need his help. You just want to be near him.
That’s when you notice Ellie, your eyes widening as you stare at her.
Something passes between the two of you, but Ellie is far too stupid to puzzle out what. She thinks it’s related to you realizing both her and Remy survived. And, not only that, but they found their way back to you.
You take a step forward. Then another. And another. Then you’re wrapping your arms around Ellie’s neck and pulling her into a tight hug. She can feel your breath on her neck as your hands form a fist against her shirt. After a second, she returns the gesture. She wraps her arms around your waist, pulling your body closer into hers.
“Thought you were dead,” You whisper, like a confession.
Her breath hitches. Not necessarily at your words, but at the feel of your breath brushing against the shell of her ear. Her jaw tightens and she says, “You’re not that lucky.”
You huff a laugh, pulling away but keeping your arms draped over her shoulders. Ellie keeps her hands firmly on your hips, allowing her eyes to dart across your face. Then you’re leaning in. She meets you halfway, coming forward a few inches until your lips meet. She physically relaxes as you bring a hand up to cradle the back of her head, weaving into her hair. You taste metallic—like gold and blood.
She almost forgets that this is all fake. An act.
Her fingers tighten on your hips before she pulls away. You blink at her with wet lips and blown pupils, lashes fluttering. She sighs softly, making a conscious effort to not kiss you again—for the cameras, of course. She allows her eyes to drop, taking in the sight of you. That’s when her gaze snags on your wounds: a gash across your thigh and a slice down your forearm arm.
“It’s fine,” You tell her upon noticing the worry that creeps onto her features, “Don’t really feel them anymore, anyway.”
Ellie refuses to accept that, though, and calls out for Remy. The boy, within seconds, is standing in front of her with wide and curious eyes. She asks for the ointment and he’s quick to oblige, digging through your backpack for the jar. He hands it to her and Ellie unscrews the lid, scooping a portion. You sigh, clearly unhappy with the notion of being tended to like this. Still, you don’t complain or resist.
“It’s okay to let people help you.” She says softly, reaching out to grab your arm.
You frown, watching as she applies the salve. “I know.”
Her gaze flicks to your face, viridescent eyes gentle but steady. “Then allow yourself to accept it. When help is offered by people who care for you, accept it.”
“Easier said than done.”
“Not really.”
You fall silent, unsure of what to say in response to that. Because you know she’s right. You know everything she’s said is correct and you’re not exactly accustomed to accepting that, either—in which she refers to the notion of having another person understand you so intimately. Aside from Ruben, of course. He doesn’t count.
Ellie braces a hand on your hip as she lowers to her knees in front of you. She slides that hand down your leg until it’s cupping the back of your knee. She tugs on it, causing you to lift your leg and balance on one foot. You bring a hand to her shoulder, using her body to stabilize yourself.
Ellie scoops another bit of salve from the jar before she applies it to the gash on your thigh. Though, upon closer inspection, she’s quick to recognize the injury to have been caused by an arrow—a weapon she’s rather familiar with. She glances up at you, only to find your eyes already staring down at her. Your expression is a bit peculiar as it’s a mix of multiple emotions. Pleasure, due to the salve’s ability to rid your entire body of pain; confusion, as you’re still pondering on her prior statement regarding your impotence to accept assistance; and amusement, at the sight of Ellie on her knees before you.
She lowers your leg back to the ground and you remove your hand from her shoulder, no longer needing to use her for balance. She stands to her feet and passes the jar to Remy—who is happy to toss it into the backpack.
“Where to now?” She asks.
“Mm,” You hum in thought. “We could go back to the cave, but the Careers now know where that is. We could head to the city, though you guys don’t seem to have had the best experience there. We could always try our luck in the forest, but I’m not sure we’d be lucky enough to evade clickers for very long.”
“The Careers are still alive?” Ellie asks. “I was hoping all of those cannons had been them.”
“One of them was.” You tell her. “Thalia.”
“Did she do that?” She gestures to your thigh.
“No. That was Nolan.”
“How’d you ward him off?”
“Cut him up.”
“Still alive, though?”
You shrug. “Think so.”
Ellie hums. She tries to imagine the scenario—you versus all three of the remaining Careers. You ‘cut up’ Nolan, killed Thalia, and managed to survive mostly unscathed? Regardless of how Ellie tries to spin it, the image is a rather impressive one.
Remy steps forward then, shifting the backpack to sit more comfortably on his aching shoulders. “I think we should try the city.”
“You sure?” Ellie asks. “We don’t have to–”
“I’m sure.” He says.
She nods, accepting of his decision. It’s not that she thinks he’s incorrect to choose the city, but that she’s worried for his mental stability. What Remy went through with David was no easy feat. He was pinned down by a grown man, forced to scream for help despite being under the impression that nobody was coming, then watched as that man’s lifeless corpse fell on top of him. Yeah, if Ellie were him, she’d have taken her chances in the forest.
Remy walks ahead of you and Ellie, a hand on each strap of his backpack as he marches toward the direction of the city. He steps over roots and weaves between trees. He doesn't even have a weapon out because he’s that certain in his companions’ capabilities—which he can’t necessarily be blamed for. Not when you slice through clickers like they're made of paper and Ellie makes headshots with her arrows every single time. The kid has truly never been safer.
“So,” You nudge your shoulder against Ellie’s, “What happened in the city?”
She tenses a bit. “Ran into a bad tribute.”
“A bad tribute?” Your head turns toward her, brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Cannibal.” She shrugs. “Tried to get Remy.”
Ellie sees the exact moment your blood runs cold. Your eyes widen and your fingers twitch around the hilt of your sword. You allow your gaze to tug over to Remy, your lips downturned. She follows your line of sight, a wave of pity washing over her.
Remy looks so small. Smaller than usual. He hasn’t eaten all day and he’s got a slight limp to his gait. The back of his head is coated with mussed curls and sways slightly with each step he takes. Not only that, but the backpack makes him look that much more childlike. Like a kid on their way to school, blissfully unaware of the ticking clock that marks their finite life.
“Killed them?” Your voice is rough when you ask that. Ellie turns toward you. Your jaw is set and your eyes are narrowed—the face of rage.
“Yeah.” She whispers. “Yeah, I killed him.”
You nod curtly. “Good. That’s all that matters, then.”
It’s a few minutes later when the anthem begins playing. The three of you stop walking, turning your gazes toward the sky as the faces of the dead are shown to the remaining tributes within the arena. Ellie pays close attention this time, curious to see who’s alive and who isn’t.
The first face belongs to Dahlia, with her crooked smile and coily hair. Next is Selene, her cheekbones high and her eyes bright. Then come Roland and Archie, one right after the other just as their deaths had been. Then Thalia, platinum hair mirroring that of her sister’s. Then Cooper—which Ellie hadn’t expected, though she doesn't miss the way your shoulders tense at the sight of his face. Then, finally, David.
Remy doesn’t say anything about the fallen tributes. He simply huffs a sigh, turns on his heel, and continues walking. You and Ellie exchange a glance before following after him.
It’s silent for a while as the weight of all the deaths hang heavily in the air. Seven tributes died today; seven families lost a child; seven lives were stolen from their bodies. Ellie tries to recount each time she heard a cannon and tries to pair it up with each death. She remembers Selene and Dahlia, of course. She remembers Roland and Archie, because they’d been right after the other. She remembers hearing Thalia’s cannon while she was following David to the city. Remembers hearing Cooper’s while she was in the restaurant. And, rather vividly, she can recall David’s.
“Cooper,” Ellie says, “Was that you?”
You don’t respond for a long time, which is an answer in itself. Your entire body stiffens though, the moment the words leave her mouth. Then, after a while spent in weighty silence, you mutter, “Yeah.”
“Sorry.” She whispers. “I know it wasn’t on purpose.”
You turn to her. “How could you be so sure?”
“Because I know you.” Her voice is gentle, much less cruel than it’d been when she uttered those same words in the barn. “I know you would never kill a child deliberately. Even if your own life was at stake, which it probably was.”
A pause.
“It was raining.” You admit shakily. “I couldn’t– It was so hard to see and he came out of nowhere. I didn’t even know who he was. Then he cut my arm and I just– attacked. I grabbed his face and–” You exhale a heavy breath, unable to go on.
Ellie reaches for your hand, intertwining her fingers with yours. Your eyes meet and she offers a small smile of consolation. “You’re a good person, Y/n.”
You shake your head. “I don’t know if I believe that anymore.”
“But you did at one point?”
“Wanted to.” You say with a shrug, turning your gaze back forward. You stare at the back of Remy’s head, watching the way his curls frame the crown of his skull. “Ruben always made me think I was a good person. He reminded me of it almost everyday. Not through his words, but through his actions. He treated me like I deserved it. His kindness, I mean.”
“You did.” She says. “You do.”
Ellie doesn’t know the exact details of what happened while the three of you were separated. And she likely never will because she would never ask you to confide in her in such a way. Still, she’s certain you weren’t at fault—regardless of what you meant by saying you’d ‘cut up’ David; regardless of how you killed Thalia; regardless of the situation surrounding Cooper’s demise; and regardless of whatever may have happened between those events. You’re innocent, in Ellie’s eyes.
Perhaps she’s a fool for deeming you to be a saint. She knows of your past, albeit minimally. She knows that your parents were abusive. She knows that Ruben was your anchor, the one who raised and cared for you. She knows, to an extent, about Mister Alden and his place in your life. Whether or not you regret having confided in her in the first place, she’s unsure, but she–
“Sorry.” You say through a sigh.
She lifts her head, eyes finding the side of your face. “For what?”
“For making this about me. I didn’t want the entirety of our first conversation to be you reassuring me for an hour straight.”
“Well, I have some good news.” You lift your head at that. She cracks a grin. “This is far from our first conversation.”
“Fuck off, you know what I mean.” You scoff. She laughs softly, shaking her head as she turns her attention forward once more. You walk in silence for a few seconds before you speak up once more. “It’s just– I was really certain you’d died. And, while I was waiting at the lake, even after I’d come to terms with your guys’ deaths, I imagined what I’d say to you if you magically reappeared.”
“Not sure it was magical.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, I am glad you’re alive.” You say. “Magical or not.”
She chuckles. “Gee thanks.”
“I mean it, you–”
Your words are cut off when Remy suddenly lets out a yelp. You’re both by his side in an instant, one on each side of him. You place a hand on his shoulder, asking what happened. Meanwhile, Ellie traces her gaze down his body in search of possible injuries. She finds none but, instead, finds that the toe of his shoe is caught in a root.
The Gamemakers must have caused this—which is a bit odd, considering they’d never interrupted one of yours and Ellie’s conversations before. Unless, of course, it was an argument. But otherwise, they make sure to soak in every word that leaves your lips because they know how much the audience adores the whole romance genre you have going on.
She reaches down to gently remove his foot from the root. Remy winces as he pulls his leg to his chest, massaging his toes.
“Are you okay?” You ask him. “Can you walk? Is it broken? Sprained?”
“I’m fine,” He coughs. “Just tripped.”
Ellie frowns, her brow furrowing in thought. She watches closely as you help Remy to his feet. He normally makes a point to be attentive while walking through the woods, refusing to drag his feet or leave any space unwatched. The Gamemakers, however, seem to be purposely sending trouble his way. It’s weird. Suspicious, even.
Once Remy is on his feet, he wastes no time continuing onward. He adjusts the backpack on his shoulders and pushes forward through the foliage, ripping through vines and stomping over roots. Ellie walks over to you, quick to match your pace.
“I know it might be a heavy subject at the moment,” Your voice is quiet so that Remy cannot overhear your conversation, “But I want to hear the full story of what happened in the city. With the cannibals.”
“Cannibal.” Ellie corrects you. “Just one.”
“Who?”
“David. The old guy from Twelve.”
Your jaw tightens. “Fucking psycho.”
“He–” She pauses, sighs. “He was eating the clickers. Had an entire dumpster full of their bodies. He stripped them of their flesh, then he just– he threw out the remains. He killed Raven, too. Hansley. The small girl from Eight? Yeah, he threw her out with the clickers. Like she meant nothing to him but another meal. To anyone.”
You don’t respond.
“And Remy…” She continues. “He kept insisting that we go back for you. But we had shelter and food and supplies and I– I dunno, I just thought it was our best chance at survival thus far. I should’ve known it was fucked. But he didn’t listen. He got fed up with me and just left. He stormed out of the building into the rain. I was going to chase after him but David beat me to it. He saw my wound and said I should rest. So I did. It was roughly twenty minutes later that I found the bodies. As soon as I registered what they meant, I went out to find Remy. When I did, he was–”
“It’s okay.” You tell her, though your voice is a bit strained. “David was a piece of shit and the world is a better place without him in it.”
“I should’ve done worse, I–” She swallows. “His death was far too quick. I should’ve–” “Stop that.” You tell her firmly. “You could spend years regretting the things you’ve done. But that doesn’t change the fact that they’re done. You can’t go back in time and you can’t redo the shit you’re not fond of.”
“Yeah, but–”
Her words are cut off by the light squeaking of metal. You both raise your heads to find that Remy is a few yards ahead, trying to climb the chain link fence on his own. You’re instantly running toward him, offering consoling words and helpful hands. He doesn’t say anything, but he accepts your help without complaint—which ought to mean something.
You remove the backpack from his shoulders and plop it down into the grass before turning around and offering your clasped hands as a stepstool. He’s a bit wobbly as he balances on your palms. His breath comes out shaky and you end up abandoning that idea. Instead, you decide to hold him around the torso and lift him into the air until he’s able to grab onto the top of the fence and hoist himself over.
You turn to Ellie, voice lowered to a whisper. “I think he’s afraid of heights.”
She nods. “He was a bit shaky when we went over the fence with David, too.”
“Poor kid.” You sigh.
You walk over to the discarded backpack, grab it by the strap, then throw it over the fence. It lands with a heavy thud a few feet away from Remy. You then remove the bag that’s hanging from your shoulders and do the same thing. You turn around, pressing your back into the chain link, clasping your hands together between your hips.
“Your arm is sliced open.” Ellie says. “I’m not going to make you help me.”
“Good.” You say. “Because you’re not making me. I want to.”
“Just switch places with me.” She demands. “Your arm is basically split in half, your thigh is still torn open, and your shoulders aren’t fully healed. You’re not in the position to be flinging my entire body weight in the air.”
“At least a knife wasn’t sticking out of my stomach this morning.”
She opens her mouth but finds it empty of a response. At that, she decides to simply scoff and say, “Fuck you.”
You grin victoriously as Ellie positions herself in front of you. She puts her palms flat on the fence behind you, trying to apply the least amount of weight possible to your hands. Once her foot is securely in your grip, you straighten and she grabs onto the top of the fence. Her feet find purchase in the diamond-shaped metal before she flings herself over the fence and begins to climb downward to where Remy is guarding the backpacks.
She lands with a thud, which sends a jolt of pain to her wound. She turns to see that you’re beginning to climb up the fence, a wince coming to your face with each movement you make. She turns back around to the backpacks before crouching down and unzipping yours. Inside, she finds the jar of salve sitting at the very top.
She turns around to watch as you finish scaling the fence. A few seconds later, you’re dropping onto the ground and a hand is instantly flying to the gash on your thigh. She walks over, already unscrewing the lid.
“Told you.”
You roll your eyes, watching as she scoops a bit of ointment onto her fingers. “I don’t need that.”
“Don’t be stupid.” She says. “We need you strong.”
Ellie crouches down when she realizes you’re not going to respond. She applies the salve onto the gash on your thigh, the pads of her fingers kissing the torn skin. You wince at the initial feel of it, but then the medicine kicks in and your entire body relaxes. Ellie can see the exact moment that your muscles are relieved of their tension.
She stands back up but, instead of screwing the lid back on, scoops another portion. Then she’s grabbing your wrist and smearing the liniment over your forearm before you’re able to register what’s happening. The wound on your arm is far worse than the one on your thigh. It’s not just a cut across your skin, it’s a deep laceration moving from the inside of your wrist to the inside of your elbow. You need stitches, but instead you’ll just have to be content with this jar.
Once your arm is coated in the shit, you’re too mitigated to say anything of insolence. She scoops another bit of salve and turns to Remy. She crouches down and he lifts his leg without a word. She rolls up his pant leg and applies a bit of ointment onto his calf. She’s still working on that when the sound of clicking reaches her ears.
“You two stay here, I’ll get them.” You say before unsheathing your sword and rushing down the alleyway toward the sound.
Remy’s head snaps up just in time to see you disappear behind a building. Instantly, he yanks away from Ellie’s hand and begins to run after you. She curses under her breath, hastily screwing the lid onto the jar and stuffing it into your bag. She then throws a backpack over each shoulder, then rushes to get Remy.
She turns the corner to see you slicing through the clickers’ bodies with practiced ease. A few steps behind you, Remy is running toward the action. Ellie picks up the pace until she’s close enough to grab Remy by the wrist and yank him away.
She tugs him down an alley, holding him so tightly that he’s rendered unable to move. She can still hear the noises from the mutts bouncing off the walls of crumbling buildings while she shoves Remy down the alley. He stumbles forward before whipping around to scowl at her deeply.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” She whisper-shouts at him. “Do you have any idea how—”
“I’m not leaving her again!” He whispers back. “We already did that once and look what happened!”
Her brows furrow. An expression of genuine concern makes its way onto her face. “You don’t seriously think everything with David happened because we left her.”
“No.” He says. “I know it happened because we left her. If we’d done as she said and stayed at the lake, David would never have been able to attack us. Attack me.”
“The plan was faulty to begin with.” Ellie turns at the sound of your voice to find that you’re now walking into the alley. Your sword is sheathed at your hip, small splatters of blood clinging to your skin and clothes. You pass her, crouching down in front of Remy. You reach for one of his hands, cradling it in both of yours. “What David did to you should never have happened, Rem, but me being there would not have stopped it. Ellie did everything right. She tried to protect you.”
“She should have protected you, not me.”
“She did what anyone would have done.”
“But—” His dart with uncertainty between you and Ellie. “But you guys are dating. If she loves you, she should protect you.”
You’re silent for a second. Ellie holds her breath as she awaits your reply, curious to see how you handle this interrogation—surely much better than she had. Then, after a long beat of quietude, a small smile splits across your face.
“You’re very right, Rem.” You say softly, leaning back onto your heels. You drop your hands into your lap. “But it’s because she loves me that she protected you. She knew that’s what I would have wanted. Nothing could prove her love more than that.”
His lips tug into a petulant frown, but he says nothing. You push to your feet and ruffle his hair. He complains as he straightens it, but there’s no true vexation to his words. Ellie exhales a breath of relief at that; at knowing you’ve managed to relax his hardened demeanor a bit. Though there’s no surprise there.
With a couple of exchanged words, the three of you exit the alley and continue your trek through the city. This time, however, you assumed a new position—you, on the right, with your sword drawn; Ellie, on the left, with an arrow pulled taut against her bowstring; and Remy, in the center, keeping watch.
The city is a gravesite, now. Ellie sees the crumbling buildings and wonders what they could have looked like when they were breathing the life of humanity. She knows it’s foolish, she knows that this city never had life in it, she knows this was materialized by the Capitol for the sole purpose of making this arena. Despite being aware of this, she can’t help but ponder on the thought.
Riley always hated when she did that—got hung up on ‘what if’s. She told Ellie that it leads to nothing of worth, causing only sorrow. She was right. Ellie knows she was right. Still, it’s a habit she’s not yet dropped.
The possibilities of things that never will happen eat her alive from the inside out. They strangle her with clawed hands before driving their pointed teeth into her flesh. It’s a sickly personification, but she genuinely feels it—their sharp nails and gnawing mouths. And she knows she’ll never win the fight against them. She knows this because she tried, albeit resulting in futility. They’re endless, possibilities are. Just when she thinks she’s tackled one to the ground, there’s another one yanking her back by the hair.
‘What if she never met Riley?’ ‘What if she was never Reaped?’ ‘What if she never ran into Cat at the Hob?’ ‘What if she never went up to the roof?’ ‘What if you hadn’t found her in the costume shop?’ ‘What if she hadn’t trusted Selene and Ariadne so quickly?’ ‘What if she hadn’t been stabbed?’ ‘What if you hadn’t left to chase the Careers?’ ‘What if she never followed David to the city?’ ‘What if she didn’t find the dumpster?’ ‘What if she wasn’t quick enough to save Remy?’ ‘What if she had to break the news of his death to you?’ ‘What if you blamed her?’ ‘What if—‘
She shakes her head, turning her gaze to the moonlit sky. She swallows harshly, feeling the ghost of a bruise blooming across her neck and the shadows of teeth grazing the skin on her throat. She blinks once, twice, thrice. Four times before she’s able to focus on something that’s not impossible.
Stars dot the artificial sky, placed randomly throughout the falsified darkness. They’re bright and shiny and they make her a little dizzy to look at. She brings her eyes back forward, only to realize she’s still dizzy, if not more. She ignores it, continuing to follow your guys’ plan. She lifts her bow, not even having noticed she’d slackened it. She pulls the arrow back, only for a sharp bolt of pain to shoot through her torso. She sucks in a sharp breath, glancing down at her stomach.
“Are you okay?” You’re asking as you cease walking. You lower your sword, eyes narrowing in concern. “What happened?”
“Nothing. I’m just due for some more salve, that’s all.”
Your eyes flick down to her stomach before rising back to her face. You frown. “It reopened.”
“Oh, did it?” She lets out a breathy laugh.
You step toward her, gaze softening for a moment. It almost looks genuine, but she tells herself that it’s just the pain making her see things. Your fingers find the her of her tank top before you begin to lift it. She winces as the fabric brushes across the wound. She pins her gaze onto one of the stars, her expression all scrunched up.
She can hear the unzipping of a backpack, followed by the unscrewing of a lid. Then, a few moments later, you’re applying the ointment and her entire body floods with relief. She instantly relaxes, her expression falling slack. She drops her gaze to your face, but you’re already looking at her. You need to stop doing that; it’s beginning to drive her insane.
“Good?” You ask quietly.
She nods. “Good.”
You give her a small smile before twisting the lid back onto the jar and tossing it inside the bag. You’re about to pull it onto your shoulder when she reaches out to stop you. Your brow furrows a bit.
“I’ve got it, Ellie.” You tell her.
“Even if your shoulders don’t hurt at the moment, the material of the straps could irritate them.” She says, gently removing the bag from your hands. You frown, but don’t argue. Once she has it on her back, the three of you continue walking.
Ellie isn’t sure where the exact destination you have in mind is. All you said was that you wanted to take Remy somewhere safe; you wanted to take a day to rest. She agreed with this easily, but didn’t voice her darker thoughts—the ones reminding her that nowhere is safe.
The city continues to crumble around her. Sedimented rubble shifts under the soles of her boots and buildings loom over her, bathed in the milk of the moon. Shadows caress every corner, leaving spots for clickers and tributes to hide. A shiver goes down her spine, causing her to tighten her grip on her bow.
A cannon goes off.
Her head whips to the side, relieved to find you and aren’t unharmed. Your empty hand grips his shoulder, your eyes narrowed as he assures you that he’s fine. That he’s alive.
As the low reverberations of the cannon dwindle to quietude, Ellie’s ears pick up the sound of clicking. She curses under her breath, lifting her bow and pulling the string back. You’re quick to do the same, shoving Remy behind you. Your sword is clutched tightly between your hands as you shield Remy, making sure he’s protected between your and Ellie’s bodies.
She glances over her shoulder to see three mutts staggering toward you. You’re quick to pursue them. When she turns back forward, there are two coming at her. She releases the bowstring, letting her arrow fly. By the time the triangular blade is wedged in the first mutt’s neck, the second one is already slicing through the night air. The second body falls with a thud, an arrow sticking out of its heart.
She jogs toward the corpses, yanking the arrows from their rotted bodies. She wipes them clean on the denim of her thigh before storing them in the quiver. When she turns back around, you’ve been cornered by more zombies than she initially counted.
There are four dead bodies on the ground, marred by the point of your sword. To the right, you’re yanking the blade from a mutt’s skull, kicking it hard in the chest. To the left, Remy is running away from a duo of clickers.
Ellie draws an arrow from the quiver, nocking it as she runs toward the child. She’s halfway there when a solid body slams into her side, tackling her to the ground. She grunts as her body thuds against the cracked pavement below. A clicker hovers over her, twitching and groaning as it bears a mouthful of rotted teeth.
Her left hand shoves the creature away, her palm pushing up on its infected forehead. Her right hand cranes to the side, stretching out until her fingers graze the familiarity of the arrow she’d dropped. Then, with one more grunt of exertion, she stabs the mutt in the temple. Blood soaks her skin as she shoves the corpse off of her.
She sits upright just in time to watch Remy’s foot snag on a rock. He flies to the ground and both clickers are instantly rushing toward the sound of impact. The mutt’s snapping jaw is less than a foot away from Remy’s arm.
You and Ellie bolt toward him at the same time.
But you’re too far. Both of you.
Thud.
A spear suddenly skewers the clicker’s head, nailing it to the ground.
Ellie skids to a halt, green eyes blown wide. She watches as you fall to your knees beside Remy, patting down his body in search of injuries. Your back is facing the spear bearer, completely focused on Remy’s well-being. At the sight of a spear, Ellie’s first thought is of Nolan. Her eyes snap over to the perpetrator.
Two male figures are standing a few yards away, shrouded in darkness. Ellie lifts her bow, pulling back on the strong as she aims the tip of the arrow perfectly to the center of the men’s foreheads. She steps forward, eyes never leaving their forms. She places herself between them and you, feet apart and shoulders set.
“Step out.” She demands.
There’s a beat of silence. Of uncertainty and of distrust. Of fear.
Then, with both hands in the air, Henry emerges from the alley. Only one step behind, Sam is doing the same—arms up and guard raised. They’re weaponless, defenseless. Ellie could kill. She could heighten your chances at survival right now. With one twitch of her finger.
She lowers the bow.
God, what is the arena doing to her?
[post] notes!! NEW POV !! everyone say hi to my baby, cat <33 oh i love her so so much, she's the loml i think also send me your guesses on who that cannon was for im curious ! here's the list of people we still alive (including the most recent death bc they haven't been revealed yet): lev, yara, sam, henry, yn, remy, ellie, ashley, whitney, nolan.
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