Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warnings:

Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Categories:

M/M, Multi

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Rose Landry, Kip Grady/Scott Hunter, Eric Bennett/Kyle Swift, Troy Barrett/Harris Drover, Ryan Price/Fabian Salah, David Hollander/Yuna Hollander

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Rose Landry, Fabian Salah, Kyle Swift, Yuna Hollander, David Hollander, Svetlana Vetrova, assume everyone's in this

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Major character death - Freeform, Canon-Typical Violence, (for the Hunger Games), Tribute Shane Hollander, Mentor Ilya Rozanov, Tribute Rose Landry, Shane and Rose fake relationship, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt No Comfort, No beta we die like half the people in this fic, Spoilers for Book 6: The Long Game (Game Changers), (kind of. within the universe I guess), Slow Burn, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Secret Relationship, Grief/Mourning

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-01-24 Updated: 2026-04-15 Words: 27,304 Chapters: 9/?

Polar Hearts

Summary

For many decades, District 8 has only had one Victor - Yuna Hollander. Until two years ago when Ilya Rozanov won his Games. Now, he's teaming up with Yuna to Mentor the new Tributes. When Rose Landry volunteers to spare her brother's life, Ilya thinks she's their best odds of winning. She'd be an easy choice for him and Yuna to pour their resources into. Until the name "Shane Hollander" is called.
---
OR: Heated Rivalry Hunger Games AU

Notes

Hello! I had no plans to write this, but I saw a tiktok from @rachelramras and it got me thinking…(do I have time for this, no. Am I going to do it anyway, yes. It'll just be between the three other WIPs I'm also working on lol). I just immediately had so many ideas of how the HR universe would fit into THG and started writing immediately. Like I made the tribute charts and was like "this is so messy, I have to do this" *maniacal grin*

I'm a huge fan of Crimson Rivers (read it while updating from chp 1, the amount of crash-out voice memos I sent my friends is embarrassing) and I love THG and Susan Collins' writing in general (The Underland Chronicles are my fav books ever) but this is going to be a slightly untraditional AU adaptation. It'll follow a similar story to the first book, but I don't think the characters will be quite where you think they'll be and there will be some plot changes. My favourite AUs are ones that change the world to fit the characters, not the other way around so that's what I'll be doing since the HR characters and their backstories are already so distinct. Not sure how long this will be or if I'll do the whole trilogy (but I do already have ideas for Catching Fire…), depends on demand and what kind of time I have.

This will have characters from the whole Game Changers series so be aware there may be spoilers (kind of since this is a totally different universe). And this series does not have enough people for 12 districts so we're only doing 8 lol. And I might have to make up some women because extra unfortunate that there's not enough in the series.

I'm sorry if updates are slow. I'm working on an update for one of my WIPs every week and will now be adding this one to the roster. If school isn't super busy you might end up with more, but if things are late, just assume I'm in the trenches lol.

Prepare to be devastated! (this title is currently subject to change if I come up with something better). I'll update tags as I go and leave content warnings in the opening notes for anything particularly graphic/triggering.

Comments and kudos are appreciated. Enjoy!
-Oaks

Chapter 1: Just a Regular Day

Chapter Summary

The Draft

Chapter Notes

Shane Hollander sat across the breakfast table from his father, David. His mother had already left this morning to greet the train. Shane wouldn’t see her before the Draft, but she’d say goodbye before heading to the Capital.

They sat in silence while waiting for the eggs to finish cooking. They were lucky to have them – more fortunate than most of the people in District 8. Eggs were hard to come by in their Northern Climate – chickens often got eaten by wolves in the night – but Shane’s family lived in a safer neighbourhood.

The Victor’s Village was a series of “luxury” homes on the outskirts of town. Shane had lived there his whole life, all because his mother was one of their District’s two Victors. It came with a comfortable salary by District standards. Enough to keep them fed with more nutrients than most. Enough to turn on the heating in the winter sometimes. They’d kept it off today, opting to sit near the stove while they cooked breakfast. They’d be out of the house for the rest of the morning anyway.

David pulled the eggs off the stove, dividing them into two plates. Shane noticed he’d put more on his son’s.

“Dad,” Shane started to protest. David just waved him off.

“Do you want some jam on your toast? Since it’s a special occasion?” David looked at his son with a little hope, but Shane was quick to shake his head. It didn’t feel like a special occasion. He didn’t want it to.

Today was just a regular day, like any other. He’d have his regular breakfast and then they’d go where they needed to go. Because today was going to be just like any other day. It was just the morning that was different. He’d be back in this house by the afternoon. Always was.

“Well, I’m gonna have some,” said David, slathering a thin layer of jam on his toast – mixed berry, preserved in the summer months when Shane would pick them with his mother. They’d go hunting in the spring and summer every year – try to stock up for the winter with enough food to feed themselves and anyone who might need it. But that wasn’t the only reason. Hunting was good practice, and so was foraging. His mother always wanted Shane to be prepared, just in case a day like today didn’t turn out as normal as they’d hoped.

But everything was going to be fine. He was seventeen now. This was his final year and his name was only in the Draft once. The odds were in his favor.

“Eat ‘em before they get cold,” David said as he placed Shane’s plate in front of him. He’d organized the scrambled eggs into a curve at the bottom of the plate, with the two small pieces of toast at the top, like a smiling face. Shane looked up at his dad who gave him a stiff but encouraging smile. Shane grimaced back, digging in.

“You’ll want your good coat this morning,” said David through a mouthful of eggs. “Cold front blowing in.”

“I know.” Shane swallowed his dry toast, the texture going down like sandpaper.

“And your mother will be wanting you to pick up some stuff at the market after.”

Shane nodded. Yuna Hollander ran a tight ship – she made sure they ate well, staying in good shape, and lived as good of lives as they could manage. Shane was grateful for his mother. She’d made the sacrifices that had given him everything he’d ever had. He was going to miss her.

His mother left with the Tributes every year. As a Mentor, she’d stay in the Capital until the games concluded and then return home. Except for one year, when she’d had to extend her travels to tour the other districts, because as of two years ago, there was now two Victors in the Village.

David eyed the clock above the stove. “You better go wake him up.”

Shane put his fork down, plate scraped clean. “Why can’t he wake himself up?”

David gave his son a look. Shane hated that look.

“Fine.” He pushed his chair back, bringing his plate and cutlery to the sink.

“I’ll clean those,” said David. “Go get him or you’ll be late.”

---

Shane didn’t bother knocking on the door – he knew it wouldn’t be locked anyway. He pushed the door open, letting it creak loudly on its hinges, and stepped inside. The smell of bourbon hit him instantly.

Shane scrunched up his nose and ditched his heavy coat and boots in the foyer, hanging the former up on the unused coat rack.

He padded inside, socked feet stepping over a questionable puddle on the hardwood floor, and made his way up the stairs. The houses in the Victor’s Village were some of the only ones with two stories in town. The others belonged to government officials and the police.

It didn’t take him long to find the bedroom – this wasn’t the first time Shane had been here. Especially for this reason. That door was open too, revealing empty bottles strewn about with piles of clothes tossed on the floor. A chair in the corner of the room had a pair of white women’s panties hanging off of it. Shane cringed.

And of course, as usual, lying prone on the bed with his mouth hanging open, bourbon on his breath, was Ilya Rozanov. Shane sighed. If he wasn’t even half-awake by now, that meant today was going to be a bad day.

“Ilya.” Shane went for gentle first, cautiously walking into the room. Ilya didn’t budge.

“Ilya.” Shane went for louder this time, reaching out to place a hand on Ilya’s shoulder—

A hand clamped like a vice around his wrist, and before he could make a move, Shane’s shoulder slammed into the floor hard, his other arm wrenched behind his back.

“It’s me!” he groaned. “It’s Shane. Hollander.”

“Hollander…” Shane had enough movement left to crane his head to look at Ilya. His eyes were wide, wild, trying to focus. They found Shane’s and Shane watched as Ilya took stock of where he was.

The grip on his wrist loosened and then Ilya slumped back hard on the bed with a groan. “Sorry.”

“Whatever.” Shane rubbed his wrist as he got up. The skin was a little red. He wouldn’t be surprised if it bruised tomorrow. His shoulder definitely would.

“Draft’s in an hour.” Shane nudged Ilya’s foot that was hanging off the bed. “You gotta get up.”

Ilya just groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. “It’s too bright. Can you—” He gestured to the curtains that were cracked open.

Shane sighed, stomping over and pulling them shut. “My mom’s already at the station. You need to be at Town Hall by the time they start.”

Ilya just groaned again.

Shane grabbed the pitcher of water on the nightstand, pouring some into a glass that still had a brown liquor stain at the bottom. Oh well, maybe the flavor would actually get Ilya to drink it.

“Here.” Shane shoved it into his hands, making sure he had enough of a grip on it before letting go. “One hour. And don’t be late. You’re a Mentor, you have to be there.”

Ilya didn’t budge.

Shane sighed. He didn’t have time for this. “I have to go get ready. I’ll see you at the Draft.”

He stormed out of the room, avoiding the puddle at the bottom of the stairs again. His only solace was hearing a thump of life from upstairs as he headed out the door.

---

Fabian Salah had only been the Capital Correspondent for District 8 for three years. He’d been the one to pull Ilya’s name from the bowl. He was a nice enough guy, was good at marketing the Tributes, and known for being aloof yet kind, but Ilya would always hate him a little bit.

Fabian didn’t fit in very well in District 8. In fact, he stood out like a sore thumb in his brightly coloured clothes straight from the Capital. Today he was wearing a hot pink snow suit that clung to every curve of his body down to alarmingly slim-heeled boots definitely not made for this weather. The jacket had a white fur hood that doubled the size of his head. And of course, because it was Fabian, the whole thing was covered in sparkles.

“Hello, darling!” Fabian called as Ilya walked into city hall. He hated this. He hated this building. He hated these people. He hated this day.

Ilya stood stiffly and didn’t bite off Fabian’s head when he kissed his cheek.

“A little chilly this morning, are we?” Fabian joked. Or scolded. It was hard to tell with him.

He glanced at Yuna with a conspiratorial glance. She went for a friendly smile back.

Ilya eyed his Mentor. She was dressed more practically – white coat to blend in with the snow, thick boots made to keep her feet warm. Ilya had a matching pair on his feet. It had been the first thing Yuna had brought him after they’d gotten back from…after Ilya had moved into the Village.

Despite his frosty exterior, Ilya actually liked Yuna Hollander. She was practical and competent and generous when called for. She’d been good to him, both during his Games and after. Even if being good to him often meant sending her goody-goody son to convince Ilya to leave the warmth of his bed and booze to brave their miserable fucking tundra of a town. At least the boy wasn’t too bad to look at, even if he was normally frowning when he looked at Ilya. And he was nice to the girls Ilya brought home if they hadn’t been run off by the morning. Or he was at least cordial. Except for with Ilya. Shane Hollander definitely hated Ilya Rozanov.

“They’re ready for you,” said a gruff voice behind them. Ilya tensed immediately, knowing what or rather, who, he’d see as soon as he turned around. So he didn’t.

“Thank you,” said Fabian cheerily. “Let’s get this show on the road!”

Fabian strutted past, heels clicking on the marble floor. This building, like all the government buildings, was the most opulent in town. Ilya should know – he’d practically grown up here.

“Ilya.” That voice again.

Yuna raised an eyebrow in that motherly way she always did. Ilya just shook his head, jaw clenching. She sighed and walked past.

Ilya turned reluctantly to face his father, meeting cold eyes. “Colonel.”

The head of the town’s police gazed at his son with disappointment. “It has been a while. I have not seen you. Neither has your brother.”

“I have been busy.”

The way Grigori’s eye twitched said he knew exactly what Ilya had been busy with. Booze. Women. Laziness. All things much below the standing of the Rozanovs.

Grigori nodded once and turned to walk away. As an afterthought, he called, “Happy Hunger Games,” over his shoulder.

Ilya didn’t return the sentiment as his father walked away. Instead, he took two deep breaths and fished out the flask from his coat pocket. After a long swig, he walked out to the stage.

---

Shane tried to keep his palms from sweating in his mitts. They were a good pair – elk skin, made by his father after Shane and Yuna had dragged it in from a hunt a couple years ago. They’d been big when they’d made them, but Shane had grown into them now.

He could see his mom now. She was standing at the back of the stage with Ilya Rozanov at her side, both of them stiff, eyes trained forward into the crowd. There was a brief second where Yuna’s eyes skated over Shane before tracking back to land on him. He gave his mom a small smile. Her lips twitched back.

“Happy Hunger Games!” announced Fabian Salah on stage. He was wearing an absolutely ridiculous outfit. A couple of boys behind Shane had been joking about it before the ceremony started. Shane had no idea how they had it in them on a day like today.

Fabian played the usual video about the rebellion. The reason for the Games. The reason they were at the Draft. Shane tried to tune it out like he always did, breathing deep, centering himself, keeping his heartrate calm.

It was fine. Today was just a regular day. He’d be home in an hour.

“May the odds be ever in your favour,” Fabian announced as the video concluded.

Odds. Shane hated odds. His name was only in there once but that was still enough.

No. He couldn’t think like that. Not today.

“For our first tribute…” Fabian walked to bowl with flare and dug around. He pulled out a little slip of paper before strutting back to the microphone.

Every muscle in Shane’s body tensed.

“Peter Landry!” Fabian announced. Shane let out a sigh of relief. He was safe. For now. See, just a regular day. And after today, he’d never have to do this again.

There was silence from the crowd, but Peter was quickly identified. He was tall and gangly with shockingly red hair. He was standing with two other boys and a girl that looked just like him. All of their faces were ashen.

Shane could see Peter swallow from where he stood before the boy took a hesitant step forward. Then a hand shot out to grip his wrist. Peter swung around, finding the slight fingers attached to an even slighter girl. Shane saw Peter’s eyes widen, saw him mouth, “No,” before the red-headed girl stepped in front of him.

“I volunteer!” Her voice rang through the courtyard, cutting through the frigid air. Her breath formed a cloud as she spoke, like the words were a physical thing leaving her body.

“No—” Peter tried to grab who Shane presumed was his sister but the girl just started marching for the stage.

“I volunteer as tribute!” she called again, as if the silence from before had been too overpowering for anyone to hear her. The other boys – their brothers – held Peter back as the girl marched determinedly up the steps and onto the stage. Her face was still ashen, but her eyes were fierce.

Fabian took it in stride, seeming to love the drama. “A volunteer! How wonderful!” He wrapped an arm over her shoulder, pulling her toward the microphone. “And what is your name, my dear?”

The girl suddenly looked less sure of her decision as she eyed the gathered crowd. What she had just signed up for seemed to be rapidly sinking in. For her sake, Shane hoped she could at least stay standing until they cut the cameras. It wouldn’t gain her any favour in the Capital if she fainted now.

Fabian gave her shoulder a squeeze and another one of his signature smiles.

The girls swallowed and then said in a small voice, “Rose Landry.”

“Rose Landry!” Fabian announced gleefully. “How special. And what a beautiful name for such a beautiful girl.”

He guided Rose to step back. She followed on shaking legs until she was standing next to Yuna and Ilya. Shane’s mom gave her a reassuring smile, focusing on calming down the frightened girl.

“And now for our second tribute…” Fabian pranced back to the bowl of names, plucked one from deep at the bottom, and went back to the microphone.

Shane tensed up again. The excitement had almost made Shane forget why he was here. What could happen to him today.

Or not. Because of course, it wouldn’t.

He tried to keep his breathing under control. In for four…out for four. In for four…It was fine. Everything was going to be fine. The odds were in his favor. His name was only in once. It was just a regular—

“Shane Hollander.”

Chapter End Notes

So excited about this one! Can't wait to hear everyone's thoughts/predictions on where this is gonna go :)
-Oaks

Chapter 2: Goodbye

Chapter Summary

Goodbyes from the families as the tributes are taken away.

Chapter Notes

Hello! Thanks for your patience with this update. I'm finished exams now so I'll have some more time for updates.

I do just want to put a warning about characterization in this that some people might turn out to be more villainous than I'd like them to be just for the sake of plot, since there needs to be A LOT of villains in the THG but there's only really a few truly awful people in GC. Rose in particular (I'm sorry, I love her, but I also think she'd be pretty resourceful in trying to survive) is gonna come off as pretty ruthless (but not without reason, I love her and Shane's friendship too much to do anything truly awful).

And I'm not sure how fitting of a fic this is for this fandom since most people come to GC and HR for the good vibes and this will be a lot of pain and suffering but I'm still excited about it (there will also be some good vibes). I'm also thinking this will be shorter chapters with more frequent updates (hopefully) compared to my other WIPS with longer chapters.

*I realized I needed more people to kill off so we're up to 8 districts (if you read the first chp when it came out and I only had 6) and there'll just be a couple unnamed tributes that'll die super fast in the games.

Comments and kudos are appreciated. Enjoy!
-Oaks

“Shane Hollander.”

Shane’s blood went cold. The air stuck in his lungs. His feet sunk into the earth beneath him.

The world stopped moving. Time slowed to a drip. Everything around Shane froze, but his mind sped up to a mile a minute.

Flashes of scenes in front of his eyes: sitting at the dinner table with his parents, his dad making his mom laugh; the first buck he shot down, his mom watching with pride over his shoulder; propped up in front of the fireplace with his dad teaching him to sew; the first fight he got into at school – nine years old – and the resulting grounding from his mother; countless summers gorging on berries; trekking through snowstorms in the dead of winter; a lake in the woods on a hot day…

Hands grabbed him firmly by the arms, pulling them tight behind his shoulders before a knee pushed into his back, hefting him forward. Shane stumbled into it, the grip on his arms holding him up just as much as keeping him moving.

His feet met the stage before he knew it. Shane tripped up the steps, those hands the only thing keeping him from landing flat on his face. Even though the stage was made of stone, the ground felt unsteady under his feet, constantly shifting as everything he knew about the world crumbled into an abyss.

Shane could vaguely make out a hot pink blur coming toward him – a person – Fabian. He was saying something, but everything was static in Shane’s ears. He was only aware of the sound of his breathing – great gasping breaths that made it feel like he was dying. Oh God, he was going to die. He was going to die.

Eyes met his through the haze. A woman, standing at the back of the stage – his mother.

Everything came back in a rush: the chill in the air; the cawing of birds sitting on the roof of Town Hall; his mother’s already grief-stricken face, the set of her shoulders sagging. Moments ago, she’d been consoling the shaking girl at her side. Now it looked like that girl was the one holding Yuna up. There was a hand on her other arm, firm, strong, keeping her steady – Ilya.

Shane didn’t look at him. He couldn’t. Not right now.

Fabian stood next to him at the microphone, the crowd watching in stark silence, nothing but horror on their faces.

Shane knew his own face was just as pale and hollow. He could feel the blood pumping through his veins, his heartbeat ringing in his ears with every rattle of his breath.

Rose was shoved forward next to him. She stumbled a little at the rough treatment and Shane shot out an arm to catch her. She looked at him, fear in her eyes, but her lips twitched up in a small show of gratitude. Her hand slipped into Shane’s before he could pull away. He was grateful for it – something to tether him to the earth.

They looked out at the crowd as Fabian announced with forced ceremony, “Your District 8 tributes!”

They weren’t met with applause. Everyone just stared in solemn horror at the two people – the two kids – who were to be sent to die.

Then a hand went up, rising above a man’s head proudly. Followed by another. And another. And another. Until the whole square was filled with raised hands.

Shane hadn’t cried yet – his mind hadn’t caught up enough to force a physical reaction in his body – but at this show of solidarity, the tears finally rose to his eyes. These people knew him – or they at least knew his mother. They knew her from sharing food in the winter and donating clothes to their children after Shane grew out of them. They knew her from planning events for the school, and volunteering at the hospital. They knew her as someone kind, and helpful, and generous.

They also knew her from the games. They knew what a blow this was going to be to his family.

“Inside, now,” a gruff voice spoke from behind Shane as a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. He whipped around as he was pulled back, coming face-to-face with Grigori Rozanov – Ilya’s father. Shane had only met the Colonel once before, and it hadn’t gone well.

Grigori snarled in his face as he pulled Shane away from the crowd. He lost his grip on Rose’s hand. She shot him wide frightened eyes as they were separated, the police around them quickly ushering everyone on the stage into the Town Hall.

A scream rang out behind them. Shane whipped back to see as a cacophony of angry expletives rose up from the crowd, but the door to the foyer slammed shut before he could see anything, blocking out the noise.

Grigori kept them moving, pulling Shane to a door at the back. He shoved him forward, Shane stumbling into a small room.

“Hey!” he tried to protest, voice coming back in a rush.

“Stay there,” said Grigori before slamming the door shut, the sound ringing through the small space.

Shane took a breath. He was alone.

He looked around the room – heavy wood furniture and expensive-looking curtains, a desk with a chair, books stacked in cases. An office.

The door clicked open and Shane swung to face it, not wanting to be caught off guard. His mother slipped inside, followed by his father.

Shane had been holding it somewhat together until now – until he met the openly scared and sorrowful eyes of David Hollander.

“Dad,” Shane’s voice broke on a sob, arms automatically reaching out, like a little kid asking to be picked up and held and comforted – something he hadn’t done for a long, long time.

David pulled him into his arms immediately, hugging him tight to his chest. Shane hooked his chin over his shoulder, breathing in the scent of home and comfort – the last chance he was going to have to do so.

“I love you,” David whispered into his son’s hair – the only thing worth saying right now. The only thing that mattered.

Shane let the tears fall, soaking into his dad’s shirt.

“I love you too,” he said, trying to mean it more than he ever had before.

David’s hand cupped the back of Shane’s head, running through his hair like he used to do when Shane had a bad day as a child. “I’m always with you, ok?” He pulled back to look Shane in the eye. “Always.”

Shane nodded, too choked up to speak.

David looked to Yuna. “You’ll take care of him?”

She was crying too – silently, tears streaming freely down her face, lips trembling, but refusing to make a sound. She nodded at her husband, head shaking vigorously.

David reached out an arm and Shane’s mom wrapped herself around his back, both his parents holding him for the last time.

Shane felt them kiss over his head, saying goodbye to him just as much as each other. They’d all be alone in this – David in District 8, Yuna in the Capital, and Shane in the arena. They would probably never be together ever again.

Shane was struck with so much grief he would’ve fallen to his knees if his parents hadn’t been propping him up.

The door clicked open and they reluctantly pulled apart as a policeman grunted, “Time to go.”

Yuna gave David one last kiss as the policeman grabbed him by the arm. David fought back a little as he was pulled away, trying to make the moment last. He called out to them, “Take care of each other. I love you both.”

The way David was looking between Shane and Yuna, it was like he wasn’t expecting to see either of them again. And Shane knew, deep down, that he might not. That if Yuna found a way to save Shane in the arena, even if it cost her own life, she would take it in a heartbeat.

Shane resolved to not let that happen. He resolved to never make that look of grief in his father’s eyes more real than it already was.

Shane was going to win. He was going to come home. He was going to bring his family back together.

---

Ilya stood in the foyer of Town Hall, staring at two doors. In one was Shane and his parents. Ilya tried not to think about what they were saying. He tried not to picture the look on David Hollander’s face, the words he was saying to his son, everything about this moment so critically final.

Yuna had almost collapsed when Shane’s name was called. She’d been consoling Rose, one hand clutching the girl’s wrist as she whispered reassurances in her ear.

Then the world had stopped.

Ilya luckily had had enough strength through his own shock to grip Yuna’s other arm as her knees buckled, keeping her upright. Her face had gone ashen, nothing but shock and horror in her eyes as they’d watched her son walk up to the stage. No one said anything as Shane had taken shaky steps up – not even Fabian.

Ilya watched the whole thing with a clenched jaw and hazy eyes, not daring to look anywhere except a square stone on the ground in front of him.

The only thing that snapped him out of it was his own father’s voice barking at them all to go inside. Ilya had set about pulling Yuna with him before the police could do it, trying to be gentler than they would’ve, but then the screaming started.

Ilya had been roughly shoved through the doors along with Yuna and Fabian as the violence broke out. He’d caught a glimpse of a wall of police moving into the crowd before the doors to Town Hall slammed shut. He had a brief urge to go back out there, to punch and throw and kick and let loose all of the rage that was quickly building behind his ribs, but then Shane’s voice had called out just in time for Ilya to watch his own father shove the boy into an office.

Grigori turned back to the gathered group after locking the door. Rose was marched past in a similar fashion, shoved into the room next to it. Grigori hadn’t said another word, just grunted in Ilya’s direction, face dripping with disdain as he walk off, assumedly to oversee breaking up what had undoubtedly become a riot outside.

Yuna was still in a state of shock when David arrived. Ilya stood off to the side, watching the couple reunite. David put an arm around his wife as she collapsed into his arms. He whispered to her gently, “Come on, we have to go. We need to go talk to him.” The we need to say goodbye was left unsaid – especially since this wasn’t going to be goodbye for Yuna. That would be in three days’ time – a blessing and a curse. And then both parents would watch as their son fought for his life from opposite ends of the country.

Yuna pulled herself up with a big breath. Shaking hands ran over her face, wiping tears and combing her hair back.

“Ok,” she said firmly. “Ok, let’s go.”

They slipped into the room on the right where Shane was unknowingly waiting for them.

The Landry’s had been led through next, a trio of red-headed boys shouting at the police officers as they pushed the boys and a frail-looking woman into the room on the left.

Ilya was left alone in the foyer with Fabian.

“I’m um, going to go get on the train,” Fabian muttered, uncharacteristically somber. Ilya didn’t care – didn’t acknowledge him. He heard the steady click of Fabian’s heeled boots as he walked away.

He couldn’t hear anything coming from the door on the right. It was expected. The Hollanders were a quiet family, known for a stoic kind of strength and resilience – one Ilya had become accustomed to in recent years. Grateful for. To watch that strength be torn down…

“Yes, you can!” an angry shout came from the room on the left. Ilya took a step toward the door, intrigued.

There was a jumbled mess of yelling – some protests, some encouragement – until a single female voice rose above the yelling boys.

“He’s her son,” said Rose. “I don’t stand a chance.”

“Then don’t rely on them,” said another male voice – one of her brothers.

Ilya tensed up. They were talking about the Games. He’d only done this once before, but he knew from experience that families didn’t usually take this time to talk about the Games. Instead, they spent their last precious few minutes with each other saying everything they knew they wouldn’t get a chance to say again: I love you, you mean the world to me, I will always be with you no matter what. Empty words for a hollow moment, but something for the tribute to hold onto when they were scared and alone in the dark abyss of the arena. Something for the families to have as they buried their child’s body after.

But not the Landrys.

“You don’t need a mentor to get through the games. You’re smart. Let the other tributes fight it out, you just need to survive long enough to make something work.”

There was a small scoff from Rose. More of a hiccup really, through her tears.

“No, Rose, listen,” said another boy determinedly. “It’s just you in there, ok? You don’t need anyone else.”

The last boy – the youngest one by the pitch of his voice – added, “Rose, you can do this. You’re strong. You can win.”

And then Rose’s voice came through the door, small but with conviction. “I’ll try.”

Ilya stepped away, feeling his throat close up. He was a mentor – it was his job to keep Rose alive. But keeping her alive meant Shane might die. Only one of them could win. If they both made it to the end, and if Ilya and Yuna had a say in the matter, they’d have to pick one to survive.

Ilya knew who Yuna would pick. Deep down, he knew his answer too. It sounded like Rose Landry had already figured it out as well.

Ilya stalked out of Town Hall with a rising rage.

He needed to get on the fucking train. And he needed a fucking drink.

Chapter 3: Plans

Chapter Summary

The train ride to the Capital.

Chapter Notes

Hello! Back on my writing during lectures grind so y'all get extra updates :)
Comments and kudos are appreciated!
-Oaks

Shane sat in a plush chair between his mother and Rose. He’d been trying to get a read on the girl. She was quiet, reserved, but not shy. She’d marched onto the train ahead of Shane and made a beeline for the lounge, plopping herself down in one of the blue velvet armchairs.

Yuna had immediately poured herself a drink from the bar cart before slumping into a chair herself. Two fingers of perfectly clear vodka. She’d sat across from Shane, eyes staring through him like he was already a ghost.

There was also a large spread of food – fluffy pastries topped with vibrant colours, exotic fruits, and little pots of jams and sauces – more elaborate and in a larger quantity than Shane had seen in his entire life. He didn’t bother looking for the one thing he would want, too emotionally exhausted to even consider getting out of his chair.

Yuna and Rose weren’t eating either.

“So what’s the plan?” Rose broke the silence first.

Yuna finally tore her gaze away from Shane, regarding the girl with sharp eyes. She didn’t respond.

Rose scoffed, “Come on, you have to have some sort of plan.”

Yuna took a sip of vodka, rolled it around her mouth, swallowed.

Rose seemed to take a moment to read the room. Switched tactics. Her eyes softened.

“Please,” she said quietly.

Yuna threw the rest of the vodka back, then she leaned forward, hands on her knees, eyes flicking between the two of them. “Look, I’m not going to lie to you. There is no plan.”

Shane’s eyes shot to his mother – the first time he’d ever heard her say such a thing – but her own were trained on Rose.

“I’m not going to pretend that everything is going to be ok. It’s not going to be ok. You’re going into the arena.”

Rose was slowly sinking down in her chair in defeat. Shane himself sat stiff as a board, heartbeat picking up to roar in his ears.

“I know we tell you that you’ll have help in there – that there’s people on the outside fighting for you just as hard as you are fighting for yourself. That’s a lie.”

“What about sponsors?” asked Rose incredulously.

Yuna shrugged. “For what? A single roll of bread? That’ll hardly make a difference when you have an Allstar twice your size throttling you by the neck.”

Shane swallowed. His mother wasn’t known for mincing her words, but this was something else.

“Then how are we supposed to survive?” Rose was getting angry now – frustrated.

“You don’t,” Yuna said simply. “Make no mistake, you are being sent into that arena to die. The notion that you might not is just a tactic of the League’s to keep you in line.”

Deep down, Shane knew this. That their government – the League – made the Games because they were sadistic fucks who craved violence to subdue the masses. Yuna was right, the idea that they could fight back against such a large conglomerate was laughable. They were just kids.

“This whole fucking thing is some sick form of entertainment. When you get in there, you can’t count on anything – not help from outside, not help from your fellow tributes, you can’t even count on finding a safe shelter for the night. Because if things get boring, there are people who’s job it is to unsettle you for the sake of keeping everyone more interested in what’s going on in there, so they don’t focus on the depressing fucking truth of their own miserable lives.”

Yuna got up and poured herself another drink – three fingers this time. “You are a distraction at best, an acceptable casualty at worst. There’s no special trick to anything. No luck, no fortune, no odds. Once you’re in that arena, there’s no way out but through.” Yuna slumped back into her chair again, sliding down a little as the vodka set into her system. Shane was deeply unsettled – he’d never seen his mother so…unhinged.

“Then how do we get through?” Rose had dropped her voice again, eyes wide. Scared. Shane hoped he was doing a better job of hiding his own fear.

“You make people like you,” Yuna said simply. Shane stiffened more – he wasn’t very good at that. “You make the viewers care enough that the Playmaker doesn’t kill you outright and keeps you around for entertainment. You make the sponsors care enough that they send you small comforts when you’re dying. Other than that…you survive. Nothing else to it.”

“So you’re saying you can’t help us?”

“I could tell you how to prepare. I could tell you to spend the next three days getting to know everything you can about survival, but I’d be lying if I said that was the key. There is no sure-fire way to get out of this because at the end of everything, it’s not about who knows what they’re doing, or who’s stronger, or who has more lethal skills.” She took another beat to look solemnly between Shane and Rose. “When it comes down to everything, all that matters, is who wants it more.”

Shane’s mother turned fierce eyes on her son. Shane stared back, heart beating with his own fear and determination.

Neither of them looked at the girl, but Shane could feel Rose’s eyes burning holes straight through him.

---

Ilya was having a very bad dream. It was the same one he always had – the one that had haunted him since he was fifteen years old.

He was back in the arena – the one from his Games. A series of concrete tunnels stretched out in front of him, a maze of echoing screams and cold dark fear.

He knew it was a dream because his mother was there. He could see her standing at the other end of the tunnel. She was wearing a white dress – the one she always wore on Sundays.

“Ilyusha,” she called out to him, gentle voice singing through the tunnel.

“Mama!” he called, taking a step forward.

She smiled, beckoning him. Ilya took another step, and another, and another. But he didn’t get closer to his mother. In fact, she seemed to move farther away.

Ilya kept going, until he was running, trying to close the distance, trying to get there in time.

As always, he was too late.

Ilya watched in growing horror as a dark figure came up behind his mother – a faceless silhouette with a suspiciously similar build to his father.

“Mama!” Ilya cried in alarm, picking up speed, sprinting through the tunnel, feet slapping hard against the concrete.

“Ilyusha,” his mother called, unaware of the danger – of the darkness closing in, rising up behind her.

Ilya pushed harder, blood pounding in his ears, lungs screaming, muscles burning. “Mama!”

The figure raised its arms above its head, growing larger as it loomed over his mother. Ilya kept pushing. He needed to reach her. He needed to make it in time. He needed—

“Wake up!”

Ilya sat straight upright, almost bumping heads with the person hovering over him. He was in bed, the gentle sway of the train rocking the room a little, making him queasy. Or that could’ve been the hangover. Ilya’s entire body was sweating, his shirt soaked through, skin clammy.

Someone passed him a glass of water. “You were dreaming.”

Ilya took the beverage gratefully, gulping the entire thing down in one go. He looked to his bedside, finding both Hollanders watching him – Shane warily, Yuna with hardened anger in her eyes.

“What time is it?” Ilya slurred, whether from sleep or the remaining alcohol in his system, he didn’t know.

Yuna stalked forward to pull at the covers. “Get up,” she spat.

Ilya flinched back. He wasn’t normally put off by other people’s anger – had spent too much of his life dealing with that shit for it to phase him anymore – but Yuna’s ire was still something he tried to avoid. He swung his legs out of bed, standing shakily.

“Honestly, now is not the time for this shit.” She was stalking around his room angrily, picking up empty and half-full bottles of liquor. Ilya swallowed against an already-dry throat, feeling a little like she was ripping off his fingers one by one – which was ridiculous, because it was only vodka. And bourbon, and gin, and whiskey, and so on. It wasn’t an actual loss – Ilya could always get more later, after she left. It wasn’t like the actual loss they would both be burdened with when…

He looked at Shane. The poor boy was standing stalk-still, watching his mother mutter angry expletives to herself while throwing bottles in the trash. His entire face was pale – had been since his name was Drafted – and his fingers kept clenching into fists at his side. Ilya resisted the urge to reach out and take his hand.

Finished with her task, Yuna swung back around on Ilya, whispering through gritted teeth, “You are a good for nothing child and I regret ever taking you in.”

“Mom?!” Shane whispered in shock. Ilya almost smiled. Of course. Shane had never seen this side of his mother – the side Ilya was all too familiar with. The Yuna Hollander that had won the Games at sixteen. And then spent every year since watching children die.

Yuna ignored him, instead stalking to Ilya with a finger raised accusingly. “You did this.”

“Me?” he slurred a little, still unsteady on his feet, still trying to wake up from his sleeping nightmare so he could be present in the living one.

“Yes, you. You and your – your insolence. You don’t think they’ll noticed but they fucking noticed.”

“Mom—” Shane tried again.

“Don’t!” Her wild eyes swung between them before glaring daggers at Ilya again. “It’s his fault. Your name was in there once—”

“That’s still enough to get called.”

“Of course it is. Especially when it’s fucking rigged!”

Shane took a step back. “Rigged? Why would the Draft be rigged?”

Fuck. He didn’t know. Shane didn’t know and this was not how Ilya wanted him to find out.

Yuna just shook her head. “You are so naive. The both of you. And now we’re all going to die.”

“What?” Shane took a step toward them, then thought better of it, the tension like a physical thing between Ilya and his Mentor. “Why would…? What’s going on?”

Yuna’s jaw clenched as she turned to Ilya, waiting for him to say something. Ilya pursed his lips, keeping quiet. Finally, Yuna sighed. “Shane, there is more going on here than you know.”

“What? What don’t I know?”

Yuna looked at Ilya again. He shook his head minutely. They couldn’t. It was too risky. Not with Shane going into the arena.

Yuna huffed again. “It doesn’t matter. All you need to know is that this situation is very, very fucked up. You’re getting caught in the middle of something you shouldn’t.”

Ilya grunted. She was saying too much. She needed to stop.

“Oh shut up, Ilya,” Yuna griped. “You got us into this mess.”

“Me?” Ilya felt his own anger rising. “I was not the one who—”

“Enough,” Yuna spat. Ilya snapped his mouth shut. Shane’s head was swinging between them with growing apprehension.

Yuna took a step towards Ilya, getting into his face. That pointing finger rose again. “I told you to stay away. You didn’t listen. Now look where that got us.”

Ilya squared his shoulders, rising to his full height to stare Yuna down. “And I told you it was a bad idea, but you had to do it anyway.”

“That mattered.”

“No, it didn’t.” Yuna flinched back like Ilya had slapped her. Her lip quivered again. Ilya dropped his voice very low. “Yuna, this is not the long game.”

Yuna blinked. She took a step back. Her jaw worked as she swallowed. Then she said, voice flat, “The long game doesn’t matter anymore.”

It was Ilya’s turn to take a step back. He’d never thought she’d…but one look at Shane proved why it didn’t matter. Shane’s hands were clenching at his sides again, fingers unconsciously picking at a loose thread on his pants.

Ilya took another breath. Looked back at Yuna. She just shook her head.

“You both should get some sleep.” All the emotion was gone from her voice, her shoulders slumping, completely drained. She backed away from both of them. One of her hands reached out for Shane as if to pull him into a hug. He stepped back, still looking at his mother like he didn’t know who she was.

He probably didn’t, Ilya thought. Not like this.

Yuna dropped her hand and stalked to the door. She at least had enough composure not to let it slam behind her – they didn’t need anything waking up Rose.

Shane turned to Ilya, the two of them finally alone.

“You’re hiding something from me.”

Ilya stared at the floor. “You should go.”

“What’s the long game?” Shane took a step towards him, reached out. Ilya so desperately wanted to reach back. This was a dance they’d been doing for a long time now – Shane reaching out, regardless if Ilya tried to bite his hand. Ilya eventually accepting the offering for what it was – kindness, unbearably so. It had been a while since they’d done this, both of them out of practice. But they couldn’t do that here.

They couldn’t do that ever again.

Ilya took his own step back.

“Ilya,” Shane pleaded.

“Go to bed, Hollander.” He kept his eyes on the floor, refusing to look at Shane, voice tight to hide the pressure behind his eyes.

“So we’re back to Hollander now?” Ilya didn’t miss the way Shane’s voice broke a little on his own name.

Ilya didn’t respond. There was no reason to. Everything about this was going to be over in three days – maybe less (maybe more). It didn’t matter anymore. Nothing did.

“Get some sleep,” Ilya said instead. “You have a big day tomorrow.” It was as good of a dismissal as any. Shane took it as such.

“Fine. Goodnight.”

Ilya nodded instead of speaking – he was worried what he’d say if he did. He didn’t look up until he heard the door click shut.

---

Shane didn’t wait for Ilya to beg for him to come back. If he wasn’t going to cave now, when everything was crumbling around them in a crushingly final way, then he never would. So he gathered what pride he had left and turned his back on the other boy.

Shane slipped out the door to Ilya’s room as quietly as he could.

And stopped in his tracks. Rose was staring at him down the hall. By the looks of it, she’d just left her own room – probably to use the bathroom, the door to which Shane was definitely not standing in front of.

They stood there, watching each other, for a long time. Rose kept glancing between Shane and the bedroom door he’d just come out of. Maybe she’d think he was visiting his mother? Probably not.

Finally, her lips pursed and she stalked angrily down the hall to the bathroom.

Shane was so, so fucked.

Chapter 4: Bad Seeds*

Chapter Summary

Three years ago. Ilya arrives in District 8.

Chapter Notes

Surprise! This is a multi-timeline story. Told you I've got plans for this :))) We'll be jumping back and forth between timelines as information gets revealed. I'm going to mark the earlier timeline chapters with a * so it's easy to tell where they are.

Comments and kudos are appreciated. Enjoy!
-Oaks

THREE YEARS AGO

If you asked Grigori when the decline of the Rozanov’s began, he would cite the day his wife died. Ilya knew it was earlier than that – the day he was born. Because one way or another, he was going to lead to the end of his bloodline.

His mother had been a beautiful woman. She was kind and generous and gentle. Ilya often wondered what unfortunate circumstances had led to a woman filled with so much life tying herself to an old ugly man like his father.

Maybe it was his wealth? But that was gone now – had already been declining before his mother died. Maybe the security of his position? Ilya’s father was part of the Capital police force in the Districts. It had kept him and their family in a position of power while Ilya grew up in District 1.

But that was gone now too.

Ilya looked up at the Town Hall of District 8. It was a rather plain building, austere in its drab grey exterior, no ornamentation or ceremony. Just stone. That seemed to be a common theme here – grey stone buildings set against white snow. Ilya tried not to shiver as he regarded what was to be his new home.

The welcome party for the District’s new Police Colonel consisted solely of the District’s Mayor – a fittingly drab and austere man by the name of LeClaire. He spoke a few words to Ilya’s father while handing over the keys to their family’s new apartment, then left to return to his own quarters in the east wing of the building.

Ilya’s father had stormed off for the west wing without preamble, leaving Ilya and his brother to march after him. Ilya’s brother – Alexei – had kept silent the entire journey from District 1. It might have been on account of the pain he was currently carrying – the slashes along his back were still fresh enough to periodically bleed and the bruising on his jaw was still transitioning from deep purple to a sickly green – but it was more so to avoid angering their father more.

Alexei had already done enough damage in that regard, considering he was the reason they were here.

There were reasons Grigori would’ve called the day of his wife’s death the beginning of the end, but their first misfortune began with Alexei transferring schools. Ilya’s mother’s death had left all of the Rozanov boys unmoored, but Grigori became particularly obsessed with saving face in the eyes of the Capital. So when the opportunity for Alexei to join the Allstar Academy was presented, Grigori encouraged (forced) him to go. Ilya had luckily been too young at the time, having only just turned 12, but Alexei had been 15 – not too far past the prime age to begin his training.

Alexei was 17 now – Ilya being 14 – and he’d just failed to volunteer at the Draft. Ilya remembered everything about that day so clearly he saw the white-stricken fear in his brother’s eyes every time he closed his own. It probably didn’t help that that day had barely been two weeks ago. It definitely didn’t help that the boy who went into the arena instead was only 13. He hadn’t made it past the Cornucopia – a far cry from the Allstars District 1 normally sent in to win the Games.

Moving to District 8 had been Grigori’s last effort to save Alexei’s life (it seemed the years of stressing about his son entering the arena had finally made his resolve snap enough to care if his progeny lived or died). So now Ilya stared at the bare-bones room reserved for the Colonel’s family in the farthest District from the Capital.

He missed his home already. He missed his bed in his warm house with thick heavy curtains and lush carpets. He missed the clothes he’d had to leave behind in their haste to move. He missed his friends from school, or rather, just Sasha because Ilya really only had one friend. But what he really missed was his mother. They’d left every trace of her behind in District 1, including her grave.

Alexei slumped into the bed on the other side of the room – on his stomach to avoid aggravating the wounds on his back. He hadn’t said a word to Ilya since the Draft. Ilya would be more concerned if Alexei talked to him normally, but the brothers were known for exclusively trading insults when they engaged.

Ilya looked at his own mattress. There were at least sheets on the bed, but Ilya didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing. He had no clue if these had belonged to the previous Colonel’s family. He didn’t know what had become of that man, but if District 8 had been desperate enough to accept the disgraced Rozanovs on such short notice, it couldn’t have been anything good.

Ilya settled on the mattress, cringing as it creaked. His stomach rumbled – there hadn’t been any food on the cargo train they’d taken instead of the lavish Capital speed train his father was used to – but Ilya knew there would be no dinner tonight. Instead, he closed his eyes and prayed to his mother for a night with no dreams.

---

Shane was way too old to hold his mother’s hand when she dropped him off at school, but Yuna still insisted on accompanying him for the first day, much to his annoyance. He was 14 now, he wasn’t a baby. Besides, it wasn’t like anything changed about school over the summer (except for losing two students – a 16 year old girl and 12 year old boy this time. Shane hadn’t known either of them. Small mercies).

Shane knew deep down that that was why his mother wanted to be here. She’d only just returned from the Capital after Mentoring those tributes. It made sense that she’d want to spend extra time with her own child. But Shane was still a teenager, and his street cred at school definitely didn’t need his mommy dropping him at the door.

“I’ll pick you up at the end of the day, ok?” said Yuna, eyes scanning the swarms of children on their way into the building, always on alert.

Shane nodded, already walking off. “Ok.”

“I love you!” called Yuna.

Shane felt his cheeks instantly heat as some of the kids around him snickered. But he knew his mother would keep yelling until he said it back, so Shane stopped walking and turned around to tightly mutter, “I love you too.” Then he quickly spun away and hastened his retreat into the school.

Shane liked to keep his head down in the hallways. He didn’t really have any friends to meet up with and excitedly recount his summer. He much preferred getting into the school as fast as possible so he could select the ideal desk in his new classroom. His grade was supposed to be on the north side of the school this year – an ideal position for daylight – but he wanted to make sure he got a seat close to the door. Shane liked being able to leave quickly, before anyone really noticed him.

Except when he arrived at his new classroom, the desk closest to the door was already occupied by someone – a someone Shane didn’t recognize. The first thing Shane noticed was his hair – shockingly blond and rambunctiously curly – then Shane noticed his eyes. Ice blue irises settled on Shane with an overly observant stare, assessing him. Shane stood a little straighter, not wanting to appear as small as he knew he was. He didn’t need another boy sizing him up and finding he came up short.

The sound of footsteps and chattering kids quickly broke their staring as students began to filter into the room behind Shane. The boy dropped his gaze, swinging his head lazily back to the front of the room, slouching a little more in his chair as he lazily twirled a pencil between long fingers.

Shane breathed a sigh of relief. Then tensed up again when he heard, “Move it, Hollander.”

Shane jumped out of his skin as he leaped out of the way of Sorren and Kolya entering the classroom. Sorren purposefully bumped his shoulder into Shane on the way, sending him stumbling forward. The two boys slipped passed, heading straight for the remaining desks by the door.

Shane sighed. So much for that.

The only seat left was at the far side of the room, next to the windows. Shane could practically feel the windy draft from here. Oh well, at least he could jump outside if he ever needed to make a quick escape.

He settled in and opened his book to the first chapter while waiting for their teacher to arrive. Shane scanned the page even though he’d already read the unit in preparation (he’d already read the entire book). He tried to focus, tuning out the chatter of his classmates, but he felt a prickling along the back of his neck.

Shane debated looking up. There was a slight chance he’d catch the eyes of Sorren or Kolya and Shane definitely didn’t want to do that. He didn’t need to draw attention to himself this early in the school year. But he could feel someone staring at him.

Shane chanced a glance, not finding Sorren or Kolya’s eyes trained on his desk, but rather those of the new boy’s. Shane expected him to look away, embarrassed at being caught staring, but instead he raised a single haughty eyebrow. Shane’s cheeks instantly heated, though he didn’t know why – it wasn’t like he’d been the one staring – and ducked his head back into his book. Shane kept it buried there until the teacher arrived, but that prickling feeling never went away.

---

Shane walked out of school with his head down, books clutched to his chest, trying to avoid the crowds of students. He could hear Sorren and Kolya coming up behind him and Shane ducked his head down farther, hoping they wouldn’t see—

“Hey Hollander!” called Kolya.

Shane cringed, speeding up a little.

“Your mommy here to get you? You gonna run off to her?” Kolya continued to tease.

Shane kept his eyes on the floor, knowing the doors were close. Even though the boys were taunting, they all knew it was true. Shane’s mom was waiting outside and if he could make it there before they caught up, there was no way the boys would try anything with her watching. Shane just needed to—

“Oof.” He stopped abruptly as he slammed into someone. Shane’s books fell to the floor and he quickly bent to pick them up, stuttering out an apology. “S-Sorry, I didn’t see you. I-I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

A hand reached for one of his books at the same time as Shane’s, their fingers almost brushing. Shane froze and watched as that hand picked up his book before rising to his feet. Shane stood abruptly, thoughts running on how he could convince them to give it back, when he was met with icy blue.

Shane’s breath caught in his throat as the new boy held out his book for him. Shane took it with shaking fingers, his hand brushing against the boy’s.

“T-Thank you.”

“No problem,” the boy muttered. His voice was deep – deeper than Shane expected for their age – and surprisingly gentle. Shane stood there, struck still. He should move. Leave. Or say something. Or at least stop staring—

The boy dropped his gaze to look at something over Shane’s shoulder. Shane swung around, catching the eyes of his momentarily forgotten bullies. They were nudging each other with their elbows, cunning eyes dancing as they watched the exchange.

Shane turned back to the new boy. His eyes had hardened as his jaw clenched. Then he turned and walked through the doors of the school without another glance at Shane or Sorren and Kolya.

Shane only hesitated a second before following him outside, not wanting to be caught alone with Sorren and Kolya as the rest of the students vacated the school. The new boy was already halfway across the lot, heading straight for a man who seemed to be arguing with someone. Someone Shane was all too familiar with.

Yuna Hollander was often quick to anger. Not at Shane – never at Shane – but she did not stand for any type of injustice or unfair play. It seemed this man might have invoked both because his bald head was turning red as the two of them argued through clenched teeth – too quiet for Shane to hear from across the lot.

But not too far to see, because Yuna spotted him easily over the man’s shoulder. They both swung around, taking in the two boys approaching although twenty paces apart. Shane could just make out a badge on the man’s lapel when he turned. Something official-looking.

That couldn’t be good. Yuna wasn’t a fan of the government, but she tried to avoid openly defying officials in public.

The man’s lips parted as he grumbled something else and Yuna snapped back before storming straight for Shane. Shane stopped in his tracks, watching an enraged Yuna approach like a wild animal.

“Let’s go,” she snapped as she passed him. Shane spared one more second to watch the boy meet the other man. He didn’t reach out a hand or anything, merely surveyed the boy up and down before turning on his heel. The boy didn’t hesitate before catching up, keeping up easily with the man’s long strides, like he was accustomed to following after him.

Shane had to jog to catch up to his own mother.

“What was that about?” he asked, falling into step as she wove through the remaining children to send them both on the path home.

“Do you know that boy?” Yuna asked, anger still simmering in her voice.

“Kind of,” Shane said automatically. “He’s in my class. We didn’t talk.” He didn’t think their four-word exchange counted as a conversation.

“Do you know who he is?”

Shane felt like this was the wrong answer but he shook his head anyway. “No?”

Yuna huffed, taking an abrupt turn down an alley, pulling Shane with her. She stopped halfway down, glancing back at the street, making sure no one followed. Shane stared up at his mother as she bent close, dropping her voice low.

“That’s Ilya Rozanov,” she said the name like it was taboo. Shane didn’t know how to feel about that. He didn’t know the guy at all. But at least he now knew his name.

“He’s Grigori Rozanov’s son,” Yuna continued. “That man I was talking to, he’s the new Colonel.” Oh. So that’s why they’d been arguing.

It was no secret that Yuna didn’t usually get along with law enforcement and Rozanov was going to be no exception. Especially not with what Shane had heard – the new Colonel coming from District 1 meant he would be very strict and deeply in the League’s pocket. Yuna did not do good without wiggle room, but that had been what had gotten the last Colonel killed. The League did not take kindly to its enforcers not following orders, even if it was to help 12-year-old boys.

Yuna gripped Shane by the arms, making sure he looked her in the eye. “You stay away from that boy, understand?”

Shane nodded quickly.

“Good. There’s a lot more going on there than you know about. I don’t want you caught up in it.”

Yuna turned on her heel and stalked back out of the alley. Shane once again jogged to catch up. His mother’s words rang through his head the whole way home, along with ice-blue eyes and golden blond curls.

Chapter 5: Welcome to the League

Chapter Summary

The tributes parade

Chapter Notes

I'm going with the show description of Kyle for this one because that will probably become more recognizable for his character when season 2 comes out, plus I like the dark hair better than the blond lol.

Comments and kudos are appreciated. Enjoy!
-Oaks

Ilya had been right – this was already turning out to be a very long day.

They’d arrived in the Capital to an excessive amount of fanfare; people cheering in the streets, lined up outside the train, waving as they’d descended the steps. Shane barely had a chance to take it all in before they were all whisked away by Fabian into a shiny and towering building, glass gleaming in the morning sun.

Shane hadn’t spoken much to their guide, even though Fabian made multiple efforts towards conversation on the train. He’d mostly kept to himself after Yuna had snapped that she wasn’t up for chatting at the time. It wasn’t that Shane had anything against Fabian, but he was a strange and unfamiliar person in a place and situation that was already as unfamiliar as something could get. Shane was barely holding on by a thread at this point.

As for Rose…they hadn’t spoken after Rose caught him coming out of Ilya’s room last night. Shane had desperately wanted to talk to her – maybe convince her that she hadn’t seen anything worth thinking more about – but Rose was avoiding him. And so was Ilya. And Yuna was avoiding everyone.

So Shane had spent the train ride with only his own rapidly spiralling thoughts of his impending doom.

Upon arrival, Shane and Rose were separated immediately, both taken by a team of stylists to be “hosed down” which turned out to mean actually being doused with a hose. And then plucked and prodded for the next two hours. Shane’s styling team had briefly introduced themselves as Vanessa, Marcus, and Tarek, and it quickly became clear that Vanessa was in charge of the trio. She’d taken to barking orders at the boys while Tarek cut Shane’s hair and Marcus plucked his eyebrows. Shane had never had his eyebrows plucked in his life, and he wouldn’t say he enjoyed the experience.

Every part of today had been overwhelming; the unfamiliar food on the train, the noise and crowds of the Capital, the elevator that took them multiple stories into the sky where the people became ants on the street below. Shane had still barely said a word after his mother and Ilya left their tributes to go do “Mentor” things. Shane had tried to catch Ilya’s eye before the elevator doors closed but the other boy kept his eyes on the shiny marble floor.

Shane hadn’t had a moment of peace until now. Vanessa and her team left him in a metallic room, lying on a glowing table in nothing but a paper-thin gown. At least the room wasn’t cold. Small mercies – the only thing Shane would have to count on for what was probably going to be the very short rest of his life.

Said solitude didn’t last. The door opened with a clang as a man walked into the room. He had black hair and was wearing black clothes to match, but they were of simple make and silhouette, nothing like the vibrant and ostentatious fashions of the Capital.

Shane sat up immediately, self-conscious of how exposed he was under the gown.

He recognized the man. He’d been to District 8 before, after Ilya won his Games. Shane hadn’t been allowed out of the house at the time – he and his father had been ordered by Yuna to stay inside until everyone from the Capital left. Shane had followed instructions, but he’d still stolen whatever sneak peaks he could out his bedroom window, including spotting his mother hugging this man outside of the house. They clearly had a good rapport.

The man approached Shane easily, calmly, before stopping two feet away from the table. Then he looked at Shane and said words he hadn’t known he’d been waiting to hear until now. “I’m very sorry this happened to you, and I’m here to help you in any way that I can.”

Shane immediately felt a sting behind his eyes. He tried to shrug it off but his voice caught. “Most people just congratulate me.”

“I don’t see the point in that,” said the man. Shane took a breath. For a brief moment, he almost wanted to let the fear and grief of his situation finally come to the surface, but he knew if he did that, the emotions would burry him. And he couldn’t fall beneath the earth right now. Not yet.

“I’m Kyle. I’m the stylist for District 8.” Kyle held out a hand which Shane took. His grip was firm, steady. Shane reluctantly let go after the standard two shakes but he wished he could’ve held on. There was something familiar about Kyle. His demeanour reminded Shane of his mother – practical, straight to the point, but still kind. Or at least, who Shane thought of as his mother. The Yuna he’d been introduced to since getting on that train was like an entirely different person.

Shane had been surprised by the change in his mom but he knew he should’ve expected that. Parents were never who their children thought they were and Yuna had lived more lives before having her son than he would ever know. What had truly surprised Shane was Ilya’s lack of reaction to Yuna’s snappish behaviour. Like it wasn’t a surprise to him at all. Like he was used to it. Like he knew a version of Shane’s mom that her own son didn’t.

Shane tried not to think too hard about that. It had become very clear that he was extremely in the dark about things and his mother had kept it that way on purpose.

He focused back on Kyle who got straight to the point. “So tonight, the tribute parade, take you out and show you off to the world.”

Shane nodded, understanding, trying not to squirm at the thought of what he would have to go through to get to the truly awful thing he had to go through. “So you’re here to make me look pretty?”

“I’m here to help you make an impression.” The way Kyle said it – with convicted determination…Shane was starting to see why his mother liked this man. He felt a little spark of hope.

“Usually they dress people in clothes from their district,” Kyle continued.

“Yeah, we’re always in snow suits.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to do that. I want to do something that they’re gonna remember.” Shane’s hope sored again. “Did they explain about trying to get sponsors?”

Shane probably understood the concept of getting sponsors better than most tributes. It was his mother’s entire job. Even though she tried to never bring her Mentoring from the Games back home, there was always a sense of melancholy around his parents every year when she returned. Shane knew it was not only the grief for the children that had been lost – the children Yuna had been forced to get to know right before they died – but also the feeling of personal failure. That their misfortune was her fault. That if she had just tried harder, been more convincing to the sponsors, then those kids might still be alive. They all knew it wasn’t true, but how something is felt plays no role in the truth of what happened.

Shane’s hope was very short lived. “Yeah, but I’m not very good at making friends.”

Kyle gave him a reassuring smile. “We’ll see about that. I find it hard to believe that Yuna Hollander’s son would have a hard time getting people to like him.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“I do think you’ll surprise me. But I don’t think it’ll be about that.” Kyle surveyed Shane up and down. Shane stilled, once again trying not to squirm. Kyle’s gaze wasn’t scrutinizing, and he didn’t seem to be judging what he could see of Shane’s body in the gown. Instead, he seemed to be searching for something inside Shane – the kind of thing he kept hidden under his skin.

“You know,” Kyle mused. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Hollanders from working with your mother, it’s that you’ll do anything for the people you love. And that you’ll always stand up for the right thing.”

That was correct. Maybe, if Kyle knew Shane’s mom like that, it meant she wasn’t a completely different person here. Maybe other people knew the Yuna Shane did too.

“The Capital is going to tell people that you’re a legacy because your mom is a Victor, but that’s not your legacy.”

“It’s not?”

“No. You are your mother’s legacy because of the type of person she’s taught you to be. And your legacy is how you use those lessons to uphold who you are.”

Shane took in Kyle’s words, letting their weight sink over him. Everything about the last day had been feeling so final. Every little thing from here on out mattered more than anything before. But he knew this conversation was one he would hold onto for as long as he could.

Kyle gave him a conspiratorial look. “So, about this parade…I think someone with that kind of legacy shouldn’t be dressed up in some stupid costume, should they?”

Shane almost smiled. “I hope not.”

---

Shane was definitely not in a stupid costume. The thick black fabric fit tight to his skin, making his biceps appear to bulge. Something about the cut made his shoulders look broad, his waist trim. It made him stand a little taller, thick-soled boots stomping against the ground as they made their way to the chariots.

Yuna, Ilya, and Fabian were waiting for him and Kyle. There was a brief pinch to Ilya’s eyes as he surveyed Shane’s new look, but he ducked his head and walked away before Shane could say anything. He watched Ilya go, catching the glint of a flask as he pulled it from his coat pocket. Shane didn’t hide his scowl.

He briefly caught the eye of another tribute who’s eyes widened at Shane’s glare. He was wearing a ridiculous fishing costume, bare chest bronzed and adorned with golden jewelry. The girl next to him was in a similar outfit and seemed to have a skirt made of fishing net. Shane lessened his scowl a little – he didn’t need to make enemies already.

Vanessa guided Rose in wearing a similar suit, her long red hair streaming down her back. Her eyes, like Shane’s, had been lined in black to match their suits, making her glare even more menacing.

“Oh you two look amazing!” exclaimed Fabian with an excited clap of his hands. “Kyle you have outdone yourself!”

Kyle smirked. “That’s not even the half of it.” He dropped his voice low so the other tributes couldn’t hear. “The suits aren’t just black.”

“They’re not?” asked Yuna, eyeing the costume on Shane’s body. This was probably extra weird for his mother, who had barely ever seen her son wearing anything she or her husband hadn’t made.

“No. The suits react to sunlight, so be careful to stay under the awning until it’s time. And don’t panic when it does, ok?”

Shane eyed Kyle warily. “Ok…”

“Don’t worry, it’s all just tricks of the light, none of it’s real. But I’m tired of snow. There’s so much more to District 8 than your winters. So the suits are symbols of those seasons – that change. Spring means renewal, it means light overcoming darkness. And that’s what you two are here to do.” Kyle grinned proudly. “I call it the midnight sun.”

Rose beamed. “It’s perfect.”

Yuna and Fabian opened their mouths to compliment Kyle but music started loudly playing over the speakers.

Yuna’s eyes snapped to Shane’s as he felt his heartrate pick up. It was time.

Fabian shuffled Shane and Rose into the chariots. “Remember, big smiles. Make good impressions!”

Shane had just enough time to shoot frightened eyes at his mom before the horses took off. The chariot lurched and Shane darted out a hand to grip the front, keeping himself steady.

He blinked into the sunlight as they rode through a great arch onto the spectator-lined road. Both sides were filled with stands of Capital citizens in elaborate fashions. They cheered and clapped, the sound deafening over the trumpets. Huge screens were spaced at intervals, showing close-ups of all the tributes in turn as they gawked at the crowds. Shane gripped the chariot harder as he caught himself on one of the screens. His eyes looked as scared as he felt, wild, unsteady. No. This was bad. This wasn’t the impression he needed to make. He needed—

Rose’s hand slipped into his. Shane glanced down, then looked at her face. She was staring back at him, eyes determined but mirroring his own fear. Shane felt what little strength she was offering him in that touch. He squeezed her hand back.

Rose turned her gaze forward, staring down the watching crowd with fierce eyes, training them on the dais at the end of the road where a single man sat watching down on everyone. Commissioner Crowell.

Their head of government was a stalwart man – bald headed with little beady eyes. As children, kids in the District would tell stories comparing him to a monster in the night, those eyes radiating pure evil. Shane prayed he would never be close enough to see for himself.

His mother had met him – as a child when she won her Games, and a couple times as a Mentor. So had Ilya. Neither of them would talk about the man.

Behind Crowell sat more people – other Officials – but Shane only recognized one. Theriault had been the Playmaker for the last ten years. He’d designed the arena Ilya had been sent into – a baren landscape of an abandoned city – barbed wire sticking out of concrete, the scraps of buildings poised to collapse at a moment’s notice, polluted streets and contaminated pipes. And he’d been the one to design Shane’s arena too. Out of everyone here, this was the man who had the most say in how Shane faired in the Games.

Shane felt his panic rising again. He knew he must be crushing Rose’s hand but she didn’t let go, her own fingers gripping tightly back. But his fear didn’t last long as a distracting shimmer caught the corner of his eye.

Shane looked over at Rose. The black on her suit was slowly being taken over by a glow, the darkness fading into pinks and oranges and purples and yellows. A sunrise.

A quick glance down proved to Shane that his own suit was doing the same. As the colours changed, the light reflected off the fabric, making them both glow with the dawning sun. Rose’s hair streamed behind her in the wind like fire.

Shane glanced down at their joined hands again, then back at Rose’s determined eyes. He set his own expression to match and raised their hands in the air.

The crowd roared. Shane could see them on the big screens, their hands joined, their eyes fierce. Unafraid. Unmoving. He turned his gaze back to the dais as Rose did the same.

Their chariot made a loop at the front, taking them past the Officials. Shane locked his eyes on Crowell and didn’t look away, even when the man tracked their progress.

Shane might be afraid of this man, but his hatred ran deeper. This was the person who had tormented his mother, his family, his community for their entire lives. Shane would figure out a way to make him pay for that, for his bloodlust to not be satisfied by Shane, to ruin as many plans as he could. He would not be entertainment.

He would be a reminder.

Whatever happened, whatever these next two weeks led to, Shane would not bow to this. Would not bow to him. Crowell had taken enough from his family. From his parents. From Ilya. He would not take Shane too.

Shane didn’t drop Rose’s hand as their chariot turned back for the road. He felt the skin on the back of his neck prickle but he kept his eyes ahead. They rode all the way back to their Mentors – to Shane’s family – with the cheers of the crowd at their backs, light streaming behind them, taking over the darkness.

Chapter 6: Secrets and Lies

Chapter Summary

First night in the Capital

Chapter Notes

“That was amazing!” said Kyle as they jumped down from the chariots. Vanessa, Marcus, and Tarek were following behind him like ducks.

Fabian came strutting over with their Mentors, excitedly clapping his hands. “We are all anyone is going to be talking about!”

“So brave,” Ilya deadpanned, taking another swig from his flask. He wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore – not a good sign.

Shane scowled at the boy. “Better avoid any open flames.”

Ilya rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to make a retort, but he stayed silent as he caught something over Shane’s shoulder.

Shane turned to find someone watching them. A boy. One of the other tributes. From his uniform-esque outfit, Shane assumed he was from District 2, known for their military power. An Allstar then. And Shane and Rose had caught his eye.

Yuna was surveying the whole parade of tributes as everyone stole looks at Shane and Rose. She set a protective hand on Shane’s shoulder. He didn’t shrug her off.

“Let’s go upstairs,” said Yuna, pressing on Shane to guide him toward the elevators.

They said goodbye to Kyle and the stylists with promises to see them again at their next public appearance. Kyle gave Shane a reassuring nod as he walked away, once again offering what little comfort he could. Shane was grateful for any slip of kindness he would receive here, knowing there were only a handful of those left.

Fabian pressed the button for the top floor as he excitedly explained, “Each of the Districts get their own floor and because you’re from 8, you get the penthouse.” He was in a lavender and yellow number today – a blouse with lots of frills and a scarf wrapped around his head with chunky gold earrings sticking out to match the gold bangles clinking at the wrists of his yellow gloves. His heels clicked as he left the elevator when the doors opened, admitting them into the most lavish apartment Shane had ever seen.

“Come along! So, this is the living room.” Fabian took a second to glance back at Shane and Rose’s gaping mouths. “I know, I know!” he exclaimed. And he was right. Shane wouldn’t really describe the space as a living room. Shane’s entire house could probably fit inside.

Every surface was panelled in a shiny expensive material. Steps walked up to the raised dining area, the centerpiece of which was a table that could fit at least ten people (Shane couldn’t even picture feeding that many people at once, let alone cooking that much food). And there were trees inside – great towering sticks that stretched from floor to ceiling, illuminated by ornate chandeliers and the glow of the city outside the windows.

Fabian continued on like Shane wasn’t having a crisis of comparison. “Now, your rooms are over here.” He pointed to a hall branching off the kitchen. “Why don’t you clean yourselves up a little before dinner?”

“They can take dinner in their rooms tonight,” cut in Yuna. Shane looked at his mother in surprise. They only had a couple nights left together, wouldn’t she want to spend that time with him? But she was pointedly not looking at Shane.

“They have another long day tomorrow,” she explained. “Better get some rest.” Then she turned her back to them and walked down a hall in the opposite direction from the tribute bedrooms.

Ilya raised his flask, swaying on his feet. “G’night.” Then he followed Yuna down the hall.

Fabian ended up showing Shane to his room. Rose’s was right next door. She didn’t look at him either before retreating inside.

“Um, the staff will bring your food…” Fabian stood with Shane in the hall as silence sunk over them. Fabian glanced back at the living room – supposedly he roomed on the side with the Mentors, or maybe he stayed at his own house in the Capital? Shane had no idea where Fabian lived or how he spent his time outside of the Games. He’d never thought about it.

“Well, goodnight,” said Fabian awkwardly. He gave Shane more of a grimace than a smile before turning his back.

Shane took a breath and opened the door to his room. Like the rest of the apartment, everything about it was very lavish. It was also dark; dark metallic walls like they were painted with charcoal, dark wood furniture, dark green bedding. The bed was huge, but it was the only thing in the room besides the end tables, making the space look like a void. Shane had no clue how he was supposed to sleep here.

He walked around tentatively, taking a cautious seat on the bed overlooking the window. He could see the city outside – high rises glowing with twinkling lights like stars. It made Shane feel exposed – he was used to his little bedroom window with thick curtains sewn by his grandmother, not this expanse of a glass wall.

There was a little device on the end table. Shane picked it up, finger hovering over a button—

The window changed. Instead of the towering buildings at night, it showed a sunny desert, rich red sand covering rolling dunes.

Shane hit the button again and the landscape changed to a forest filled with lush green vines, rain pattering through the tree canopy. Then came a city street, children running through crosswalks. Then a snowy mountaintop, the howl of wind coming lightly through some sort of sound system.

And then a lake, the water clear blue, flowers growing at the edges. Shane’s breath caught. His heart ached. It almost looked exactly like…

Shane hit the button again and the screen changed back to the city skyline. He couldn’t think about that here. It wouldn’t help him anymore.

He’d probably never see that lake again.

Shane laid down in the bed. The mattress sunk beneath his weight, more plush than any surface he’d ever slept on in his entire life.

He let out a long-suffering sigh. He wouldn’t be getting much sleep tonight.

---

“Get up.” Ilya jolted awake, his head instantly starting to pound with his rapidly beating heart.

“Wha—”

“Get. Up. Everyone’s waiting on you.”

Ilya squinted into the darkness (if there was one good thing about the Capital, it was the luxury of interior design – thank you blackout curtains. And the food. Ilya really loved the food). He could just make out a head of curly hair framing large dark eyes hovering at his bedside.

Ilya grinned, feeling his hangover ease a little. “Hello, Sveta.”

Svetlana hit him with a pillow. Ilya flinched arms coming up to shield his face. “Now is not the time for this, Ilya.” She hit him again for good measure.

“Ok, ok,” Ilya groaned.

Svetlana pulled on his arm and Ilya sat up with a groan, feeling his head spin.

“Seriously?” Svetlana rolled her eyes. She grabbed a carafe from his bedside, pouring him a glass of water. “I thought you quit.”

Ilya took the glass gratefully, downing the whole thing in two gulps. Then he held it out with shaking hands for Svetlana to refill. “I did.”

Svetlana eyed the half-empty bottle of vodka next to the water carafe. “Then when did you start again?”

Ilya didn’t answer her. They’d both be let down by it. They both knew what he’d say anyway.

“Ilya,” Svetlana said softly, disappointment leaching into her tone. Ilya felt tears prick at his eyes but he pushed them back, abruptly standing from the bed. He swayed on his feet a little and Svetlana put out a hand to steady him. He waved her off.

“The others are here?”

“Yes. Yuna sent me to get you.”

Ilya scowled at the mention of his fellow Mentor. At least it hadn’t been her to come wake him. She’d done enough of that in the two years they’d been acquainted and had given up on the effort a while ago. Even back in District 8, she more often sent her son to get him than calling herself. Not that Ilya complained about that (most of the time).

Ilya slammed back his second glass of water and left the cup on a side table. “Then let’s not keep them waiting.”

He strutted out of the room before Svetlana could say more.

Out of all the Mentors, Svetlana Vetrova was his favourite. They’d met during last year’s Games – Yuna had slunk off for one of her secret meetings and Ilya had been left alone at the Mentor bar. He’d been overwhelmed by the lavish room, the moody lighting, the big screens above the bar rolling Capital propaganda in preparation for displaying their tributes dying in the Games.

Most of the other Mentors had been multiple drinks deep by the time Ilya sat down. He’d quit drinking a couple months prior so Yuna leaving an alcoholic alone at the bar probably wasn’t the best idea, but Ilya knew by then that everyone was on their own in the Capital.

The pretty woman taking an interest in him hadn’t been part of the plan. Her being the one to decide they were better off as friends was even more shocking, but they had a surprising amount in common.  

Like Ilya, Svetlana had spent her early years in District 1 before being forced to move due to her father’s job. Like Ilya, Svetlana had ended up in the Games through no fault of her own. Unlike Ilya, Svetlana was the youngest Victor in history, having won her Games at just 13.

Needless to say, she was a fiercely strong woman – both physically and mentally. Ilya was glad she was on his side.

They found Yuna sitting with two men and another woman in the penthouse living room.

“Where’s Harris?” Ilya asked Elena immediately. He flopped on the couch next to her, as far away from Yuna as he could get. Svetlana took a seat on his other side.

“He’s taking care of one of our tributes,” said Elena shortly. Ilya sighed. Of course.

Harris was the most…emotional out of the Mentors. He had a soft spot for the tributes – a soft spot for everyone really. It would be more annoying if Ilya didn’t like the guy so much.

It was fine if he missed this meeting – Elena would fill him in later. They were both Mentors for District 6, both a couple years older than Ilya. Elena more so – she’d been a Mentor for going on a decade.

Even though Harris had been doing this for many years himself, he still grew too attached every time. Ilya knew from Elena that Harris took it hard every time their tributes didn’t make it – which was often since Harris was the last person from District 6 to win the Games. But not the only one. 6 wasn’t an outlier District like 8 – they’d had enough winners over the decades to fill more than two houses in the Victors Village.

It meant Harris got to stay close to his family. Or at least, what family he had left.

No one faulted him for comforting his tributes. Not after everything he’d been through.

“We need to get to business,” said Yuna, voice low, glancing cautiously at the hall to the tribute bedrooms. Shane was sleeping somewhere in there. So was Rose. Ilya was going to avoid that hallway like the plague.

Yuna turned to the man sitting next to her. “What’s the plan?”

Scott Hunter regarded Yuna Hollander with cautious eyes. He squared his shoulders, sitting up a little taller under her scrutinizing gaze. It made him look every bit the fit and handsome gentleman with his well-groomed stubble and coiffed hair. Exactly how he was supposed to be – after all, he was the Scott Hunter.

Scott was a Capital darling. He’d won his Games at 16 and then the hearts of everyone in the League. It made sense, the guy was a total heartthrob and obnoxiously nice. He made a killing in the Capital but Ilya kind of hated the guy. He often did this super annoying thing of pretending to be shy or surprised by people’s interest in him.

Almost as surprised as Ilya had been the first time he’d come to one of these meetings and found Hunter there. Ilya had no idea what swayed him to their cause, but then again, it wasn’t like they knew each other’s stories. All the Mentors played their cards close to the vest. It was safer that way. If no one knew you, they couldn’t use anything against you.

“We’re sticking to the regular routine,” said Scott authoritatively. “Keep your heads down, collect information when you can, relay it to your designated parties.”

“What about the tributes?” asked Yuna. Everyone in the room sat stiffly. They all knew what she really meant, but they’d hedge around the elephant in the room in hopes that she didn’t bring it up directly. Ilya wasn’t optimistic about that.

“More of the usual,” Scott confirmed. “Comfort them until they’re inside the arena, try to prep them as best you can, make good press, get sponsors—"

“And Shane?” Yuna interrupted.

Everyone in the room went silent. No one would look at Yuna, not even Ilya.

He caught the eye of the other man in the room, the one who hadn’t said anything. Not unusual for Eric Bennet. Ilya didn’t know much about him, just that the guy liked staying quiet and he could be a little odd. Ilya had caught him talking to himself under his breath on more than one occasion – at least more than he’d ever spoken to Ilya out loud.

Eric raised an eyebrow at Ilya, almost daring him to say something. There was going to be sides picked in this conversation and Ilya needed to decide where he stood.

Ilya clenched his jaw. He’d already decided that a year ago.

The Mentors all glanced at each other, staying silent. Yuna looked between them incredulously.

“We have to do something.”

“Yuna,” started Elena.

“We can’t just leave him!”

“I’m sorry.” It seemed Elena, like usual, would be taking point on this. “There’s too much at risk to lose it now.”

“You can’t expect me to just—”

“No one’s expecting you to do nothing. You can still Mentor him, get him sponsors—”

“You know that doesn’t mean shit in there!” Yuna exclaimed, voice rising. Everyone’s eyes darted to the tribute’s hallway, waiting a second to see if the outburst had woken anyone. When no sound came, Elena continued.

“There isn’t anything else we can do for him. What’s done is done, he’s going into the Games.”

Yuna dropped her voice low again. “We’ve been working on the plan—"

“It’s not ready yet.”

“Then Speed. It. Up,” Yuna said through clenched teeth. Her entire body had gone taught, ready to spring from the sofa. Scott and Eric were sitting on the edge too, like they were preparing to hold her back if she actually lunged at Elena.

“We. Can’t,” Elena gritted back. “We can’t risk everything for one person. We can’t give the go-ahead on something that isn’t guaranteed to work, it’ll be years of progress down the drain.”

“I don’t care about progress! I care about keeping my son alive. None of this matters if he doesn’t – if he doesn’t…” Yuna wasn’t able to finish the thought.

Elena’s eyes softened. They all knew that feeling too well. “I’m sorry. Decision’s final.”

“Decision from who?”

“Yuna,” Scott warned.

“No!” she turned on him. “That is my son going into the arena.”

Elena jumped back in. “I’m sorry but that doesn’t matter. This is how we’ve always done it.”

“I don’t care. We can make excuses to do differently—"

“We have precedent for it. Harris—"

“I don’t give a shit about Harris. This is my family. I will not stand by while they throw my boy in the arena.”

“No one is asking you to stand by. You can still be a Mentor. You can still help—"

“But not totally, right? I’m supposed to do everything I can, but not actually everything.”

“It didn’t work last time,” Ilya mumbled like he couldn’t help it – probably a side effect of the alcohol still in his system. Or maybe the havoc the entire situation had been wrecking on his psyche for two years.

Yuna caught it, turning furious eyes on him. A lesser man might have flinched, but Ilya was used to it. “Don’t you fucking dare you insolent little—"

“Ok, that’s enough Yuna,” Svetlana jumped up from the couch, putting herself between Ilya and Yuna, who was on her feet and now really looked like she was about to lunge across the coffee table.

Svetlana raised her hands like she was placating an animal, showing she wasn’t a threat – a total lie, they all knew Svetlana was always a threat, even unarmed. “We know this is unfair—"

“Unfair? You don’t know shit. None of you have children,” Yuna spat, looking around frantically. They all turned their heads to their laps. It was true – none of them were parents. Most of them barely even had families. Not anymore.

“Yuna.” Scott rose too. He reached out, placing a tentative hand on her shoulder. Yuna tensed but didn’t shove him off. “No one wants this to happen – not to Shane or to you – but these are the cards we’ve been dealt. We’re going to have to deal with it in the only ways we can.”

Yuna’s bottom lip wobbled as her eyes hardened. “This isn’t the only way,” she whispered.

Scott’s hand tightened on her shoulder, whether as a comforting squeeze or to hold her back, Ilya couldn’t tell. “It is if we want it to work. There’s a bigger picture to think about.”

Yuna stayed silent. Now she was the one who wouldn’t look at them.

Svetlana spoke up first. “I think that’s enough for tonight. We have a lot of work to do tomorrow.”

Elena and Eric rose from the sofa, enough of a dismissal for everyone. Yuna didn’t walk them to the door, instead letting Elena lead everyone out. Ilya stayed seated on the couch. Svetlana shot him a concerned grimace, eyes darting to his shaking hands, before turning out the door.

Scott and Eric hung back a second, Scott’s hand still on Yuna’s shoulder. “I know this isn’t what we planned.”

Yuna looked up at him, eyes filling with tears, both from grief and frustration. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You trained him?” Scott asked.

Yuna swallowed, then nodded minutely. It was illegal for the outlying Districts to train tributes – that was a ‘privilege’ reserved for Allstars – but as always, Yuna found her ways.

“Then you aren’t leaving him defenseless,” Scott assured.

Yuna offered him what might have been a smile in return but it was hard to make out through her trembling. Scott nodded once and walked to the door.

Surprisingly, Eric stayed. Scott paused to wait for him as Eric turned to Yuna. He was a big man with a thick beard and the closest to her in age though still off by a decade. He had to look down to meet her eyes, but his own were soft with sympathy as he offered what he could.

“I’m sorry.” The words were empty. They always were. They’d all been hanging on for too long now, the light at the end of the tunnel getting farther and farther away with each step forward.

Yuna’s entire face crumpled in a sob and she rushed out of the room to her bed. Eric didn’t spare Ilya a glance as he left, Scott shutting the door behind them.

Ilya felt bone-deep weariness settle into his body, moulding him to the couch. He needed another drink.

He rose with a great big sigh. His feet were slightly more sturdy beneath him now but that meant the pounding in his head was becoming unbearable. Maybe they had some gin in the kitchen—

Brown eyes staring at him from the hallway. Ilya stopped in his tracks.

“You going to tell me what that was about?” asked Shane, jaw ticking.

Ilya looked at the other boy, frozen. He was in sleep clothes, soft and rumpled like he’d just gotten out of bed. Had their argument woken him up? Or had he been coming to the kitchen for food? Or maybe he’d been venturing across the apartment, coming to the other hall of bedrooms to see…

“I can’t,” replied Ilya, only somewhat regretfully.

“Take it to your grave, will you?” Shane said ruefully, like it was a joke.

“Yes.” It wasn’t a joke.

The condescending humor faded from Shane’s eyes. He shrugged a shoulder, looking at Ilya’s bare feet on the carpet. “I could too. Not like I’m gonna live passed the next week.”

“Shane—”

“Stop shutting me out, Ilya.” And then he looked at him with those brown eyes, wide and sad, the world between them. “Please.”

That did it. Ilya ground his teeth, pursed his lips, blinked twice. He glanced back down the hall Yuna had disappeared to, then the one leading to Rose’s room. If Shane was quiet enough sneaking around then Yuna might be too. Or Rose. He didn’t need anyone else hearing this.

“Come with—”

A door clicked down the hall. Rose came out of her room and stopped, eyes on Shane. Then she saw Ilya standing across the room. She stared between them.

Ilya took one look at the girl behind Shane and made his decision. He tapped two fingers against his leg twice – later. Shane’s eyes shuttered but he kept his mouth shut.

“You should sleep. Training tomorrow.” Ilya didn’t bother wishing the tributes goodnight as he walked away – neither of them would ever sleep well again.

Chapter End Notes

Oooh we're finally getting somewhere! I love a good slow burn that doesn't give you everything right away, especially in a WIP because the anticipatory tension is so delicious :) So excited for you guys to meet everyone and find out who everyone is in this!!

Comments and kudos are appreciated. Hope you enjoyed.
-Oaks

Chapter 7: Fight For It*

Chapter Summary

Shane has a run-in with his school bullies.

Chapter Notes

Hello! Sorry guys, I didn't realize it had been so long since I updated this one. So here's another flashback chapter :)
Comments and kudos are appreciated.
-Oaks

TWO AND A HALF YEARS AGO

Shane’s mother used to tell him to avoid getting into trouble when she dropped him off at school. Shane never knew what type of trouble she expected him to get into. She had even loosened up on her rules over the years after discovering she might have been a little too strict with Shane (he really was a very boring child).

Regardless, Yuna always said, if something felt wrong, then it probably was. Listen to his gut, take action immediately, even if that meant running away. Yuna liked to say people are hardwired for survival, all you have to do is know how to follow your instincts.

Shane knew he was fucked about halfway through the alley. Deep down, he knew he shouldn’t’ve taken the shortcut on his way home from school, but he’d been running late and didn’t want to keep his parents waiting for dinner. He also didn’t want them to ask where he’d been because his mother would be extra angry if she found out he’d been sitting in the meadow to avoid his classmates (but it was so hard to resist, everything just starting to bloom as spring set in, the air fresh and quiet. It was the perfect place to be alone with his thoughts, even if it was technically outside the boundaries of their District and if he was caught…).

Shane had been rushing, head down, not checking corners before ducking around buildings. Which was how he ran smackdab into Sorren Mitka’s back. And then promptly dropped his journal in the mud.

Shane bent to pick it up with a stuttered, “S-Sorry—”

A boot came down over the cover, pressing the leather into the wet dirt with a squelch. Shane’s stomach turned.

“Hollander,” cooed Sorren. “We missed you in atheletics today.”

Shane swallowed. He kept his eyes on that boot over his journal. He’d skipped that class. His teacher probably should’ve called home about it, but she knew why he avoided it. She wouldn’t fault him for the absence.

“What? No explanation for skipping out?” Kolya came up behind Sorren, swinging an arm over his shoulder. “Didn’t know you were such a bad boy Hollander.”

Shane glanced behind him, eyeing the mouth of the alley he’d entered through. Maybe if he was fast enough—

Soren’s big hand wrapped around Shane’s scrawny arm. His heart dropped into his stomach.

“Now where do you think you’re going?”

Shane’s focus zeroed in on the hand on his arm. Sorren’s strong fingers were wrapped completely around the limb, grip firm, not letting go. Shane tried to wrench it free and the other boys laughed.

“Tell you what, if you can get free, we’ll let you go without the hassle.”

Shane didn’t believe that for a second. Sorren tightened his grip, pulling Shane up so their faces were closer. A sneer marred his already ugly face. “Or maybe we’ll have a little fun first.”

Sorren shook Shane’s entire body, pulling him around. Shane skidded through the mud as he tried to keep his footing. That was important. If they got him on the ground, he’d be done for.

His mother’s advice rang through his head as he tried to keep his panic under control. Stay calm, keep breathing, slow everything down.

Negotiate.

“What do you want with me?” he tried to keep the tremble from his voice.

Sorren scanned over Shane’s entire body. His eyes stopped on his feet. “Those new shoes?”

Shane stiffened. His dad had just finished this pair, a gift to Shane after a recent growth spurt. One that still didn’t even compare to Sorren let alone Kolya.

“They wouldn’t even fit you,” Shane tried to argue.

The boys chuckled.

Sorren tightened his grip again. Shane’s fingers were starting to go numb. He would definitely have finger-shaped bruises tomorrow.

His eyes stayed on Sorren’s feet which were at least three sizes larger than Shane’s. Then his eyes trailed to his journal in the mud. He stiffened again.

Kolya caught it.

“What do we have here?” He leisurely stalked over to the book and nudged it with a muddy boot.

Shane’s first instinct was to tell him to leave it alone, but he knew that would only entice the boy farther. He stayed silent.

Until Kolya picked it up.

“Don’t—”

“Aw, does baby Hollander not want us to look at his diary?” Sorren cooed in his ear.

Shane started to struggle again, wrenching his arm against Sorren’s grip, wide eyes on the journal in Kolya’s hand.

Sorren pulled Shane around so his back was to his chest, wrapping his arm over Shane’s neck in a headlock. Shane could feel that panic rising again. He needed to get out of this.

“What’s inside?” Sorren asked Kolya.

Kolya grinned. “Let’s take a look.”

He went to open it, Sorren’s focus on the book for Kolya’s reaction.

Shane took the opportunity.

He slammed his head back into Sorren’s chin, then sunk his teeth into his arm. Sorren cried out, letting go of Shane immediately. He stumbled away, trying not to land in the mud, and swung around so his back wasn’t to the two boys.

Sorren’s nose was bleeding.

The boys looked at him with raging fury in their eyes. So much for letting him go.

“You little—"

Shane did the only thing he could; he ran.

---

Ilya found the meadow by accident. He’d stumbled across the clearing while traipsing through the woods, an activity he’d taken up to avoid going home.

So far, he hated District 8. The weather was constantly shifting, going from too hot to absolutely frigid with no warning. Ilya had spent months wondering if winter would ever let up, going from single days of hopeful sunshine to deary grey until the snow finally switched to rain with enough consistency for the infernal white powder to melt completely off the ground. Now he was praying for the rain to stop long enough for the ground to solidify again.

But the weather wasn’t the only awful part of this place. Besides the grey sky, and grey buildings, and grey people, there was his father. Grigori hadn’t just taken up a new position; he was thriving in it. And as a result, everyone in town stayed far, far away from the Rozanov boys.

Alexei had already fallen in with a truly awful crowd – boys that were too loud and too risky. Now that he was an adult, he couldn’t be Drafted anymore and he didn’t have to go to school, so Grigori had found something else for his son to do. Which meant there were now two Rozanov’s in District 8’s police force.

Ilya kept his head down. He avoided the other kids at school, he didn’t talk in class, and he certainly didn’t talk to his brother at home. Ilya hadn’t exactly been popular in District 1, but he’d gotten along with the other kids on account of his father’s status and had Sasha. Now he had no one, and his father’s status was more of a hinderance than an asset.

So he’d taken to spending a lot of time by himself. Which was how he’d found the District boundary. There was no risk in breaking the law when there was no one to find out. And no one in District 8 had any interest in Ilya.

The meadow reminded him of his mother. She’d loved flowers – had kept a garden until she died. She’d taught Ilya enough about keeping things alive when he was young that he recognized the plants in the early stages of bloom. They’d probably be in full by next week. Ilya would have to sneak back here.

A rustle in the trees made him freeze. His whole body locked up, not sure if he should crouch down to hid in the tall grass, or make a run for the tree line. He didn’t know what type of wildlife inhabited these parts, but he didn’t really want to find out.

The rustling grew louder, until it was a crashing through the bush. Ilya whipped around, bracing to come in contact with—

Shane Hollander.

The boy stopped at the edge of the trees, eyes wide and face flushed.

“What are you—?” Ilya had barely had time to ask before more rustling came from behind Shane.

Shane took one panicked look behind him, then stared back at Ilya. “Run!”

Shane took off through the field and Ilya was quick to follow. They sprinted through the grass until they reached the trees on the other side. Shane started expertly weaving between the trunks and branches, clearly knowing his way around. Ilya followed, jumping over roots and ducking under low hanging branches when Shane did.

All the while, the crashing footsteps remained on their tail.

Ilya followed Shane around another tree, the both of them pushing themselves to keep going. His lungs were burning, heartbeat pumping in his ears. Whatever Shane was running from must be bad for the look on his face—

Shane abruptly swung around and pulled Ilya by the wrist.

They went crashing down hard and Ilya found himself folded up under a ledge of dirt held together by the root system. Shane was next to him, body pressed to his in the small hiding space, shuffling them both into the makeshift burrow.

The footsteps thundered above them, then stopped.

“Where’d he go?”

Ilya recognized that voice – Sorren Mitka, the awful boy from school. And if he was here, then that meant he was with—

“No idea, but he can’t be far,” responded Kolya.

Ilya tensed even more, trying to keep his laboured breathing quiet. He had no idea how long they’d been chasing Shane, but if they’d already put in this much effort, they wouldn’t let him go easy. The boys were twice Shane’s size. Ilya didn’t know how he’d fight both of them to get them out of this. No wonder Shane ran.

He looked at the other boy, expecting to see wide frightened eyes staring back, but instead, Shane’s face was calm. Determined. Pensive.

Shane picked up a rock. Good idea. Better to have a weapon—

Shane lobbed it overtop of them. Ilya heard it crash down in the brush maybe twenty feet away. In the opposite direction of their hiding place.

“Over there!” exclaimed Kolya and he and Sorren took off running.

Shane let out a sigh of relief.

Ilya looked at the other boy. His face was beat-red, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. His jacket was hanging down his shoulder and there was mud on the cuffs of his jeans. Everything about him rumpled.

One look down at himself proved Ilya wasn’t any better.

Maybe it was from the absurdity of seeing put-together Shane Hollander so torn apart, or maybe it was the rapidly fading adrenaline, but Ilya couldn’t help it – he started laughing.

Shane looked at him incredulously, like he couldn’t figure out what Ilya found funny about their situation. Then his shoulders started to shake.

Before long they were both gasping for breath for a different reason, clutching their stomachs as they wheezed through the giggles.

After they calmed down enough to catch their breath, Shane gave Ilya a guilty look. “Sorry.”

Ilya stared at the other boy incredulously. “How did you know this was here?” He wasn’t sure if he meant the burrow or the meadow, but either way, Shane was clearly familiar with the woods.

Shane looked a little more guilty. “Oh uh, I come here. Sometimes…A lot.”

Ilya raised an eyebrow. “This is outside the boundary.”

Shane’s eyes shuttered as he said accusingly, “You’re here too.”

Ilya couldn’t argue with that, so instead he grinned. “True.”

He stood up, stretching his legs out from where they’d cramped in the burrow. He surveyed their surroundings. Sorren and Kolya were nowhere to be found. They’d actually managed to ditch them.

He held out a hand to Shane.

He hesitated a moment, looking between Ilya’s still-smiling face and the offered hand. Then he took it.

Shane’s palm was warm in Ilya’s as he hauled him up. Standing upright, Shane was barely shorter than him. He must have grown since they’d met.

Ilya looked down at where Shane was still holding his hand. The other boy pulled away when he noticed, face turning red but not from exertion.

Shane wiped his palm on his pants. Then he saw how dirty it was and set about dusting himself off. Ilya watched the whole thing with mild amusement.

When he was satisfied, Shane looked up at the tree canopy. The grey of the sky was slowly darkening to a deep blue.

“We should get back before it gets dark.”

Shane gripped a branch on the tree and hauled himself back onto the path. Then he turned and held out a hand to Ilya.

It was his turn to hesitate this time, looking between Shane’s pensive face and the proffered hand.

Ilya took it, letting Shane haul him up so his shoes didn’t slip in the mud.

He gestured in the direction he thought the District boundary was. “Lead the way, Hollander.”

---

Shane wasn’t sure what to make of Ilya Rozanov. His mother had of course warned him away from the boy, citing all kinds of trouble, but from Shane’s experience, Ilya was rather unassuming. He kept to himself in class, only speaking when spoken to by the teachers, but he seemed to be doing well academically.

Shane had no idea what he did after school – no one did – but since he’d ran into him in the meadow, maybe there was more to Ilya than met the eye. How long had he been there? Had Shane just missed him by an hour? Or minutes? How many times had he been across the boundary?

“Hey, thanks for not…” Shane wasn’t sure how to put it.

Ilya raised a sly eyebrow. “Giving you away?”

Shane felt himself blush a little. He didn’t know why. “Yeah.”

The other boy shrugged. “I do not need to cause you more trouble.”

“Right.” Shane carefully stepped over a tree root. Ilya followed suit behind him.

“Why were they chasing you?” Ilya posed curiously.

“Uh, we had a…run in. In town.”

Both Ilya’s eyebrows shot up this time. “You ran here all the way from town?”

Shane shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea. Figured I know these parts better than them.”

“Ah yes, you are a trouble maker.” Ilya grinned and nudged Shane’s elbow. He was a little surprised by the contact. The gesture.

Shane looked at the ground. “I’m not.”

They walked in silence for a beat before Ilya asked, “Do they bother you often? Sorren and Kolya?”

“Oh uh…” Shane wasn’t sure how much he wanted to admit. It wasn’t like everyone wasn’t aware of it anyway. “I guess.”

“Why?”

Shane almost laughed. “Beats me.”

“What did they do? This time?”

Shane tried to make it seem not as bad as it felt. “Oh they just roughed around a bit. Took my stuff.”

“You’re stuff?”

“Just books. It’s fine, they’re probably destroyed already. I’ll get new ones.” And replace his journal. It wasn’t that the book couldn’t be replaced, but the drawings inside…

They reached the fence that marked the boundary. Ilya seemed more confident now, knowing where he was going. He got ahead of Shane, finding the hole in the fence that they could climb through—

A twig snapped.

They both froze as a figure came out of the woods.

Grigori Rozanov trained a gun on their heads. “Thought I heard something out here.”

Shane’s heart leapt into his throat. Beside him, Ilya was standing very, very still. He’d stopped breathing.

There was more movement as Officers came out of the brush. Two of them were holding Sorren and Kolya with their hands cuffed behind their backs.

“Now what would you boys be doing outside the barrier?” asked Grigori, voice low and menacing.

Shane tried to swallow passed the lump in his throat.

“It’s my fault,” said Ilya. Shane’s head turned to look at him so fast he almost got whiplash. He was about to open his mouth to protest when Ilya continued. “I wanted to explore. I convinced Shane to come with me.”

Shane noticed how he didn’t offer and explanation for Sorren or Kolya.

“Insolent. And reckless,” Grigori snarled at his son. He lowered his gun. Turned his back on them.

“Take them all in,” he barked at the Officers.

The four boys got loaded into police vehicles – separate ones. Ilya’s father drove Shane’s.

“You’re the Hollander boy, aren’t you?” he asked, beady eyes looking at Shane through the rearview mirror.

“Yes sir,” Shane said quietly. He compulsively picked at the mud drying on his pants.

Grigori grinned. “I’m sure you’re mother with love to hear about this.”

And he was definitely right. Yuna Hollander came storming into the police station like a hurricane.

“Where is he?”

Shane cringed in his chair against the far wall, trying to make himself smaller. Grigori was in his office with Ilya – they boy had been shoved in there before Shane could check on him – but he came out quickly at the sound of Yuna’s demanding tone.

“Mrs. Hollander—”

“Where is my son?”

“He’s here. We’re holding him.” He gestured to where Shane was sitting. He watched his mother take in his dishevelled appearance – the mud, the drying sweat. The handcuffs.

Yuna turned back to the Police Colonel. “Holding? Why the fuck are you holding him?”

Grigori gave her that slimy grin. “He crossed the boundary.”

Yuna’s eyes immediately snapped back to Shane, momentarily filled with outrage before she covered it up carefully. Oh Shane was in deep shit.

“And?”

Grigori seemed a little miffed by the question. “And? He broke the law.”

“He’s a kid.”

“He broke the law.”

“He was being stupid. I’m sure he knows better now.” That last part was said with another pointed look at Shane. He nodded immediately.

“Still. There needs to be punishment,” said Grigori.

Yuna’s jaw worked. She looked at Shane, then back at the Colonel. “May we speak privately?”

Grigori seemed delighted by the idea. “Right this way.”

He brought Yuna into the far office – the one Ilya wasn’t in. Shane could see them through the window, watching as whatever argument they were having quickly got heated. Yuna’s hands were flying with her gestures. Grigori’s face was turning red.

Shane felt his throat closing up again. He kept picking at the mud on his jeans. They would take a while to clean – the dirt caked into the fabric. There was a small rip in one knee from falling in the woods. He’d have to sew it later – there was no way his dad would do it for him after the reason it happened.

The muffled yelling in the office died down but Shane could see Grigori was the one doing the talking. From the way Yuna was clenching her fists at her sides, she wasn’t happy about what he was saying. But she wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes were trained over his shoulder, through the window, right on Shane. They narrowed on the rapidly purpling bruise on his arm.

Grigori finished. He had that slimy smile on his face again.

Yuna gave a single short nod.

They both walked out.

“Get up. We’re going home,” barked Yuna.

Shane swallowed and rose to his feet. An Officer checked with Grigori before removing Shane’s cuffs.

Yuna wrapped a hand around his arm, the one without the bruise. Shane tried not to flinch away – he’d never seen his mother this angry. At least, not at him.

Yuna started pulling him to the door.

Shane glanced back at the office Ilya was in. He couldn’t just leave him there. Not after he’d helped him. He pulled against his mother’s hold. “Wait, I want to—"

She whipped around, snarling at Shane, “Not. Another. Word.”

Shane stared wide-eyed back. In all his life, he’d never fucked up like this. He had no idea what punishment his mother had negotiated with Grigori, but he knew there was something waiting for him. Something that scared Yuna.

Shane kept quiet and followed his mother out of the station.

---

The next morning, Shane awoke to his first day of punishment – working construction on the new school addition. He was already dreading seeing Sorren and Kolya there. He had no idea if he’d see Ilya.

His father fed him a hearty breakfast. His mother gave him the silent treatment the whole time. Shane left the house before the tension could become suffocating.

But something stopped him on the way out. There, on the porch, tucked to the side where it wouldn’t get trampled, was a leatherbound volume with a boot print on the front.

Chapter 8: Tributes

Chapter Notes

One of the end conversations got away from me a bit, so longer update today :)
Comments and kudos are appreciated. Enjoy!
-Oaks

Shane stood next to Rose in the training facility. A boy from District 7 stood on his other side. He was tall, blond, and overwhelmingly handsome – a fact that had not gone unnoticed by the girl from District 7. She was occasionally stealing glances at him with adoring brown eyes.

Shane was pointedly not looking at Rose. Instead, he was watching the room of Gamemakers that were supposed to be watching the Tributes, but instead, they were eating and laughing and seemed to have no interest in the children, especially the Head Gamemaker, Pierce Theriault.

The man was dressed in a gaudy black suit, cut sharply to his figure, with red lapels. His hair was slicked back in a way Shane found oily but was clearly the common fashion from a quick survey of the rest of the Gamemakers. He was like a magnet in the room, everyone hovering around in the orbit of his gravity, hanging onto every word.

This was a man with power and one who knew how to wield it. He was the type of person Shane’s mother would always tell him to stay away from.

Yuna had given Shane and Rose minimal advice that morning: don’t ignore the survival skills, keep your physical skills to yourselves, don’t let the other Tributes see your weaknesses.

It was the quick version of everything she’d taught Shane over the years. Every time they went hunting or foraging, every time she taught him how to find shelter or a place to hide. The more recent years where she’d secretly been teaching him to fight.

Shane always had the sense that she was preparing him for something, but he’d had no idea it would be this.

He hadn’t seen Ilya this morning. The boy was back to avoiding him. He tried not to think about that right now – there were more important things to focus on.

He tuned into the instructor in front of them. The next three days were going to be the most critical of his life. He needed to be paying attention.

“In two weeks, fifteen of you will be dead. Only one of you will be alive.” A ripple went through the Tribute’s at the instructor’s words, but she didn’t pause to let the sentiment sink in. She was a militant woman, dressed in plain grey clothes of police issue with her hair pulled back severely into a bun. She plowed on through a speech she’d clearly given several times.

“Who that is depends on how well you pay attention over the next four days, particularly to what I’m about to say. First, no fighting with the other tributes, you’ll have plenty of time for that in the arena.”

There were some snickers from the Allstar Tributes at the other end of the huddle. Shane pointedly avoided looking at them.

“There are four compulsory exercises,” the instructor continued. “The rest will be individual training. My advice is, don’t ignore the survival skills. Everybody wants to grab a sword, but most of you will die of natural causes. 10% from infection, 20% from dehydration. Exposure can kill just as easily as a knife.” She said the last part ominously. Shane wondered if she was doing it for dramatics, or if she was trying to tell them something. Warning them.

The Tributes broke up from their huddle gradually. Some of them went off in their District pairs. Others ditched their partners as fast as possible. Rose immediately walked away from Shane.

He looked around the training facility for where to start. Maybe a review of plants and insects? Or fire making practice? There was a set of throwing knives displayed on the far wall. Shane would stay far away from those.

He found himself at a knot-tying station. The simple repetitive motions were helping keep his mind calm, giving him something non-taxing to do. It also gave him the perfect vantage point to watch the other Tributes.

The Allstars immediately took over the weapons stations, slashing around with swords and knives, shooting targets and lifting heavy. They were loud and obnoxious, cheering and laughing every time one of them hit a target. Shane felt a little queasy just watching and from a glance around the room, he wasn’t the only one.

The tall blond boy was hanging around another boy built like a brick house. His arms were easily the size of Shane’s head from where they were crossed over his chest, a deep frown on his face while watching the Allstars celebrate another bullseye.

Shane had a brief moment to wonder what District he was from before a little girl approached him. She was very small, hair done up in pigtails, and looked overwhelmingly lost. The boy put a hand on her shoulder and guided her away from where hee wide eyes were watching the Allstars had started tossing a heavy ball back and forth – one that probably weighed just as much as the girl.

They were from District 5, then – the only District with a twelve-year-old in the Games this year. Willa. Shane hadn’t had a chance to memorize everyone’s names and ages yet, but that one had stuck out immediately.

Further surveying of the facility showed the girls quickly forming an alliance. One that Rose was right at the center of. The girls from 6 and 7 were slightly younger, faces still puffy with youth, and hanging onto Rose’s every word. They were at the fire making station and Shane watched as Rose demonstrated the proper technique until smoke started billowing from between her sticks.

The other girls watched with rapt fascination before Rose helped them set up their own sticks and start practicing.

Shane wondered when she’d learned how to do that.

Even though the other Tributes had grouped up, Shane kept to himself for the day. Even at home, he wasn’t known for making friends. With the end of his life so near, it wasn’t like he was going to change that now.

He ran through the plant and insect guide, making sure he remembered everything. He built one fire, back to the training area, trying to hide his progress from watching eyes. He avoided the Allstars, and the weapons, and the weights. He kept his head down, just like his mother told him to.

Near the end of the session, he returned to the knot tying station to see how much he’d retained. It was going ok, but there was one knot that he couldn’t get the hang of, the whole thing coming apart if he pulled wrong on one end.

“If you keep more slack on that end, it’ll make the end knot tighter,” said a voice from behind Shane. He looked up, a little startled to find the boy from District 5. He had messy light brown hair that was flopping into his eyes. He used a hand to brush it away from his face, only for the strands to fall back a moment later.

He shot Shane a hesitant smile. “I can show you? If you want?”

Shane looked down at the knot he’d been practicing, then back at the other boy. He shrugged. “Sure, why not.”

He held out the rope for the boy to take as he sat down next to Shane.

His deft fingers easily unravelled the knot Shane had been tying, then he held them up and showed Shane the process. Once finished, he held it up proudly. “See? Like that.”

He passed the rope back to Shane. Shane copied his movements until the knot held. He couldn’t help his own pleased little smile at the rope.

He offered that smile to the other boy. “Thanks.”

He grinned back. “No problem.”

A loud peel of laughter drew Shane’s attention across the room. His eyes immediately caught on red hair. Rose was still with the girls, but they were also with the boys from 7 and 5 now. And they were all laughing at something she said.

Shane felt that pit grow in his stomach.

The boy next to him was still talking. “Hey, I saw you going through the plants earlier…”

Shane stiffened.

The other boy didn’t notice. “I was wondering if maybe you’d teach me some stuff? There’s so much information – way too much for me to sort through now – so maybe you could let me know what’s the important parts? I-I could show you more knots? Or I’m also good with—”

“All the stuff’s important,” Shane said shortly on first instinct. It’s what his mother said when he found things too boring and she wanted to keep his attention.

The other boy stopped, eyes shuttering, shoulders turning inward. “R-Right. Sorry.”

He went to get up and walk away. Shane looked back at the knot in his hand. It was good, but not quite as nice as the one the boy had done. Then he looked back at Rose. She had a hand on the District 5 girl’s shoulder.

Shane looked back at the District 5 boy. Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to make one alliance…As long as he didn’t get attached.

He grabbed his wrist before he could leave. “But I could still teach you…If you show me more of these?” He held up the knot again.

The other boy positively beamed. “Y-Yeah of course! I know loads of stuff.”

He sat back down next to Shane, immediately pulling out more rope. “I used to work on a boat with my dad. He taught me loads of stuff. We’d go out fishing…” Shane tuned out the ramble as he unravelled his own rope getting ready to start again.

He tuned back in when the boy turned to him and said, “Hey, sorry, I didn’t get your name?”

Shane looked at him skeptically one more time before brushing it off. He held out a hand to shake. “Shane.”

The other boy gave him a wide toothy grin and took his hand. “Hayden.”

---

Ilya skipped dinner to work. And if he avoided Shane in the process, then that was just a bonus.

He’d spent the evening with Svetlana in the Lounge, schmoozing with sponsors. He had no idea how many times he’d nodded along as someone waxed poetic about a mother Mentoring her son, but he’d been about ready to strangle everyone in that room by the time Svetlana pulled him away. She’d slipped him a pack of cigarettes when she sent him back to his room.

So now Ilya was avoiding people and trying to get a handle on his own thoughts, but there was only so much avoiding he could do.

There was a click and whoosh as the balcony door opened. Ilya kept his eyes on the skyline, smoke rising in a plume over his head as he took another drag of his cigarette. These were a small luxury, one he could only find in the Capital. He’d taken to sneaking a handful back with him after the Games, but those rarely lasted more than a month.

Shane hated them, and sure enough…

“You’re not supposed to be smoking.”

Ilya rolled his eyes as he turned around. “I had one.”

Shane eyed the cigarette in his hand. The one that he’d clearly just lit.

Ilya rolled his eyes again. “Fine. Two.”

Shane raised an eyebrow.

“Three.” Ilya conceded.

Shane walked across the balcony to stand next to Ilya, draping his arms over the railing to look out at the city. He’d positioned himself a good couple feet away, enough that Ilya would have to take a full stride to reach him. Enough that he couldn’t share the warmth of his body, couldn’t reach out and touch.

“How was training?” asked Ilya.

“You’d know if you’d come to dinner,” Shane said, but his tone lacked the bite Ilya would expect from that sentence. Instead, he sounded tired. Ilya took another drag of his cigarette, waiting him out.

Shane, always so stubborn, waited too.

Ilya gave it three more drags before relenting. “Did you make any friends?”

Shane scoffed. “I’m not going to make friends with people about to die.”

“You should. They could help you.”

“Before or after they die?”

“Both,” Ilya said plainly. There was no point in holding back anymore. “Everything helps in there.” In the arena. Ilya knew that better than him now, but he’d find out soon enough.

Ilya finished his cigarette and lit another one. Shane didn’t even say anything about his chain smoking.

Instead, he quietly admitted, “Rose is good. The others like her.”

“You are still stronger.” Ilya knew that for a fact. He’d seen what Shane was capable of – it was more than he believed.

Shane finally turned to look at him. His eyes were sad – deep pools with hollow depths. Ilya had to lean in to hear him, his voice almost a whisper. “I don’t want to be.”

Ilya kept staring into his eyes. His cigarette was burning down in his hand but he didn’t take another drag. “You will have to.”

Shane’s lip wobbled. Ilya was suddenly desperate to reach out and touch.

“Hey,” he said gently, already moving forward. “Hey, Shane—”

Shane backed away, everything about him closing up as the tears welled over in his eyes. “No.”

Ilya froze, one hand outstretched, the other clutching his cigarette as the flame reached the filter. He held it until the pain became too sharp, then he dropped the butt on the balcony floor. He waited for Shane to say something. Hoped for Shane to say something.

“You can’t—” Shane’s voice cracked. “You can’t just go back to that.”

Ilya’s heart broke again. He knew he’d caused this – he was the reason everything went to shit – but it was supposed to be the thing that kept Shane safe. A way for him to live a long and happy life. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

He could feel the clock ticking away now.

He felt that desperate need to reach out again. “Shane—”

“No.” Shane took another step back. “I don’t…” Shane looked around – at the sky, the city, the penthouse – like he was searching for an inch of familiarity in all this. Ilya knew this had to be weighing on him more than just the impending Games. Shane liked familiar things. He liked comfort. Routine. There was none of that here.

He held out a hand as if to ward off Ilya. “This is too much. Ok? You’re too much.”

Ilya took the hit. He stepped back. “Ok.” And then, because there wasn’t anything else he could say. “I am sorry.”

Shane scoffed. “For what? It’s not like you got me Drafted.” But there was something in Shane’s voice that said that was more of a question than a statement. Ilya knew Shane was trying to piece everything together. He hoped he wouldn’t before he went into the arena.

“No. That was an accident.”

Shane was still looking at him skeptically. “An accident?”

Fuck. Wrong word. “No, I mean…bad luck. A tragedy.”

That word seemed to hit Shane harder, his eyes shuddering, shoulders hunching. Tragedy.

He took a breath and straightened up, hardened eyes finding Ilya again. “So you’re just sorry for me then? Not sorry about anything else?”

Ilya knew what Shane wanted. He’d made many mistakes over the last two years, but there was no way to take anything back. No way to move on.

It didn’t help that neither one of them was willing to let go.

Ilya had no idea how to even begin to start apologizing for everything. He also had no way to explain his actions without revealing too much. So he stayed quiet.

“Really?” Shane asked. “There’s no secrets you’re ‘sorry’ for? Nothing you want to tell me? Before it’s too late.”

That last part was just cruel. Shane might not recognize the side of his mother that Ilya was familiar with, but he certainly could recognize her in her son. Especially when he was on the losing end of a problem.

Ilya dropped that hardened gaze. He’d seen Shane make that face plenty over the last year. It never got easier. Especially when it was directed right at him.

“I cannot help you, Hollander.” He felt every inch of the defeat this situation was supposed to make him feel.

“Bullshit,” Shane spat. “I let you have your little secrets. All your meetings. I let you have my mother—"

“Do not—"

“She’s my mom, I’ll bring her into whatever I want!”

“What do you want me to do? There is nothing! If I could, I would, ok? In a heartbeat, if there was a way out…”

He let that hang between them. He meant it; if there was a way – a real way – even if it cost his own life, he’d do it. He’d do anything for Shane to go home with his mother, live the rest of his days in the village with his father. He’d give that to him if he could. Shane had already given Ilya so much in return. Too much.

Shane’s next question was quiet. Hesitant. “Does my mom have a way to get me out of the Games?”

“No.” Ilya gave the straight answer – he didn’t want Shane to hope for something that wasn’t possible. And sure enough, Ilya’s honesty was rewarded with every bit of fight draining from Shane’s body.

Ilya took a hesitant step forward. “Shane?” Those brown eyes were watering again. Ilya felt a sting behind his own.

“I don’t want to do this,” Shane’s voice cracked. “I don’t – I don’t know how to do this.”

“I want to help you.” Ilya took another step. He was almost close enough to reach out and touch now. “There isn’t much, but what little I can, Shane, I want to be help you through the Games—”

Shane backed away again. “I’m not talking about the Games.”

Ilya stopped. “You said you do not know how to win? I can help you win.”

“No. I don’t know how to forgive you.” Ilya was taken aback. He didn’t know that was still an option on the table.

Shane’s eyes were filled with sadness and resentment. “We have so little time and you wasted it.”

Ilya’s heartrate picked up again. Why did he feel like he’d just lost something he didn’t even know he had? Why did this thing with Shane always feel like that? “I wasn’t trying to. I didn’t know. I thought I was giving you more—"

“Well, it doesn’t matter now.”

“It could. It could matter. We still have time.” He tried reaching out. Maybe if he could just touch Shane. Just one more time—

Shane stepped fully out of reach, backing towards the balcony door. “I can’t do this with you.”

Ilya tried to follow. “Shane, please, let me try—"

“I don’t—” Shane held up that hand to ward him off again. “I don’t know how to do this with you.”

“If not now, then when?” Ilya felt his own anger rising in his despair. “Never?”

Shane didn’t respond.

The door clicked again. They both turned. Yuna was standing in the doorway.

Shane didn’t say another word. He didn’t even look at Ilya. He just brushed past his mother and walked to his bedroom, leaving Ilya unmoored in the storm of his own desperation, the ticking of the clock synching with his heartbeat.

Yuna looked at Ilya, then at the door her son left through. Ilya knew what it looked like – Shane in tears, Ilya’s own eyes wild.

He stared at his Mentor with eyes as hollow as his heart. “You going to tell me to stay away?”

Yuna stared back for a beat longer, then she let out a great big sigh. Her shoulders sagged as she made her way to the railing, draping her arms over to look at the world below. Then she held out an open hand.

Ilya frowned, but passed over one of his precious cigarettes anyway, and the lighter. Yuna took a long drag once it was lit, watching the smoke billow into the cool night air.

They’d fallen into this pattern a lot the previous year – smoking in silence. Ilya didn’t know what he’d expected of the woman who raised Shane Hollander, but it was clear that that woman, and the Victor standing next to him were two very different people. They were both strong-willed and determined, collected under chaos, extremely competent and passionate. But this woman – this woman was angry.

This was a woman who knew how to do what had to be done. One who had done that and still put on a brave front to face her family every day. Ilya knew that woman – the one who walked her son to school and cooked dinner every night – wouldn’t want to be here. Couldn’t be here.

So they didn’t talk about Shane. Instead, Ilya asked. “What are we going to do about the girl?” Shane’s confession that Rose was good in training had been ringing through Ilya’s head. Just one more thing to worry about.

“What about the girl?” parroted Yuna.

“We can’t just leave her to die.” As much as Ilya needed that to happen, he also knew he couldn’t live with himself if he completely abandoned her. The League had taken most of his humanity, but he could cling on to some shreds with the last of his sanity. Shane had taught him that.

“We’re not leaving anyone. We’re still Mentors.”

“But we’re not going to help her either?”

“We’ll do for her what we can, the same way we do for any Tribute.” Yuna took another drag of her cigarette, slowly blowing smoke into the night. She wouldn’t look at Ilya.

Ilya waited for her to say more – to say that she had a plan to fix all of this. But Yuna just kept smoking, the weight of the world on her shoulders.

“You should get some sleep,” said Yuna.

“You know I don’t sleep.”

Yuna hummed. “You get used to it.”

“So you always say.”

They stood in silence as Yuna finished her cigarette. Then she held out her hand for another. Ilya sighed and passed one over.

Yuna took one drag then said, “You should try to rest. It’s going to be a long two weeks.”

That was a dismissal if Ilya ever heard one. Guess there would be no strategizing tonight. He didn’t know if it would even be worth their time.

There was nothing they could do now.

Feeling helpless and alone, Ilya set the remaining pack of cigarettes on the balcony rail, and went to not sleep in his room.

Chapter End Notes

Anyone wanna guess who the other tributes are from their descriptions?

Chapter 9: Allstars

Chapter Summary

Training day two and the Mentor bar

Chapter Notes

Hello! I just want to make a note before this chapter that some people might seem out of character because of who's POV they're portrayed through and also because we're still in the beginning stages of the story, but don't worry, I've got plans for where all this is going. We almost get the full cast in this one so super excited for everyone's thoughts on where everyone is in this!
Comments and kudos are appreciated. Enjoy!
-Oaks

Shane was starting to hate ropes. His fingers were raw from tying and untying knots all afternoon. There was one type that just kept slipping every time he tried to pull it taught. It was a style for a trap – one that might be useful to catch small game.

He kind of wished he could ask Hayden, but he’d effectively burnt that bridge this morning.

In hindsight, Hayden probably hadn’t meant anything offensive when he said Shane’s ties were sloppy, but Shane was really feeling the ticking clock on everything he needed to learn before his life literally depended on it, and he might have snapped at the other boy.

Telling him to find someone who thought his presence was worth their time had definitely been going too far.

In his defense, Shane really wasn’t here to make friends. Hayden was better off forming relationships with other Tributes if that’s what he was looking for. Shane was only interested in useful alliances.

He tried to untie his current knot, tugging on the rope. It wouldn’t budge. He’d be prouder of that if it wasn’t supposed to be a slipknot.

He picked up the small knife at the station to cut it free from the tying post, sawing frustratedly through the rope—

Shit.

Blood welled up on his thumb.

Shane put the knife down, walking over to the first aid station in the corner of the room. It was mostly to practice field medicine with minimal resources, but it could offer a quick fix for now. At least enough until he could properly disinfect the wound when he returned to the penthouse tonight. Hopefully it would at least close overnight – an open wound would not be a good thing to go into the arena with.

Shane grabbed a kit and sat down on the floor, laying out the necessary items – a disinfectant wipe, healing cream, a bandage. He made quick work of sopping up the blood and covering the small wound. It stung but it wasn’t anything Shane wasn’t used to.

He set about carefully packing up the remaining kit, not wanting to leave a mess.

“Come spar with me.”

Shane startled, looking up to find Rose standing over him.

“What?” He frowned.

She held out a hand. “Come spar with me.”

Shane frowned at the offering. “Our Mentors told us not to show physical strength in training.”

Rose let out a great big sigh, then crouched down next to him. Shane shied away a little, glancing around nervously for people watching him. They were; both Rose’s little group of friends and the Allstars were looking between them curiously. Rose’s friends at least had the decency to pretend they weren’t openly staring. The Allstars, not so much.

Rose dropped her voice low. “You see them watching you?” She nodded in the direction of the Allstars. Shane stole another glance. The largest boy had a mean smirk on his face, the girl next to him staring with vicious eyes.

“What’s your point?” Shane asked Rose shortly.

“They think you’re weak. An easy target.”

Shane kept his voice low. “What they assume about me is none of my business. Especially when it works in my favour.”

“You think that works in your favour?”

That caught Shane’s attention.

Rose saw it. “You think them being under the impression that you would be an easy kill is a good thing?”

Well, yes. Shane loved when people underestimated him. It made it easier to take them down. More satisfying.

Still… “You have a different opinion?”

“These guys aren’t just thinking about how to get through the Games. They’re thinking of everything after. They go volunteer because they want to be Mentors, so they’re not just playing against you right now, they’re gunning for the life they want to build after. And that means a future where your mom is their opponent.”

Shane wasn’t liking where she was going with this. He also didn’t like to think about being used as leverage against his mother.

“If you want to keep them thinking that you’ll be easily taken out, then you do you. But if you want to show them that they might not want to gun for you straight out the gate, then you need to start acting like you’re capable of more than stringing rope and identifying mushrooms.”

Shane eyed her skeptically. “What’s in it for you?”

“I don’t want to be thought of as weak either.”

“Then why don’t you fight one of your friends?” Said friends were still eyeing them from a little huddle around the fire-making station. Hayden was with them now, standing close with the girl from his District. Shane felt a twinge in his chest – worry. Definitely worry. Nothing else.

“Because no one cares if I can beat them. They want to know if I can beat you.”

Shane almost laughed. “You’re not going to be beat me.”

“You seem pretty confident in that.”

Shane didn’t take the bait. “Just get one of the guys to fight you. Who knows, maybe they’ll be an easier mark than me.”

“You think they want to help me?” Rose was giving Shane an extremely unimpressed look.

He shrugged, defensive. “You’re helping them.”

“God, you don’t get it do you?”

Shane kept quiet. He didn’t like this whole ‘Rose knowing what was going on more than him’ thing. It was getting on his nerves.

Rose rolled her eyes, her own frustrations high. “Shane, everyone is going into this already paired up except for you and me.”

“So? It’s not like more than one of us is making it out anyway.”

She let out another long-suffering sigh. “Don’t you get it? I’m a sitting duck in there if we’re not going to work together. We both are. The only way non-Allstars get through the Games is to work in a bigger pack until the Allstars can be divided. But once that happens, we’re expendable to them.”

“Am I not expendable to you?”

“Not yet.” That seemed to be the most she’d offered him so far. At least they were being honest about it.

“So you’re saying you want to appear like we’re together so we both don’t die right away?”

Her lips twitched with condescension. “Now you’re getting it.”

Shane wasn’t thrilled at the idea of being used as body armour, but maybe she did have a point. At least with the way the Allstars were watching them bicker with glee.

Shane thought about wiping those smirks off their faces with one throw of a knife. Except Yuna had strictly advised that that would be a bad idea. It was better to catch people by surprise than give them time to prepare for how to deal with you.

Shane was already shaking his head. “Our Mentors said—"

“I don’t care what mommy said. Those guys are looking at you like you’re a meal.”

There was fire in Rose’s eyes, not aimed at Shane but for him.

“Look, I don’t know what you’re capable of either, so you can tell me to fuck off if you want. Or you could prove that it’s going to take more than a little effort to kill you and they shouldn’t waste their time as soon as the countdown stops.”

Rose stood abruptly and before Shane could respond, she started walking to the sparring mat.

Shane could do nothing but follow.

Rose didn’t face him again until they were both on the mat. She raised her fists, widening her stance. Shane was surprised to see her lower her center of gravity while balancing on the balls of her feet. Ready to move. Like someone with experience.

He matched her stance, feeling the mat give beneath his weight.

Rose came at him before he could prepare. In two steps she was in front of him, fist swinging at his face—

Shane blocked with his forearm, pain ringing through his bones as Rose grunted with the hit.

She didn’t let up, foot shooting out for Shane’s knee.

It missed, their height difference meaning she made full contact with Shane’s shin. He grunted this time, leg caving a little. That was going to bruise.

Focus. He needed to keep his feet under him.

Shane went to swing next, pulling his punch at the last second to avoid any real damage. Rose dodged, sending Shane stumbling forward as his fist met air.

Ok. So she really did know what she was doing.

Shane spun to face her again as they set about trading blows.

Rose sent a right-hook straight for his face and Shane brought up his hands to block…and was rewarded with an uppercut to the stomach.

“Oof.” He stumbled back, a little winded. “When’d you learn that?” Shane panted.

Rose grinned. “I have three brothers.” Then she threw another punch.

They fell into a pattern; Shane blocking as Rose came at him again and again and again. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to hurt her, but it was seeming more and more like he’d have to if he wanted to get out of this.

He couldn’t just let Rose beat him. That would totally defeat the purpose of them doing this.

Rose came at him again and Shane saw his opportunity, clasping his fingers around her wrist and twisting.

Rose dropped to the mat with a cry. Shane didn’t give her a second to breathe, instinct kicking in. He got on top of her, pinning her wrists to the mattress, knee on her chest, settling his full weight down. She tried to kick and leverage her hips to knock Shane off, but he wouldn’t let her budge.

There. Easy.

He stared down, panting, satisfied with a job well done. Until he met Rose’s eyes.

Shane had Rose beneath him and her eyes weren’t just scared, they were terrified.

He backed off immediately. She got up slowly, eyes staying on him except to dart down to his offered hand to help her up. She didn’t take it.

Her wary gaze didn’t stray from Shane as she backed off the mat, leaving him alone in the middle of the room. He caught Hayden’s eyes over her shoulder. He too was watching Shane with a newfound caution.

And so was everyone else; the rest of Rose’s crew, the pairs from the middle Districts who kept to themselves. Even the Allstars were muttering to each other, arms crossed over their chests in more of a protective stance this time rather than the haughty mocking from earlier.

Shane swallowed. Now he’d done it.

His mom was going to be furious.

“Training’s finished for the day,” announced the head instructor. “Please return to your rooms.”

---

Ilya finished his fourth drink of the night, tapping the bar for another round. The bartender – a stocky man with dark hair – frowned while pouring more whiskey, but he didn’t comment on Ilya’s drunken stupor. He couldn’t. Staff weren’t allowed to speak, made clear by the strip of rubber welding his teeth together.

Ilya probably should’ve been having dinner with his Tributes and helping them unpack their day of training, but he wasn’t feeling up for it (and was already too drunk to be of much use anyway).

It had been another long day of schmoozing with sponsors, Svetlana convincing Ilya not to rip their heads off with his bare hands, then him doing the same for her before she threatened someone with a cocktail skewer. She’d already left the bar in a huff, dragged off angrily by Elena trying to keep the peace before Svetlana took it out on one of the Allstar Mentors or worse, a sponsor.

Ilya wouldn’t’ve stopped her if it had been the Allstar Mentors. They were being their usual obnoxious selves, loudly bragging about their Tributes across the bar and making obscene jokes and bets on their survival (they weren’t technically allowed in official bets as Mentors, but that didn’t stop them from participating amongst themselves, especially for the more unseemly types).

J.J. Boizeau and Carter Vaughn were a well-known pair in these parts, having won back-to-back Games for District 1 over two decades ago. They were the usual ringleaders of the group, and they were as stupid as they were loud, at least in Ilya’s opinion. But they at least knew how to play the game, how to trade favours and secrets to keep their Tributes alive. They could be reasoned with, on occasion, unlike Ilya’s least favourite Mentor.

Troy Barrett was as cruel and cunning a person as Ilya had ever met. He’d won the Games for District 2 a couple years before Ilya at age 17 and quickly made a name for himself in the Capital. He knew how to schmooze with the best of them and the worst part was that he seemed to like it. He actually enjoyed the company of the League fucks. He laughed at their jokes and made his own right back. He slept in their beds and followed in their footsteps. He cheered at the death just as much as the people lining the streets of this building to get a peek at the show inside.

Ilya hated the guy. He was a downright bitch on a good day and most of the time he was just plain mean. Today he was using that cruelty to taunt Cliff Marleau, the sole Mentor for District 3.

“Come on man, what’s the harm in letting him join?” whined Cliff.

Troy scoffed. “I think we both know what the harm is.”

Some Districts only had one Mentor – only one living Victor in their entire region – like Svetlana for 5 or Cliff for 3. Those Mentors had to work extra hard to keep their Tributes alive, splitting their resources between the two. They had more connections than anybody, except for Miles – the lone Mentor for District 4 – who rarely came to the bar unless the Games were airing.

As a member of District 3, Cliff’s usual best bet was to get his Tributes in with the Allstars – at least until they killed them halfway through the Games. It was their best chance to survive the bloodbath at the start. Troy liked to make him work for the favour every year – not to get any favours, Troy just liked making people beg.

“Come on, just give the kid a chance,” Cliff tried to reason. “Connors won’t cause any trouble.”

“I don’t know…” Troy pretended to think about it, shooting a smirk at J.J. and Carter while they snickered.

“He’s cheap meat anyway,” Cliff tried again. “Let him tag along for a while.”

“I guess he could be useful. Carry the supplies,” mused J.J.

“Exactly!” Cliff clapped his hands. “Just convince your guys not to kill him right off the countdown and then I can tell his folks that I did my best to keep him alive but it was out of my hands.”

“You got that right,” mumbled Carter.

The boys started laughing and hollering again, shoving each other around enough that Ilya could see the fourth member of their group tucked in at the back of the table. As always, Ryan Price remained silent, his head ducked low and looking like he wanted to be anywhere else.

A scoff came from Ilya’s other side. He turned to see Harris watching the group with open disdain. “Assholes.”

Ilya agreed, raising his fifth drink to Harris before taking a long sip.

He was debating striking a conversation up with the man – sometimes drinking put Ilya in a chatty mood, especially if it meant complaining about Troy Barrett – but he was interrupted by Scott Hunter sidling up to the bar.

“Good evening,” he said in a low voice.

Ilya didn’t acknowledge the greeting. He didn’t feel like it.

The bartender slid Scott a drink without him having to ask.

“What’s going on with them?” Scott nodded in the direction of the Allstars.

Harris set his drink down with a clang. “The usual.”

“Ah.” Scott took a long sip of his drink then looked at the bartender appreciatively. He was always so fucking polite. It made Ilya want to roll his eyes (he would’ve if he wasn’t already so dizzy).

“Your boyfriend not here?” Ilya joked, words a little slurred.

“Eric’s busy.” Scott sipped his drink, watching the bartender cleaning up.

“With who?” Ilya waggled his eyebrows (it didn’t help with his spinning head).

Scott shot him a look that said, none of your fucking business.

“Where is mommy dearest today?” asked Harris.

Ilya did roll his eyes this time. “Don’t know. Don’t care.”

“As long as she’s not jeopardizing—”

Scott’s arm shot out to grip Harris’ wrist. Harris stopped talking, chastised.

Ugh. This was getting to be no fun. Maybe Ilya should finish his drink and find someone to fu—

Two clicks on the tile floor at the entrance to the bar.

Everyone’s heads turned – Ilya’s more reluctantly than the rest – to find Fabian in the doorway. He was in a navy blue number today, with glittering gold stars sequinned across the skin-tight jumpsuit.

Fuck. It was not a good sign for him to be here.

All the Mentors watched him take deliberate steps into the room. Even Ryan Price had looked up from the table.

Fabian scanned the room with stormy eyes before they found Ilya. He started stalking towards him.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

Ilya threw back the rest of his drink and set it on the bar as Fabian approached, heels clicking against the floor. Some people probably found that sound menacing. Ilya was too wasted to care.

“You’re late for dinner. Again,” Fabian gritted out, voice low.

Ilya stumbled off his stool. Fabian at least had the decency to catch him.

“I was on my way,” he slurred.

Fabian just scoffed and tugged him forward, dragging him from the bar and back to the penthouse, undoubtedly at the request of Yuna Hollander.

Ilya really regretted leaving his drink behind at the conversation he walked in on.

“Rose knows how to fight,” Shane was telling his mother.

Ilya stopped in the doorway as Yuna paused in cutting her chicken. She turned indignant eyes on Rose. “You fought during training?”

The girl just shrugged, not phased in the slightest by Yuna’s ire. “I sparred with Shane.”

Yuna turned furious eyes on her own son. “You fought during training?”

Unlike Rose, Shane shrunk from his mother.

Ilya saw that as a good opportunity to sit down. He kind of fell into his seat, fumbling to pick up his utensils with shaky hands.

Ilya turned that ire on him. “Where the fuck have you been?”

He eyed the knife still in her hand. “Mentoring.”

Across the table, both Shane and Rose scoffed. Then they looked at each other, as if the other didn’t have the right to be put off by Ilya’s obvious drunkenness.

“I will deal with you later,” Yuna said tightly. Then she turned back to Shane. “I specifically told you—”

“I know, but mom, Rose thought—”

“Rose? You’re taking advice from Rose now?”

Ilya kind of laughed into his chicken. Shane could be so stupid sometimes. So stupid and so pretty with the way his eyebrows scrunched…

“No,” Shane’s voice rose an octave. “I can make my own decisions.”

Yuna shook her head. “You clearly can’t if you think it’s a good idea to show the other Tributes your strengths.”

“Well, it’s better than them thinking I have no strength at all! Or Rose. What is she supposed to do, let them think she’s an easy target? That we both are?”

The poor girl’s wide eyes were darting between the mother and son a little frantically as she sunk down in her chair.

“No.” Yuna ground her teeth. Her hand was still clenched around the knife. “But that’s not the strategy we discussed—"

“We didn’t discuss anything. You told us what to do and we decided it wasn’t working so we did something about it.”

“Oh it’s ‘we’ now, is it? Is that how you want it to be?” She looked at Shane first, then Rose. This time, the girl flinched back a little. “Your arrogance is going to be a big problem. If you want any chance of winning—”

“I have no chance of winning!” yelled Rose.

Everyone at the table stopped at Rose’s outburst. Her face was flushed and Ilya could see the beginning of tears in her eyes.

She sagged in her chair. “It’s true. Everybody knows it.”

Yuna looked like she was about to say something, then she closed her mouth. She dropped her eyes to her plate and cut another piece of chicken.

Ilya almost felt sorry enough for the girl to speak up but she pushed her chair back and rushed away from the table before he could say anything. They could all hear her sobbing down the hallway.

Shane set his own utensils down, pushing away from his plate. “I’m not hungry anymore. Goodnight.”

They heard the slam of his bedroom door a few seconds later.

Yuna just kept silently cutting her chicken.