Chapter 19 : The Alliance
"Three of us can't win."
Rue's voice was quiet, matter-of-fact. The kind of acceptance that came from growing up in a district where death was as common as harvest.
"Rules say one victor," she continued. "Always have. Always will."
The hidden stream burbled past our camp, stars visible through gaps in the canopy. We'd been talking for an hour, mapping possibilities, and now we'd hit the truth nobody wanted to name.
"Right now, we survive," I said carefully. "We help each other do that. What comes later..."
I let it hang. Some questions didn't need answering yet.
Katniss leaned forward, firelight flickering across her face. "We don't turn on each other without warning. When it's just us left—the three of us and nobody else—we separate. Deal with it then."
"And until then?"
"Until then, we're allies. Real allies." Katniss met Rue's eyes, then mine. "No lies, no tricks, no knives in the back. Can you agree to that?"
Rue considered for a long moment. Her dark eyes moved between us, calculating odds, weighing trust against survival instinct. At twelve years old, she'd already learned that promises in the Hunger Games were written in water.
"Deal," she said finally. "Until the end."
"Deal."
I retrieved dried meat from storage—carefully, while both were focused on the stream—and passed it around. My healing factor demanded payment for keeping me functional, and I needed to eat while planning. The others accepted without comment, probably assuming I had hidden pockets in my jacket.
Some assumptions were useful.
Rue drew in the dirt with a stick, mapping the Cornucopia from memory.
"The supplies are here." She marked a central point. "Pyramid shape—crates, bags, weapons, everything stacked together. The mines surround it in a ring, about ten feet out." She traced a circle. "District 3 boy reset them from the launch platforms. Step wrong, and boom."
"How do the Careers get through?" Katniss asked.
"There's a path. It changes—he moves things—but it's always there." Rue added marks to show the safe route. "He walks it every time they come or go. Very careful. Very precise."
I studied the diagram, comparing it to memories of a story I'd never lived. The details matched what I expected, but Rue's intelligence was more thorough. She'd been watching for days, invisible in her trees.
"Guard rotation?"
"Two stay behind when the others hunt. Usually District 3 and one Career." She paused. "They think they're safe. The mines make them confident."
"Confident is good. Confident makes mistakes."
Katniss's fingers drummed on her bow. "What triggers the mines? Weight? Movement?"
"Pressure. Anything heavy enough sets them off." Rue smiled grimly. "I dropped a branch near one once. Almost killed me, but I learned."
The plan crystallized in my mind like frost on glass.
"The supplies themselves," I said. "If we can make something fall onto the mined ground—something heavy—the whole pyramid goes up."
"I can't get close enough to push anything." Rue shook her head. "The path is too narrow, and District 3 knows my face."
"You won't need to." Katniss's voice had gone sharp, focused. "I can hit a squirrel from fifty yards. I can hit a stack of supplies from a hundred."
"Hit it with what?"
"Arrows don't detonate mines. But if I hit the right spot—something already unstable, something that could fall..." Her eyes scanned Rue's diagram. "What's at the top of the pyramid?"
"Apples." Rue's face lit with understanding. "A whole bag of apples. Loose, just sitting there. The Careers eat them all the time."
"Apples." Katniss smiled—the first real smile I'd seen from her since the arena began. "I can work with apples."
We divided responsibilities as the stars wheeled overhead.
Rue would set fires. Multiple points, spreading smoke across the forest to draw Careers away from camp. She knew the territory, could move through trees faster than anyone on the ground, and small enough to hide in places adults couldn't reach.
Katniss would take the shot. Position herself with clear sightlines to the Cornucopia, wait for the guards to leave their posts, and put an arrow into that bag of apples. The falling fruit would trigger the mines, the mines would ignite the supplies, and the Career advantage would evaporate.
I would handle extraction. Cover their retreat, watch for threats, provide backup if anything went wrong. My Blind Spot could track observation patterns. My storage held weapons and supplies for emergencies. And my healing meant I could take hits that would kill either of them.
None of us said that last part out loud. But we were all thinking it.
"When do we move?" Rue asked.
"Dawn." Katniss checked her arrows, counting. "Careers hunt early. We catch them with the fires, take the shot while they're away."
"And if it doesn't work?"
"Then we run and try something else." I met Rue's eyes. "This plan gives us a chance. Doing nothing gives us slow death as the Careers pick us off one by one."
She nodded slowly. At twelve, she understood math. Four Careers plus an engineer, armed and supplied, against three poorly-equipped tributes. The numbers only worked one way—unless we changed the board.
"I'm not dying quiet," Rue said. "If I'm going to die, I want to matter first."
The words hit harder than they should have. I'd said something similar, once, in a different life. The volunteer who chose his death. The boy who was tired of waiting.
"You matter," I said. "Whatever happens tomorrow, you already matter."
She smiled—small, fragile, younger than any child should look in a place designed for killing.
We rested in shifts, none of us sleeping deeply.
Rue curled between Katniss and me, her small body finally relaxing into something like peace. She hadn't slept properly since the arena began—always climbing, always hiding, always afraid. Now, with allies she trusted, she let herself rest.
I watched her breathe and remembered the story I knew. How Marvel's spear had found her in a clearing. How Katniss had sung while she died. How all of Panem had watched and felt something they weren't supposed to feel.
That wasn't going to happen. Not if I could stop it.
The night deepened. Katniss took the second watch, and I let myself drift into shallow sleep—enough to rest, not enough to dream of past lives and hospital beds.
When I woke, she was still watching me.
"You were quiet tonight," she said softly. "No names."
"Small mercies."
"Is that normal? Talking in your sleep about people who don't exist?"
"Bad dreams. Happens to everyone."
She didn't press. Instead, she shifted closer, close enough for her voice to barely carry. "If this doesn't work tomorrow..."
"It will work."
"But if it doesn't—" She paused, struggling with something. "Thank you. For not making me do this alone."
I thought about the parade, raising our joined hands while flames danced around us. About the train ride, when she'd been a stranger and I'd been a mystery. About every moment since, building trust one shared meal at a time.
"Partners," I said.
"Partners."
Rue stirred between us, then settled back into sleep. Above, the stars began to fade as dawn approached.
Before first light, Rue taught us the mockingjay signal.
Four notes, rising and falling like a question answered. A harvest song from District 11, passed between workers in the orchards. It meant "all safe"—or "mission complete," depending on context.
I whistled it softly. The sound felt strange on my lips, foreign and familiar at once.
In the trees around us, mockingjays picked up the tune. They passed it back and forth, harmonizing, multiplying until the whole forest seemed to sing.
"They'll carry it," Rue said, smiling. "For miles, if you're lucky. When you hear it, you'll know I'm okay."
"And when you don't hear it?"
Her smile faded slightly. "Then you'll know I'm not."
We practiced the signal until it felt natural. Four notes. Simple. Vital.
Then dawn broke, and it was time to move.
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