After everything you and Rhaenyra have been through together — the blood you shed, the lives you took — the Game Makers decided to change the rule back. Only one winner, no more tributes from the same district being crowned.

The air feels thick with an unspoken understanding, suffocating you with the knowledge of what will come next.

“Go ahead.” You break the silence, your gaze fixed on them. "One of us should go home. One of us has to die. They need their victor—"

Rhaenyra cuts you off with a scoff, sharp bitterness lacing their voice.

“No, they don’t." They step closer, so close you can feel the warmth of their presence against the coldness of the arena. "Why should they?"

They reach into their pocket before you can respond, pulling out Nightlock berries and dividing them between the two of you.

“Trust me.” Their voice softens, the gentleness of their gaze tugging at your heart. “Together?”