Five. Eleven. Ten. Six dead in the first five days of the Quarter Quell. The blood has dried on your face. You don't know how many you've killed. Three? Four? You can't be sure.

Your grip around your weapon is tight and you're keeping watch on the group asleep - Finnick, Mags, Katniss, Peeta, and Beetee.

You're watching the south of the arena - watching the trees in the humid rainforest carefully and you hear it. Boots. Boots in the leaves. Leaves rustling. Heart thumping. Rustle. Thump. Rustle. Thump. Scream. Another cannon. Boom! One more dead. Blood on your face. Blood on your hands. Blood on your weapon.

Blood. So much blood. The wound is on the Victor's stomach and it flashes in your mind.

The sound of a body dropping. Thud.

Finnick had heard it too, woken up by you and the cannon fire. His hands were behind his back, his trident in his grip, and he looked at you, the blood on your face and the three dead bodies on the ground.