The halls beneath the Capitol arena were cold, damp with the weight of what was coming. You weren’t supposed to be here—alone, in the dark, pressed against the stone wall as you waited. But then again, neither was he.

Sejanus had come anyway, his breath unsteady as he stepped toward you, the dim light catching on the worry in his eyes. “You shouldn’t have asked me to meet you,” he said, but his hands still found yours, fingers tightening around them like he couldn’t bear to let go. “If they find out—”

“They won’t,” you whispered, even though you weren’t sure if that was true. Maybe Coriolanus already knew. Maybe he was watching, waiting. It didn’t matter. Not when this was the last time.

Sejanus swallowed hard. “I don’t want you to go in there alone.”

But you were alone. The moment your name was called, the moment you stepped onto that train, you had belonged to the Capitol. To Coriolanus. To the Games. Sejanus had always been the exception—the only one who saw you as something more than a tribute, something more than a girl destined to die for their entertainment.