The gong hit like a gunshot.
The world exploded.
Tributes lunged. Some screamed. Some ran. Some died before they even reached the Cornucopia.
But Goo didn't move. Not yet.
He stepped off the metal plate casually, unhurried, like a man strolling through a quiet park rather than a battlefield. A girl to his left bolted toward the center, her foot catching on a root. She fell. Someone else tripped over her. Then a scream. Then silence.
Goo walked forward—not toward the Cornucopia, but to the nearest body.
A dead boy from District 5. Throat cut. Blade still clutched in his hand.
Goo took the knife.
Light. Balanced. Not great for throwing, but useful up close.
Then he was gone.
Into the trees.
The jungle swallowed him whole.
Vines brushed his arms. Insects buzzed thick around his head. The air was wet, heavy. The kind of heat that made you sweat just by breathing.
Perfect cover.
His boots made almost no sound as he moved. Every step chosen. Every breath measured. He didn't go far—just deep enough to disappear. From the clearing. From the cameras. From the noise.
It wasn't retreat.
It was positioning.
Far behind him, the bloodbath ended.
Eight tributes dead. Four injured. Brutus and Cassia stood tall among the bodies, blood-slick and grinning. Rue was gone into the trees. No one saw which way. Smart girl.
Goo knelt near a fallen tree, sharpening the blade he'd taken.
He wasn't rushing.
He was thinking.
He built no campfire.
Drank only when he found a trickle of rainwater on a leaf.
He moved like an echo through the brush, memorizing terrain. Slopes. Trees. River paths. Bird calls. He listened. Waited. Studied.
He was hunting.
Not for food.
For patterns.
On the second day, he found two Careers dragging a bleeding boy between them.
They were laughing. Loud. Too loud.
Goo followed them for half an hour.
Then, when the girl turned her back to check her canteen—
He struck.
Knife to the throat. One clean motion.
The boy shouted, tried to run. Goo threw the knife. It caught the base of his skull.
Two more down.
He didn't celebrate.
He took their gear. He dragged their bodies into the swamp. He wiped the blade clean on moss.
Still not smiling.
Still waiting.
That night, high above the trees, the sky lit up with faces.
Nine dead now.
Still no sign of Rue.
Good.
Let her stay hidden.
Let them forget about her.
In the jungle, Goo built nothing. Not even a shelter. He slept in short bursts, perched in trees, half-awake.
On the third day, a cannon fired at dawn.
Then another. And another.
Three more gone.
The Capitol was getting impatient. They wanted drama.
He would give them silence.
That evening, just before the anthem played, he heard footsteps in the dark.
Careful ones.
Light.
Familiar.
He stepped from the brush like a ghost.
Rue froze.
They stared at each other for a long second.
Then she said, "You're stalking the whole Arena."
He raised an eyebrow. "And you're still alive."
She crossed her arms. "You told Seeder I wasn't part of the Game."
"I lied."
She didn't flinch.
"You're part of my game," Goo said.
Then he reached into his pack, pulled out a waterskin, and tossed it to her.