Wyatt's mouth pulled into a frown, eyes jumping to the trees as Hawkeye's whoop broke through the jungle like a shot. He was half a beat from shushing him, asking him what the hell was wrong with him when the hand came down on his shoulder.

Equally surprising.

The muscle beneath Hawkeye's hand was tense, a hard knot. Even being friendly enough, Wyatt never truly relaxed in the arena. Always ready, never expecting the calm to last.

He'd been at this too long. Had seen too much.

"When?" He arched an eyebrow, the question as unexpected as the touch. "Ya mean when are ya goin' back? When ya die. Or ya win."