Marius brows furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line as his eyes swept across their section of the scarcely-lit, pillared floor, the ridiculousness of his nightwear forgotten in his preoccupation and worry. Earlier on, he and Cosette had agreed on a signal: a rhythmic series of taps should the need arise to locate each other without attracting too much attention. But with the low-ceilinged, enclosed space, any sound was an echo off the walls. He would have to think of something better—but then the assumption was that they would be participating in the next arena, and he couldn't bear the thought of Cosette in yet another one.

He forced the thought away. Later on, when all this is over, he will succumb to the harrowing visions that plague his mind, the events of the past and the what-ifs of the morrow. But he will not allow that of himself now. Now, they had to find her.

"She would have taken this direction, I believe." He made for the direction he signalled her to earlier, before he made a run for the Cornucopia. The few seconds spent catching her eye amongst the initial rush of tributes and jerking his head towards the direction of a distant metal carriage—a car, it was called in this world—almost entirely concealed behind a pillar, was a few seconds too late for him to emerge from the bloodbath with a considerable haul.

But a folding knife has its uses. At least, when used correctly, the suffering will be non-existent compared to ingesting poison.

He turned his head to search the area once more. He could see no other tributes in his line of vision, yet he should not relax his guard. The last time he did, a poisoned blade killed Cosette.

He rapped his knuckles against the nearest pillar, hoping she would respond, praying no one had hunted her down this early in the games.