They were all on borrowed time, each of them condemned to die horribly again and again as a token of their chance at semi-survival. It was painful to think about. It flew in the face of everything Courfeyrac had been taught to believe. He sometimes wondered if this wasn't a test of some kind, to check his character and resolve in the face of true suffering. But he did not think God would be so cruel. Not so cruel as this.

"Enjolras was the victor of the last Arena. He was able to hide until the very end, until he took the life of the only other survivor." It sounded depressing when Courfeyrac told the story. He was sure it was much grander when the spin doctors of the Capitol told the tale. "He attempted to kill himself afterward, but the Gamemakers, the people in charge, were able to revive him. And now, as a reward, he is forced to watch us all compete."

Courfeyrac looked up at the ceiling and wondered if Enjolras was watching them now.

"As for you, Joly," he continued, "I am in no position to hold a grudge anymore than I am in a position to inspire you with grand stories and speeches. I can, however, offer my thanks that you are here to aid us, my sorrow that you have been forced into this situation, and my belief in your ability to be strong when you are needed most."

Standing up then, he offered a hand to aid Joly in rising. "Come now, chin up. We still have a republic to fight for."