He's had some good days and some days that, when he looks back at them, weren't so good. Days when the fear planted in his mind reared up in flashing indigo and roared, blotting out anything but overwhelmed desperation.

Today is a middle day, not so far gone that he can't function, not so far removed from the fear that he can feel anything else. Madness clings and glitters bright in his peripheral vision, like a thousand nameless, faceless stars. He retreats once again, away from the other tributes, and finds somewhere to be alone.

The floor glows in quiet blue-white, a layer of clear floor showing off a tank of living jellyfish underfoot, covered in glowing stripes and dots, and Justin sits on the floor and watches. The walls are full of fireflies, tens of thousands of insects crawling over each other, lights blinking. It's all rather impressive, but not so impressive that Justin doesn't notice a figure moving past the displays, occasionally blocking out the light.

For now, he says nothing, just watches.