There is a resounding chorus of fuck, fuck, fuck coursing through Dave's head the moment he realises Clem was thrown as well. There's relief in the fact that she's holding on, but as much as Clara wants to believe it, his arms don't have the strength to hold him much longer. He sucks in a deep breath, but there's no renewed energy from it, just exhaustion and finally some clarity. There's absolutely no way the three of them are going to make it out of this, and Dave knows the Capitol better than to take this as anything but a sign.

He remains silent and thankful when it's clear what she's doing, but that doesn't mean he's going to be forthcoming with his own choices. His body is shaking so hard, he barely needs to let go. It just sort of happens in an instant, before he has the chance to hold onto anymore hope of this going another way. He shuts his eyes, searching for something witty and thoughtful to finish on, something the fucking cameras will love, but his brain is a fuzzy, terrified mess and he can only manage one last word before he lets his hand pull back as discreetly as possible.

"Nope."

There are worse words to end on, he thinks. It could have been fuck. His heart is still beating hard against his chest as he descends, the air rushing past to make him all the more freezing. But he's not cold anymore, he's just there, watching the wall get further and further away and thinking how damn nice it would be if he could fly right now. Fear is gripping him tightly, but there isn't any regret in his mind. If he can get Clem and Clara out of the Arenas, then one dramatic death would be worth it. He can pay his dues, because he can be good for something, for once. He didn't fuck this one up.

By now he's a blip in the distance to Clem and Clara and the impact is enough to knock the lights out of him just as he feels the nip of cold water when he hurtles into the depths of it.