It's the worst thing she could have imagined. She crawls toward him, too pained to maneuver herself into a standing position. "No, no no no," she mumbles, sitting next to him, putting her hand over his, staunching the flow. "No, Tom, you have to stop bleeding, please."

There's panic in her face, something that rarely graces her features, and pain and concern, and even fear. She didn't see him die last Arena. She's not sure she wants to see it now, and yet she can't leave him like this. He already looks dead, and it makes her stomach turn, makes her feel desperate in a way that she never does.

"You can't die," she whispers. "Not now."