Enjolras struggled against his attacker. There wasn't much to do other than struggle and hope that his movements didn't result in a worse injury than what the other Tribute had planned. He couldn't see how they might, Hyperion's intentions were more or less obvious.

"Let go..." He wheezed, sharp breaths of the cold Spring air burning his lungs as he kicked and bucked. It wasn't until saw the glint of the knife again, and felt it leveled firmly to his throat that he stilled. This wasn't how he was supposed to die, but all his noble intentions seemed for naught in that moment. At least he hadn't led this terrible person back to Little Rock.