IT HAD SLIPPED. usually, dami was good at hiding the inner turmoil, at hiding the ‘broken’ behind a perfectly created mask that every victor had formed to some degree. sure, a crack or two might show, but the sound of firework after firework was too much. the thundering over the mansion was too much, and his mind had rocketed back to his arena. fleeing through rubble of streets, avoiding shrapnel, trying to stay alive and being driven to kill. you’re a killer, they want you dead, they want you all dead, you’re a pawn, you’re a monster you’re a monster you’re a monster. as he sat on the ground in a secluded part of the mansion, everyone outside watching the display, dami’s breathing was coming out in quick, hyperventilated breaths as tears rolled down his cheeks and his body trembled in terror. he was back in the arena. he had to be. it was some trick, all of this time? had to have been some trackerjacker halucination and he was still in the middle of his own games. that was the only explanation, right? dami was lost inside his own panic, unable to hear whoever approached.