He'd lost them all. Guy before he'd even really got a good look at the man. Courfeyrac in the fire leading up to the token from nine. And now, Venus. Her blood still wet on his torn and singed clothes.

An arena they all could win, and still he'd lost them.

So help him, he was going to win. He wasn't going to let it be for nothing.

He was going to keep his promise to Venus. (To Max, to Howard, to himself.)

Ignoring his wounds - the burns, the cut to his hand - he carried on, the bag of tokens slung firmly over his shoulder. He only had three left, and if the change in the walls around him was anything to go by, he was on getting closer to one of them.

White marble, pale and gleaming beneath the high sun. (One, if it was anything. He couldn't imagine the wood and coal districts looking like this.)

Using Venus' blade, he hacked at it as he rounded a corner. Cutting a chip out to mark his path.

Yanking the blade free, Wyatt turned, an unexpected - impossible - smile breaking across his face as he spotted her.

"Pruna." Slipping the blade into the makeshift ring on his belt, he started toward her. "I've been lookin' over hell's half-acre for you, little bit."

"I could say the same 'bout you," he rumbled, chuckling softly, low and tired. "But I think that's true'a jus' 'bout everythin' in here."

He rested his hands on her shoulders, looking over her face, checking for injuries - making sure she was alright. When he was satisfied, he gave her a little clap and pulled back.

She was as dirty as he was, but he knew she was just as sturdy.

(And the clock continued to tick down, his very heartbeat a reminder, thumping away in his chest.)

"How ya doin'?" he asked, gesturing toward her pockets - which looked suspiciously empty. "Where's yer tokens?"

He recognized the way she looked at him, but tried not to take it personally. Instead, hoping to show her he had no ill intent, he left his hands rest on his belt - in clear view, well away from her and her pockets.

As she told him what happened, his jaw tightened, eyes darkening. Of course he hadn't expected everyone to play nice, even with the promise that they could all get out, but to steal from a child? That was low even for his fellow tributes.

Exhaling hard through his nose, he tried to push the Harley woman and her friend aside. They could be dealt with later.

"I got some extras ya can have," he turned his head in a nod to the pack on his back. "If we don't find 'em on the way to the rest, ya can show 'em by still winnin'."

"No."

She might have been robbed of her tokens, but those women had robbed the girl of her spirit, had they?

"No, a'course not. Think of it as a loan," Wyatt offered instead. "Ya can pay me back 'round next time. How's that?"

He nodded, happy to see they could come to an arraignment, then half turned, looking at the walls around them.

"Well, as far as I can tell, this is District one. I don't know 'bout you, but I need this one." He looked back her. "Don't 'spose you'd be willin' to give me a hand in findin' it?"

It was in the opposite direction as his hacking path through the maze, so he saw no reason not to agree.

"Let's give her a look then," he nodded, shifting his pack on his shoulder with one hand while the other reached again for his blade.

Who knew what they might bump into around the next corner.

(Wild fires and giant bulls and crushing machines, he wouldn't have been surprised if they set some sort of abominable snowbeast on them.)

Wyatt hadn't hung around to watch the races, but he still knew ice when he saw it. Still recognized a trap even before the now familiar groaning of gears as the path behind them began to rumble closed.

"Somethin' tells me it ain't goin' to be as easy as jus' crossin'," he muttered, measuring the distance with a tip of his head.

Already picturing it breaking as they crossed. Of being trapped in ice, skewered in a pit, drowning -- whatever was waiting beneath.

Reaching out, he rested his free hand on her shoulder. "Let me go first. If it holds me, ya should be alright."