Grantaire had run as soon as the bell had sounded, turning away from the cornucopia and retreating in the opposite direction, towards any safety that solitude may grant him. He wasn't stupid enough to believe this would grant him mercy from the death that was awaiting him, and would never dare believe that among them all he would be the solitary survivor. Yet nonetheless, without anything to die for he found the prospect naturally unwelcome, and had thus fled in order to stave it off for as long as possible. Death would come and until it did he would wander this Arena, taking in the miserable state of it and silently curse brutal and bored individuals who found joy in watching this sport.

He should try to find those of his group, perhaps together they may survive longer, but as soon as the thought occurred to him he cast it away. What good would it be to gather and extend this? Better he struggle on alone and die the same.

Wrapped in these bleak musings Grantaire did not notice when he suddenly found himself with company, keeping close to the walls as his eyes swept over the shadows nervously, but not closely. It was an error that he would feel the weight of soon enough.