Every breath Clove takes is another slap in the face to Cato.

True, he and Clove may both be victors this year due to a change in the games not originally meant to affect them, but all Cato can think is that he didn't really win. There's always one victor. One. The best of them all.

Everyone knows there is no such thing as two number ones.

So, from that very first interview on, Cato is back in the games. Every thought one of how best to kill his final opponent.

Strangulation, maybe, he thinks. But that's too intimate, he doesn't want the Capitol finding out what he's done, even though he's certain they'd love him- Panem's real 74th victor.

Poisoning is a no, definitely not violent enough to quench his insane bloodlust.

Shooting is not even allowed in the arena, so that wouldn't be right.

He thinks of stabbing, of spearing, of hitting her over the head with a rock, all things an eighteen year old should never think about.

Finally, he comes upon the perfect idea. He'll slice her open, just the way she did to the girl from 12, slowly and painfully.

He hopes she'll scream.

..

Their houses in Victor's Village are the last two left empty, and people have been wondering what will happen next year if District 2 wins again. They shouldn't worry. After tonight one of the houses will be vacant again.

His movements are slow, silent and steady. Her room is on the first floor so thankfully he won't have to climb any trees. He tries the front door first. Unlocked. How stupid can Clove really be? Leaving the door open, Cato prowls into Clove's girlishly pink bedroom and pauses, looking at the slight form on the bed.

Goodbye, Clove, he thinks to himself, grinning. You were a worthy opponent, but you couldn't outrun me forever.

Striding quickly, Cato makes his way to the bed and rips off the covers. But Clove isn't in the bed. The moment it takes for Cato to register this fact is the moment in which he loses his upper hand, because Clove is not where she's supposed to be- she's behind him, a knife to his throat, the blade as thin as a piece of thread.

"You couldn't sleep either, eh Cato?" she purrs.