AN: Yeah, it's been awhile... It's super embarrassing how long it took to put out this chapter. I promise I'm not abandoning it. I'm really sorry – I had somethings going on in my life and I've only recently recovered from a pretty severe case of writer's block. I 'll really try to get the next chapter up within the week. You probably don't want to hear any more of my excuses, so, without further ado, the chapter:

Chapter 4: Tradition

I stand in the middle of a line of shaking red-and-black-clad tributes in front of the knife-throwing workshop. This is going to be fun. And pretty entertaining, from watching the first couple of tributes' pathetic attempts. Most of them, from outline districts, could hardly hold the knife the right way, let alone throw it. I have to hold in the urge to call out a sarcastic comment a couple of times - I don't know what kind of angle Enobaria wants me to play yet.

By the time it's turn, my fingers are itching for the blades. I take three of them and face the knife-throwing targets – simple charts of the human body, only about twenty feet away, with lit-up glowing circles marking the vital organs. You hit those, and your victim's good as dead. I focus and lock in on my targets, my head bent into a dark stare of concentration.

The second after the circles light up, before I even really register it, I've fired two quick no-spin throws – one on the far left target, the other on the far right. They both hit the exact center of the heart with frightening accuracy. I turn around, quickly turn back, and with a cross-body throw, the last knife rockets into the center target's heart with staggering force.

I purposely push through other tributes as I leave. They lean away from me, pupils wide. A dark smirk covers my face as I realize that I've established myself as a dangerous career, if case any of them were still doubting me because of my size.

I head over to the spear section. The male tribute from District 1, (Marvel, I think), practically owns this section. I'm picking up a few tips from him in between watching the others finish up the knife-throwing.

It's cool to see "brutal, bloody" Cato has some weak points, I think as I watch him throw knives. He's alright, I mean he was actually able to hit somewhere on the circles and have the knife stick there, and that's more than I can say for most of the tributes. But on his third try, he hurls it with too much force and not enough control. It hits way above the circles, then falls down to the ground. I hold in a chuckle as he seethes with anger and stomps over to the spears.

Cato angrily hurls just about every spear in his vicinty, and even Marvel seems a bit off-put. Cato seems to have calmed down when he turns to me. I'm holding the last spear left on the rack, sharpening it, and watching the spear instructor practically trip over his own feet trying to retrieve all the spears.

"Hey, kid."

"Don't call me kid. My name is Clove," I hiss out, a small wave of anger rushing over me. He shrugs, obviously not intimidated by me.

"Whatever, just give me that spear." I don't.

"Nice knife-throwing," I comment, trying to get a rise out of him. His brows furrow and his lips are pressed together in a thin line.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," I say offhandedly, as if I'm commenting on the weather. I drag the spear's blade across the sharpening stone a few more times, even though it's probably already sharp enough to drill to the center of the earth. "But your aim was off, and the knife sticks up at an upward angle because you're too close to the target. Oh, and on that last one, you put too much force into it. And keep doing that unhelpful wrist-flicking thing at the end of your throws if you never want to be in control of the knife. Here's your damn spear."

I thrust the spear into his hand, flash a maniacal smile, and walk off.


I'm starting to think – I should stop being a smart ass to Cato. It might backfire on me in the arena. I don't want to be his enemy. I hate to admit it, but he's the most dangerous and feared tribute. So I stick mostly with Marvel and Glimmer this training day, so hopefully Cato can forget about it by tomorrow. And I've come to the conclusion that all babies in district 1 must have to go through a ceremonial-being-dropped-on-their-heads or something. Their name choices are kind of an indication – I mean, Glimmer? Are you fucking kidding me? But that's beside the point. Marvel doesn't seem to be the sharpest spear on the rack, but he can sure throw one. The blonde bimbo Glimmer doesn't seem to have a weapon of choice other than her looks. But I like them, because I know I'll be able to kill both of them when the time comes.

From the archery section, where Glimmer fires off a straight but off-center arrows, I look over and the boy and girl from 12 catch my eye. At the camouflage section, the blonde boy is showing Katniss something he's painted onto his arm – a imitation of tree bark. The boy's looking at her so tenderly that I want to puke. I can't wait to get rid of them. Marvel looks at me questioningly when I scoff and I nod towards the pair from 12.

"They might as well enjoy art class before they die in a few days, hmm?"


Cato slams four tables together with a grunt. Me, Marvel, Glimmer, and the boy and girl tributes from 4 sit around the tables and eat together in near silence. Apart from the clink of forks, you could probably hear a pin drop in here with how much all the tributes are talking to each other. And I guess I get that. What do you say to people you know will try to kill you? I poke my fork around my bowl of weird leafy green things. It looks and tastes gross, but Brutus told me to eat this kind of stuff, so I do. I take a couple forced bites before looking up and finding Cato's cool blue gaze. I stare back intensely, hoping he'll flinch away or go back to his food. He doesn't.

"What?" I mumble softly. Softly, yet dumbly.

I hear a laugh coming from behind me, echoing throughout the silent cafeteria. We all turn around to see the girl from 12. Fake, I could hear it in her voice. I frown and before going back to picking at my bowl. What is she playing at?


With an ungraceful flop, my I fall down onto my ridiculously-soft bed. It smells... clean. As comforting and fresh as a new set of knives. I stare up at the ceiling and try to recover from the long-ass day of training. My arms and hands hurt from the sheer amount of knives they've thrown. No, scratch that, it's been like that just about everyday of my life. I hold in a wince of pain before realizing that there's no one around to hear it.

I reach for a remote on a table beside, and examine the foreign object. I press a red circle on it and look up with a gasp as the plain gray ceiling above me melds into a fake sky – bright blue dotted with plush white clouds. I let the remote drop from my hand and it clatters down somewhere on the shiny floor. I'm really only used to seeing the gray linoleum ceiling of the training academy, so this is kind of cool to look at. Even outside of training, in district 2, the sky isn't much to look at. It's mostly gray and foggy – just bleh. But this is.. nice, I guess. Shut the fuck up, I internally groan. I sound like such a sap.

I stare straight up with an unmoving gaze, and after awhile, my vision glazes over into a periwinkle-blue blur. My eyelids flutter before slowly closing, and I'm slipping into slee-

Thawp. My body is pulled into an upright position by an iron grip. My eyes go wide in shock, rage pulses through my veins, and instinctively my main knife hand goes up to hold my knife up against my attacker's throat. Then I realize that I'm not even holding a knife and my attacker, of all people, is Cato. I look up to see his bright blue eyes slightly widen before they look down to see my imaginary knife. He lets out a rumbling laugh and lets me go. Cato backward-walks away from me, hands up in mock defense.

"Woah, you got me, knife girl."

I mutter a colorful sentence under my breath and rub my eyes. I'm too sleepy to kick his ass today. And oh yeah, I'm supposed to be fighting such urges anyway.

"What was that?" I grumble, the nicest thing I can think of to say.

Once Cato realizes that I'm not going to threaten him with anymore imaginary knives, he sits down, a careful distance from me, on the edge of my bed.

"You didn't want to miss the tribute-hunt, did you?"

"The what?" He rolls his eyes.

"It's a tradition for the career pack. The night after the first day of training, all of the careers gather for a night of scaring the shit out of any tributes on the roof or in the training center after hours. Brutus told me that there's always some little shit who actually thinks they have a chance of winning."

"Sounds fun." This actually does sound like my kind of party.

"So hurry up!" I'm up and out of the door before his outstretched hand can grab my wrist.

I grab a slice of the Capitol sweet bread I've come to love as we pass by our level's grand dining table. Brutus is there, he looks up from his glass and gives a rare smile.

"I remember my tribute-hunt from back when. You two have fun, it's good practice for the arena."

"How exactly are we going to meet up with 1 and 4?" I murmur between bites.

"Please – we're careers. We do whatever the hell we want."

"But how-" Another eye-roll.

"They'll be on the roof."


The roof of the training center building is enormous – right next sides of huge, looming Capitol buildings, and hundreds of flickering lights from buildings, all around as far as you can see. You might feel small. Not me. Cato and I make our way past dozens of weird potted plants decorating the roof and some clumps of irritatingly high-pitched wind-chimes.

I pause for just a second when I see the the silhouettes of four people near the edge of the rooftop, towering over a small figure that's crouched defensively. As we get closer the smaller figure hastily runs away. I give a curt nod to Marvel, Glimmer, and the district 4 tributes, Tahlia and Azal.

"Sorry, but we started without you, Cato." says Glimmer. "That little thing was up here crying like a little bitch. Couldn't resist." He gives a grunt of recognition.

"Hey!" Marvel points out a silhouette of someone. A little pitter-patter of footsteps stops. They've just entered the rooftop, seen us, and backed the hell away.

"Hey, where you going?" Tahlia yells. Whoops and happy yells fill the air as we start running.


I can hear the slashes of the sword against the dummy as we near the entrance of the training room, and grins spread across all of our faces. We had chased a few more tributes and dumped a few potted plants on mentors' heads from the rooftop, who were walking on the Capitol streets. I couldn't stop laughing as they momentarily flipped the fuck out before the force field rocketed the plant back up the rooftop and we'd duck.

It's exhilarating. I might even say that I had a good time. And it's clear we have another little fucker to torment. I look over my shoulder, checking if anyone can see us. Instead I lock eyes with Cato, who's grinning ear-to-ear. And for once, I can't help but actually truly smile back at him.

I lean around the gray corner of the archway framing the training center and freeze. It feels like every single nerve in my body is standing on end. It's him. Is it him? It can't be him. Tall, tanned skin, broad shoulders, black closely-cropped hair, and low husky sounding in the occasional grunt as he swings the sword around. My eyes flash to the little white numberon the sleeve of his shirt, and I can literally feel my pupils contract as I breathe softly in relief. It's just another tribute. It's not him.

I turn around the rest of the pack, shoulders relaxed and face stoic as I motion for them to follow me. We file in and I grab a small knife off a rack and twirl it in between my fingers as we approach. The boy whips around at the noise, sword poised crookedly in defense. Cato laughs.

The boy's eyes are flared wide open and it's like I can almost smell the fear off him. It sends a wave of satisfaction rushing through my mind. It tilt my head just so at him, smiling almost sweetly with my eyes flashing wordless threats.

He's had enough. He makes to put away the sword and tries to walk away calmly, but his rigid shoulders give him away.

"We're going to kill you." I hiss.