Chapter Seven

"Hurry up, hurry up! You're going to be late for training if you don't go now," shouts Selene, flapping at us like we're small children as we enter the lift.

The lengths these Capitol people will go to so they can convince themselves they believe all of the tributes are as defenceless as each other seem to have no limits. And what gives this vain and insipid person the right to treat me like that anyway? In District 2, I'm considered to be a woman not a child.

However, despite that, I still roll my eyes at her in an incredibly child-like manner as she continues to flap even when we're inside the lift and the doors have started to slide together.

"Because we both know we're going to learn so much that we don't already know," whispers Cato sarcastically to me in a low voice that our escort can't hear.

The doors are almost closed when suddenly they glide back open again and I find myself staring into the cold, dark eyes of my mentor. I stand my ground and refuse to look away. Weakness is death with Vikus. I've known him for too long not to know that.

"I don't care what you do as long as you don't kill anyone," he says to me, deadly serious as usual. "And make sure he doesn't either," he adds with a knowing look and a nod in Cato's direction, "I'll hold you accountable as well as him if he does."

I don't like to remind Vikus that it wouldn't be him we'd be answering to if either of us killed another tribute in training, so I say nothing. I knew he hadn't fallen for our pretence of indifference to each other and that last statement is just his way of subtly confirming my suspicions.

The lift doors manage to glide all the way closed this time and we ride down to the underground gymnasium in silence, getting ready to pretend once again that we are merely district partners and nothing more. Cato reaches across and brushes the back of his hand over my throat, but when I turn to glare at him with pretend contempt, he's staring straight ahead with a flat expression of stone. I force myself to do the same before it's too late.

When we arrive in the gymnasium, the first thing I notice is that the people back home weren't lying. It does look very similar to the gym in our Training Centre. It doesn't feel the same though. I immediately see that nearly all of the other tributes are here already, and I can sense their fear before I've even left the lift.

"You always seem to be in my way, District 5."

I jump at the sound of Cato's voice, the aggression shocking me slightly as it seems to have come from nowhere. I turn to see him staring down at Lysandra, who is stubbornly holding her ground despite her extreme disadvantage.

"You could have just said 'excuse me'," she retorts sharply, shocking me greatly.

She might not be any real threat to us, but not many people dare to stand up to Cato at all, and she actually had the courage to answer him back. I was right. This one has spirit and she obviously hasn't given up yet. She's definitely up to something.

"Do you want to be on my kill list when we get in the arena?"

I laugh to myself. Come on, Cato, you can do better than that. She's intelligent enough to know that you want her dead already, whether she stands and fights or runs away.

The other tributes have all formed a semi-circle around my lover and his victim, who still seems reluctant to play her role as she should. Some look fearful, some simply look relieved that they're not Lysandra. Only a small minority are different. The pairs from 1 and 4, obviously, the man from 11, and probably most curiously, his little district partner. She peers around him to watch what's going on, apparently safe in the shadow of his protection. I silently wonder when he's going to wake up and realise this is the Hunger Games. But then if he knew the truth then I suppose he could say the same about me so I shouldn't be a hypocrite.

"Aren't all of the other tributes on your kill list, Cato? This is the Hunger Games, after all."

Lysandra's brave, I'll give her that, but her courage visibly deserts her at about the same time that Cato loses his temper and strides towards her. She backs up rapidly and he follows her, and when I see the Arena reflected in his eyes, I know this has to end now.

I cross over to the nearest of the tables that fill the room, choosing a knife from one of the holders and crossing the short distance to where Cato has Lysandra backed against another table. I quickly throw my knife, smiling briefly when it sinks into the wooden panelling of the wall, halfway between the pair of them at Lysandra's eye level. She turns to stare at me and so does Cato, her expression one of shock and his one of satisfaction at seeing the rest of the tributes' horrified response to my impromptu display.

"She's not worth it. Save it for the arena," I tell him, sighing with relief when he nods once and pulls the knife from the wall, handing it calmly to me, his temper vanishing as abruptly as it appeared.

"What is going on? Come back over here now."

I turn in the direction of the shout and see that the Capitol people who supervise the training sessions have arrived. Everyone walks back over to the lifts and stands in a semi-circle as we have our district numbers pinned to our backs, all looking at each other but nobody daring to meet my eyes. I smile to myself at that. Good. Intimidated tributes do stupid things that will only make what I have to do in the arena easier for me.

The lift bell breaks the silence and the pair from District 12 appear, late as usual and dressed in matching tunics. I turn to face Cato and see him scowl at Katniss before returning his focus to me. I have no idea what the mentors from 12 think they're doing. Holding hands at the Opening Ceremony, wearing matching clothes, how can that possibly help? I know better than anyone that there's no way two tributes can leave the arena alive.

The head trainer, who looks far too normal to be from the Capitol, immediately launches into her speech about what we can and can't do over the next three days. Just the usual and predictable rules, including the highly disappointing one of not fighting any of the other tributes. What I wouldn't give to take some of my anger out on Marvel.

Soon after, she indicates that we can start, and I watch Cato head immediately to the sword-fighting station, barely giving the three assistants time to reach their own swords before attacking them viciously. I smirk when I catch the eye of a small boy who'd been watching me, and then head immediately to the knife targets.

It's when I reach for the nearest weapon that I realise I'm not the only tribute who has chosen this station first, and I turn to find myself looking into the vivid emerald eyes of Glimmer from District 1. I have no idea what to expect from this girl. I dislike her on principle because she blatantly imagines herself allying with Cato, but there's something strange about her that I can't quite identify. Something that sets her apart from the usual District 1 tribute I've come to recognise after years of watching replays of the Games from previous years.

"Glimmer," I say, making sure I speak before she can have the first word.

"Clove," she replies immediately and without hesitation.

So, she knows my name already. She obviously does her research and has a higher intelligence level than I gave her credit for. She's definitely not as stupid as District 4 anyway, although I have to say that would be incredibly difficult so it's no great compliment.

I look at her for a second before speaking again, my eyes not wavering from hers as I mock her to test her reaction.

"Now tell me, which Capitol cosmetic surgeon's showroom did you escape from?"

She smirks at me and shrugs her shoulders. "I couldn't possibly divulge that information unless you tell me how you convinced District 2 to bother to train you," she replies in an equally mocking tone, pointedly and exaggeratedly looking down at me from her greater height as an accompaniment to her derogatory comment about my stature.

I pull two knives from the holder on the table and send them flying towards the furthest target, smirking back at her when the first one hits the very centre and a split second later, the other embeds itself into the end of its handle.

"Fair enough," she says, a grin on her outrageously beautiful face.

I can't help smiling back slightly. Very few people manage to surprise me but this girl certainly has. The unintelligent and supremely self-enamoured person who I was expecting is nowhere to be found.

I suspect she knows as well as I do how tenuous our alliance will be, but I can see myself at the very least not constantly wishing I could kill her throughout every minute I spend in her company, which is a whole lot more than can be said of my other 'new allies'.

When I look at her again, she's staring intently across the room. Seeing the focus of her attention makes my frown return instantly, however once again she surprises me.

"I don't think I'm his type, am I?" she asks after a couple of minutes, looking down at herself, then to me and back again as if she's making a comparison in her mind. She's perceptive, this one. Almost too perceptive.

"I think not," I reply eventually, waiting for her to tell the whole world what she's worked out. I inwardly breathe a sigh of relief when she doesn't.

"Won't stop me trying," she says, still smiling.

"I'd be disappointed in you if it did," I add with a smile of my own.

Due to the somewhat precarious nature of my upbringing, there are few things in life that I'm certain of and secure in, but Cato's love is one of them. However perfect the girl from District 1 may be, I know he'd never want anyone else but me, not even her.

Glimmer nods once to me and decides that knife throwing isn't for her, or more likely she had no intention of staying and just wanted to get the measure of me. I watch her move over to a table covered with swords, where she selects a long, thin, very lethal looking blade and swings it in lazy circles around herself with total ease. As she moves, I look around to see that a lot of the other tributes are staring at her. It's mostly fear I see in their eyes, but in some of the older male tributes that fear is mixed with unconcealed desire.

I take a deep breath before removing at least ten knives from the holder, lining them up on the table in front of me. I don't care how beautiful she is, she might win that particular battle but there's no way she's going to be the most intimidating tribute in this room. That title has to belong to me.

I focus on the smallest target for a few seconds, which is no bigger than the side plates we get at dinner and mounted on the gymnasium wall next to the one I aimed for before, then I lift the first knife and let it fly across the room. A very short time later, the target is covered with the knives and I smile when I see that I didn't miss a single one.

It feels like it used to when I was little and this was all new to me, mostly because of where I am. The sense of satisfaction I feel when I look around the room to see virtually all of the tributes have stopped what they're doing to stare makes me forget for a brief second that the Games will be the end of me, one way or another. That is until I see that Cato has stopped fighting to stare as well, his face a mixture of pride and pain that will stay in my mind forever.

Suddenly no longer feeling the same enthusiasm for training, I retrieve the knives and throw them again, becoming increasingly frustrated with the easiness of the targets. I was doing this very same exercise when I was thirteen years old. I could do it in my sleep and I'm bored.

I'm just about to move on to something else when I see a small ball cross the front of the targets before plummeting towards the floor. It never gets there though, because I throw my last remaining knife and spear it to the wall.

When I turn to find the source of my moving target, I see the crippled boy from District 10, who looks from me to the knife that protrudes from the wooden panelled wall and back again a couple of times before hobbling away. I sense someone approach behind me and I smirk as I turn to face him, knowing his identity before I see him just like I always do.

"This is boring. Are you sure we can't fight each other?" I whisper, lowering my voice so that the trainers and the Gamemakers who appeared in the stands a few minutes ago can't hear.

"You've only just lost the last black eye," he replies teasingly. "Do you really want another?"

"You got lucky and you know it. It'll never happen again," I retort before continuing. "Where are you going now?"

"Over there," he says, nodding in the direction of the spear throwing station, where Marvel is currently throwing the spears through the necks of the straw dummies they provide us with for practice.

"Just promise me you won't kill him."

"I won't deny you the pleasure, don't worry," he answers as he moves quickly away so we don't draw too much attention to ourselves. The Gamemakers are always watching so the show must go on.

I move on first to swords, choosing the same weapon that Glimmer had used and wielding it with as much skill if slightly less grace, before progressing to my favoured discipline of knife fighting. Stopping my attack only when the assistant raises his hands and requests some time to rest, I feel surprised that he needs to because I'm not even trying. Before I have chance to comment on this, however, Atala informs us that it's lunchtime before directing us through a small doorway that leads off the gym.

I follow the tiny white-haired girl from District 3 through the door into the dining room, deliberately keeping my expression hard and emotionless when she turns to look behind her. She almost trips over herself in her rush to put as much distance between us as she can and I know that she remembers our meeting at the Remake Centre as clearly as she remembers my display from this morning.

The room I find myself in is very small by Capitol-standards, packed with about ten tables with bigger ones laden with food positioned along three of the walls. Most of the tributes look dazed and lost, and they eventually move to the tables, sitting as far away from each other as possible. I don't feel like talking so I wish I had that luxury, but unfortunately there's no chance of that. I have to perform yet another act in this ongoing performance and sit with my fellow Careers, pretending we're temporary allies when I secretly think they'll be the easiest ones to kill in the arena. They wanted this. It was their choice as it was mine, and that means they deserve all they get.

I look at the huge serving spoon that rests next to a dish of stew on the table nearest to me, and wonder for a second if I could kill Marvel with it if he annoys me. I'm sure I could, so it's very difficult to walk away without it, especially as the boy's very existence annoys me intensely.

I'm just about to choose a table when I see Glimmer remove a bowl of fruit from one table and put it onto another before gracefully sitting down and looking to see where her allies are. I watch as Lysandra from District 5 takes a seat at the table that Glimmer removed the bowl from, but not before she has taken a couple of pieces of fruit from a different bowl with a swipe of her hand that was so quick I barely caught it. I cross the room and sit beside Glimmer, taking an apple from the bowl when she pushes it towards me. Seconds later, Cato takes the chair on my other side and I pass my apple to him before taking another for myself.

A scowl mars Glimmer's beautiful face for a split second and I know she wanted to offer him the bowl herself as an excuse to get his attention. I smile sarcastically at her, but she doesn't speak and neither do I. We may be having this silent battle between us, but, with the obvious exception of Cato, she is still my best ally and I am hers, which is something we both know well.

Surprised that nobody else has joined us, I look around the room to see Marvel, Varia and Arturo emulating Glimmer and removing bowls of fruit from the other tables, more often than not when there is another tribute sitting there. Honestly, how old are they? Such behaviour should be beneath them. I can understand them wanting to intimidate the others, who I have to say deal with the removal of their food with exactly the level of courage and bravery I've come to expect, but surely they've learnt that that is what the weapons are for? Cato and I grew out of doing things like that when we were barely eligible for the reaping.

Cato coughs but I can tell he only does it to disguise his laughter. Glimmer rolls her eyes when Marvel proudly puts another fruit bowl in front of her.

"I really don't think we need more than one," she says to his retreating back, her voice dripping with contempt.

I continue to watch him as he reaches for a bowl of oranges that rests upon the table beside the tiny girl from District 11. She makes no move to stop him but she also doesn't shrink away in fear like most of the others do. Marvel almost gets the bowl but Thresh pushes it out of his reach, and this time it's me who laughs rather than Cato.

"What?" he asks, but I say nothing, continuing to watch as Marvel looks at the floor and rapidly walks away from the man from District 11 and his child of a district partner, glancing furtively across the room at our table as he does in the hope that we haven't noticed. I meet his eyes and give him my best sickly sweet smile, telling him silently that I've seen his weakness and won't forget it.


When we're all seated around the table, we keep up the pretence of friendship for the benefit of the other tributes. Most of the talking is done by Marvel and Arturo, who feel the need to describe their wonderful lives back home in their respective districts in as much detail as they possibly can. Do they really think we're interested? Do they really think I care how rich their fathers are or how many times they've met the mayor? They seem to be competing against each other to see who can be the most immature. I look around the table and see that Glimmer looks bored and Cato looks positively murderous.

"If you value your life at all, District 1, then you'll eat your food in silence until I say otherwise. I'm rapidly becoming tired of the sound of your voice," he says, interrupting Marvel mid-sentence.

I laugh and so does Glimmer, more to make the other tributes believe in the strength of our alliance than for any other reason, although the look on Marvel's face is a picture, a mixture of indignant shock at being interrupted and fear at the realisation that he isn't the strongest and best trained tribute in the Games and that he has earned the wrath of the man who is. The fear obviously wins because he doesn't say another word.

We sit in silence for a few minutes and the only sound in the small dining room comes from the table across the room, where the pair from District 12 sit together, talking in hushed voices. Their conversation looks forced and before my musings are interrupted by Varia, I consider once more the question of what the team from the coal district is up to this year. I can't even start to work it out.

"Did you know each other before the reaping then? You seemed to when we talked last night."

I stare at the girl from the fishing district for a second, knowing by her lack of subtlety that she's attempting another kind of fishing - fishing for information.

"We trained together sometimes," I answer eventually, not lying, just not telling her the whole truth or even anywhere near a quarter of it. Cato laughs and I glare at him. We need to move on to a new topic of conversation and quickly.

"How many people have you killed?" continues Varia, asking the table as a whole rather than only me. Having thought her unsubtle before, I now reach the conclusion that she wouldn't know subtlety if it slapped her around the face.

I look around at the others and see that Marvel is looking down at his plate of food and saying nothing. It could be that he doesn't want to risk aggravating Cato by speaking, but I suspect the real reason for his silence is that his answer to Varia's question is that he's never killed anyone and that he's ashamed. Stupid boy. As if killing someone is something to be proud of. As if it's something to show off about and he's disappointed that he can't. Glimmer also says nothing but she looks straight at Varia defiantly, her silence clearly a refusal to lower herself to the other girl's level.

"Well?" says the girl from 4 sharply when nobody answers her. "Are you all so pathetic that you've never fought anyone but your trainers in the gymnasium?"

"We'll see who's pathetic in five days time, won't we?" I snarl back. I've never allowed anybody to talk to me like that and I'm not about to start now. "I don't have to brag about how many people I've killed, I'm quite happy to let my actions in the arena do the talking."

"I killed a man," she says aggressively. "He hurt my brother so I hurt him."

I stare at her, and it's like I'm looking at her properly for the first time. I expect to see something in her expression that reminds me of myself, for when she talks of killing to avenge whatever happened to her brother, I can understand how that feels. The only time I've ever derived any kind of pleasure from taking the life of another person was when I killed a man in the Arena back home in an act of revenge to punish him for what he did to someone I cared for. The only person apart from Cato who I've ever truly cared for. But when I look into her eyes, I get the impression that her satisfaction came from the act of killing itself, not from the reasons behind her actions. For different reasons, she disgusts me as much as Marvel does.

I turn away from my 'allies', suddenly unable to bear the sight of them, and focus my attention on the other tributes. Katniss and Peeta are still talking and all the rest still sit alone and silent, some looking more comfortable with their solitude than others. Lucas, the boy from District 10, and Lysandra look the most relaxed, on the outside at least, and the girl from District 8 whose name I don't know looks the most terrified. She almost jumps from her seat every time someone sitting at my table makes even the slightest movement. When the little girl from 11 coughs, I turn my head in her direction, not missing the concerned expression that shows briefly on Thresh's face.

"He didn't say one word to me," begins Arturo, whose attention was obviously also drawn to District 11 by the girl's coughing. "I asked him to join us and he didn't even look at me. Maybe he didn't understand the question," he adds, much to Varia and Marvel's amusement.

"I'm sure he understood you perfectly," snaps Glimmer abruptly. "But you're wasting your breath. He will never join us."

I can't deny that I share her opinion, but I'd love to know how she can be so certain. What does she know of the man from District 11? I've been watching her closely all morning, assessing her strengths and weaknesses, and I'm sure I haven't seen them go within a hundred metres of each other, never mind have a conversation.

"Why not? District 11 isn't smart enough to realise we'd only be using him," retorts Marvel, Cato's earlier words apparently slipping his mind.

I'm very surprised to see the ice-cold beauty from District 1 finally let her self control go slightly as she almost hisses at her district partner, giving him a death-stare that almost rivals mine. She seems unable to find words, either that or she knows something she doesn't want to share, and as I can't resist an opportunity to insult Marvel, I decide to help her out.

"Your parents really had no idea what they were thinking when they named you, did they? Unless they were being ironic…"

He opens his mouth to reply but then Atala reappears and announces that lunchtime is over before instructing us to return to the gymnasium. I return to the knives and throw them once more at the target, barely even having to think. When I go to retrieve them, I stop halfway. There has got to be something more useful that I can do with this time than repeat exercises I could do in my sleep. I achieved what I wanted with the weapons this morning. The other tributes are intimidated so the weapons stations have served their purpose. It's not like I need the practice.

So I pass my afternoon in a way that probably surprises the Gamemakers completely. A tribute from District 2 spending her training time at the survival stations. I imagine such a sight is virtually unheard of, and I can't say it's the most fun in the world, but by the end of the afternoon I have revised all that I learnt at the Training Centre at home about edible and poisonous plants and shelter building, just in case I should need to use such skills in the arena.

Only a very arrogant or foolish person would go into the arena unprepared if they had the opportunity to learn, and I'm determined not to make this easy for the Gamemakers. If one of us has to die then it won't be of starvation or some other natural cause. That would be an insult that I couldn't bear and I know Cato would feel the same. The thought briefly crosses my mind that if he has to die then he'll want me to be the one who kills him because anything less would be an insult as well. But then I push it away quickly. I can't think like that. I can't.


When Atala announces that training is over for the day, I head over to the lifts, instinctively drifting towards Cato even though I know I really shouldn't.

"Is this a new tactic you haven't told me about?" he whispers when I reach his side.

"What?" I whisper back.

"Standing at the survival stations so the other tributes are too intimidated by your presence to take in anything the trainer's trying to teach them," he replies, struggling to contain his laughter. "I didn't know we needed to be so understated."

I scowl at him, which only makes him laugh more. "You won't be laughing when you're only eating in the arena because I paid attention, will you?"

"We'll have the supplies," he says, but I can tell he understands really.

"You're assuming there'll be any. Did you see Seneca Crane's face? He looks in an especially sadistic mood this year, so maybe he'll derive pleasure from seeing which tributes starve first."

In the rush to get to the lifts, I notice Glimmer walk slowly over to Thresh, and I'm shocked when he actually speaks to her. I wish I could hear what they're saying, and it seems that Cato does too, for he walks in their direction, obviously not wanting to miss any information that may be useful to us. I still don't think Thresh will ally with us though, no matter what Glimmer says or does. My kind are universally hated by the lesser districts, and I imagine he'd think it shameful to associate with us.


Realising I can't stand here waiting, I walk into the nearest lift and travel up to our floor alone, knowing that Cato will tell me anything I need to know later. I've only taken one step out of the lift when I suddenly wish I'd stayed in the gymnasium.

"Just move out of my way before I make you regret it, Augustus," I reply as my so-called mentor steps in front of me to block my path.

"Do you really think you're going to win the Games?" he says, sneering down at me.

"I think District 2 will have a victory this year, yes." I answer, my voice formal and stilted as I struggle to restrain my hatred and fury.

He laughs. "You'll never win. You're a disgrace to your father's memory. He would be ashamed to have such a weak little girl for a daughter."

"What would you know of my father?"

I keep my voice even and full of the loathing that I truly feel for the excuse for a man who stands before me, but even as I speak, I recognise the same mixture of feelings that I usually get at the mention of my father. That strange mix of anger, grief and shame I've felt since the last time I saw him, which was on the day before he was killed over five years ago.

I think about the other twenty-two tributes and I wonder how many of them said goodbye to their fathers when they left for the Capitol. I find it very hard to believe they'll have the same memory of that final parting as I do.

I've never forgotten the last words my father said to me. 'You will never win the Games, my girl. You're too weak. Physically weak and most of all, emotionally weak. I'm ashamed of you.' I can hear the words echo inside my head even as I stare defiantly up at Augustus, determined not to let him see that he's raised one of the two subjects that causes me genuine pain. I can't even remember the crime I'd committed to earn that speech and the accompanying beating that left me unable to walk for a week, but I've remembered his words since the day they left his mouth.

Every time I've been to training or fought someone in the gym or the Arena, I have remembered two things; those words and the fact that Cato doesn't believe them to be true, and those two things are all that has kept me going for the past five years.

"I know enough to know that you could never live up to his expectations. I've watched you strutting around the Training Centre with your lover, the pair of you thinking that you'll run the place one day, well not anymore. If by some miracle you come back from the arena, Clove, I will make sure that you never forget the moment he breathes his last. I will make sure that the rest of your life is a living nightmare."

"If I come back from the arena then I will make it my life's mission to kill you, Augustus. And if I do come back from the arena then do you really think I'll have anything left to lose?"

"I don't think I have much to be afraid of. Unless you're actually planning on killing him. What's the plan then? I'm your mentor, you can tell me. Are you going to fight him? Or are you going to take the coward's way out and stab him in the back? Maybe you could wait to see if one of the other tributes does it for you, but I wouldn't take that chance if I were you."

"Stop it!" I scream at him. "Just shut up!"

I'm shaking with rage by now, grieving because of an event that hasn't even happened yet, and when he steps forward, backing me against the wall, I lose control completely and lash out, punching him as hard as I can, catching him in the jaw so that his head snaps around and he staggers to the side. I'm about to hit him again as he pulls himself upright and raises his own fist to strike me back when I hear the lift bell ring once more.

"Augustus! Clove! Stop this now!"

I see the tall figure of my other mentor begin to stride towards us and I turn away, walking towards the wooden door at the end of the corridor. After a couple of steps I start to run, faster and faster, and before I know it I'm racing through the door and then through the sitting room until I reach my own set of rooms, the set of rooms I haven't even seen.

I've been maintaining this pretence that I can't wait to get into the arena, that I can't wait to start killing the other tributes, but I simply can't carry on. I feel like a bomb waiting to explode. I care little about the others. I've always known that I'd have to kill if our plans and dreams were going to become reality and it isn't like I haven't done it before. Their inevitable deaths don't mean very much to a person who has trained for the arena all their life, but I don't think I'll be able to face Cato across the gymnasium tomorrow, training with Capitol weapons that will be identical to the ones the Gamemakers are going to expect me to use to take his life. Something about Augustus's words made the reality of this situation finally come crashing down on top of me, and it's so heavy that I can't move. I can't even begin to see past my worst nightmare to try to think of a way out. There is no way out.

I pick up a candlestick from the fire surround and bring it crashing down onto a glass table. I don't make a sound when the table shatters and the shards of broken glass shred the skin of my forearm. My anger and sorrow consumes me so completely that I notice neither the pain nor the steady stream of blood that flows onto the white carpet.

I draw the carving knife that I'd taken from the dining room from my belt and throw it violently across the room with as much force as I can. The blade sinks deeply into the wooden panelling of the wall, quivering rapidly, but it still isn't enough, the rage and anger is still there just below the surface. I cross the room and grab the handle of the knife, but even when I pull with all of my strength it still won't come loose. I hear an enraged scream that I only just register as my own before I reach for the nearest glass vase and fling it across the room.

They can't do this to me! This can't be happening! I wish Vikus had just arranged my death in the Arena when I was a child like he'd been going to. I almost wish that Cato hadn't had the courage to intervene on that day four years ago, when the man who was to become my mentor had decided that my time was up. Anything would be better than this.

With every thought, another vase or ornament smashes to a million pieces on the previously spotless floor, and after a short time I hear a hammering on the door that seems to be coming from many, many miles away, accompanied by Vikus's furious shouts.

"Open this door right now! Clove!"

My response is to pick up one of the wooden chairs that are arranged around the small dining table and throw it against the door, and when I hear Selene's terrified squeal, the other quickly follows it.

"What's happening here? What's she doing? That's Capitol property!"

"Selene, either do something useful or disappear," replies Vikus in response to our Capitol escort's hysteria, his voice as commanding as ever.

Selene squeals again and I hear the sound of high-heeled shoes rapidly retreating down the corridor just before the hammering resumes. Vikus shouts again, louder than ever.

"I won't repeat myself again, open this door now!"

Another piece of furniture, this time a small, ornately carved table, joins the chairs as I'm still too enraged to speak. In the silence that follows the crash of the table, I'm surprised to hear the familiar sound of Selene's shoes, getting closer this time and accompanied by a second set of footsteps.

"Is this your idea of control?" she asks of Vikus, and although he says nothing, I can imagine the expression on his face. "There's no reasoning with them when they lose it like this, I've seen it before," she continues, her tone a lot more careful this time. "Maybe he can calm her down. I say we leave them to it."

"What's going on?"

I instantly recognise Cato's voice, speaking in the usual aggressive tone that he uses for both Vikus and our Capitol escort.

"Your girl's lost it," Vikus says bluntly "Augustus said something to her and she went mad."

Thanks for that vote of confidence, Vikus. That's rich coming from the man who was nearly executed by the Capitol for attacking another tribute before the start of the Games.

I pull a picture off the wall and throw it at the huge window, feeling both anger and disappointment when it clatters to the floor without even cracking the glass. The other picture soon follows it when I realise it's a copy of President Snow's most famous portrait. He is responsible for this, him and his Gamemakers, and I only wish I could break him into as many pieces as I did the picture that lies on the floor.

Hysterical screaming comes from the other side of the door now. "Do something! Kick the door down! Just stop her before she does any more damage! There's no way I'm going to be the one explaining to Seneca Crane that he has to go and get a new female tribute for District 2!"

Despite feeling my violent rage ebbing away even as I listen to Selene's hysterics, I feel a fresh wave of anger when I hear her say the name of the Head Gamemaker. I notice a solid gold letter opener on the floor and I pick it up, throwing it across the room like I would throw a knife, imaging that I'm aiming for the head of the person who conspired with fate to ruin my life. As it crashes into a glass fronted cabinet, making the whole thing shatter, I hear Cato's voice from the corridor once more.

"Just go, both of you. I'll sort this out," he says calmly and tiredly. I can tell he's as fed up with the Capitol as I am.

"You can't order me around, young man," says Selene, her voice increasing in pitch by the second. My rage subsides further as I imagine how much she would have to look up at Cato if she was to meet his eyes whilst attempting to convince him that she was still in charge here.

"Very well," he says silkily, "I'll just kick the door down and leave you with Clove then…"

I can't help smiling as the heels retreat quicker than I thought possible.

Now my rage has left me, I suddenly notice the throbbing pain from my arm, and as I look around the room, I notice for the first time the true extent of the destruction I've caused. Good. Finally my surroundings reflect what I'm feeling inside.

There's a loud crash, closely followed by the sound of splintering wood as the door flies inwards, the hinges ripping from the wall as Cato kicks it down. He takes one look at the chaos around him and then crosses the room to me, catching me as I sink to the floor crying floods of tears. He holds me tightly until I can cry no more, loosening his grip only to tear a strip of material from his very expensive-looking Capitol shirt before wrapping it tightly around my arm to stop the flow of blood.

"I'm sorry," I say eventually, with an unsuccessful attempt at a smile. "I suppose I'll be on my own if I keep being this pathetic."

"Pathetic? You? When have you ever been pathetic? Anyway, look around you. Have you seen the state of this room?" he replies, and we both laugh. He falls silent for several minutes before finally speaking again. "Nothing will happen to you in the arena, Clove. I won't let anything happen to you."

"Don't insult me by saying that. You know what I fear and it isn't pain or death."

"I won't allow you to die for me either, so don't even begin to think it," he growls, his lips millimetres from my ear.

I don't know what to say to that so I say nothing, and after a while a couple of Avoxes appear in what's left of the doorway, their eyes wide with shock. They turn to leave but Cato calls after them.

"We're leaving," he says to them before returning his focus to me. "You should get someone to look at your arm."

"You know better than to tell me that. Do you want some poor unfortunate to go the same way as this room? You've patched me up well enough in the past, I'm sure you'll manage just fine."

He smiles slightly and shakes his head. "You're crazy, did you know that? You always have been," he says as he stands up, lifting me in his arms as he does.

"You like me crazy," I retort, forcing myself to ignore the throbbing pain coming from my arm.

"Never doubt it," he replies, taking advantage of my temporary inability to fight back by lifting me up so I'm even closer. However as he carries me from the room, he continues a lot more seriously. "Vikus told me what happened. Augustus will pay for that, you have my word."


The very second I open my eyes, I can tell I've overslept. The light that shines through the windows is unusually bright for the Capitol and definitely isn't the pale light of dawn I'm used to. I can hear people walking around in the corridors outside, which immediately makes me suspicious although it takes me a few seconds to realise why.

Sitting up quickly, I look down at my bandaged arm and yesterday's events suddenly come flooding back. Knowing my luck, the Capitol people will be waiting outside right now to arrest me. I have no idea where Cato has gone but I wish he'd just walk through the door. Why didn't he wake me anyway?

It's when I remember how he swore to me that Augustus would pay for what he said that I panic and throw myself out of bed, hoping desperately that he hasn't done anything stupid. I have picked up and then discarded my own tunic because of its bloodstained, torn sleeve and pulled on one of Cato's instead, ignoring the fact I could fit inside it at least three times just like I used to do back home, before I recall that I'm not in District 2 anymore. I don't think turning up to breakfast wearing my 'district partner's' shirt would go down that well with Selene and Vikus.

I tentatively walk out into the corridor and push open the door to my own suite of rooms, expecting to see at least some remnant of yesterday's destruction, but when I step inside there are no officials waiting to arrest me, no broken furniture, no shards of glass or wood on the floor. There is actually not even the slightest hint that I had been in the room at all. Maybe they do intend to cover the whole incident up and I won't be immediately executed after all.

After making myself look as presentable as I can in a very short space of time, I race to the dining room before skidding to a halt in front of the door. After taking a deep breath, I walk in, trying desperately to portray a calmness that I don't feel.

As ever, the first person I see is Cato, and when he nods almost imperceptibly at the chair next to him, I walk over and sit down without a word. There is a tension in the room so great that it feels like I could reach out and touch it.

I look at Vikus, who is staring at Cato and doesn't seem to have even noticed my presence, but I get the first real indication that something has changed when I look at Augustus. District 2's second mentor looks at me, but when I meet his eyes I don't see any of his usual vicious arrogance. The leer I've loathed for years has suddenly vanished. I look closely at him, but other than the abrupt change in his attitude and demeanour, the only difference in him is a long, deep knife wound that runs along the whole length of one side of his face. Cato coughs pointedly and Augustus immediately averts his gaze from me and stares at the table.

I turn to Cato, wondering what he could possibly have done to the other man to induce such fear. Augustus sits upright in his chair, and he still moves with an ease that tells me he doesn't have wounds I can't see. Not physical wounds anyway. He isn't a good enough actor to pretend he isn't hurt when he is.

"What-" I start, only for Cato to kick me under the table, telling me not to continue. For once I do as I'm told, but I glare at him, making sure that he knows in no uncertain terms that I'll require an explanation later and that it had better be a good one.


As soon as the lift doors close and we begin our descent to the gymnasium for training, I turn to face Cato, abandoning all thoughts of maintaining our distance in public and stepping forward to stand millimetres away from him, tilting my neck back to meet his eyes.

"What did you do to him? He's a complete wreck. How could you be so stupid? If he tells the Capitol-"

I don't get the chance to finish, for he puts his hands on my shoulders, gripping me tightly as he interrupts my outburst of words.

"I don't care what your father did to his father or how pissed off he is that it's my bed you sleep in not his or whatever it is that makes him hate you so much, he went one step too far this time. And if you'd seen him before I did this morning then you would have killed him, I know that." I shake my head at that and try unsuccessfully to step away from him, but as he continues, I know he's probably right. "If we'd been anywhere other than here then I'd have fetched him for you so you didn't have to chase him when he ran away like the coward he is, but this isn't District 2. This is the Capitol and the Gamemakers would kill you. I will never let that happen."

"And if he tells the Gamemakers what you did? What then? Do you think I'll stand here and let them kill you?"

"I didn't do anything to him. I know we're not supposed to but we were having a practice fight outside of training and it went a bit too far. It was all an accident."

I smile when he says that as he sounds totally convincing. He's a much better actor than Augustus and I'm sure he could convince even the Capitol that his only crime was fighting outside of the gymnasium.

"I still don't need you to fight my battles for me."

"Have I ever said you did? But this way he'll be frightened enough for long enough for the Games to be over one way or another. The Games will decide his fate as well as ours."

I'm glad when the lift doors slide open as I really don't know how to answer that. What can I say? As much as I may wish it wasn't, everything he said is true.