The Quarter Quell gave me the motivation I needed and it was as if my haze had shattered. Suddenly my will, my thoughts, everything was blade sharp and the morning after the announcement I had no difficulty rising before sunrise and launching myself into the woods.
Before my own Games I was running my long route around the district twice a day. It was this same route that I took again, ignoring the fact that I was terribly out of shape and relatively weak from lack of training. It was almost like punishment. I pushed myself as hard as I used to, as punishment for the fact that I had allowed myself to get into this state. No mercy.
From that day I began running through the woods at dawn and dusk, scrambling over rocks and scaling small cliffs, purely because I could. I began to spend the entire day in the Training Centre, settling back into the rhythm which I used to love so much. As Priscus had stated at the announcement, the training schedule in District 2 had been forced to change that year. There was no need for the eighteen year olds to take over the centre in preparation for their Reaping. So Brutus and I had almost free reign of much of the centre.
After several weeks we began to train together. Most often, we sparred together. I threw my knives at him while he dodged. He was particularly useful to practice my hand-to-hand combat. I was aware, as ever, that I was weak against larger and stronger opponents in close range, especially without weapons, and there weren't many larger or stronger than Brutus.
Despite the fact that it had been almost twenty years since his Games and he seemed to have developed an almost constant drinking habit, he hadn't lost any viciousness and surprisingly little skill. He was ruthless, which I appreciated, though twice when I had made stupid errors he had to hold back to prevent my death. Likewise, I never aimed for his neck when I threw my knives. Death was not the aim yet.
"Time enough for that later," he'd said to me one day as he offered me a hand up from the floor.
Training was like a drug. When I was sparring or throwing or running I didn't have to think about anything but my knives or my own body or the Arena. It was a relief to block all else. I ignored the darkness which was all still there, waiting to drag me down again, and focused on the Arena instead. As long as I could make it to the next reaping, I might never have to worry about being dragged down again. Whenever Brutus joked, in the way that only District 2 could, that only one of us was coming home, I kept silent. It would be one of the worst sins a District 2 tribute could commit, to acknowledge not only that they might die, but that they didn't really care if they did. If I admitted it to anyone they'd pull me out of the Games and put Dayna or Ramona in my place. The way I saw it, what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them. Even if I died, District 2 would receive honour when I fought, the Capitol would receive entertainment and I would kill the girl I needed to. Everyone would be happy. Or Dead.
For the most part, I found myself quite liking Brutus. He didn't speak much, and when he did, he spoke exactly what he was thinking. He'd tease me sometimes, mostly about my size or something similar, but I knew it was not malicious, and I knew that he was perfectly aware that I was just as good as him. He had seen my Games; just like everyone else, he knew to respect me.
Perhaps what I liked most was that he wasn't Domitius. Brutus hadn't been in the Capitol last year and as far as I knew he knew nothing of my personal side to what had happened He didn't look at me worried yet silently critical, the look which made me feel so claustrophobic. He didn't care about me, and that was what I was used to. I could deal with that.
There was only one time I came close to slitting his throat. He'd managed to flip me over, slamming me down on my back on the ground and I'd paused a moment, catching my breath, pushing aside the pain in my ribs, and scolding myself for letting him catch me off guard.
"Well that was boring, Rabbit," he said, stepping backwards.
I leapt to my feet and pressed my knife to his throat before either of us knew what had happened. To his credit he looked mildly startled at my reaction.
"Don't call me that!" I snapped at him, realising what I'd done and stepping backwards slightly, letting the knife drop. He was intrigued at the severity of my response.
"Why not?" he asked challengingly when my knife had safely left his neck. "It's your training name isn't it? What your trainer calls you? Or would you rather I call you Ena? En?"
He laughed coldly and my fingers tightened around the knife again as I used all my willpower to stop myself from killing him. It wasn't just the taunt that hurt, it was the fact that, by the tone of his voice, I knew he was aware of the power of his words. He knew, I don't know how, what each of those names meant to me.
I forced myself to turn slowly to him, trying to appear controlled, though my voice came out tight with anger. "You can call me whatever you want, Castillo," I hissed. "It won't matter what name you give me when you're choking on your own blood with one of my blades buried in your chest."
He looked mildly pleased at the idea but I knew it was the thought of a fight that made his blood sing, and probably the knowledge that he had got under my skin.
Despite my threats he continued to call me Rabbit sometimes. Eventually I decided to use it as a training tool, suppressing my anger and controlling the urge to kill him on the spot as I was sure I would have to do the second I saw Fire Girl. I'd have to go through days of training and interviews and parades in the vicinity of her, and I could not kill her until the Arena. That was probably going to be the hardest challenge of the entire Games.
Unusually, the reaping day was cool. A weak sun shone down from a cloudless sky but a chilly breeze whipped around the crowds as they filled the Square and threatened to blur my vision as it tangled my hair around my face. No one spoke to me as I took my place among the female victors and no one met my eyes, not even Dayna. Was this District 2? We did not shy away from tributes and victors, but there was unmistakably something different about this year. Even the escort, a new man, seemed unusually nervous, his eyes fluttering over the crowds.
Of course, we had the most victors to draw tributes from, but even so, numbers were unusually depleted. Dayna stood immediately to my right, her arms crossed angrily over her chest and her gaze not leaving the ground at her feet. There was a space on my left that filled with the cold wind and I wished more than ever that Tass were still alive. Ramona was next, a short distance from me across the empty space. She kept throwing suspicious, angry glances sideways at the formidable woman standing next to her. Lyme towered over Ramona and looked like she could pulverise her body into dust with one squeeze. Considering that Ramona was hardly fragile, that was saying something. I wondered what the furious glances being thrown between them were about. Probably Ramona being her usual hateful self, but from the few encounters I'd had with Lyme she hadn't seemed like an unnecessarily angry person.
My eyes moved passed her to the hollow space on her other side: my mother's. After that was a woman called Iona. She had won the 35th Games and she stood straight backed and lithe despite the greying of her hair. Finally Evelyn, the Victor of the 32nd Games. I had seen little of these two in my life as, once they had been replaced by younger victors, they had withdrawn from society. All I knew of them was that Iona was famous for her intelligence, Evelyn for her preference for unusual weapons, and that the two were close friends, almost like family.
Across from our section of six surviving female victors, seven men stood in a solemn line. For possibly the first time in my life I lay eyes on the man who had won the Games two years after Brutus. Killian Gregorio was tall and positively terrifying, with short black hair and piercing eyes. He had never mentored and he did not live in the district anymore. It was common knowledge that the President used Killian's strength and ferocity in his personal security service and had since the year he won. I looked passed him to Brutus, who briefly met my eyes before looking away again, and then next to him Domitius, who I lingered on only enough to see that he looked furious, glaring at the ground like he wished he could slaughter it. Next to him was a hollow space where my father would have stood if I had not killed him ten years ago, and after that a thin man called Panthus who had won the 42nd Games. A tall man with steel grey hair and cold eyes stood next to him, Acanthus, the 33rd Victor, and after that another space whose owner I couldn't remember. Two more men stood after that, both among the oldest citizens of District 2. Caeso Corbulo was 72 and Vel Marcial was 83, but they both looked as sharp as they day the won, despite the frailness of their bodies.
It was strange, seeing all the victors in the one space. We were it, the ones who had walked out alive. I thought I'd feel at home in these lines, at home with the only people in the world who could really understand what it was like, but I still didn't fit in. I felt their gazes drift over me as the crowd waited restlessly for the Reaping to start. I was already different from then, by the sheer fact that I would be going into the Arena twice. I wondered if any of them were envious. I knew Dayna had been angry at me, but more for the fact I'd not given her a choice than that I'd taken her chance to volunteer. She had a family. I don't think she would have volunteered again. Ramona was as hard to read as ever and the other two paid me little attention, only huddling into each other and exchanging words in low voices.
The escort began his speech, his voice faltering a few times, and I shivered, crossing my arms tightly over my chest to try and hold some warmth to myself. It wasn't just the cold wind, it was the atmosphere of the Square. I'd never felt anything like it in District 2 and it unsettled me, just as the grey, boiling clouds and whispering wind through the trees before a storm did. It was an atmosphere of foreboding.
"The female tribute for the 75th Hunger Games, the Quarter Quell is..." the escort began, raking his fingers around the bowl in search of a paper. He pulled one out and slipped it open, raising it before his eyes. "Enobaria Reyes!"
My shock at hearing my own name read out was almost as much as if I'd been a twelve year old in District 12 who was Reaped. My arms dropped from my chest and I blinked for a moment as I processed his words. I'd been prepared to volunteer and yet here I was, being Reaped. I shook my head slightly to clear my thoughts and moved out from the small group, walking confidently up onto the stage. I felt everyone's eyes on me as I took my place next to the escort who was giving me a small, simpering smile which I ignored. I wondered how long it had been since a tribute for the Games had not been replaced by a volunteer. It had certainly never happened in my life time and I wondered if it had ever happened. It seemed like every time I went into the Arena I was destined to make history in one way or another.
The escort pulled Acanthus' name from the bowl, and Brutus barely gave him time to finish the words before he had called out in a loud voice and begun to march towards the stage. He smiled grimly at me as he took his position opposite me. He looked like this second chance at a Games were the best thing that could have happened in his life. I didn't know that much about Brutus' life outside of training so, for all I knew, it was the best thing he could hope for.
We were rushed through the justice building without pausing at the usual rooms where tributes would get a few minutes with their loved ones. I couldn't say I was sorry. It was unusual though and everything about this Reaping felt off. The escort, Brutus and I were ushered onto the train by tensely silent Peacekeepers and when the door closed behind us, I felt unbalanced.
I turned to Brutus raising my eyebrows in a silent question.
He shrugged. "I don't know, but it doesn't matter. No one to say good bye to anyway."
"No, me neither," I replied quietly, looking out the window at the grey tunnel wall.
The escort introduced himself as Romulus but neither Brutus nor I paid him any attention and soon enough he seemed to pick up on this and fell silent, twisting his bright magenta robe in his hands and glancing nervously around.
After about half an hour of inactivity the carriage door opened and two people walked in. I turned and froze as I saw Domitius walk into the small space, ducking his head to get through the door just as he had last year when we had been prepared to mentor Cato and Clove. To my surprise Lyme followed him in, nodding at us respectfully.
"I'm your mentor this year," Domitius said shortly, meeting my eyes. I glared at him until Lyme broke the silence.
"And I'll be yours, Brutus," she said, looking passed the two of us to him. He gave a small laugh and walked over to her. Lyme was tall but he still had to look down at her.. She stared back at him till he chuckled and turned away again. "This is going to be an unusual Games indeed," he mused to himself.
"I don't need a mentor," I snapped at Domitius, hoping he wasn't remembering, as I was, how Clove had said those very words to me in this very carriage exactly one year ago.
He gave a grunt and looked away, walking over to the table and taking a seat with his back to me. I glared at him in frustration and then sighed, throwing my hands up in the air and spinning away, storming to my own room where I seethed in silence until the train rolled into the Capitol station.
A/N: And the Games are ready to begin! I'm not sure Enobaria is going to be able to wait until the Arena to kill Katniss. What do you think she'll feel when she sees her at training and such? What do you think Domitius' motives are for being Enobaria's mentor?