A/N: Hello, everyone! I apologize for the late update. This chapter took a while for me to write between finals. I'm officially halfway through the story! Anyways, I hope you're enjoying it! Let me know if it sucks! Please R&R!

Your humble story-teller,

FLUX

-*** Training Day: 3: Part 2: ***-

"Cato…"

His name fell breathlessly from Peeta's lips as Cato sucked and nipped along the tender skin of Peeta's carotid. Cato had pulled him to the greenhouse floor in his time of desperation. He wanted to feel something other than anger and despair. Peeta could give him that feeling.

Cato's lower lip stung, drawing in Peeta's delicate skin. The sounds he made turned Cato into an incubus, thirsty for more.

"Cato… we should— ah!"

Peeta gasped as Cato traced his tongue along the bruises of his clavicle. His hand worked up Peeta's shirt, gently squeezing the sensitive bud of his nipple. Cato drowned himself in Peeta's moans and whimpers, taking in the sweet scent of vanilla and cedarwood that flooded his nostrils. The sounds the baker boy made sent shivers down Cato's spine. His smell made his mouth water. Peeta's hands ran through Cato's hair, sliding along his shoulders.

"Cato… please."

Cato stopped the assault on Peeta's neck, looking up at the breathless blonde with hungry eyes.

"You don't know what you do to me," Cato huffed, trailing his eyes over Peeta's plump lips. "When you beg like that, I can barely contain myself."

Peeta frowned at him, pushing on his shoulders. "Cato, we need to talk-k..."

Peeta shuddered as Cato leaned in, flicking his tongue against his earlobe. Cato's breath tickled the crest of his ear. "I'm listening... I'm very good at multitasking—"

Peeta huffed with a flush, pushing Cato back. "Well, I'm not… You're making things v-very— distracting..."

Cato gave Peeta a devilish grin, hovering his face heartbeats above Peeta's. "Am I making things… hard for you, Peeta?"

Peeta's lips curled downward. "What happened earlier?"

"Nothing you need to worry about,"

"Cato,"

Cato shook his head, turning over to watch the rain pelt the glass ceiling. He didn't want to talk about his seizure, but he knew that wouldn't stop Peeta from asking. Cato let out an audible sigh.

"My well-being is none of your concern, Peeta. Please— drop it."

Cato traced Peeta's face as the baker boy lifted Cato's head into his lap. He watched the boy's chiseled features turn rigid as Peeta's hand gently raked through his hair.

"I thought you were hurt— that you might die, and I could only watch…"

Peeta's words stung Cato's chest. The baker boy's worry was an unsettling feeling he needed to quell. Cato's hand squeezed Peeta's wrist.

"I'm fine, Peeta."

Peeta shakes his head. "But you're not— You refused treatment! I heard the nurse say you had a seizure…"

"It's fine. I went to medical after the private session—"

Cato felt Peeta shaking.

"Stop lying!"

Cato flinched from Peeta's outburst. The baker boy's nostril flared, wrinkling his forehead.

"Y-You… you don't get to do that," Peeta spat. His voice trembled. "You don't get to kiss me, confuse me, make me worry about you, and then shut me out."

A stillness filled the garden. The soft trickle of rain and windchimes settled in the space between the two tributes. Cato felt Peeta's heart pulsing in his hand as he traced the blonde's face. Peeta's bottom lip jutted out. His glossy amber eyes shimmered even in the dull light of the greenhouse.

Cato's heart swelled with guilt. In such a short time, he didn't expect the boy from District 12 to feel anything for him. Cato blamed himself for making Peeta feel anything for him at all. He was another regret Cato would take to the grave. He was a sinking ship, pulling Peeta down with him. That's the last thing Cato wanted.

He needed to save Peeta from the damnation Cato would face.

"I'm sorry…. you're right." Cato breathed, sitting up. He grasped Peeta's hand. "I'll do what I can to protect you— but the moment I start seizing, I want you to leave me. I'll only slow you down."

Peeta sat silent. He glanced down at Cato's hand entwined with his.

"When the timer counts down, grab a bag. Don't bother for the Cornucopia— it'll be a blood bath. I'll find you…"

Silence.

Peeta's grip on Cato's hand grew tighter. Cato felt himself sinking deeper as he rambled on.

"This is his only ends one way, Peeta— I'm going to die… and that's okay. You'll be fine."

Cato hadn't taken the time to contemplate his death. He accepted it for what it was— a shitty hand dealt by fate. What time did he have to consider it? The Hunger Games were a day away. If District 1 or 4 didn't kill him, he'd die anyways.

Cato merely accepted the fact he was going to die. His existence was so tiring. He was tired of hurting. Even his own body was tired of his existence. Cato's mother and sister would be safe away from his father. Cornelia would see to their safety. As for Peeta… he'd eventually forget him.

Peeta's gaze lifted to meet his. "What if— what if I'm not okay with it? What if I won't be, okay? Please, tell me…"

Peeta gripped Cato's hands tightly. A tremor consumed his body, crushing himself against Cato. Cato felt the air leave his chest.

"Tell me how the fuck I'm supposed to deal with losing you."

Cato wrapped his arms around the smaller boy, resting his chin atop Peeta's head. He didn't expect it to be this hard. "You'll forget me."

"You make it sound so easy."

Peeta sighed into Cato's chest as Cato rubbed circles into his shoulders. The baker boy relaxed against his touch. Cato wished he could live in the snapshot of this moment. Just him and Peeta— basking in the scent of primrose while the soft trickle of rain and wind chimes danced between them.

Peeta looked up at him, reaching forward to run his hand along Cato's face. His amber eyes danced across his face as if he was memorizing every detail. Cato tried reading the swell of emotions on the baker boy's face. Peeta's eye flickered toward Cato's.

"I don't want to forget you."

"It would be easier for you if—"

Peeta cut Cato off, pressing his lips firmly against his. He pulled back, trailing his eyes down to Cato's lip before moving upward to meet his gaze.

"Shut up—"

Cato's lips tugged upward as the baker boy leaned in to capture his lips. Peeta was stubborn, but something about how he kissed Cato ignited a fire in Cato's blood. Peeta's hands found the nape of Cato's neck, straddling the boy's waist as their lips melded together. Peeta's lips were soft and pimp against his. His kisses were hasty— almost desperate as hunger seeped from their lips. Cato let out a low groan feeling Peeta's hands trail from his neck, down his chest, and beneath his shirt. He was drowning in Peeta's distress.

The blonde's plump lips kissed along Cato's jaw, licking and suckling on the tender skin beneath the angle of his mandible. Cato's hands roamed the curve of Peeta's back, sliding along the small of his back before firmly gripping his ass. Goosebumps formed on his arms, feeling Peeta moan against his neck as the blonde continued his assault. Peeta's tongue teased his clavicle. He gnawed and suckled on the delicate skin, dipping his hand beneath the waistband of Cato's jeans.

"F-Fuck, Peeta…" Cato breathed hastily, feeling the baker boy pump his strained cock. "You… mm— don't-t have to."

Cato arched into his touch, feeling the fire of desire pulse through his arteries. He knew deep down he should push the baker boy away, but the embers dancing across his skin burned away his self-restraint. Cato's hands moved independently, stripping Peeta from his shirt before tearing off his own. Kicking off their shoes, their fingers fumbled at each other's waists, pulling themselves free from the barrier of cloth and denim.

"I…won't…forget…you—" Peeta breathed between their lips, groaning as their tongues danced. Cato moaned against Peeta's lips, drowning in the sweet taste of honey and chamomile. Peeta's fingers ran through his hair, trailing down to squeeze the thick muscles of his shoulders. Cato's hand explored the delicate curves of Peeta's back. He rutted his member against Peeta's rear, basking in the boy's cries against his neck. Cato's breath hitched, feeling Peeta roll his hips, grinding him into Peeta's entrance.

"Peeta… if you keep doing t-that, I'm not gonna be able to contain myself." Cato gritted out between their lips.

Peeta's lips tugged into a smirk, nuzzling his face against the Career's neck. His breath tickled the crest of Cato's ear. "Am I making things… hard for you, Cato?"

Cato's eye fluttered, groaning as Peeta bucked against him. The baker boy gnawed on his earlobe while Cato's hands guided Peeta's hips. Peeta's touch felt like smoldering embers trailing across his skin. Cato's breath grew ragged.

"A-Are… are you sure, Peeta?"

Cato struggled to calm his breathing. He paused for a moment, considering precisely what he was doing. Once he took this step with Peeta, there was no going back— it was a genuine acknowledgment of something deeper between them. He had never gone this far with anyone. Fear mingled in Cato's stomach, merging with lust and anticipation.

Peeta nodded, resting his head against Cato's.

"I've never— done this before."

Cato's hand cupped his cheek.

"It's okay. We'll take it slow. I don't want to pressure you."

Peeta's hungry eyes met his, leaning in to press his lips against Cato's. It was firm but not as desperate as before. Cato's tongue fluttered against Peeta's lower lip to keep from discouraging him as he had his internal battle. The moan drawn from Peeta's lips was more than enough to decide for him. A heat lingered on Cato's lips from their fleeting contact.

"You're the only thing I'm sure of anymore— please, Cato..."

Cato shuddered, biting his lip as Peeta begged for him. He spit into his hand, slickening his member as he pressed it against the baker boy's tight entrance. Peeta's form tensed, bracing himself against Cato's sculpted chest. Cato cupped his face, kissing him gently.

"Just breathe… I promise you'll be okay, Peeta."

Peeta nodded, taking a deep breath while Cato tried to distract him from the pain. Their lips met, sparks lingering between the touch. Each kiss reminds them of the first— full of fire, passion, and warmth. Cato's heart pounded so loudly; he swore Peeta could hear it. Cato groaned against Peeta's lips, feeling the taut heat of Peeta's ass slowly envelope him. Lust poured from Cato's eyes, trembling from the strained bliss of Peeta stretching to accommodate his thick length.

Peeta was unbelievably warm— Cato's eyes rolled back, feeling the blonde reach the hilt of his length. A layer of sweat formed between them while Cato waited patiently for any sign from Peeta. An orange light filled the space around them as the rain stopped. Cato watched the baker boy become engulfed in warm rays as his amber eyes flickered toward him. Cato's breath caught in his chest.

Peeta looked almost angelic. His eyes were shut. His blonde locks flopped unwillingly against his forehead. His creamy lips were lush and swollen from kissing him. A fine layer of sweat glistened between them. Peeta took a deep breath, meeting Cato's gaze—the amber pools surrounded by cerulean rings glimmering in the afternoon sun. Peeta's breath hitched, curling his bottom lip inward.

"I-It's o-okay… I-I— can try moving,"

Peeta's braced himself against Cato's chest, slowly rocking his hips back and forth while fully seated on his length. Cato shuddered from the feeling. He had never felt this way before. Peeta had sunk his claws into Cato's heart and dragged it to the surface. Cato's hand ran along Peeta's cheek, trailing off at his lips.

"Y-You're so— beautiful."

Peeta flushed, reuniting their kiss with force. He playfully nipped on Cato's lower lip, teasing with his teeth. Moans rolled from Cato's throat as their lips clashed. Cato's hungry fingers gripped Peeta's hips, guiding him up and down on his member. Cato could barely think when their bodies and souls were so intertwined.

Cato's mouth found its way to Peeta's neck, trailing his tongue along the tender skin of his clavicle. Peeta wrapped his arms around Cato's neck, using his legs to draw Cato halfway out before lowering himself again. He let out a staggered moan as Cato's length slammed into a bundle of nerves that made him see stars.

"Ohhh, fuck— Cato..."

Cato trembled from the sensation. He moved his hips to meet Peeta's movements. Their moans echoed against the glass walls of the greenhouse. The lust in Cato's blood boiled over. Laying Peeta on his back, Cato spread his legs, thrusting even deeper into the baker boy. Peeta's eyes became hazy with the lust that seeped between them.

Cato bit his lip, reaching down to pump Peeta in sync with his thrusts. Peeta's legs shook with each thrust. The baker's boy wrapped his legs around Cato's waist, unable to speak from the ripples of bliss that echoed through him. Cato braced himself against the floor, drilling deeper into Peeta's warmth. Peeta's eyes roll back under his touch— his back curling like a bowstring.

Cato's breathing became labored, feeling himself plunge deeper into the blonde as Peeta racked his fingers along his shoulder blades. His mouth latched to Peeta's neck. Peeta heard each word between his thrusts, slowly sending him over the edge of no return.

"Mine…. Mine…. Mine…"

Peeta moaned Cato's name breathlessly as his world exploded. Cato felt him tremble beneath him—Peeta's hot ropes shooting against his abdomen. Cato moaned into his neck as his thrusts became erratic. With a final push, he sunk deep inside Peeta— filling him with his essence.

The world around them pulsed like a shooting star across a night sky. The sweat between them glistened in the sunlight like diamonds. The air between them became charged with electricity and adrenaline.

At that moment, they were infinite—

"Cato..."

Peeta's body was still shaking. His voice was hoarse, but there was a divine relief. "You—you're… this is… I don't have— the words..."

Cato's lips captured his, dripping with hunger as he throbbed within Peeta. "Again…?"

"Ohhh, God— Cato…"

The words fell from Peeta's lips as Cato bent him over the side of the greenhouse table. Peeta felt consumed by desire— every taste, every touch, every look was like being struck with lightning. His heart raced, feeling the Career grip his leg. Cato lifted Peeta's leg onto the table, allowing him to sink even deeper into Peeta's warmth.

Cato gripped Peeta's throat with his freehand, slamming their lips together as he pulled him closer. His lips felt swollen, but it didn't matter. The way Peeta kissed him… God, he was so thirsty, and he'd do anything to quench his desperation. Saliva dribbled between them as Cato broke the kiss, trailing his lips along Peeta's neck feeling his essence leaking out with each thrust.

Cato gripped Peeta's hip so hard he swore it was going to bruise. Peeta's back arched into Cato's thrusts, overwhelmed by the ecstasy of his movements. Cato's free hand found Peeta's as he gripped the table for stability. Cato memorized Peeta's taste, his scent, and his touch. Everything in this moment.

"Mine…." He groaned against Peeta's ear, feeling the pressure building again, watching Peeta pump himself.

Cato bit into Peeta's shoulder, feeling Peeta shudder beneath him. He pulsed around Cato's cock, riding out his climax as he gripped the table to stay upright.

"Peeta… I'm gonna—cum…"

Cato pushed into Peeta one last time, stumbling forward against him and the table. Cato shouted his name, feeling his cum dripping down Peeta's legs. Peeta turned to kiss him, whimpering against his lips as he pulled out.

Their swollen lips met as they crumpled to the floor, panting from exhaustion. They lay there for what seemed like hours. The orange light of the greenhouse faded as Peeta struggled to stand. His face flushed as Cato helped him dress.

"Can… Can you stay with me— please?"

Cato's heart swelled, a smile tugging at his lips. "You'll have to sneak me in… how do you plan on doing that?"

"I... uhm...I don't know. I just...I...I... I don't want to be alone tonight. Please— Cato."

Cato felt the desperation lingering beneath Peeta's words. His heart thumped loudly in his chest. Even though Cato knew it was a bad idea, he couldn't help but accept Peeta's request.

Descending the rooftop, he trailed behind the blonde as Peeta led him into his suite. He quickly ushered Cato inside the sanctity of his bedroom, closing Cato behind the door as a shrill voice called out to him.

"Oh, Peeta! You're back! Perfect, now— let's discuss the interview for tomorrow!"

Cato held his breath behind the door, quietly shifting to take in the room behind him in case he needed to hide. Peeta's room felt like Cato's. It was plush but very modern, decorated with fabrics in hues of black, grey, and red. He heard Peeta clear his throat behind the door.

"Actually— Effie, I'm pretty beat from training. What time do you want to meet tomorrow?"

"Ten o'clock should be perfect, darling!"

Cato felt the door move behind him, shifting to tuck himself behind it. "Perfect. Anyways— goodnight, Effie!"

"Get some rest, Peeta! You've got a big, big day tomorrow!"

Cato held back a laugh as Peeta entered the room with a beaming smile. He heard the footfalls of high heels clicking down the hallway. The smile fell as Peeta took a deep breath, locking the door as he turned to Cato. The Career had strolled into the center of his room, stripping himself of his shirt. He smirked, realizing the boy from District 12 was trailing his body with eyes.

"You wanna shower?"

"L-Like— t-together…?"

Cato stepped forward, a smile tugging on his lips. He found Peeta's naiveness frankly— rather adorable. Cato's hands reached Peeta's shirt, his fingers pulling along the soft fabric.

"No need to be shy," Cato whispered, leaning into the crest of Peeta's ear. "Not when I've seen all of you."

Peeta shuddered before him, a crimson blush burning upon his face. "I-I've only showered with guys in school."

Cato pecked his cheek, drawing himself back. "Don't worry; I won't bite or make jokes about your penis."

Peeta laughed nervously as Cato led him into the bathroom. He was still sweaty and had cum drying on his thighs and stomach. Peeta would be lying if he said he didn't want to see Cato naked again. His sheer size and stature was intimidating. Peeta found it exhilarating—

The pair stripped of their clothes, finding themselves beneath the torrent of steam that cleansed their bodies. Cato's hand scrubbed at Peeta's body, seeing the blonde relaxing beneath his touch as he worked the suds across Peeta's skin. Their eyes met between the veil of steam that enveloped the room. Cato's finger trailed Peeta's forehead, pushing aside the damp blonde locks that painted it.

Peeta looked so rigid yet so delicate at the same time. His virgin skin was soft beneath Cato's fingers, trailing against Peeta's plump lips. His eyes scanned Peeta's form, taking in the numerous bruises that dotted his neck and clavicle. Cato felt the sting of Peeta's claw marks as the water ran down his back. Marks of their need and desperation.

Peeta's lips flattened, plunging himself beneath the showerhead. Cato eyed him, lathering his hair with suds.

"What's wrong?"

Peeta sighed, stepping back so Cato could rinse. "Nothing… just nervous— about tomorrow."

"The interview?"

"Yeah…"

Cato smirked at him beneath the water. "You'll do fine. They're gonna love you."

Peeta's lips pulled into a sad smile as Cato brought his hand to his lips.

They rinsed and dried, finding themselves beneath Peeta's duvet. Peeta changed his ceiling display into a night sky with hundreds of stars. The room was cold, but the thick comforter and Peeta's body heat made Cato feel at ease beneath the twinkling artificial sky. It reminded him of home. He glanced at Peeta, finding the baker boy's bewildered eyes tracing his face.

"What's wrong?"

Peeta's lip tugged into a small smile. Even in the darkness, the flush on his face was apparent. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm dreaming— or is this happening?"

Cato shifted to face him, draping his hand over the delicate skin of Peeta's waist. "What? Like the Games?"

"The Hunger Games… you… me… this—"

Peeta gasped as Cato pulled him against his chest. Cato snuck his free hand beneath the crook of Peeta's neck, rubbing small circles into his shoulder blade. Something was eating away at Cato, so he just had to ask.

"Did you mean what you said earlier? That you won't forget me?"

Peeta's breath tickled the skin of Cato's chest. The blonde boy tilted his head to meet Cato's gaze.

"Y-Yes." He stammered. "W-Why do y-you ask?"

"Because— you were my first. And… if I somehow make it out alive, I want you to know I'd never forget you, Peeta."

Cato felt Peeta tense against him, burying his face against his chest.

"You're my world of firsts," Peeta murmured against his chest.

Cato's heart swelled at Peeta's words, shifting onto his back. He pulled the boy beside him, resting Peeta's head against his shoulder while the Career rubbed circled into his back. Cato's gaze returned to the stars twinkling above them.

Cato didn't know what to call what was happening between them, but he liked it. It felt silly, fragile, and— good. Peeta made him feel something. It's okay if it wasn't love.

It's okay, even if Cato was too scared to call it love. He was just thankful their paths had crossed.

Peeta sighed contently against his shoulder, trailing a finger along Cato's chest.

"Tell me about life in District Two."

Cato smiled, brushing his chin against Peeta's forehead as he lowered his head. "And why do you want to know about District Two?"

"I want to see it through your eyes… and I like hearing you talk about things you like."

"What makes you think I liked living in District Two?"

Peeta's head tilted, his hair tickling Cato's chin. "Because— your voice changes when you talk about it… like when you were talking about your mother and Octavia. It's calmer than usual."

Cato smiled against Peeta's forehead, kissing his soft skin.

"The buildings are crafted from limestone and lumber. The outskirts of the district are an arid wasteland. Mountains hug the horizon, touching the sky. Between the pockets of rocks and dirt, natural springs feed various cacti and wildflowers... Tell me about District Twelve."

Peeta sighed audibly, his eyes drooping slightly.

"It's a district surrounded by vast fields and forests that we can't enter…" he yawned. "We're divided between the town square and the Seam. Katniss is from the Seam—"

"Why doesn't everyone live in the town?"

Peeta's eyes shift downward. "Not everyone can afford it. Most folks work in the mines, so they live in the Seam. They apply for more tesserae to survive. I live in town, but it isn't any better. We all starve in District Twelve..."

Peeta's voice trailed off as Cato's lips tugged downward. Life in District 2 sounded like a paradise compared to District 12. Cato turned, pulling Peeta into him by wrapping his arms around his waist. Cato felt guilty knowing had never starved a day in his life. Everything had always been provided to him while Peeta struggled to survive. It made Peeta that much more fragile to him.

"I'm sorry, Peeta," Cato whispered against his head. "You shouldn't have gone through that."

Peeta's hands curled against his chest. His warm breath danced across Cato's skin.

"Is— Is it warm… in District Two?"

Peeta's hair tickled Cato's chin as he nodded.

"During the summer months, it gets ungodly hot. At night, it gets cold. The stone helps keep our homes insulated throughout the year. We rarely see snow… Does it snow in Twelve?"

Peeta's lips nuzzled against his shoulder. "It snows quite a bit… My birthday is in the middle of winter, and it's always freezing."

"Mine is in spring. My nose is always stuffy— How do you celebrate your birthday?"

Peeta sighed against Cato's shoulder, his voice sounding even sleepier than before.

"My dad would make me a vanilla cupcake with fresh cream cheese frosting." His yawn echoed throughout the room. "It always had a single candle for me to blow out."

"That sounds nice… Before the Academy, Cornelia used to bring me these lemon sugar cookies from a bakery in town. She used to sneak them to me because my father hated me eating sweets." He laughed. "She was such a bad influence. Always spoiling me."

"It's because… she loves you," Peeta mumbled, resting his head against the pillow.

"Yeah," Cato's lips tugged, leaning in to capture Peeta's once more. "You need to get some rest, Peeta."

"But… if I close my eyes, you won't be here when I open them." He whined, fighting his exhaustion.

Cato smiled at his stubbornness.

"If you want, I can wake you before I go?"

The blonde boy nodded with a satisfied smile. "Get some sleep, Peeta… Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Cato…"

Cato laid there briefly, listening to Peeta's gentle breathing. The delicate features of his face as he slept. The way his nostrils flared with each breath or his mouth opened slightly, letting out a silent snore.

Finally, Cato's exhaustion took him— syncing them beneath the artificial stars.

-*** Interviews. 1 day until the 74th Hunger Games ***-

The dawn sunlight felt bittersweet as Cato made his way from Peeta's suite. The baker boy fought to stay awake as Cato shook him gently. Peeta tried coaxing him into staying, but Cato knew he couldn't stay any longer. If Haymitch or Effie found them, it would be hell to pay for Peeta. He couldn't do that to him.

Creeping back into his suite on the second floor, he found the chambers silent. Cato dove into his bedroom, finding solace amongst the water streaming from his shower head. The warm torrent of water rushed across his body. For the first time since being in the Capital, he felt rested.

After showing and brushing his teeth, Cato changed into a plain white t-shirt and black jeans. He knew Angel and his stylists would prep and preen him for his interview that evening, so there wasn't any reason for him to be picky with his clothes. Cato ventured into the dining room, fetching himself a hefty stack of batter cakes while a recap of the tribute scores played on the screen.

He finished his plate by the time Clove joined him. She wore a burgundy blouse and dark jeans. Clove sat across from him, delicately cutting her cakes. She made it halfway through before she finally spoke.

"So, you and Peeta—"

Cato didn't reply, sipping on the hot chocolate their avox servant had brought him.

Clove laughed, shaking her head. "I can't believe you. It's funny how you easily you've given up because of some fuck boy from District Twelve,"

"Clove…" Cato warned, feeling his agitation rising within him.

"How could you be so stupid!?"

"Stop—"

"I bet he was using you even before the seizure—"

"Shut the fuck up, Clove!" Cato yelled, slamming his fist into the table. The force of the blow sent his hot chocolate toppling over the table's edge. Clove's mouth closed, narrowing her eyes on Cato.

"You're already dead, remember? You don't get to boss me around." Clove rose from her seat, shoving away her chair. "The boy I came here with wouldn't have given up so easily. He wouldn't be worried about some boy he doesn't even know! It's pathetic, really."

Cato met her stare with the same intensity. A low ringing filled his ears.

"How would you know? You're just a junkie. A dumb girl who wasn't even the first choice. They sent you here to die, and you know it."

Clove bit her lip, taking a breath as she turned away. "Marcus… would be disappointed in you."

"You don't get to say his name."

Clove left Cato in the dining room while the Avox cleared the mess on the floor. Cato rested his head on his palm, taking deep breaths to calm his heart rate. The ringing in his ears disappeared, as did his partner.

Cato's gaze returned to the television; his lips twitched, seeing Peeta's score of an eight. The smile faded after seeing Katniss's score of eleven. A tingle of concern ran down his spine, wondering what the girl from District 12 did to earn such a high score.

His silence in the room was broken by Cornelia grabbing a cup of coffee. She sat across from Cato, averting her eyes as she flipped through a small leather-clad notebook. A few minutes passed before she spoke.

"You'll be doing your interview prep with Ms. Daytide at noon. She went to retrieve your stylist and his team this morning. Dinner is at five, and the interviews start at seven."

Cornelia's tone was cold and concise. Her eyes didn't move from the pages she flipped through. She stopped momentarily to jot something down before taking a hefty swig of her coffee. Her icy stare met Cato's. She pursed her lips as if to say something but held firm. The room's tension was mixed with the sound of Ceasar Flickerman recapping the current odds of each tribute.

Cato's odds were 30:1.

They were not in his favor.

"Quit sulking!" Ophelia snapped, tutting her finger at Cato.

Ophelia sported a new brunette hairdo with golden highlights. She wore a golden white dress made from a shimmering material depicting blooming dandelions. Apparently, Angel made his point that they were sticking with that theme.

Shortly after Ophelia, Angel, and his team arrived, Cornelia exited the room. Cato sat with Ophelia in their living room while Angel, Eros, and Samuel put the finishing touches on Cato's outfit. Gabriel applied a cream to Cato's knuckles, cheek, and lips to mask the appearance of his scabbed skin. He needed to be camera ready, after all.

Ophelia huffed while she paced the space in front of Cato.

"Now, let's try this again. You'll enter stage right, smile and wave to the crowd. Then, you'll shake Casear's hand. Now give us a smile!"

Cato's humored her, giving a meek smile. Gabriel pursed his lips, preparing for Ophelia to snap any second. Honestly, seeing his escort so agitated was quite hilarious to Cato. From the rumors Cato heard in the Academy, he knew his family would suffer if he didn't play along in the interview. He decided to humor Ophelia and the Capital. It was the one thing he could do for Octavia and his mother. Die with honor.

Ophelia glared at him. "Come on, now. My cat could do better than that…"

"Maybe your cat should be taking my place—"

Gabriel bit back a laugh, earning a smirk from Cato. Ophelia's brow furrowed, not even slightly entertained by Cato's comment.

"I'm glad you think this entertaining, mister! You won't get the audience to like you if you sit up there glaring the whole time!"

"And you don't think they'll like me? My score was amazing." Cato shot back.

"Gabriel, will you give us a minute?" Ophelia sighed, taking a seat across from Cato. Gabriel nodded, leaving Cato amid the fuming brunette. "You need to have them like you if you want a chance of winning. Don't you understand that?"

Cato rolled his eyes, looking at his knuckles hidden beneath layers of makeup. "I think you're wasting your time, Ophelia."

"Perhaps… but even though you've given up, I haven't."

Ophelia took a breath, rising from her seat. "Let's take a break. We've been at it for two hours."

Her slim frame sundered off past his design team. Cato heard her heels clicking as she exited onto the patio overlooking the Capital. Cato sat for a moment, taking in the silence of his suite as his team continued to make last-minute alterations to his suit. He leaned back in the chair, counting the tiles that decorated his ceiling to pass the time.

"Contemplating life?"

Angel's bubbly voice broke the silence as he sat across from Cato. His long brunette locks were pulled into a messy bun. His signature golden eyeliner outlined his chestnut-colored eyes. He wore a tight suit made of lace and golden silk.

Cato shrugged at him, shifting up in his seat. "Pondering my existence."

"Aren't we all?"

Angel's eyes narrowed on his metallic fingernails. "It's sad you've taken such insight into my words."

"What can I say? I'm a Legionnaire. I'm bred to die."

Angel's lips tugged into a smirk, shaking his head. "You're bred to win."

"Fate— isn't on my side."

Angel let out a laugh, flashing his pearly smile. "Fate is a fickle thing. All it takes is one moment to tip the scales. It would be best if you weren't too hard on Ms. Daytide. She may very well tip the scales in your favor."

Cato's eyes narrowed on the brunette. "So, I'm supposed to pretend I'm not about to die?"

"No, on the contrary. If you're going to die, it's better to be remembered than be forgotten."

Cato pursed his lips. "And how do you suggest I be remembered?"

Angel smiled, rising from his seat. "Make an impression."

Cato rolled his eyes, shifting back to count the tiles.

They were going to hate him.

The rest of the afternoon and dinner moved along quickly and quietly. Angel and his team dressed Cato in a platinum suit adorned with golden flowers and black pants. Cornelia sported a golden dress that was like Clove's. Cato's eyes would meet his fellow tributes, but no words were spoken between them. The hatred of their earlier encounter still lingered in the air.

Cato's stomach curled, feeling the overwhelming dread of being in front of cameras again. He picked at his dinner, feeling it lurch with every bite. Cato sipped a glass of wine, trying to calm his nerves. He loathed cameras almost as much as he hated Ceasar Flickerman. Finally, it was time.

As they exited, Cato downed his glass, trailing behind Cornelia, Clove, and Ophelia. Angel waved at him as they descended into the glass elevator. They were escorted behind the atrium into a hall that crept around the theatre hall. Cato's fingers trailed against the cold concrete blocks as they ascended some steps. He felt the echoes of the crowd against his fingertips. It made his stomach turn.

Cato's heart raced, seeing a flicker of familiar golden locks. Peeta's black and red suit had flames embellished upon his sleeves. His blonde hair was slicked back with a heavy amount of gel. Cato's fingers brushed against Peeta's hand as they passed. He smelt like vanilla and roses. The contact was brief but enough to settle Cato's nerves.

Cato and Clove were lined up behind Marvel and Glimmer. They both avoided Cato's stare as they approached. He shifted to lean against the wall, finding Luna's glaring eye devouring his form. Cato chewed the inside of his cheek, drifting his eyes to the back of the pack. He found Peeta tucked behind the giant from District 11. His eyes didn't meet his.

Glimmer was called forth first. The crowd went wild as Glimmer twirled in her dress, showing off her milky skin. Cato cracked his knuckles, glancing in the nearby room where the victors and escorts made small talk over cocktails. He watched Cornelia dance across the crowd exchanging pleasantries and cheerful smiles. Cato wondered what they were talking about. How would Cornelia deflect the not-so-subtle blows against her tribute? There was nothing worse than an embarrassment of a Career.

And like that, Glimmer's time was up. Marvel was next. A burst of exhilaration set the crowd alight. Cato rubbed his sweaty palms against his pants, glancing back toward the end of the line. His lips flattened, meeting Katniss's stare as he shifted to Peeta. The blonde's eyes were narrowed on the floor.

"You're pathetic," Clove's condescending tone got Cato's attention. Her hazelnut-colored eyes rolled at him with a scoff. "I hope falling in love was worth your death."

Cato clenched his jaw with a glare. "I don't love him."

"Then you should wipe that look off your face, Romeo. Loverboy has his eye on the prize. Maybe you should've learned that from him—"

A round of applause cut off Cato's reply as Clove entered the stage. His heart started racing, realizing he was following. Ophelia caught his eye, gesturing her fingers toward her smile. He took a breath, trying to settle his nerves. Cato's hands balled at his side, fighting back the tremor in his palms. He glanced at the television above him.

Clove was a natural. Her conversation with Ceasar was almost fluid in how quickly they shot back at each other. She was deadly, precise, and witty. The crowd was eating it up. Cato's gaze shifted to Cornelia and Ophelia in the next room. They were both engrossed in Clove's interview. Cornelia's eyes beamed with delight. A round of applause broke Cato from his stare as Ophelia caught his attention. She gestured to her smile. Cato rolled his eyes with a smirk, taking a breath before stepping onto the stage. He just wanted to get this over with.

An immense crowd filled row upon row of the enormous theatre hall. Cato did his best to feign a charming smile and wave to the masses. He was met with a round of applause and a few cheers, but they were minor compared to the three before him. Ceasar Flickerman's beaming smile met his, grasping Cato's hand in a firm handshake before they sat down. His neon-blue hair shone beneath the artificial lighting.

"Welcome, welcome, Cato!" he jeered with a laugh. "So, how's your stay in the Capital been?"

Cato tried to meet his enthusiasm. "It's been great, Caesar. The Capital really does care about its tributes. Everything from the food to the training center has been amazing."

"Well, because we love you. Isn't that right, folks!?"

The crowd stirred into a frenzy of cheers and applause as Caesar laughed. "Rumor has it, you have the lowest Career score in history… A one… How does one go into the Games achieving that? Details, please."

Cato turned to the crowd, glancing at the Gamemakers on the balcony. "Ah… I'm pretty sure it's a first."

The cameras are now on the Gamemakers, who are chuckling and nodding. They turn back to Cato and Caesar. Caesar's smile gleamed under the bright lights as he laughed.

"How does one move past that score? I mean, you're a walking target."

Cato leaned forward in his chair, feeling a nervous laugh caught in his throat. "Y'know Caesar, I pride myself on being remembered… So, I figured I'd— uh… send a message."

Caesar's eyebrow lifted curiously, leaning in closer to Cato. "Oh… a message? A message for who? A special someone back home, perhaps?"

Caesar egged on the crowd with a not-so-subtle wink, drawing a compelling response from the public. Cato shook his head with a smirk. Give the people what they want.

"No, no… it was a message for everyone. I'm a Legionnaire— I was bred for the Hunger Games... I volunteered for the Hunger Games… I'm going to win the Hunger Games!"

The crowd went wild at his enthusiasm, making Cato's heart race with adrenaline as Caesar kicked his feet.

"I love it! I love it! I love it!" Caesar laughed, his charming voice echoing through the crowd. "So then, what's your strategy? How do you plan on beating the odds?"

Cato smiled, turning to the crowd.

"I'm not worried about the odds, Ceasar. I'm vicious. I'm ready. Let them come— I'll take them all."

The crowd went wild as Caesar gave Cato a firm pat on the back with a jester's grin. The buzzer went off. "Well, I'm sure I can speak for everyone when I say we can't wait to see what you do! Cato of House Marcellus, tribute from District Two!"

Cato stood, shaking Caesar's hand before exiting the stage. The adrenaline rush left Cato feeling winded as he entered the green room alongside Ophelia, Cornelia, Clove, and Angel.

"You did amazing!" Ophelia beamed, handing him a glass of champagne.

"All thanks to you," Cato replied, clinking his glass against Ophelia's and Angel's.

Cornelia nodded at him, turning back to her conversation with Clove. Even in his grandest performance, Cato still felt disappointment seething from the victor. He sat on a couch beside Ophelia and Angel, throwing back his glass of champagne. The bubbly alcohol eased his worry as he watched the other tribute's interviews.

Tribute after tribute made their way onto the stage as Cato, Ophelia, and Angel indulged in champagne glasses amongst Cornelia and Clove's judgmental eyes. As they finished their interviews, the remaining tributes and mentors left the green room individually, leaving the lone team from District 2. Finally, it came to District 12. Katniss was the first to go. Angel and Ophelia laughed as Caesar jested her score of an eleven that the Gamemakers forbade her from divulging. Cato rolled his eyes as the pair started crying when she recalled the tale of her Reaping Ceremony.

Then, it's Peeta's turn. Cato's face was flushed from the alcohol. In a daze, he chewed on his lip for the first part of Peeta's interview. Peeta had the audience from the get-go. Cato heard their laughter and shouting echo the halls. He smiled, watching Peeta play up the baker's son thing, comparing the tributes to the bread from their districts. Then, Peeta had a funny anecdote about the perils of the Capitol showers.

"Tell me, do I still smell like roses?" he asked Caesar, and then there was a whole run where they took turns sniffing each other that brought down the house.

Ophelia refilled Cato's glass. His attention focused on Peeta when Caesar asked him if he had a girlfriend back home. He felt his heart skip a beat, quickly swigging his drink to calm his drunken hormones. Peeta hesitated before giving Caesar an unconvincing shake of his head. Cato felt a nervous tingle creep up his spine.

"Handsome lad like you. There must be some special girl. Come on, what's her name?" Caesar said.

Peeta sighed. "Well, there's this one girl. I've had a crush on her ever since I can remember. But I'm pretty sure she didn't know I was alive until the reaping."

Sounds of sympathy from the crowd. Unrequited love they could relate to. Cato takes another sip, feeling his blood boil. He couldn't tell if Peeta was lying, making everything he said confusing. A low ringing filled his ears.

"She have another fellow?" Ceasar asked.

"I don't know, but a lot of boys like her,"

Ceasar leaned in encouragingly. "So, here's what you do. You win, you go home. She can't turn you down then, eh?"

Peeta shook his head. "I don't think it's going to work out. Winning— won't help my case,"

"Why not ever?" Caesar asked, mystified. Cato

"Because— because— she came here with me." Peeta stammered.

The champagne flute shattered in Cato's hand from the sheer force of his grip, surprising both Angel and Ophelia. Cato took a breath, collecting himself as the ringing in his ears grew louder and louder. His eyes went wide, realizing the glass had cut his hand.

"I-I'm sorry."

Angel stood up, rushing to grab a rag from Cato's hand. "Oh, it's quite alright. Cheap glass breaks easily."

"Yeah— cheap glass…"

An avox servant cleaned the floor as Cato pressed the rag into his palm. It was superficial, but it hurt enough to sting from the alcohol. Cato watched the screen aimlessly as it showed Katniss. Her mouth was half open in a mix of surprise and protest. Their words jumbled in Cato's ear, mixing with the ringing. Katniss realized the cameras were on her as she stared at the ground with a crimson flush.

Cato's mind raced, swirling with confusion, betrayal, and anger. He wanted to run out on stage and confront Peeta immediately. Tell the world that Cato had taken him, and he was his. His heart raced inside his chest, pulsing throughout his fingertips. Cato wouldn't dare to meet Cornelia or Clove's stare because— they were right all along. God, the ringing was so loud.

Cato felt the sting of his hand, clenching his fist tightly. What were they saying? Cato couldn't hear their words. Suddenly, everything felt distorted. The camera flickered to Caesar, then back to… Marcus? Suddenly, Cato felt woozy. Was he drunk? Cato's eyes traced Marcus on the television as time stood still around him. Marcus was there, sitting across from Caesar Flickerman. The interview was still happening.

"So, tell me, Marcus. Do you have someone special back home?"

Marcus smiled at the camera. Dressed in a well-tailored black and red suit. "Actually, I do, Caesar. And after I win, I'm going to marry him, and we'll live like kings."

Sounds of sympathy echo through the chamber. Cato's mouth opened. "Marcus...?"

"Poor shame, he killed you. Isn't that right, folks?"

The audience booed loudly while Marcus revealed his stab mark beneath his blazer. "Yeah, he got me right in the heart. But— I still love him… even though he killed me."

Marcus turned to the camera with a wink as Cato felt himself lurch forward, reaching toward to screen. Marcus's voice filled the room as the screen skipped repeatedly.

"He killed me."

"He killed me."

"He killed me."

Cato's world around him became dark. The green room was empty, and Cato was on the stage, sitting in front of Marcus. Marcus's voice still echoed throughout the room, taunting him. The crowd and Caesar were gone. It was just him and Marcus beneath the blinding artificial lights.

Cato's breath caught in his chest. "Leave me alone… Y-You're dead! This isn't real..."

Marcus grinned at Cato, rising from his seat. "Remember when you used to sing to me?"

The stench of decay and copper filled Cato's nostrils as Marcus stood, creeping toward him like a wolf on the prowl. Cato's stomach lurched, but his body held still. A glimmer of silver flickered beside Marcus's form as he slowly approached Cato. His deep voice vibrated off the walls of the theatre.

"Like constellations… a million years away. Every good intention, every good intention."

Marcus revealed the blade from his side, raising it as he stood before Cato. Cato's voice fell mute, shaking from the fear that filled his form. His limbs felt like concrete.

"Is interpolation… a line we drew in the array. Looking for the faces, looking for the shapes in the silence—"

Marcus held the dagger against Cato's throat, digging the tip into his skin.

"Y-You're… not… real…" Cato muttered between shallow breaths.

The devil lingered behind Marcus's dark eyes, flashing Cato a toothy grin.

"Then, why are you bleeding?"

As Marcus dragged the blade across his flesh, Cato's face sprayed with a crimson mist. Cato toppled over, choking as the blood filled his throat. His eyes grew heavy as Marcus stood above top of him. Everything around him grew dark as the abyss swallowed Cato.

BEEP… BEEP… BEEP…

Cato's eyes fluttered open, meeting bright fluorescent lights. He gasped for breath, shooting up from a foreign bed. He ripped the EKG leads from his chest as firm hands grasped his shoulder.

"Cato! Cato! Calm down… It's alright… You're in the infirmary,"

Cato met Cornelia's weathered face, pulling the non-rebreather mask from his face. A flicker of worry flashed from her azure eyes as Cato fought back his hyperventilation. Cornelia's calloused hand cupped his face.

"Cato… You need to take some deep breaths, or you'll pass out. In and out... In and out…"

Cornelia couched Cato's breathing, feeling his heart calm alongside his breathing. Cato's limbs felt numb. A heavy fog filled his mind as he turned to Cornelia.

"What happened…?"

Cornelia pursed her lips, sitting back in the chair beside Cato's bed. "You started seizing during Peeta's interview… The medical team had to intervene."

Cato chewed his lip, looking down at his hands. "Intervene how?"

"I consented to benzodiazepines to stop your seizures and an injection of a selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor to prevent further occurrences."

Cato's eyes shifted to Cornelia. "Refrain."

"Yes— Refrain. The doctor gave you an extended-release dose that will last days into the Games," Cornelia sighed. "I couldn't just sit there and let you die…"

Cato's eyes narrowed on Cornelia. "Why not?"

Cornelia's lips tugged, shaking her head. "Because— you're my grandson, and I still love you."

Cato shook his head in disbelief. "The Gamemakers will kill you for this."

"Senaca Crane approved it. I… convinced him."

"Why? What does the head Gamemaker want me alive for?"

Cornelia took a breath, resting her head in her hands. "Your odds are 30:1. If you win, Seneca and the other Gamemakers will live like a victor."

Cato understood. The Gamemakers wanted him alive so they could cash in their wins. They were rigging the game. Cato touched his fingertips together, feeling the pressure behind his touch. Even though his mind and body felt numb, Cato remembered his feelings before his seizure. He remembered Peeta confessing his love to Katniss in front of all Panem.

Cornelia cleared her throat. "The alliance is over between us and Twelve. Haymitch made a fool of me— just like that boy did to you."

A knock at the door interrupted her. Standing in the breezeway were Ophelia and Clove. "Come in. He's stable."

Ophelia stepped forward first as Clove trailed behind. Ophelia's eyes were puffy from crying. She sniffled with a meek smile, handing Cato a smooth pebble of turquoise held within a ring of polished steel now hung by a silver chain. It was Marcus's token.

"The medical team removed it from you when they came. Angel replaced the chain. He hopes you're doing well. We all do…"

Cato accepted the pendant from Ophelia as she turned to stand beside Cornelia. "Tell him I said thank you."

Cornelia gave a small smile, patting Ophelia on the shoulder. "You'll see him tomorrow before the Games. You can thank him then…"

The old victor's gaze shifted to Clove, who stood idly beside Cato's bed. Cornelia nudged Ophelia. "Ophelia, let's go see about getting him discharged. I'm not sure where I'm heading."

Ophelia nodded, wiping her eyes. "Oh yes… I'll show you."

Cornelia's eyes shifted back to Cato. "We'll be right back. Clove, can you stay with him until then?"

Clove nodded silently as the pair left them in the minor ward. Cato chewed his lip, circling Marcus's token with his thumb. His sigh broke the silence.

"I'm sorry… You and Cornelia were right all along."

Clove silently moved to sit in the chair beside him. Her hazelnut-colored eyes flickered toward him with curiosity. "How does it feel… being switched off again?"

"Numb— I remember what I felt, but I don't understand why… Not anymore, anyways."

Clove's eyes fell on Marcus's token in his hand. "I'm sorry for what I said... I was angry."

"I deserved it— Are we good?"

"Yeah, we're good," Clove nodded, her lips tugging upward. "So— what's the plan for the Games, partner? It's us against the world…"

Cato hung the pendant around his neck, ripping the leads from his chest and the IV from his arm. The blood pumping through his body made him numb. His feelings for Peeta and Marcus were suppressed beneath the artificial layers of medications. The distraction of emotions felt foreign to Cato. His only purpose became clear— returning to Octavia and his mother. His demons could wait after he won.

Cato narrowed his azure eyes to Clove's.

"We kill them, Clove… We kill them all."

Cato's released from the infirmary not long after Cornelia and Ophelia return. Entering their suite, Panem's anthem finishes playing as a hush falls on the room. Tomorrow at dawn, they will be roused and prepared for the arena. The Games don't start until ten because many Capitol residents rise late. But Cato and Clove must make an early start. There is no telling how far they'll travel to the arena that had been prepared for this year's Games.

Cato knew Cornelia and Ophelia would not be going with them. As soon as they leave the Tribute Center, they'll be at the Games Headquarters, hopefully madly signing up their sponsors and working out a strategy for delivering gifts. Angel and Eros will travel with them to the very spot they will be launched into the arena. Final goodbyes will be said here.

Ophelia took Cato and Clove by the hand and, with actual tears in her eyes, wished them well. She thanked them for being the best tributes she had ever had the privilege of sponsoring. Ophelia kissed each of them on the cheek, hurrying out— overcome with either the emotional parting or the possible improvement of her fortunes.

Cornelia crossed her arms, looking them both over.

"Any final words of advice?" Clove asked.

"When the gong sounds, get to the Cornucopia. Remember your training and prepare for a bloodbath. Work together and cut down anyone that stands in your way. Then, find a source of water."

"And after that?" Cato asked.

Cornelia's lips tugged into a smile. "Stay alive."

Cato entered his room, showering and brushing his teeth before stripping off his clothes and crawling beneath his covers. Sleep did not come to him quickly. Not when everything felt so numb.

-*** 74th Hunger Games. Day 1 ***-

Cato didn't see Clove in the morning. Angel arrived before dawn, giving him a simple white t-shirt and denim jeans to wear before guiding him to the roof. His final dressing and preparations would be in the catacombs under the arena.

A hovercraft appears out of thin air, just like the ones that circled District 2. A ladder drops down. Cato stepped forward, placing his hands and feet on the lower rungs, and instantly it's as if he's frozen. A current glued him to the ladder, lifting him safely inside.

Cato expected the ladder to release him then, but he was still stuck when a woman in a white coat approached him carrying a syringe.

"This is just your tracker, Cato. The stiller you are, the more efficiently I can place it," she said.

He's a statue, but that doesn't prevent him from feeling the sharp stab of pain as the needle inserts the metal tracking device deep under the skin on his forearm. Now the Gamemakers will always be able to trace his whereabouts in the arena. They wouldn't want to lose him.

As soon as the tracker is placed, the ladder releases him. The woman disappears as Angel is retrieved from the roof. An Avox girl came in, directing them to a room where breakfast had been laid out. Despite the tension in Cato's stomach, he ate as much as he could, although none of the delectable foods made any impression on him. The Refrain had numbed his senses overnight. Everything tasted bland.

The ride lasted a few hours before the windows blacked out, suggesting they were nearing the arena. As the hovercraft landed, Angel and Cato returned to the ladder to find it led down into a tube underground, into the catacombs beneath the arena. They're instructed to their destination, a chamber for Cato's final preparation. They called it the Launch Room.

Everything is brand-new; Cato would be the first and only tribute to use this Launch Room. The arenas are historical sites preserved after the Games—popular destinations for Capitol residents to visit during vacation. Go for a month, rewatch the Games, tour the catacombs, and see the sites where the deaths took place. They even take part in reenactments. They said the food was excellent.

Cato showered and cleaned his teeth before Angel styled his hair. Then, clothes arrived which are similar for every tribute. Angel had no say in Cato's outfit. He didn't even know what was in the package. Angel helped Cato dress in the fitted gold and black jumpsuit made of sheer material that zippered down the front. Each suit had a six-inch-wide padded belt covered in black plastic and nylon shoes with rubber soles.

"The material in the suit is designed to insulate swimmers in the water and reflect the sun's heat. Expect some warm nights." Angel said.

The shoes were better than Cato could've hoped for. Their narrow flexible rubber soles with tread would make them suitable for running. Cato is finished dressing when Angel pulls Marcus's turquoise token from his pocket, hanging it around Cato's neck.

"Thank you— for fixing it."

"It was no problem," he said. "It's your district token, right?"

Cato nodded, tucking it beneath his suit. Angel smiled at him.

"It's beautiful… There, you're all set. Move around. Make sure everything feels comfortable."

Cato walked and ran around in a circle, swinging his arms about. "Yeah, it's fine. Fits perfectly."

"Then there's nothing to do but wait for the call," Angel said, sitting on a nearby couch. "Unless you think you could eat any more?"

Cato turns down food, accepting a glass of water that he takes tiny sips of as they wait together on the couch. He chewed at his bottom lip, feeling the blood trickle into his mouth. Cato was surprised he wasn't overwhelmed with nerves. His heart thumped inside his chest, but his body felt calm.

Angel places a hand on Cato's shoulder, offering little reprieve from the numbness of his limbs. This is how they sat until a pleasant female voice announced it was time to prepare for launch.

Angel and Cato walked over to stand on the circular metal plate.

"Remember what Cornelia said. Run to the Cornucopia, find water. The rest will follow," he said calmly. Cato nodded, taking a deep breath as Angel's lips tugged upward. "And remember this. I'm not allowed to bet, but if I could, my money would be on you."

"Even if I have misery in my blood?"

"The more misery— the better," he said, giving Cato a small hug. "Good luck, my Legionnaire."

A glass cylinder was lowered around him, cutting Angel off from him. His stylist tapped his fingers under his chin. Head high.

Cato lifted his chin, standing as straight as he could as the cylinder rose. He was in complete darkness for maybe fifteen seconds, and then he felt the metal plate push him out of the cylinder into the open air. For a moment, Cato's eyes are dazzled by the bright sunlight, humid heat, and strong winds with the pungent smell of pine trees.

Then he heard the legendary announcer, Claudius Templesmith, as his voice boomed around him.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!"

Sixty seconds.

That's how long Cato must stand on his metal circle before the sound of a gong releases him. Step off before the minute ends, and land mines would blow his legs off. Sixty seconds to take in the ring of tributes all equidistant from the Cornucopia, a giant golden horn shaped like a cone with a curved tail, the mouth of which is at least twenty feet high, spilling over with the things that will give them life in the arena—food, water containers, weapons, medicine, garments, fire starters. Strewn around the Cornucopia are other supplies, their value decreasing the farther they are from the horn.

They're centered around the top ring of a Greco-Roman amphitheater, nestled atop a steep plateau. The mid-morning sun is beaming down on Cato and his fellow tribute. A trickle of sweat formed quickly on his back, looking around the arena. Twenty feet below the giant marble steps was the site of the Cornucopia. Backpacks and other supplies were scattered throughout the stands.

Cato couldn't see anything behind the tributes across from him— indicating either a steep downward slope or even a cliff. To his right lay the ancient ruins of a Greco-Roman village. Steep colonnades and delipidated buildings scattered the plateau top. To his left and back, sparse piney woods led toward a beachhead with turquoise-colored water.

Cato spotted Clove amongst the twenty-three tributes. She was located at the far end of the semi-circle. Between them, he noticed Luna, Reef, Marvel, and Glimmer. To his right was the male tribute from District 7. To his left the female from District 8. Cato's heart raced, noticing the countdown was about to hit ten seconds.

Ten.

Cato crouched in place, preparing for the siren to sound. His entire body itches with the urge to sprint out to the Cornucopia. He wished to feel his legs burning with a faint pain as he took to the Cornucopia like a moth to a flame.

Nine.

Cato felt a faint twitch in his gut. He distracted himself from the urge to run by analyzing everything before him. His eyes grazed each weapon slowly, a plan growing inside him.

Eight.

Cato would grab the machete first; it's one of the first weapons he learned to use. It's easy and quick, so long as you have upper body strength. And if there was one thing Cato had, it was upper body strength.

Seven.

Katniss' piercing eyes grazed his face. An arrogant smirk twitched on Cato's face. A desire to snuff the Girl on Fire's flame grew within him. Then, he saw Peeta.

Six.

The blonde was on the far edge of the rim, three spaces from Clove. Even from this distance, Cato felt his amber eyes burning into him. He rolled his shoulders back proudly. A snarl pulled on his lips. How dare he embarrass him. Use him. Cato's hand formed a fist.

Five.

Cato's eyes lock on the center of the Cornucopia. Then, he saw a sword like silver glinting in the sunlight.

Four.

He imagined expertly taking the sword's handle into his strong, calloused hands and wielding the razor-sharp blade. Images of hunting down Katniss flashed in his mind, finding her once she realized how over her head she was—seeing her lying in the dirt, cold, wet, and starving, about to die.

Three.

A dark plan formed in Cato's mind, using Peeta as bait to draw Katniss out. If they were star-crossed lovers— he'd put their devotion to the test. If Peeta was still alive…

Two.

Cato gritted his teeth, snarling his upper lip. Refrain blocked most emotions, aside from anger. The anger he could use, funneling his rage and fury into his blows. He reminded himself of the embarrassment of Peeta using him. The anger he still felt for Stonebridge Academy— even the Capital.

One.

Cato's fingers pulsed. Everything around him fell silent. He dug his feet into the plate, readying himself to charge down the stairs. This was the moment he's been waiting for his entire life.

BANG.

Everything shattered in nanoseconds as the cannon went off. Cato sprinted into the bloodbath without considering his actions. He had trained his entire life for this moment when the Games began, and it showed… Cato was halfway to his sword while the rest of the world was catching up, snapping toward him like a rubber band that just broke against his skin.

His focus was on the one weapon he wanted more than anything else. Sounds detonated against his eardrums as the war cries began, but all he saw was the sword. A comforting burn flashed up his thighs, increasing his stride— refusing to let anybody else beat him to the Cornucopia.

A manic grin crawled onto his lips, turning to meet the male from District 7. A flash of crimson sprayed Cato's arm, plunging his saber into the long-haired brunette. His breath choked in his chest as Cato shoved him to the ground, drowning in his blood.

Then, Cato met the male from District 6—a younger boy who trembled before his stature. Cato's arm brought the sword down quickly, knocking the scythe from the boy's fingers. Cato slashed his throat, watching the boy turn to run. The boy toppled over, gasping as he desperately grasped his throat, attempting to put pressure on the wound.

Clove made it to the Cornucopia beside Marvel and Glimmer. Cato tossed a bag of knives to Clove, who eagerly accepted them. She threw one into the back of the male tribute from District 9, who fought Katniss for a backpack in the stands. Clove threw a blade at Katniss, who blocked it with her bag before running off the theatre's rim. Clove turned, catching the female tribute from District 8 in the thigh behind Cato. The blonde stumbled from the impact to her leg as Cato stepped forward, raising his blade to strike her down. A wet, crimson mist splattered his face.

Cato lifted his blade to Marvel and Glimmer. Marvel was atop the male from District 8, violently stabbing the young boy with his short sword until a pool of blood formed between them. Glimmer shoved the male tribute from District 5 against a crate, thrusting her dagger into his abdomen with a similar ferocity. Neither of them noticed him lift his weapon.

A flicker of metal shimmered against his peripheral vision. Cato sidestepped, avoiding Luna's thrust from her trident. Her eyes seethed with rage, following the lunge with a slash of her trident's blades. Cato parried her slash, catching his blade between the prongs. The razor-sharp blades grazed his forearm, sending a trickle of crimson down his arm. Luna gritted her teeth, bracing herself as Cato kicked her back.

Cato stepped forward, seizing the shaft of Luna's trident under his left arm as she stumbled back. She lost her grip, glaring at Cato as he held the tip of his blade to her throat.

"Not. Another. Step." Cato huffed, twirling her trident to hold it in his offhand.

Luna's green eyes glared at him, her voice dripping with venom. "What are you waiting for!? End it already—"

The Cornucopia fell silent, scattered with bodies of the fallen tributes. Then, the cannons came—eleven in total. Clove stood beside Cato. Reef held a spear firmly, taking a few steps behind Luna. Marvel and Glimmer stood behind nearby crates, readying themselves for another onslaught.

Cato's eyes scanned their faces, meeting the uncertainty of their gazes as Cato lowered his blade.

"You haven't outlived your usefulness to me— yet. Consider yourself lucky."

Cato tossed the trident to the ground, meeting Luna's icy stare.

"Mark my words. You try anything— I'll end you," Cato seethed, glaring at his fellow Careers. "That goes for all of you. Does everyone understand!?"

Luna sneered like a cat, reaching down slowly to retrieve her weapon. "So, everything was an act, then? You tributes from District Two are some sneaky fucks."

Marvel laughed with a nod, stepping forward to pat Cato on the back. He didn't flinch from the foreign contact. "Good show, man! Killer stuff! I bet all the people watching right now are confused."

Clove smirked at him, wiping her blades on a dead tribute's shirt. Cato's stone-faced stare held firm. "Gather what supplies you can carry. We make camp here. Then, tonight— we hunt. Someone make a fire; I'm going to scout the island."

Cato picked up a pack, slinging it over his shoulder as he sent off for the village. Clove trailed behind him.

"I didn't ask for your company."

"You're not getting a choice. I'm not staying with those four."

Cato rolled his eyes, looking through the broken buildings made from sandstone and lumber. Faint footprints through the dirt and sand led down through the village, down the slope towards the water. The town hadn't been inhabited in decades or even longer. Strange markings adorned the buildings in a language he was unfamiliar with. His eyes trailed the footfalls in the dirt, heading toward the water. The dense foliage and pines did little to quell the sun's heat. Cato's fetched the canteen from the side of his pack, desperate to quench his dried throat. He was thankful to find it filled with water.

After about twenty minutes, Cato and Clove reached the beachfront, shuffling their feet in the calm waters. The smell of salt hit Cato's nose, causing his lips to curl as he washed the blood from his face. He was hopeful that water was drinkable, but that would make the Games too easy. His eyes scanned the horizon, noticing a large building made from stone on a distant island connected by a sandbar. Rows of steep mountains curled against the sky, creating a natural wall.

It was the arena's edge.

Cato took a moment to survey his supplies from his pack. It contained a small first aid kid, three days of dried rations, a fire starter kit, a blanket, and a spile. He opened the first aid kit, using gauze and ointment to wrap the wound on his forearm. He was better off treating it now, lest an infection take his arm from him. When Cato finished, Clove nudged his shoulder, pointing to marking along the beachfront. Cato nodded, readying his blade as they silently trudged through the dense foliage— eager for their next kill.

The main island was more extensive than they expected, but the center point of the amphitheater colonnade made it easy for them to track their position. The island's northern part contained dense brush and foliage beneath the looming pine trees. The plateau face was too steep to climb unless one of their packs had special equipment.

Another thirty minutes passed; the brush lessened as another island came into view along the shoreside—a building of similar design on an island connected by a sandbar.

Then, a twig snapped behind them. Clove turned, flinging a dagger in the direction as Cato started his chase. The figure sprinted through the dense brush, attempting to flee from the blonde Career. Cato tackled them onto the beachfront, raising his sword to deliver the final blow. He paused, realizing who it was beneath him.

Peeta's amber eyes flickered with fear as a wave of water splashed over them. A smirk fell on Cato's lips.

"Hey, Loverboy. Where's your girlfriend?"