"Great news" Haymitch plopped down on the couch, "More than half the tributes want you two as allies."
Katniss put her legs up on Cato's lap, still trying to fight off the baby's morning assault on her stomach, "Thrilling."
"They saw her shoot, and then she made a fool out of Finnick." Her husband answered, rubbing his hand along her calves. He always did this when she had morning sickness, it helped distract her from the nausea.
"You've got your pick of the litter, sweetheart." Haymitch shrugged, looking at her expectantly.
"I like Mags, and District 3." She answered, watching as her mentor's face dropped.
"I swear to god, it's like you want me to drink." He answered her.
"What's wrong with them? They're smart." Katniss frowned, playing innocent.
"What about Finnick?" Cato spoke up, "Were his shooting skills not up to your standards?"
Katniss laughed, twisting the ends of her braid around her fingers, "The best part was when he tripped trying to dodge that spear."
"The look on his face when all the lights started flashing red was my favorite." Cato chuckled.
"Okay, okay- "Haymitch interjected, "We get it, you two tortured the kid. Can you at least pick him as an ally before you give me an aneurysm?"
"I don't know if we can trust him." She answered her mentor.
Haymitch sighed, running a hand through his dark hair, "None of this is about trust, and you know that. It's about staying alive."
"Whatever, Finnick too then." She mumbled, closing her eyes to fight off the nausea.
"We'll take 3 and 4," Cato spoke up for them both.
"Okay." Haymitch sighed in relief, "Any plans for the private training sessions today?"
"Does it matter?" Katniss sighed, rubbing her stomach.
"Can you just humor me for a moment?" Haymitch frowned.
"We've all seen each other's games, and so have the game makers." Cato frowned, "What could we even show them that they don't already know?"
"Surprise them then." Their mentor answered, "Be memorable."
"Will do." Katniss gave a sarcastic thumbs-up.
"What is wrong with you?" Haymitch asked, "You're unbearable every morning."
"Other than the fact that I'm about to go into the Hunger Games?" She answered, glaring at the man. Her heart secretly pounded in her chest as she worried that he had found out about the baby.
Please, Haymitch, drop it.
"You know what I mean." Her mentor pressed.
"I keep getting migraines." She lied quickly.
Cato cut in, "It's the stress, I think."
Haymitch's eyes were disbelieving as he glanced between them. Katniss knew that look, the way her mentor gathered puzzle pieces, analytical until they all piece together. Haymitch wasn't stupid enough to believe she was simply getting migraines, but he knew well enough to drop it she hoped. His eyes met her, the same Seam grey as her own, always able to look straight through her.
"Whatever." He answered, his face not matching his flippant tone, "I don't care what it is. You better get your shit together and do it quickly."
The look on his face told her enough. He knew, or at least he suspected. Still, there was something she wouldn't have imagined in his eyes.
Worry.
It was genuine, hidden behind a mask of indifference. Her mentor was worried for her. He'd never admit it, and from the looks of it- Haymitch was trying his hardest to hide it. It was a believable performance to everyone else, but not to her.
She was Seam too.
She could see right through him.
Leaving Katniss in the waiting room was harder than Cato expected it to be. She had barely been out of his sight since the reaping, and he could barely control the way his hands shook as he walked away from her. Every time they were apart, something terrible happened.
The memory of his father's hand slapping her face flashed in his mind. An image of her jumping into the snowbank to get on the other side of the electrified fence. The way he had found her half frozen in the icy wind after the reading of the card.
He imagined peacekeepers dragging her out of the room, and it took everything in him not to run away.
Get it together.
How are they going to explain why she's not in the games?
She's fine.
You're fine.
Focus.
He had no idea what he was going to do as he walked in the room, announcing himself to the game makers. Last year, they had smiled down at him in pride. This year, they looked down on him with disdain.
Good.
I fucking hate all of you- and now you know it.
He walked over to the swords, a frown on his face as he looked them over. They were all the same, except for one gleaming brighter than all the rest in the center.
He'd recognize that blade anywhere.
The black hilt, the markings on the handle, the sleek design.
It was exactly like the sword he had used in the games.
It couldn't be the same one, he was sure that blade was sitting in a museum somewhere. But it was the same design, the only standout among all the others, and it hadn't been there before today.
It was there to taunt him. It worked.
A thousand memories played in his mind like a movie, so far away, but still so clear. Blood, so much blood, dripping down his hands, staining him to the core. Rage seeped through him, burning from deep inside, the scars on his soul showing on the outside as he gripped the handle of the blade.
The weight of it, the way it felt in his hand was so familiar.
He went over to a row of dummies, his eyes scanning each of them as he adjusted the blade in his hand. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and they were all gone.
Just as he had the year before.
But he didn't stop there.
No, he decimated nearly everything in the room. He ripped every dummy he could find to shreds, all of the targets were destroyed, the wood splintering as the deadly blade struck it. Every one of the targets for the knives and archery, the soft pads they used for wrestling, the rings hanging from the ceiling for agility, the net above the entire gymnasium. He climbed up the wall and shredded it.
All the while, the gamemakers did nothing. They never told him to stop, they only stared at him.
By the time he was done, the room looked as if a tornado had gone through it. Shattered glass, ripped-up mats, broken targets, and the limbs of dummies marred every inch of the space. He stared up at them, enjoying the terrified looks on their faces. He could feel the shock in the air.
"That's what you wanted, huh?" He taunted. "This is all I'm good for, isn't it?"
The sword rattled on the ground as he dropped it, and then walked out the door.
Time ticked by, longer and longer, and her worry grew more and more as it went. Katniss had been left alone with her thoughts too long, staring out at the empty room that had been filled with her fellow victors not moments ago. It was a stark reminder of what her life was to become, all of the people that would have to die so that her and her child could live, including Cato.
Her life would feel the way it did in this room. Stark, cold, and empty. Haunted by memories past, guilt eating her alive as she went on.
What was more terrifying?
Going into the arena, or being the only one to come out?
What the hell is taking so long?
"Katniss Everdeen, District 12" The robotic voice announced, interrupting her thoughts.
She rose from the bench, her hips sore from sitting on the cold metal for so long. What she saw when she walked into the room took her by surprise. They had tried to hide it, but it was clear that nearly the entire room had been ransacked. Everything was destroyed, the net on the ceiling hanging down awkwardly, the fabric frayed. All of the wrestling mats had been cut to shreds, no targets for shooting, only 2 dummies left against the wall, haphazardly put together as if they had been broken.
Cato did this.
She was in shock, staring around the room. She had barely even noticed Plutarch calling her name until he said it a second time.
"You have 15 minutes to present your chosen skill." He snapped, glaring down at her. All of the gamemakers seemed to look down on her with a nearly unreadable expression. Anger, hatred, distaste, or some odd mix of the three.
She tilted her head at them, scanning their faces. They were all so arrogant, staring down at her from their pedestal as if she was a lab rat in a cage who wouldn't do what they wanted. Glorified torturers, on some twisted moral high horse, hiding behind a shield as they watched her like a zoo animal.
You're no fucking better than me.
We're both murderers.
Nobody is safe.
And that's when the idea struck her.
"Okay, and then you just slip the loop through the center and pull the top down tight." Finnick smiled as he guided her hands.
They were rough from tying knots for the last hour, the rope burning as it slipped through her fingers once more.
"Good, you're all done." He smirked.
She stared down at the rope in her hands, examining the shape she needed
"This is a fucking noose Finnick." She scowled.
The district 4 victor laughed, "It's the most important knot to know for the Hunger Games, Katniss."
"A little morbid, don't you think?" She rolled her eyes.
"Reality is morbid." Finnick shrugged, "Come on, I promise the next one might actually come in handy."
Finnick had taught her how to tie a noose without her knowing. Probably as payback for the archery incident, or maybe he thought it might be a useful skill. Little did he know, it would be useful indeed.
Katniss grabbed the paints and a dummy, drawing that familiar, stupid-looking beard that was seared in her brain on it. She carved a name into its chest with bright red ink, staining her fingers as she did. She dragged it to the center of the room, careful not to reveal her artwork until she had strung him up. She tied off the rope on a support beam and smiled up at her work.
The gamemakers stood from their chairs, one of them even dropped their wine glass as they saw what she had done. It shattered on the ground, echoing through the silent room.
She took a bow next to the swinging body of Seneca Crane.