After the anthem finished, Cato and Clove were escorted by Peacekeepers through the grand doors of the Justice Building. Inside, they were each taken to separate rooms. Cato was alone in an elegant room with thick ebony carpets and plush velvet furnishings. Sitting on a sofa, he ran his fingers over the soft fabric repeatedly, attempting to calm his nerves before the hour of visitation began. Octavia and his mother were the first to arrive, but notably absent was his father. Octavia climbed onto his lap, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck while his mother sat beside them, embracing them both in silence. Minutes passed before Cato spoke, laying out instructions they must follow now that he wouldn't be there.

"Octavia, you won't go to Stonebridge. Have a normal childhood, a life away from the Games," he said, squeezing his mother's arms tightly, feeling the walls he had built internally crumbling.

"You need to leave him before he destroys you both. I can't come back to find you empty or worse," he continued, his voice rising. At that moment, he felt the weight of anger and fear that had simmered since she had abandoned him years ago when he had begged her not to send him to the Academy. He harbored resentment—believing her inaction had ultimately led to Marcus's death.

If he bore blame, then she shared it.

Tears streamed down his mother's face as she nodded. "I will. I couldn't help—"

"No, you can't leave Octavia alone. Find somewhere else, do whatever it takes to survive. It doesn't matter what happens to me on screen. Promise me you'll fight through this!" he pleaded.

Octavia interrupted softly, clasping his face in her hands. "You'll win, Cato. Then you can come back to us."

His sister's words brought a fleeting smile to his lips as he hugged her tightly, his heart aching more than words could express. He believed he was born for this, that they made him for this. Their time was abruptly cut short by a Peacekeeper's arrival at the door. They clung to each other until they were forcibly separated, leaving Cato with a pang of sorrow mingling with the grief in his chest. His emotional barriers shattered, tears streamed down his face as he collapsed, sobbing into his hands.

Footsteps approached, and he buried his face, unwilling to be seen like this. A warm embrace enveloped him, a gentle hand soothingly rubbing his head.

"Oh, my brave Cato. We knew this day would come," a familiar voice murmured.

Looking up, he saw her striking blue eyes and warm smile, comforting him as she held him tightly. Warm tears flowed freely as he trembled in her arms.

"I've missed you, Ouma," he choked out.

They sat silently for a few minutes, tears drying on his cheeks, his head resting against Cornelia's shoulder. She pulled back slightly, cupping his cheek gently.

"My handsome grandson, what's troubling you?" she asked softly.

His eyes darted away. "It's nothing— just... I missed you."

Cornelia's gaze softened as they sat on the velvet couch.

"Marcus is gone. I— I killed him," he confessed brokenly. "I killed my best friend."

Cornelia frowned, pulling him close as he sobbed. "Shh, it's okay. Let it out."

She held him tenderly like she had when he was a child. His pain was deeper than any wound, a hurt she understood well. She kissed his forehead and whispered, "Cato, listen to your grandmother. The life of a Legionnaire is filled with pain and despair, but even in darkness, stars can still shine."

"I don't want to remember," he murmured, his eyes fixed on the carpet's intricate pattern. "I want to forget him."

"Cato, look at me," she urged gently.

He met her gaze, and she squeezed his hand softly. "Don't forget him. Never forget the last hope in his face because when it's darkest, that memory will guide you back to us— your family."

He nodded, understanding her words. She didn't want him consumed by hate and despair. Time would heal, but for now, he needed to endure.

Cornelia smiled faintly as the Peacekeeper opened the door.

"Take care, Cato. Virtus et Honos."

Her words brought a moment's comfort before dread surged anew, threatening to overwhelm him once more.

The walk from the Justice Building to the train station on the edge of District 2 was brief but overwhelming. Streams of confetti fluttered down around Cato and Clove, drowned out by the thunderous cheers of the crowds. Flanked by a squad of Peacekeepers, they waved to the ecstatic masses, trying to muster a smile for the cameras.

It was supposed to be an honor, a moment of pride.

Reporters swarmed around them, their cameras flashing incessantly. Cato forced a hollow smile for the screens that broadcasted his image to the district. Emotions churned beneath his composed facade.

Beside him, Clove wore a radiant smile, effortlessly charming the crowd. But Cato knew better. He had heard the whispers among the fifth-year class about her— the Bullseye, a cunning strategist waiting for her chance to strike. Downplaying herself now was just part of her game, but he remained wary.

The relentless flash of cameras left spots dancing in his vision as they finally reached the train. Cato felt a surge of relief as they boarded the train. The doors closed behind them, creating a welcome barrier from the outside chaotic scene. Yet, the unfamiliar speed beneath his feet left him unsettled. During hikes with Cornelia, he saw these trains passing through, usually carrying stones or peacekeepers, and being inside one now felt like entering a different realm altogether.

Excusing himself, Cato retreated to his compartment, craving solitude. He splashed cold water on his face to calm his nerves, wiping sweat and dried tears away with a cool rag. Shedding his blue shirt, he changed into a fresh white one and a black vest from his dresser. Collapsing onto the bed, he sank into the comforting embrace of the soft bedding.

The weight of the Reaping ceremony lingered heavily on his mind. As he closed his eyes, exhaustion pulled him into a restless sleep.

It was a picnic on the mountainside.

Cato spread thick strawberry jam on the dense bread Cornelia had picked up from the market earlier.

Surrounded by Lion's Teeth flowers, he offered her the remaining half of bread. "Here, Ouma. I want to make sure you won't go hungry."

"Why, thank you, Cato. But if I take your half, what will you eat?" she chuckled, shaking her head.

He shrugged. "I'm good, Ouma—just looking out for you!"

Cornelia grinned widely, taking the smallest bite she could manage. "Oh no, I'm stuffed. I couldn't possibly eat another bite. Looks like you'll have to finish it all!"

He laughed at her playful teasing, rolling his eyes.

She nudged him playfully. "I'm just trying to take care of you, Cato!"

"Cato, dear. Your Ouma hasn't needed someone to take care of her since your dear Opa passed away," she said softly, noting his frown at the mention of Opa, whom his mother rarely spoke about.

Wiping the jam from his face, he stuffed the remaining chunk of bread into his mouth.

"Ouma, how will I know when I love someone?" he mumbled between bites. Cornelia glanced at him with a knowing smile.

"Why's that? Has someone caught your eye? You're quite young to be pondering love,"

"No! You always talk about how much you loved Opa. How will I know when I love someone like that?" he grinned.

Cornelia chuckled heartily, her gaze drifting to the fluffy clouds on the horizon.

"Cato, love isn't always like a fairy tale. It's like falling asleep—it happens gradually, and then all at once. It's sharing part of yourself with someone to make both of you whole,"

She gently took his hand, smiling warmly as she kissed his knuckles. "And when you find that person who completes you, cherish them as long as the stars shine above them—and even longer, if you can."

A soft knock at the door roused him from his sleep. Sitting up in bed, he opened it to find Ophelia with a cheerful smile.

"Dinner's ready. Come along now!"

He didn't hesitate, following her through the narrow, swaying corridors into a dining room with polished metal walls. The hearty laugh echoing through the cabin caught his attention, and he saw Clove sitting at an exquisite dining table opposite a set of familiar golden curls. A tall glass of red wine trembled on the table before her as she greeted him with a smile.

It was Cornelia.

He gave her a curious look as he sat down across from her and Clove.

"Cato, this is your mentor, Cornelia of House Felix, winner of the 25th Hunger Games," Ophelia said, taking the vacant seat beside him.

Cornelia winked at him as he tried to process her unexpected presence. Under normal circumstances, the Capitol would never allow a family member of a tribute to be a mentor, especially in Career Districts. However, District 2 had multiple mentors due to its large pool of Victors, preventing any one family from becoming too influential. Cato had heard it was a measure to maintain balance and avoid monopolizing power.

It was a reminder that even in District 2, the Capitol's authority was absolute.

"So, you're the male tribute, Cato, right? I read your report from the Academy—impressive remarks from your instructors," Cornelia remarked.

Then it clicked—House Felix. Cornelia was using her maiden name from her time as a tribute. A flicker of concern ran through Cato. A lone Victor as a mentor was unheard of in Career Districts. He wondered what strings Cornelia had pulled to be here with him.

A slight smile played on his lips as he tried to read the seasoned champion's expression. "I've trained my whole life for this. It's what I was born to do."

Her sapphire eyes met his, her wine glass poised delicately. "I'm sure you'll make your family proud."

Cato glanced at Clove and Ophelia. Neither seemed phased by Cornelia's presence, indicating they either didn't know their relationship or were adept at playing ignorant. He wasn't sure which. He knew the Capitol vetted everyone they interacted with. Yet, they must have known Cornelia's identity. So why bend their own rules?

Not that he was complaining. Having the odds in his favor was welcome, but thoughts of Capitol repercussions lingered in his mind as Avoxes served platters of pot roast, buttery carrots, sliced potatoes, and fresh sweet rolls. Their glasses were filled with water, while their chalices held a deep red liquid poured from a decanter. Drinking alcohol was a common practice in District 2. Beyond its industries of stone cutting and Peacekeeper training, the region's arid climate was ideal for cultivating grapes. Cato had only been drunk a handful of times, usually with Marcus. However, considering his current emotional state, he decided tonight might be a time to indulge.

The succulent roast practically melted in his mouth. His stomach filled quickly as he devoured mouthfuls, occasionally noticing Cornelia's watchful eye and Clove's equally voracious appetite.

The tension of Reaping Day seemed to affect Clove as well.

"So, what's the strategy?" he asked, turning to Cornelia after a sip of his wine, finding it dry and tart.

Cornelia scoffed lightly, washing down a bite of roast with a sip of wine. "Are you so eager to die?"

Her gaze shifted, noting Clove's attentive expression. "No, he's right. So, what's our plan?"

"The plan is simple—don't die," Cornelia smiled, dabbing at a trickle of wine on her chin. "The Games have changed significantly since my time. Back then, it was just tribute versus tribute with no cameras or sponsors. President Snow introduced the sponsor program after the 10th Hunger Games."

Cornelia took a sweet roll from the basket, spreading it with cinnamon butter before taking a small bite.

"Being a Career is only part of the challenge. You're trained killers, but hand-to-hand combat won't be enough when the environment and sponsors are against you," she explained.

"Sponsors love us. We're Careers," Clove interjected confidently.

"We're also predictable," Cornelia countered, switching on a nearby screen with a remote. "Every year, it's the same routine. The Careers team up and hunt down the other tributes until they're the last ones standing. But fate occasionally throws a curveball."

On the screen played the Reaping Ceremony from District 12. A young girl in a light blue dress stood out, volunteering in place of her younger sister. "I volunteer!" she declared. "I volunteer as tribute!"

"Oh, how brave!" Ophelia exclaimed, wiping a tear.

Cato and Clove exchanged a knowing glance. Cornelia reached for another bite of her sweet roll.

"This happened earlier in District Twelve. A girl volunteered for her sister, inadvertently garnering attention and potentially sponsors. Self-sacrifice—a concept not unlike our own as Legionnaires," Cornelia remarked, swallowing her mouthful. "That naive girl has painted a target on her back by winning the public's sympathy. That means sponsors. She's leveled the playing field unintentionally,"

"As if," Clove scoffed, her frustration evident. "No tributes from District Twelve could ever outshine us in sponsors."

Cornelia chuckled, watching the girl's agitation grow. Cato knew Cornelia was blunt and didn't sugarcoat facts.

Clove was about to learn a harsh truth.

"Here's the reality, dear. That girl has already outshined you. Frankly, neither of you possess a certain... appeal that sponsors desire," she replied, her gaze sharp as it met Clove's.

Cato's attention returned to the replay of the District 12 girl. Oddly, he empathized with her—understood the relief of sparing a loved one from the fate of being a tribute. He was grateful Octavia would never face that future.

She would never be a tribute. Never experience the life of a victor.

Clove's voice broke through his thoughts. "How are we supposed to compete with that?"

Cornelia finished her wine as the setting sun streamed into the train car. "Make yourselves... desirable."

Cornelia's words hung in the air, weaving through Cato's thoughts as he gazed at the blurring landscape beyond her. The sun dipped behind distant white mountain peaks, casting a soft glow over the horizon.

"Why don't we present Cato and Clove as steadfast academy students, a picture of perfect competitors?" Ophelia suggested, powdering her nose delicately.

"Ophelia, dear, haven't you been listening? It's the same old routine," Cornelia sighed, her wine glass refilled by a male avox.

Ophelia's expression fell. "But the Capitol adores our Careers! They're both formidable. Surely, they'll—"

Cornelia's irritation surfaced as she cut her off, rubbing her temples. "The Capitol craves novelty, something fresh and shiny. We're gold that has lost its sheen. You, being from the Capitol, should understand that."

Cato silently agreed with her assessment—she was right.

But beyond their status as Careers, neither he nor Clove brought much else to the table except their physical prowess. Clove, at fifteen, wasn't likely to use charm to win sponsors, and he had no plans to do so either.

He was a Legionnaire. Trained to kill. It was ingrained in their ethos with a simple motto: Virtus et Honos. Strength and Honor.

Distractions like vanity and desire were discouraged and replaced by Stonebridge's control method—Refrain. The pills they forced on him and his peers dulled their emotions, making them obedient and efficient instruments of war. Addiction was inevitable; it was the perfect conditioning for a cadre of warriors. They were weaned off Refrain in their final year, a test of their training and mental fortitude. Some struggled with the intensity of their reawakened feelings, stories circulating of cadets driven to certain... extremes.

Those who survived this ordeal with their resolve intact became Legionnaires.

Cornelia's directive echoed in his mind: Make yourself desirable. It felt foreign yet resonated deeply.

He remembered Aurora, a girl with freckles and pigtails, the daughter of a Peacekeeper. They clashed often, arguing about tactics until one day, after assembly, their disagreement culminated in a kiss. It left him conflicted and unsettled. He began taking Refrain to suppress the turmoil, trading his meal rations for the pills.

And then there was Marcus.

A marble statue in human form, Marcus brought joy effortlessly, his inner light infectious. Off Refrain, he ignited something fierce within Cato, a longing and a passion that felt liberating and dangerous. Marcus's touch was electric, his presence intoxicating. He made Cato feel desired in ways he had never imagined.

Without Refrain, Cato was awash in emotions he struggled to navigate. He yearned for a return to numbness, to forget the memories he and Marcus could have created. He deserved a proper farewell.

At least Marcus had made him feel truly wanted.

The Avoxes cleared their plates and brought out dessert: a rich chocolate cake with fluffy whipped cream. Each bite stirred an ache in Cato's chest as he savored the bittersweet confection.

His gaze drifted to the screen playing Caesar Flickerman's charismatic persona in a silver suit, powder blue hair, and shimmering eyeshadow. Though Caesar's flamboyance grated on Cato, he understood its appeal to the masses. Onscreen, the Reaping Ceremony replayed, showcasing his aggressive demeanor—a deliberate choice by the editing team, sparing him from appearing anxious on the way to the train station. The last thing he wanted was to become District 2's laughingstock.

For a Legionnaire, showing fear was worse than death.

Cornelia, on her third glass of wine, and Ophelia, fixing her eyeliner nervously, was distracted by the screen. Even Clove's attention was captured. Turning to Cornelia, an idea sparked within Cato.

"You mentioned we need to be desired, right?"

"Yes, indeed," Cornelia nodded, sipping from her glass.

"We need to change our approach," he declared, wiping chocolate from his lips. "We're too predictable. Aligning with District One every year, hunting down the rest—it's expected. But District Twelve is unpredictable. What if we forge a new alliance?"

Cornelia's lips curved into a thoughtful smile as she set her glass down. "And why should we abandon longtime allies for a district with a poor track record?"

Cato knew it was a gamble, but they needed an edge, a surprise that could turn the odds in their favor. If he was right, victory could be assured.

"The Capitol loves an underdog story," he argued confidently, meeting Cornelia's gaze. "We can show our strength by shifting alliances, even with District Twelve."

Cornelia grinned approvingly. "That's thinking like a winner."

As Clove stormed out of the train car, Cornelia sighed, watching her departure with concern. "Seems not everyone agrees with your plan. You should talk to her, Cato."

He nodded, taking a deep breath. The wine from dinner made his movements sluggish and unsteady, but he knew he couldn't refuse Cornelia's request, even if he wasn't thrilled about it.

As the train ascended, Cato slowly approached its rear, passing through the dining car and their living quarters. The caboose offered a sweeping view of the shifting mountain peaks that whizzed by. Clove sat on one of the plush couches that encircled the room, bathed in the soft glow of built-in armrest lamps. As he settled beside her, darkness momentarily enveloped them as the train entered a tunnel. Clove twirled a small butter knife between her fingers, staring out the window, seemingly oblivious to his presence.

Turning towards the window, watching the distant light shrink with each passing second, Cato whispered, breaking the silence between them, "Are you upset about the plan?"

Clove's face remained cold and impassive as she kept her gaze fixed out the window. "You and your grandmother are playing a dangerous game with my life. I have every reason to be upset."

Her brown eyes flickered towards his briefly, avoiding his probing gaze.

Refusing to show any reaction to her words, Cato pressed on, "So, you knew about it. Why not report it?"

"And then what? Have her executed, imprisoned, or turned into an Avox?" Clove scoffed bitterly. "No, I'd rather keep you on my side. You're no good to me if you're distracted."

Cato raised an eyebrow in surprise. He couldn't fathom what he had done to earn her loyalty. Perhaps it was their shared origins from District 2 or their training as Legionnaires.

As his eyes returned to the tunnel's darkness, he asked quietly, "Why did you volunteer? You still had three years left in the Academy."

Watching her retrieve a small packet of white pills from her pocket, Cato's eyes widened in disbelief. Was that what he thought it was?

"The girl in your class couldn't handle it," Clove said coldly, mimicking a throat-slitting gesture. Her gaze returned to the tunnel, which was gradually growing brighter. "The two years below yours refused the offer—I accepted. I want to be the first in my lineage to win from District 2."

Cato studied her face incredulously. They had chosen from three classes below him, and she was still switched off. Watching her swallow that pill ignited a spark of anger within him.

How could she be so reckless? What possessed her to bring those pills here? Snatching the bag from her hand as Clove moved to put it back in her dress pocket, he wrestled with her.

"Why are you still taking these!?" he demanded, gripping her hands tightly. "You haven't even detoxed yet, and you're worried about me being distracted!?"

Clove lunged at him, and he used the opportunity to knock the knife from her hand. "Give it back! You don't know what you're doing!"

He knew exactly what he was doing. He was going to get her clean before she got him killed.

"Do you think this is a game!?"

They struggled on the couch until he pushed her away. Clove landed on the floor with a loud thud as he hurried to the nearby breezeway. Hastily unlatching a window, he hesitated momentarily, clutching the small white pills that had once brought him so much relief. Then he remembered Marcus's smile. He couldn't smile as long as he had these pills. Pushing past his weakness, he tossed the bag out the window just as the train emerged from the tunnel. Outside, darkness had fallen, but bright artificial lights illuminated the snow-capped mountains in the distance.

It was snowing.

As Cato closed the window, he saw Clove crumpled on the floor, her face a mix of despair and rage, her hand inching towards the knife. The intensity of her glare made him wonder if he had shattered her world. Guilt surged within him as he realized the impact of his actions.

"You bastard!" she screamed, brandishing the knife at him. He heard a metallic ring as the blade embedded itself into the wall.

Another half-inch, and he might have lost an eye. A voice shattered the tension.

"What's going on here!?"

Cato turned to see Cornelia standing in the breezeway, Ophelia peeking nervously behind her. He glanced back at Clove, her eyes still burning with fury.

"She's still switched off. I threw her pills overboard," he explained.

Cornelia stepped between them, her small frame barely a barrier as she spoke firmly, "Attacking another tribute before the Games takes brass. Furthermore, you've put yourself in a dangerous position being switched off!"

She approached Clove and gripped her face tightly. "Don't you understand!? What will happen when you run out of pills in the arena? Detoxing in front of all Panem!? You and your instructors should be ashamed."

"They made an exception," Clove gritted as Cornelia released her.

"They made a mistake!" Cornelia snapped, her eyes full of disdain. "Just like you did! Now go to your room and thank Cato because he may have just saved your life, whether you like it or not!"

Brushing past Cornelia, Clove stormed through the breezeway, past Ophelia and Cato. He heard the door slam shut and her muffled screams as he turned to pull the knife from the wall, tossing it onto the table. He didn't want her thanks; he was only looking out for himself.

"Will she be alright?" Ophelia asked from the doorway, her face etched with concern as Cato turned towards her.

"She'll be fine. Avoid talking to her until we reach the Capitol. She'll be detoxing for the next few days, and as she switches back on, she might have emotional outbursts."

Ophelia nodded with a small smile. "Understood. I'll have an Avox bring water to her room."

As Ophelia turned to leave, Cornelia called out, "And send her some chamomile tea. It'll help her sleep."

Ophelia nodded again. "Of course, ma'am. Excellent suggestion."

Cornelia sighed and gestured for Cato to join her on the couch. "Two Rieslings, please," she requested from the male Avox, who nodded and went to fetch the wine.

Cato sat beside her, staring out the window at the snowy landscape. The view disappeared as the train continued its ascent. Accepting the glass of wine from the Avox, he looked at Cornelia as she laughed, using her free hand to dismiss the Avox.

"So, you had to toss her pills? You could've just told me," she said.

Shrugging, Cato took a sip of the wine. It was surprisingly sweet on his tongue. "I couldn't risk her becoming a liability in the arena. I don't want to end up alone with the two from District Twelve. And you would've done the same."

"Yeah, you're right. I probably would have," Cornelia sighed, leaning back against the couch. "I'm surprised they agreed to send her. They must have been desperate."

Glancing towards the door to ensure the Avox wasn't listening in, Cato added quietly, "Clove knows we're related. She wasn't planning on saying anything—or at least she wasn't. I'm not so sure now that I've thrown her Refrain overboard."

Cornelia chuckled, taking another swig of her wine. "I'm not worried about her, Cato. But truthfully, that brat should be thankful. You might have saved her life. I'll need your help with her over the next few days. Can I count on you for that?"

"You don't even need to ask," Cato replied sincerely.

Cornelia placed a warm hand on his cheek, her touch providing a comfort he hadn't realized he needed. Turning his face to meet hers, she smiled softly. "Well, I'm asking. Thank you."

She stood to collect the empty glasses, heading towards the front of the train. As she left, a question lingered in Cato's mind.

"Cornelia, why are you here?"

She turned back with a sly grin. "I'm here to keep you alive. What else would I be doing?"

Shrugging, Cato replied, "I just don't want you getting into trouble."

Cornelia waved off his concern with a playful gesture. "You don't need to worry about your old grandmother. Now, don't stay up too late. We have a big day tomorrow. I'll talk to the mentor from Twelve during your opening ceremony and see if they're open to an alliance. I'll keep you informed."

Nodding, Cato watched her leave, returning his gaze to the quiet, snow-covered expanse of the Rocky Mountains. As the train continued its journey, he knew the next few days would be challenging for Clove as she detoxed. While he was relieved to have someone going through the same experience, he couldn't shake the growing concern that he was better at burning bridges than building them. He hoped that saving this particular bridge was worth it.

But then again, they trained him to kill—not to feel.