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…"
Peeta's voice was breathless as Cato sucked and nipped along the tender skin of his neck. In desperation, Cato pulled Peeta to the greenhouse floor, seeking to feel something other than anger and despair. Peeta could give him that feeling.
Cato's lower lip stung as he drew the delicate skin between his teeth.
"Cato… we should—ah!"
Peeta gasped as Cato traced his tongue along the bruises on his clavicle. Cato's hand slipped beneath Peeta's shirt, gently squeezing the sensitive bud of his nipple. He drowned himself in the blonde's moans and whimpers, inhaling the sweet scent of vanilla and cedarwood that flooded his nostrils. The sounds Peeta made sent shivers down Cato's spine, and his smell made his mouth water. Peeta's hands ran through his hair, sliding along his taut shoulders.
"Cato… please."
Cato stopped his assault on Peeta's neck, looking up at the breathless blonde with hungry eyes.
"You don't know what you do to me," he huffed, trailing his eyes over Peeta's plump lips. "When you beg like that, I can barely contain myself."
Peeta frowned, pushing against Cato's shoulders. "Cato, we need to talk…"
He shuddered as Cato leaned in, flicking his tongue against his earlobe. His warm breath tickled the crest of Peeta's ear. "I'm listening... I'm very good at multitasking."
"Well, I'm not…" Peeta huffed with a flush, pushing against Cato's chest. "You're making things very… distracting."
Cato grinned, a devilish smirk hovering above Peeta's face. "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. He let out an audible sigh.
"My well-being is none of your concern, Peeta. Please, drop it."
Cato traced Peeta's face as he lifted his head into his lap. The boy's chiseled features turned rigid as his fingers gently raked through his hair.
"I thought you were hurt—that you might die, and I could only watch…"
Peeta's words stung. His worry was an unsettling feeling. Cato's hand squeezed his wrist as he sat up.
"I'm fine, Peeta."
Peeta shook 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—"
"Stop lying!"
Cato flinched at Peeta's outburst. The blonde's nostrils flared, and his forehead wrinkled.
"You don't get to do that," 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 between them. The soft trickle of rain and wind chimes echoed between their gazes. Peeta's heart pulsed against Cato's palm as he read the emotions on his face. His bottom lip jutted out. His glossy amber eyes shimmered in the dull light of the greenhouse.
Cato's chest swelled with guilt.
He hadn't expected the boy from District 12 to feel anything for him. He damned himself for giving in to temptation, sinking his claws into the baker boy. He had corrupted him—tainted the innocence of his being. The perilous journey of his life was destined to be a sinking ship, dragging them both into the abyss of death. He was another regret Cato would take to his grave.
Truthfully, that was the last thing he wanted. It wasn't his way.
Virtus et Honos. Strength and Honor.
The meaning behind these words echoed within the fibers of his being, spurring him to save Peeta from this shared damnation. At least, he could try.
"I'm sorry…. you're right," he breathed, grasping 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 silently, glancing down at the fingers entwined with his.
"When the timer counts down, grab a bag. Don't bother with the Cornucopia—it'll be a blood bath. I'll find you…"
Silence. Peeta's grip on Cato's hand grew tighter.
"This only ends one way, Peeta—I'm going to die… and that's okay. You'll be fine."
Silence. His anxiety grew.
He had told him the truth. Was that so selfish? Integrity sells for nothing, but it's all he has. It's the very last inch of him. And within that inch, he was free.
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 only a day away. If District 1 or 4 didn't kill him, he'd die anyway. 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 could win. He'd return to District 12, get married, and take over his family's bakery. Cato would be nothing more than a distant memory, eventually being forgotten. 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 as he crushed himself against Cato's chest. The air inside him left his lungs.
"Tell me how the fuck I'm supposed to deal with losing you."
Cato wrapped his arms around the blonde, 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 his 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 them, surrounded by the scent of primrose while the soft trickle of rain and wind chimes danced between them. Peeta looked up at him, reaching up to run his hand along his cheek.
His amber eyes danced across Cato's face, memorizing every detail. A swell of emotions painted the baker boy's face.
"I don't want to forget you."
"It would be easier for you if—"
Peeta cut him off, pressing his lips firmly against his. Pulling back, his eyes trailed down to Cato's lips before moving upward to meet his gaze.
"Shut up—"
Cato's lips tugged upward as he leaned in to capture Peeta's lips. Peeta's hands found the nape of Cato's neck, straddling his waist as their lips melded. His kisses were hasty—almost desperate as hunger seeped from their lips and their tongues danced. Cato let out a low groan, feeling Peeta's hands trail from his neck and beneath his shirt. He found himself drowning in Peeta's distress.
The blonde's plump lips kissed along Cato's jaw, licking and suckling on the tender skin beneath his jawline. Cato's hands roamed the curve of his spine, sliding along the small of his back before firmly gripping his ass through the barrier of denim. Goosebumps formed on his arms as Peeta moaned against his neck. His tongue lapped against his clavicle, dancing across the sensitive skin. He gnawed and suckled on the tender flesh, dipping his hand beneath the waistband of Cato's jeans.
"F-Fuck, Peeta…" he breathed hastily, feeling Peeta's hand pump his strained cock. "You… mm—don't-t have to."
Cato arched into Peeta's touch. Fire erupted across his skin, pulsing beneath his heartbeat. He should have pushed him away, but the taste of his lips and the warmth of his touch burned away his self-restraint. His 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 sinful 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. His member rutted against Peeta's rear, basking in the boy's cries against his neck. Cato's breath hitched, feeling Peeta roll his hips, grinding against his entrance.
"Peeta… if you keep doing that, I'm not gonna be able to contain myself..." he gritted between their lips.
Peeta's lips tugged into a smirk, nuzzling his face against Cato's neck. His breath tickled the crest of Cato's ear. "Am I making things… hard for you, Cato?"
Cato's eyes fluttered open, and he groaned as he bucked against Peeta. The baker boy gnawed on his earlobe, guiding Cato's hips up and down. 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. 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 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 his lower lip, discouraging him from his internal battle. The moan drawn from Peeta was more than enough to decide for him.
An unspoken confession lingered in the heat of their fleeting contact.
"You're the only thing I'm sure of anymore—please, Cato…"
Cato spat into his hand, pressing his member against Peeta's tight entrance. Peeta tensed, bracing himself against Cato's sculpted chest. Cato kissed him gently.
"Just breathe… I promise you'll be okay."
Peeta nodded, taking a deep breath. Cato tried to distract him from the pain. Their lips met; each kiss reminded him of the first—full of fire, passion, and warmth. Cato's heart pounded so loudly that he swore Peeta could hear it. He groaned against Peeta's lips, feeling the taut heat of his ass slowly envelop him. Lust poured from his eyes, trembling from the strained bliss of Peeta stretching to accommodate his length.
Peeta was unbelievably warm. Cato's eyes rolled back as he felt the blonde reach the hilt of his member. A layer of sweat formed between them while he waited patiently for any sign from Peeta. An orange light filled the space around them as the rain stopped. Peeta became engulfed in warm rays as his amber eyes flickered toward him. Cato's breath caught in his chest.
He looked almost angelic.
Peeta's eyes were shut, his blonde locks flopping against his forehead. His creamy lips were lush and swollen from kissing. 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. His breath hitched, curling his bottom lip inward.
"I-It's o-okay… I-I—can try moving."
He braced himself against Cato's chest, slowly rocking his hips back and forth while fully seated on Cato's length. A moan slipped from Peeta's lips as his fingers caressed the nape of Cato's neck. Cato shuddered from the feeling, the intimacy of his touch. Cato's fingers ran across Peeta's cheek, trailing off at his lips.
"Y-You're so—beautiful."
Peeta flushed, reuniting their kiss with force. He playfully nipped at Cato's lower lip, teasing with his teeth. Moans rolled from Cato's throat as their lips clashed. His hungry fingers gripped Peeta's hips, guiding him up and down on his member. He could barely think when their bodies and souls were so intertwined.
His 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 shoulders, using his legs to draw him halfway out before lowering himself down again. He let out a staggered moan as Cato's length slammed into a bundle of nerves that made him see stars.
"Oh, fuck—Cato…"
Cato trembled from the sensation, moving his hips to meet Peeta's movements. Their moans echoed against the glass walls of the greenhouse. The lust in his blood seeped from his form. Every taste, every touch, every thrust was an echo of delicious sin. Laying Peeta on his back, he spread his legs, thrusting even deeper into him. Peeta's eyes grew hazy from the passion seeping between them.
Cato bit his lip, reaching down to pump Peeta's strained cock in sync with his thrusts. Peeta's legs trembled with each thrust, wrapping around Cato's waist. He could not speak from the ripples of bliss that echoed through him. Cato braced himself against the floor, drilling deep into Peeta's warmth. His eyes rolled back under Peeta's touch—his back curling like a bowstring.
Cato's breathing became labored as he plunged deeper into the blonde. Peeta raked his fingers along Cato's shoulder blades. Cato's mouth latched onto Peeta's neck, drunk on the ecstasy that rippled from their movements. He lost himself to the passion between their bodies. Words spewed from his mouth between each thrust, 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, his hot release shooting against Cato's abdomen as his warmth tightened. Cato moaned into Peeta's neck as his thrusts became erratic. He sunk deep inside him with a final push, 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 filled with divine relief. "You… you're… this is… I don't have the words…"
Cato's lips captured Peeta's, dripping with hunger as he throbbed within him.
"Again…?"
"Ohhh, God—Cato…"
Peeta's words spilled from his lips as Cato bent him over the side of the greenhouse table. Desire consumed him—every taste, every touch, every look was like being struck by lightning. His heart raced as he lifted Peeta's leg onto the table, sinking deeper into his warmth.
He gripped Peeta's throat with one hand, slamming their lips together as he pulled him closer. His lips felt swollen, but it didn't matter.
The way he kissed him… God, he was like the rain. Clean and divine.
Cato would do anything to quench his desperation.
Saliva dribbled between them as he broke the kiss, trailing his lips along Peeta's neck. His essence leaked out of him with each thrust. He gripped Peeta's hip so hard he swore it would bruise. Peeta's back arched into his every thrust, overwhelmed by the ecstasy of his movements. Cato's free hand found Peeta's, gripping the table for stability. He memorized his taste, his scent, his touch.
Everything in this moment.
"Mine…" he groaned against Peeta's ear, feeling the pressure building again as he watched him pump himself.
Cato bit into Peeta's shoulder, feeling him 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 him one last time, stumbling forward against him and the table. He moaned Peeta's name breathlessly, feeling his cum dripping down Peeta's legs. He turned to kiss him, whimpering against his lips as he pulled out of his entrance.
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."
Desperation lingered in his words. Cato's heart thumped loudly in his chest. Even though he knew it was a bad idea, he couldn't help but accept Peeta's request.
Descending from the rooftop, he trailed behind Peeta as the blonde led him to his suite. He quickly ushered Cato inside the sanctity of his bedroom, closing the door behind him as a shrill voice called out.
"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 if he needed to hide. Peeta's room felt like his: plush but very modern, decorated 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!"
He held back a laugh as Peeta entered the room with a beaming smile. The footfalls of high heels clicked down the hallway.
The smile fell as Peeta took a deep breath, locked the door, and moved toward him. The Career strolled into the center of his room, stripping off his shirt. He smirked, realizing the boy from District 12 was trailing his body with his eyes.
"You wanna shower?"
"L-Like—t-together…?"
Cato stepped forward, a smile tugging at his lips. He found Peeta's naivety rather adorable. Cato's hands gripped his shirt, his fingers pulling along the soft fabric.
"No need to be shy," he 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 his face. "I-I've only showered with guys in school."
Cato pecked his cheek, drawing back. "Don't worry; I won't bite or make jokes about your penis."
Peeta laughed nervously as he led him into the bathroom. He was still sweaty and had cum drying on his thighs and stomach.
Stripping off their clothes, they met beneath the torrent of steam. Cato's hands scrubbed at his body, watching Peeta relax beneath his touch as he worked the suds across his skin. Their eyes met between the veil of steam that enveloped the room. His fingers 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 his plump lips. His eyes scanned Peeta's form, taking in the numerous bruises that dotted his neck and clavicle. He felt the sting of Peeta's claw marks as the water ran down his back—marks of their need and desperation.
Peeta sighed, plunging himself beneath the showerhead. Cato eyed him, lathering his hair with suds.
"What's wrong?"
Peeta sighed, stepping back so he 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, bringing his hand to his lips.
They rinsed and dried, finding themselves beneath Peeta's duvet. Peeta changed his ceiling display to a night sky with hundreds of stars. The room was cold, but the thick comforter and body heat made him 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 lips tugged into a small smile. Even in the darkness, the flush on his face was apparent. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm dreaming—or if this is happening."
Cato shifted to face him, draping his hand over the delicate skin of his waist. "What? Like the Games?"
"The Hunger Games… you… me… this—"
Peeta gasped as Cato pulled him against his chest. He snuck his free hand beneath the crook of Peeta's neck, rubbing small circles into his shoulder blade. Something was eating away at him.
"Did you mean what you said earlier? That you won't forget me?"
Peeta's breath tickled his chest. The blonde boy tilted his head to meet his gaze.
"Y-Yes." He stammered. "W-Why do 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."
Peeta tensed against him, burying his face against Cato's chest. "You're my world of firsts."
Cato's heart swelled at his words. He shifted onto his back, pulling the boy beside him and resting Peeta's head on his shoulder. His gaze returned to the stars twinkling above them.
Peeta sighed contentedly against his shoulder, trailing a finger along his chest. "Tell me about life in District Two."
He smiled, brushing his chin against Peeta's forehead. "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 tilted his head. "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's lips brushed against Peeta's forehead.
"It's not all bad. The buildings are crafted from limestone and lumber. The outskirts of the district are an arid, mountainous wasteland connected by dirt roads and trains. Most people live in the polis, our main town. Many apply to become Legionnaires, but those who aren't selected usually work in the quarries in the outlying komes or go to the Peacekeeper academy."
"What happens to the Legionnaires that don't make it?"
Cato shrugged. "It's up to them. Most end up at the Officer Training Academy, overseeing Peacekeeper garrisons in other districts."
Peeta quirked his lips. "Are people happy there? I imagine there's immense relief knowing someone will always volunteer."
Cato paused. He had never really thought about it. Happiness was an afterthought to those bred to bring honor and glory to their district and the Capital. He remembered the days when the glory of battle inspired him and upheld the goodness of the Capital, which bestowed the riches that brought his dreams to fruition. Those distant feelings seemed so superficial now.
"I—I'd like to think so. I've never taken tesserae, but I'd like to think some people are happy they'll never be reaped... How's life in 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?"
"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…"
Cato pulled Peeta closer, his arms resting around his waist. He felt guilty, knowing he had never starved a day in his life. Everything had always been provided for him while Peeta struggled to survive. It made Peeta that much more fragile to him.
"I'm sorry, Peeta," he 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 his chin as he nodded. "During the summer months, it gets ungodly hot. At night, it gets cold. We build our homes from stone to help keep them insulated throughout the year. We rarely see snow… Does it snow a lot in Twelve?"
"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. 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 as his eyes drifted slowly.
"Yeah," Cato's lips tugged. "You need to get some rest, Peeta…"
He leaned in, brushing his lips against Peeta's. It was soft and delicate like butterfly wings, lingering just long enough to inhale his breath and feel the warmth of his skin. Their eyes danced across each other's faces.
"I never said this before, but… I'm glad we did this—Thank you for being you."
Peeta's lips tugged downward, nuzzling his head into the pillow beside him. "Goodnight, Cato…"
Cato listened to Peeta's gentle breathing. He watched the delicate features of his face shift as he slept, noting how his nostrils flared with each breath or how his mouth opened slightly, letting out a silent snore. This unspoken thing between them was fragile, but it was something they both had been deprived of—a comfort they had both been starved of.
Finally, exhaustion took him—syncing them beneath the artificial stars.
-*** Interviews. 1 day until the 74th Hunger Games ***-
As he left Peeta's suite, the morning sunlight felt bittersweet against Cato's skin. Creeping back into his own on the second floor, he found the chambers silent. Cato dove into his bedroom, finding solace under the streaming water from his shower head. The warm torrent rushed across his body. For the first time since arriving in the Capital, he felt rested.
After showering and brushing his teeth, he wore a plain white t-shirt and black jeans. Angel and his stylists would prep and preen him for his interview that evening, so there wasn't any reason to be picky with his clothes. Venturing into the dining room, he fetched 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, sitting across from him as she began delicately cutting her cakes. She made it halfway through her stack before she finally spoke.
"So, you and Peeta—"
Cato didn't reply, sipping on the hot chocolate their Avox servant had brought him.
She laughed, shaking her head. "I can't believe you. It's funny how easily you've given up because of some fuck boy from District Twelve."
"Clove…" he 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. Her mouth closed, and she narrowed her eyes at him.
"You're already dead, remember? You don't get to boss me around," she spat, rising from 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."
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."
She 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 him in the dining room while the Avox cleared the mess on the floor. Resting his head on his palm, the deep breaths he took shook his form. Eventually, he calmed his racing heart. The ringing in his ears disappeared, as did his partnership.
Cato's gaze returned to the television; his lips twitched when he saw Peeta's score of an eight. The smile faded when he saw 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 him, 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."
Her tone was cold and concise. Her eyes didn't move from the pages she flipped through her notes. 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 Caesar Flickerman recapping the current odds of each tribute.
Cato's odds were 30:1.
Shortly after Ophelia, Angel, and his team arrived, Cornelia exited the room. He was moved to their living room while Angel, Eros, and Samuel put the finishing touches on his outfit. Gabriel applied a cream to his knuckles, cheek, and lips to mask the appearance of his scabbed skin. He needed to be camera-ready, after all.
"Quit sulking!" Ophelia snapped, tutting her finger at him.
The escort 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.
She huffed, pacing the space in front of him.
"Now, let's try this again. You'll enter the stage on the right, smile, and wave to the crowd. Then, you'll shake Caesar's hand. Now give us a smile!"
Cato humored her, giving a meek smile. Gabriel pursed his lips, preparing for the escort's onslaught, knowing she was bound to snap any second. He remembered hearing rumors about tributes who didn't participate in the interviews. He knew his family would suffer if he didn't play along, but it didn't mean he had to enjoy himself. He humored 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 as Ophelia's brow furrowed, not even slightly entertained by Cato's comment.
"I'm glad you think this is 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," he shot back.
"Gabriel, will you give us a minute?" she sighed, sitting across from him. 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?"
He 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. Her heels clicked against the tiles 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, sitting across from him. 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?" his 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 smirked, 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."
He narrowed his eyes 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."
He 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 wore a matching golden dress similar to Clove's. Cato's eyes met hers, but no words were exchanged. The animosity between them still lingered in the air.
Cato's stomach churned with anxiety at the thought of being in front of the cameras again. He picked at his dinner, feeling it turn in his stomach with every bite. He sipped a glass of wine, trying to calm his nerves. He loathed cameras almost as much as he detested Caesar 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 theater. Cato's fingers trailed against the cold concrete blocks as they ascended some steps. He felt the echoes of the crowd against his fingertips, making his stomach turn.
His heart raced when he saw 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 his hand as they passed. He smelled like vanilla and roses. The brief contact was enough to settle his nerves.
Cato and Clove were lined up behind Marvel and Glimmer. They both avoided his stare as they approached. He shifted to lean against the wall, finding Luna's glaring eye devouring his form. He chewed the inside of his cheek, drifting his eyes to the back of the pack. Peeta was tucked behind the giant from District 11. His eyes didn't look up to meet his gaze.
Glimmer was called first. The crowd went wild as she 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. Cornelia danced across the crowd, exchanging pleasantries and cheerful smiles. He found himself wondering what they were talking about. He wondered if Cornelia's demeanor could deflect the blows against her tribute's performance.
There was nothing worse than the 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 glare. The blonde beside her remained elusive.
"You're pathetic," Clove's condescending tone rang in his ear. She scoffed, rolling her hazelnut-colored eyes. "I hope falling in love was worth your death."
His jaw clenched. "I don't love him."
"Then you should wipe that look off your face. Loverboy has his eye on the prize. Maybe you should've learned that from him—"
A round of applause cut off his reply as Clove entered the stage. His heart started racing, realizing he was next. He took a breath, trying to settle his nerves. His 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 Caesar was almost fluid, and they quickly shot back at each other. She was deadly, precise, and witty, and the crowd was eating it up. Cornelia and Ophelia were both engrossed in Clove's interview, their eyes beaming 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 the rows of the enormous theater 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. Caesar Flickerman's beaming smile met his, grasping his hand in a firm, playful handshake before gesturing for him to sit 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?"
He 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 turned to the Gamemakers, who chuckled and nodded. They turned 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."
He 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?"
He 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; his heart raced with adrenaline as Caesar giddily kicked his feet.
"I love it! I love it! I love it!" he laughed, his charming voice echoing through the crowd. "So then, what's your strategy? How do you plan on beating the odds?"
He smiled, turning to the crowd. "I'm not worried about the odds, Caesar. I'm vicious. I'm ready. Let them come— I'll take them all."
The crowd went wild as Caesar gave him 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 him feeling winded, entering the green room alongside Ophelia, Cornelia, Clove, and Angel.
"You did amazing!" Ophelia beamed, handing him a glass of champagne.
He accepted the flute with a smile, clinking glasses with her and Angel. "All thanks to you."
Cornelia nodded at him, turning back to her conversation with Clove. Even after his grandest performance, he still felt disappointment seething from the victor. Sitting on the couch beside Ophelia and Angel, he threw back his glass, swallowing the fizzy booze gleefully. The bubbly alcohol eased his worry, turning his attention to the other tributes' interviews.
Tribute after tribute made its way onto the stage as he, Ophelia, and Angel indulged in champagne glasses amidst 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 about her eleven score, which the Gamemakers forbade her from revealing how she obtained. He rolled his eyes as the pair beside him started crying when she recalled the tale of her Reaping Ceremony.
Then, it was Peeta's turn.
Cato's face flushed from the alcohol. In a daze, he chewed on his lip for the first part of Peeta's interview. He had the audience from the get-go. Their laughter and shouting echoed through the halls. He smiled, watching Peeta play up the baker's son thing, comparing the tributes to the bread from their districts. Then, he 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 bit where they took turns sniffing each other, which brought down the house.
Ophelia refilled his glass, his attention shifting back to the screen 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 nerves. Peeta hesitated before giving Caesar an unconvincing shake of his head. A nervous tingle crept up Cato's spine.
"Handsome lad like you. There must be some special girl. Come on, what's her name?" Caesar asked.
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 took another sip, feeling his blood boil. He couldn't tell if Peeta was lying, making everything he said so... confusing. A low ringing filled his ears.
"She have another fellow?"
"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?"
He 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.
"Because... because— she came here with me." Peeta stammered.
The champagne flute shattered in Cato's hand beneath his grip, surprising both Angel and Ophelia. He 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 for his hand. "Oh, it's quite alright. These cheap glasses break easily."
"Yeah— cheap glass…"
An Avox servant cleaned the floor as he 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 his ears, mixing with the constant ringing that seemed to get perpetually louder. Katniss realized the cameras were on her as she stared at the ground with a crimson flush.
His mind swirled, filled with an onslaught of ambivalence that made his form shake. He suppressed the irrational urge to run out on stage, grab the blonde by the collar, and confront him in front of the entire nation. He wanted to shout to the world that he had taken him, and he was his. Cato's heart fluttered in his chest, pulsing throughout his fingertips. He wouldn't dare meet Cornelia or Clove's gaze because they were right all along...
God, he was a fucking fool. The ringing was deafening.
Cato's hand stung, clenching his fist tightly against the rag. Crimson flashed from between his knuckles.
Looking back at the screen, he couldn't hear Caesar's words. A wave of nausea overcame him as the world around him felt distorted, like someone had tilted the world on an angle. The camera flickered to Caesar, then back to a brunette dressed in a well-tailored black and red suit.
It was Marcus.
Cato's stomach lurched, tracing the figure on the screen as time stood still around him. He sat across from Caesar Flickerman, and the interview was still happening.
"So, tell me, Marcus. Do you have someone special back home?"
Marcus smiled at the camera. "Actually, I do, Caesar. And after I win, I'm going to marry him, and we'll live like kings."
Sounds of sympathy echoed through the chamber.
Cato's mouth fell open. "Marcus...?"
Caesar's brow furrowed, jutting out his bottom lip. "Poor shame, he killed you. Isn't that right, folks?"
The audience booed loudly as 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."
He looked toward the camera with a wink. Cato stumbled forward, reaching toward the screen. His voice echoed in the room as the screen skipped repeatedly like a record put on repeat.
"He killed me."
"He killed me."
"He killed me."
The world around him grew dark. The green room was empty, finding himself on the stage before Marcus. His voice still echoed throughout the room, taunting him. Caesar and the crowd had disappeared, leaving 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!"
"Remember when you used to sing to me?" he asked, rising from his seat.
The stench of decay and copper filled Cato's nostrils. Marcus crept toward him like a hungry wolf eyeing its next meal. Cato's stomach lurched again, but his body held itself frozen in terror. He slowly approached him, a glimmer of silver flickering between his fingers. His deep voice vibrated off the hollow walls as he sang.
"Like constellations… a million years away. Every good intention, every good intention."
Marcus revealed the blade from his side, brandishing it between his fingers as he stopped before him. Fear stilled the voice in Cato's throat, stopping his limbs like concrete.
"Is interpolation… a line we drew in the array. Looking for the faces, looking for the shapes in the silence—"
The cold steel pressed against his flesh, tearing delicately against his throat.
"Y-You're… not… real…" Cato muttered between the breaths he managed to capture.
Marcus' amber-colored eyes grew dark, flashing a sadistic grin beneath his taut lips.
"Then, why are you bleeding?"
A quiet scream held in his throat as the blade dug into his skin, dragging across his flesh; a crimson mist sprayed his face. Cato toppled over, choking as blood filled his throat. Warmth coated his chest as his eyes grew heavy. Marcus stood above Cato as everything around him grew dark; the abyss swallowed him.
BEEP… BEEP… BEEP…
A dull fogginess filled his mind, mingling with the perpetual beeping from the machine beside him. Something cold covered his mouth, filling him with a constant stream of air.
He wasn't dead.
Cato's eyes fluttered open, wincing at the bright fluorescent lights above him. He gasped for breath, finding his throat tender and dry. Shooting up from a bed that felt foreign, he ripped the cords stuck to his chest. A pair of firm hands grasped his shoulder.
"Cato! Cato! Calm down… It's alright… You're in the infirmary."
His gaze met Cornelia's worried face. She pulled the non-rebreather mask from his face, cupping his cheeks with her calloused hands.
"Cato… You need to take some deep breaths, or you'll pass out. In and out... In and out…"
After a few minutes, his heart rate and breathing calmed. A heavy numbness filled his limbs, accompanied by the fog that clouded his mind.
"What happened…?"
Cornelia pursed her lips, sitting back in the chair beside his bed. "You started seizing during Peeta's interview… The medical team had to intervene."
He chewed his lip, looking down at his hands. "Intervene how?"
"Your heart stopped... and they had to revive you." She sighed, taking a deep breath. "I consented to benzodiazepines to stop your seizures and an injection of a selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor to prevent further occurrences."
His eyes shifted to Cornelia. "Refrain."
"Yes— Refrain. The doctor gave you an extended-release dose that should last five days into the Games," she replied, resting her hand gently on his wrist. "I couldn't just sit there and let you die…"
"Why not?"
Cornelia's lips tugged downward, shaking her head. "Because— you're my grandson, and I still love you. We may disagree on things... but I will never abandon you. I'm sorry... it's come to this."
Her eyes glinted at Cato's. A distant part of him wanted to hug her, forgive her, thank her— but a stillness mixed with anger lingered above it all. Cato's mind was back in a prison, the same one he was in eight years ago.
It's just now the walls were even stronger.
"I hate you for this," he scoffed, removing his hand from her wrist. "You've turned me back into a fucking monster."
"I did what I had to do..." she muttered, looking at him with woeful eyes.
Cato shook his head in disbelief. "The Gamemakers will kill you for this."
Her eyes lowered to the floor. "Senaca Crane approved it. I… convinced him."
He raised his brow at the comment. "Why? What does the head Gamemaker want me alive for?"
"Your odds are 30:1," she replied, returning her gaze to her grandson. "If you win, they'll live like victors."
Cato understood. The Gamemakers wanted him alive so they could cash in their wins. They were rigging the game.
He touched his fingertips together, feeling the pressure behind his touch. Even though the numbing fog consumed his body, he remembered his feelings before his seizure. They were like footfalls in the desert sand, blown away by a tuft of air.
Imprints of them remained, but the feeling of them faded with each breath.
Only two remained, sprouting like stubborn flowers amongst the sands. His mother and Octavia. Cato had a chance to return to them. He could make a better life for them. Maybe, one day this would all just be a distant memory.
The devil that haunted him was back inside him.
Cato was going to kill them all, and no one would stand in his way.
"I'll do it," he sighed, shifting his gaze to Cornelia "I'll kill them all. I'll win... And when I do, I never want to see your face again."
Her eyes softened, and she nodded her head slightly. "One day, I hope you'll forgive me."
A lull of silence lingered in the space between them, filled with the autonomous beeping of Cato's vital signs. His fingers ran cold against the sheer hospital sheet. The frigid state of the room only exacerbated Cato's exhaustion, finding it hard to keep his eyes open.
Cornelia cleared her throat. "The alliance is over between us and District Twelve. Haymitch made a fool of me— just like that boy did to you. I've reached out to the mentors of District One and Dis—"
A knock at the door interrupted her, turning to find Ophelia and Clove standing in the breezeway. "Come in. He's stable."
Ophelia stepped forward first, Clove trailing behind her. The escort'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…"
Clove 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."
"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 the token with his thumb. His sigh broke the silence.
"I'm sorry… You and Cornelia were right all along."
Clove sat silently in the chair beside him. Her hazelnut-colored eyes flickered 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."
Her 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 looks like 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 coursing through his blood made him numb.
He narrowed his eyes on Clove. "We kill them, Clove… We kill them all."
He was released from the infirmary not long after Cornelia and Ophelia returned. Entering their suite, Panem's anthem finished playing as a hush fell on the room. They would be roused and prepared for the arena tomorrow at dawn. The Games didn't start until ten because many Capitol residents rose late. But Cato and Clove had to make an early start. There was no telling how far they'd travel to the arena that had been prepared for this year's Games.
Cornelia and Ophelia would not be going with them. As soon as they left the Tribute Center, they would be at the Games Headquarters, hopefully signing up their sponsors and working out a strategy for delivering gifts. Angel and Eros would travel with them to the very spot where they would be launched into the arena. Final goodbyes would be said there.
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. She 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.
Her lips tugged into a smile. "Stay alive."
There were no goodbyes as the three departed to their quarters. Whatever lingered in the air remained unspoken between the opening and closing of doors and the dimming of lights. 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 appeared out of thin air, just like the ones that circled District 2. A ladder dropped down. Cato stepped forward, placing his hands and feet on the lower rungs, and instantly felt as if he was frozen. A current glued him to the ladder, lifting him safely inside.
He 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 was a statue, but that didn't prevent him from feeling the sharp stab of pain as the needle inserted the metal tracking device deep under the skin on his forearm. Now, the Gamemakers could always trace his whereabouts in the arena. They wouldn't want to lose him.
As soon as the tracker was placed, the ladder released him. The woman disappeared as Angel was 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 were instructed to their destination, a chamber for Cato's final preparation. They called it the Launch Room.
Everything was 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 were similar for every tribute. Angel had no say in Cato's outfit. He didn't even know what was in the package. He helped Cato dress in the fitted gold and black jumpsuit made of sheer material that zippered down the front. It 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. He finished dressing when Angel pulled 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 turned down food, accepting a glass of water that he took tiny sips of as they waited together on the couch. He chewed at his bottom lip, feeling the blood trickle into his mouth. To his surprise, he wasn't overwhelmed with nerves. His heart thumped inside his chest, but his body felt calm. Angel placed 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.
They walked over to stand on the circular metal plate.
"Remember what Cornelia said. Run to the Cornucopia and find some 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 were 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 will 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 beams down on Cato and his fellow tributes. A trickle of sweat quickly forms on his back as he surveys the arena. Twenty feet below the giant marble steps lies the Cornucopia. Backpacks and other supplies are scattered throughout the stands.
He can't see anything behind the tributes across from him, indicating either a steep downward slope or a cliff. To his right lie the ancient ruins of a Greco-Roman village. Steep colonnades and dilapidated buildings scatter the plateau top. To his left and back, sparse piney woods lead toward a beachhead with turquoise-colored water.
Cato spots Clove among the twenty-three tributes. She's located at the far end of the semicircle. Between them, he notices Luna, Reef, Marvel, and Glimmer. To his right is the male tribute from District 7. To his left is the female from District 8. Cato's heart races as the countdown reaches ten seconds.
Ten.
Cato crouches, preparing for the siren. His entire body itches with the urge to sprint to the Cornucopia. He yearns to feel his legs burn with the faint pain of rushing toward the supplies.
Nine.
A faint twitch in his gut distracts him. He analyzes everything before him, eyes grazing each weapon slowly, a plan forming inside him.
Eight.
He will grab the machete first; it's one of the first weapons he learned to use. It's easy and quick, perfect for someone with his upper body strength.
Seven.
Katniss' piercing eyes graze his face. An arrogant smirk twitches across his lips. He longs to snuff out the Girl on Fire's flame. Then, he sees Peeta.
Six.
The blonde stands on the far edge of the rim, three spaces from Clove. Even from this distance, his amber eyes burn into Cato. He rolls his shoulders back proudly. A snarl pulls at his lips, resentment, and rage fueling his determination. His hand forms a fist.
Five.
Cato's eyes lock on the center of the Cornucopia. Then, he sees a sword, silver and gleaming in the sunlight.
Four.
He imagines expertly taking the sword's handle into his strong, calloused hands and wielding the razor-sharp blade. Images of hunting down Katniss flash in his mind, seeing her lying in the dirt, cold, wet, and starving, about to die.
Three.
A dark plan forms in Cato's mind: use Peeta as bait to draw Katniss out. If they're star-crossed lovers, he'll put their devotion to the test if Peeta is still alive.
Two.
He grits his teeth, snarling his upper lip. The Refrain sends shockwaves of fury across his body. His adrenaline surges, pulsing within his fingertips. He reminds himself of his purpose. They all die so he can live… so he can go home.
One.
Everything around him falls silent. He digs his feet into the plate, readying himself to charge down the stairs. This is the moment he's been waiting for his entire life.
BANG.
Everything shatters in nanoseconds as the cannon goes off. Cato sprints into the bloodbath without hesitation. He has trained his entire life for this moment, and it shows. He is halfway to his sword while the rest of the world catches up, snapping toward him like a rubber band that just broke against his skin.
His focus is on the one weapon he wants more than anything else. Sounds detonate against his eardrums as the war cries begin, but all he sees is the sword. A comforting burn flashes up his thighs, increasing his stride, refusing to let anybody else beat him to the Cornucopia.
A manic grin crawls onto his lips as he turns to meet the male from District 7. A flash of crimson sprays Cato's arm as he plunges his saber into the long-haired brunette. The boy's breath chokes in his chest as Cato shoves him to the ground, drowning in his blood.
Then, he meets the male from District 6—a younger boy who trembles before his stature. Cato's arm brings the sword down quickly, knocking the scythe from the boy's fingers. He slashes his throat as the boy turns to run. The boy topples over, gasping as he desperately grasps his throat, attempting to put pressure on the wound.
Clove makes it to the Cornucopia beside Marvel and Glimmer. Cato tosses a bag of knives to Clove, who eagerly accepts them. She throws one into the back of the male tribute from District 9, who fights Katniss for a backpack in the stands. Clove throws a blade at Katniss, who blocks it with her bag before running off the theater's rim. Clove turns, catching the female tribute from District 10 in the thigh behind Cato. The blonde stumbles from the impact on her leg as Cato steps forward, raising his blade to strike her down. A wet, crimson mist splatters his face.
Cato lifts his blade to Marvel and Glimmer. Marvel is atop the male from District 8, violently stabbing the young boy with his short sword until a pool of blood forms between them. Glimmer shoves the male tribute from District 5 against a crate, thrusting her dagger into his abdomen with similar ferocity. Neither of them notices Cato lift his weapon.
A flicker of metal shimmers in his peripheral vision. Cato sidesteps, avoiding Luna's thrust from her trident. Her eyes seethe with rage, following the lunge with a slash of her trident's blades. He dodges her slash, catching his blade between the prongs. The razor-sharp blades graze his forearm, sending a trickle of crimson down his arm. Luna grits her teeth, bracing herself as he kicks her back.
Cato steps forward, seizing the shaft of her trident under his left arm as she stumbles back. She loses her grip, glaring at Cato as he holds the tip of his blade to her throat.
"Not. Another. Step." he huffs, twirling her trident to hold it in his offhand.
Luna's green eyes glare at him, her voice dripping with venom. "What are you waiting for!? End it already—"
The Cornucopia falls silent, scattered with bodies of the fallen tributes. Then, the cannons come—eleven in total. Clove stands beside him. Reef holds a spear firmly, taking a few steps behind Luna. Marvel and Glimmer stand behind nearby crates, readying themselves for another onslaught.
Cato's eyes scan their faces, meeting the uncertainty of their gazes as he lowers his blade.
"You haven't outlived your usefulness to me—yet. Consider yourself lucky."
Cato tosses the trident to the ground, meeting Luna's icy stare.
"Mark my words. You try anything—I'll end you," he seethes, glaring at his fellow Careers. "That goes for all of you. Does everyone understand!?"
Luna sneers 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 laughs with a nod, stepping forward to pat him on the back. He doesn't flinch from the foreign contact. "Good show, man! Killer stuff! I bet all the people watching right now are confused."
Clove smirks at him, wiping her blades on a dead tribute's shirt. Cato's stone-faced stare holds 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 picks up a pack, slinging it over his shoulder as he sets off for the village. Clove trails behind him.
"I didn't ask for your company."
"You're not getting a choice. I'm not staying with those four."
He rolls his eyes, looking through the broken buildings made from sandstone and lumber. Faint footprints through the dirt and sand lead down through the village, down the slope towards the water. The town hasn't been inhabited in decades or even longer. Strange markings adorn the buildings in a language he is unfamiliar with. His eyes trail the footfalls in the dirt, heading toward the water. The dense foliage and pines do little to quell the sun's heat. Cato fetches the canteen from the side of his pack, desperate to quench his dry throat. He is thankful to find it filled with water.
After about twenty minutes, the pair 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 hoped the water was drinkable, but that would make the Games too easy. His eyes scanned the horizon, noticing a large stone building 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 kit, three days of dried rations, a fire starter kit, and a blanket. 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. Clove nudged his shoulder when he finished, pointing to markings 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, and the brush lessened as another island came into view along the shore—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?"