Macy Snow was never alone. She was a shadow moving through the halls of the presidential estate, always followed, always watched. Cameras in the corners, guards at the doors. And then there was him—Cato Hadley. Always five steps behind, silent but ever-present, the weight of his duty pressing down on them both.
The world knew Cato as the brutal tribute from District 2, the boy who nearly won the 74th Hunger Games. But to Macy, he was something else entirely. A guardian, a reminder of the life her father built on blood and fear. And now, against all odds, he was the only person in the world who understood her.
Macy pressed herself against the cold marble pillar in the dim hallway, listening to the distant hum of voices from the grand ballroom. Another gala, another night of pretenses. She had escaped the suffocating crowd, but she hadn't escaped him.
"You shouldn't be here," he murmured, voice low as he cornered her in the dimly lit corridor. His grip was firm but not unkind. "If your father finds out—"
"He won't," Macy whispered, tilting her chin up defiantly. "Unless you tell him."
A muscle in Cato's jaw twitched. He had been trained to kill, to obey, to serve. Not to feel. And yet, every time Macy defied him, every time she looked at him like that—like he was more than just a soldier—it chipped away at his carefully built walls.
The soft glow of the chandeliers from the distant hall barely reached them, casting flickering shadows across Cato's sharp features. His usual impassive mask faltered, just for a second. "Macy, you don't understand what you're playing with."
"And you don't understand what it's like to live in a cage," she countered, her voice barely above a breath. "Every second of my life is controlled. Every move I make is watched. Except when I'm with you."
His breath hitched. For all his strength, his years of training, he suddenly felt powerless in the face of this girl who shouldn't have meant anything to him—but did. More than she should.
"This is dangerous," he said, his voice strained. "For both of us."
Macy smiled, stepping closer. "So is living in this world. But that's never stopped you before."
He didn't answer. He couldn't. Because the moment she reached up, the moment her fingers brushed against his wrist, the moment he let his guard slip—it was already too late.
Before he could stop himself, before logic and duty could override desire, he reached for her. Because in the Capitol, love was the deadliest game of all.
The touch was brief, fleeting, but it sent a jolt through him. Cato inhaled sharply, his instincts warring with the unfamiliar ache in his chest. He had survived the arena, faced death more times than he could count, but this—this was something else entirely.
Macy felt the shift in him, and saw the hesitation flicker across his face. She didn't pull away. "You always act like you don't feel it," she said, voice softer now. "Like you don't want this."
Cato clenched his fists, his breathing heavy. "Wanting something and being able to have it are two different things, Macy. You don't understand what your father is capable of. What he would do to me—"
"I do understand," she cut in. "I know exactly what he's capable of. And I hate it. I hate all of this." She glanced past him toward the ballroom entrance, where the sound of laughter and clinking glasses echoed through the halls. "I'm not my father. I never will be."
Cato exhaled slowly. He had always been taught that strength was in restraint, in control. But with Macy, restraint felt impossible.
"If I let this happen," he murmured, stepping closer, "there's no going back."
Her heart pounded. "Then don't go back."
For a moment, the world around them disappeared. No cameras. No guards. No threats looming over their heads. Just Macy and Cato, trapped in a moment neither of them were willing to break.
Then, the sound of approaching footsteps shattered the illusion.
Cato reacted first, pulling back just as a voice called from down the hall. "Miss Snow? The President is looking for you."
Macy swallowed hard, forcing her expression into one of indifference before turning to face the approaching guard. "Tell him I'll be there in a moment."
The man hesitated before nodding and retreating back toward the main hall.
Macy turned back to Cato, searching his face. "Meet me later. Please."
Cato didn't respond right away. He couldn't. Every instinct screamed at him to walk away, to pretend this never happened. But then he saw the way her hands trembled slightly, the way she looked at him like he was her only escape.
And against his better judgment, he nodded.
"Midnight. The garden."
Macy smiled, just barely, before slipping away down the corridor, leaving Cato standing alone in the shadows, knowing he had just sealed both of their fates.