The Mentor. (Cato Hadley)

Chapter Three.

A part of me feels guilty. Incredibly guilty, insanely guilty - because while I am here with Cato, Katniss is miserable at the thought of Peeta. She has told me I have earned it, after being separated from the District Two tribute for so long. But, I can't help but feel like my happiness is the cause of her sadness. Every time she looks at Cato and I, she's reminded of her own Games - the time she spent with Peeta.

"Are you okay?" The sound of Cato's voice startles me. It's the middle of the night, the red letters on the clock reading 1:32 in the morning. Cato feels comfortable here. His experience with Peacekeeper training has translated well to the military ranks of District Thirteen, and I believe he thinks he's now fighting the war for good. However, I'm not so sure that's true.

"Yes." I hear the words come out of my mouth, but it seems robotic. "I still have one foot in the Game, I guess."

He wraps his arm around my shoulder, sitting next to me as his blue eyes gaze into mine. "I know it takes awhile."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Cato is who I want, he's the gravity holding me to Earth. However, Cato hasn't gone into Hell four times over. My first Hunger Games, the two years I was a mentor, and the Quarter Quell. Not to mention the three years that I have been a slave for President Snow.

"I can't stay here, Cato," sighing heavily, I shake my head. "I can't." We all wear the same government issued clothes, gray pants and a gray shirt that has to be tucked in at the waist. All the same, cult-like, showing absolutely no individuality.

"It's okay, baby," he presses his forehead against mine, staring at me intently. "Soon this will be over, and we'll be back in District Two."

"What if I don't want to go back to District Two?" I can't go back there, to the citizens who have cheered me on as I murdered innocent people. I couldn't go back to see the Training Center where I fought so hard to be chosen, or the shack where I went to see customers. I couldn't go back to see the home that belonged to my dead family.

"We'll go wherever you want, Marblyn. Your choice of District. I'll build you a damn boat so we can sail away if that's what you'd like." Cato outside the arena is a complete parallel to inside. While he was seen as murderous, vicious even while inside the dome, he has never even raised his voice at me outside. He looks at me with love and care, he's always gentle. Cato Hadley's year outside of Panem has changed him for the better.

After what feels like hours, I fall asleep locked in the arms of Cato. Morning comes quicker than I would have liked, Cato and I making our way to the dining hall. Breakfast is at seven o'clock in the morning sharp - and the portions are rationed severely. I'm a Hunger Games Victor, used to eating whatever I liked whenever I like. Now, I'm restrained to the foods grown in District Thirteen's underground farms. The nutrition is down to a science, everyone only getting enough calories to last them until the next meal. Your age, health, body type, height, and job determine how much you get to eat. However, the emaciated citizens of District Twelve get slightly larger portions to help with the starvation.

Every table in the cafeteria is assigned. The Everdeen's, Hawthornes, my family, Cato, Celeste, and a few other refugees share a long table in the center. When Cato and I sit, attention immediately turns to the two of us.

"So are you going to do it?" Marcus asks, looking up at me from his turnips. I'm lost, with no idea what he's speaking about.

"Do what?"

"Marcus," my mother scolds from her place in between Caelia and Lucilia. "They haven't spoken to her yet."

"What is it that I will be doing?" My irritation grows, a glare settling on my face. The question isn't if I was going to do something, it's when. In some ways, District Thirteen is more strict than the Capitol and I doubt them asking me to do something is really a question.