𝐆𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐄 ▸ HUNGER GAMES [ 1 ]

TWELVE

TWELVE - 

It does not astound me that I hardly sleep at all that night.

With no barriers left to hold them back, every minute detail about Cato Hadley that I have stored in my brain over the years floods to the surface. The times I watched him from the back row of math class, chin propped up on his hand and pen tucked between his teeth, looking like he'd rather be absolutely anywhere else. The tightly coiled muscles of his arms, flexing with the arc of his sword through the air. Younger kids gathered around him to watch, like an army of starstruck disciples. Every half-hearted insult that has ever left his mouth in my direction, coupled with that trademark smirk that could bring a city to its knees.

The day he first nicknamed me Clover, and the moment I stopped calling him Hadley.

Each one of them cycles behind my eyes on a constant loop, until I can see the course of our lives have taken together to reach this point – a couple of days from the arena, suddenly realising both of us would prefer if the other were a million miles away. At least then there would never be the possibility of the final fight boiling down to just the two of us.

At least then, we would never have to face to very real prospect of having to kill each other.

I finally drift off to sleep just at the predawn light is slipping through the gaps in the blinds across my window, but my dreams are no easier, filled with scenes of previous arenas, bodies, and rivers of blood.

When I wake the sun is straining into my bedroom. I catch the glowing red numbers on the clock beside my bed and realise it's far later than the time I am usually summoned for breakfast, almost eleven. By some miracle, Sidonia must have allowed me to sleep in. Or perhaps she just felt I deserved it after the stress of yesterday's events, and she's right. I definitely need the extra sleep to stomach a whole eight hours of interview prep with her and Tallulah.

I take a quick shower and dress in a simple plum coloured shirt and leggings before heading off to breakfast. I hope my mentors have saved some of the spread for me, as dinner last night was derailed and now I realise just how ravenous I am.

Tallulah and Sidonia are chattering together at the table, already halfway through flutes of sparkling pink wine despite the early hour. I try not to take their premature turn towards alcohol as an insult as I pull up a chair opposite Sidonia.

Today's outfit is the closest I have seen my mentor to looking like a regular citizen of 2, since we got here – boxy black shirt, cropped at the waist, and tight black pants. Her feet are bare, legs pulled up to her chest as she rests her knees against the edge of the table, and her ebony hair is gathered back into a low ponytail. To my astonishment, she has even forgone the patch over her eye, exposing the crinkle of pale skin in the empty left socket. It should be intimidating, but for some reason it makes her overall appearance less severe. In fact, this Sidonia might actually have a chance at being approachable.

"Morning Kentwell." She stops laughing with Tallulah for a moment to raise her glass in greeting. "I didn't think you'd want to see the others this morning, so I let you sleep in until they fucked off elsewhere."

As I serve myself from the mounds of food still abandoned on the table, I realise that Cato and Brutus are nowhere to be seen. I'm thankful for Sidonia's pardon, but I'm not quite sure what she means when she says I wouldn't want to see the boys. Of course, it's likely she just means Brutus, after our altercation yesterday, but the expression on her face is hinting at something else entirely. It could just be the wine – I don't know how long the two women have already been drinking for – but when I thank my mentor, my brow wrinkles in question.