BORN TO DIE | CLATO (THG)

SIX

Cato and I spend the next few minutes wandering aimlessly around District 2. We're quiet, as we usually are on walks like these, just soaking up each other's presence, never feeling the need to fill the silence between us with meaningless words in an attempt to pass the time.

But today, there's something different about Cato's silence. I glance up at him from the corner of my eye. He's walking the way you would expect a son of two victors to walk; his chest puffed out and his chin upturned like always. But there's something in his expression that makes me uneasy. His eyes are clouded over with fury, replacing his usual look of arrogance. No doubt he's thinking of his parents again.

Cato Hadley. Though he had the fortune to be born into a family of victors, he also had the misfortune to be born to two of the world's worst people. Jaelyn and Fergus Hadley had no shortage of admirers from the Capitol and their very own district. But would this still be the case if the public ever knew about the way they had treated their son? Most likely, nothing would change because of how wealthy and famous they were. It was sickening to think about.

I didn't know the full extent of their cruelty. No one except Cato would never truly know. But I certainly knew enough to make me despise them. Rage bubbles up inside me. I feel around for the comforting metal feel of my knives, then remember that they are lying safely at the bottom of my dresser drawers at home. Instead, I imagine Jaelyn and Fergus Hadley as my knife-throwing targets at the Academy in an attempt to calm myself down.

"You scared for the Reaping or something?" I snap out of my reverie at the sound of Cato laughing at me. His eyebrows are raised and his lip curled upwards in a playful smirk.

I smile coolly at him. "What for? I have two more years. I'll save my fear for when I actually get to volunteer." Cato knows damn well that I would sooner die in the arena then ever be fearful of the Games. I have no reason to fear it. It's what we were born to do. It's what all of us desire, isn't it? The pure thrill of being granted the opportunity of glory and riches.

Well except for kids like Leo, maybe. My heart squeezes painfully as I remember him, trapped inside that Square among thousands of other kids, far more brutal than he will ever be in his entire lifetime. Maybe there is a tiny portion of me that does feel scared. Not for myself, but for what happens to my siblings when I finally get the opportunity to be reaped. For what happens to them if they get reaped.

I pinch myself. Too many emotions for one day, Clove, and the Reaping hasn't even begun yet, I chide myself.

We circle back around the main streets, which are slowly emptying of people, and stop at the entrance of the Square to get checked in. We get our fingers pricked and we're granted entry. 

I'm about to head towards my assigned spot, the roped off pen for the sixteen year old girls, when I feel a hand on my arm pulling me back.  Cato. I shrug him off of me. Him and I both know that I don't enjoy skin-to-skin contact except if it's necessary for training.

He clears his throat. "Sorry."

"Why'd you pull me back for?" I ask distractedly. I stand on my tiptoes, craning my neck over the sea of people for a glance of Leo. He's too small and too far away for me to see him. I give up and turn my attention back to Cato.

"Good luck for the Reaping, Kentwell." He grins at me. It's an old inside joke of ours. Every Reaping since we'd met, we'd wish each other good luck, knowing full well we weren't going to be participating in the Games until we were eighteen.

I snort and bow so low that Cato knows I'm mocking him. "May the odds be ever in your favour, Hadley." He laughs at me, and I turn away from him, beginning to make my way to the sectioned off area for the sixteen year old girls.