Archive of Our Own ^beta

The hovercraft’s hum pressed in from all sides, a threatening rumble of a beast, prepared to swallow one whole. Katniss kept her hands still on her knees, though the seat harness cut into her shoulders and her stomach churned with every shift of the hovercraft.

Across the row, some tributes looked down, others stared blankly at nothing. A few whispered to themselves.

Beside her, the female tribute from District Two didn’t fidget. Didn’t blink much, either. She leaned back like the trip was some joy ride, something casual. Perhaps it was to her. Perhaps in District Two they just took hovercrafts out for fun.

And she was all up in Katniss' space, her elbow brushing Katniss’ arm, as if to remind her exactly who she was sitting next to. The girl had been a blur of steel in training—every knife she threw had found its mark. Never missing.

A sharp, deliberate knock against her knee, Katniss turned just enough for their eyes to meet—so dark, almost black, giving nothing away. The smirk curling the girl’s mouth seemed to bare her canines, yearning for an unyielding throat to tear into.

Her presence pressed closer, like heat radiating from a fire too near, the thrumming of her energy reaching under Katniss’ skin. It was restless, hungry, pulling at her like a current she refused to get caught in. Grinning at her like she couldn’t wait to see what color her blood would look like against the arena dirt.

She wanted to rattle her. Katniss clenched her teeth. Kept her face blank.

The lights above them flickered. For half a heartbeat, Katniss saw something slip—a ripple in her expression, a flicker of a flash of wide-eyes—but then it was gone, replaced with an almost giddy smirk.

She must have imagined it.

The girl was humming now, low in her throat, the sound almost drowned by the engine but not quite. It wasn’t a tune Katniss recognized, just a restless vibration that made her skin itch. The other girl radiated the kind of energy that had nowhere to go but forward—restless.

She looked away deliberately, fixing her gaze straight ahead. The thought of Prim, safe at home for now, of the promise she made grounding. She thought of the bow she prayed was waiting in the arena for her.

She let her eyes sweep the hovercraft—twenty-three other tributes, each one of them thinking of ways to kill her. Some she’d have to kill herself, if she wanted to make it back.

Hard to rationalize.

Still worse was the heat of the other tribute’s restless energy beside her. Her stare burning into the side of her face, heat and weight in equal measure, like she wanted to see the moment Katniss cracked.

Hungry. Impatiently waiting.

*

Sunlight blinded her. Katniss had to shield her eyes to take in her surroundings, to see her fellow tributes arranged in a circle around the Cornucopia. A lake to her right. To her left woods, from appearance alone, similar to the forest back home. This is where she should go.

If it weren't for the glint of silver which caught her eyes.

Glittering in the sun. Life. Survival. Gleaming silver. Hers. A bow and a sheath of arrows. She was sure it was the same one she used in her private showing. Just leaning against the Cornucopia.

Just clear out put as much distance as you can between you yourselves and the others and find a source of water.

You've got to get your hands on a bow. That's your best chance.

Haymitch. Gale. The bow was less than fifty meters from her. A small distance, a sprint. They were on flat ground. Getting the bow would be easy. Clearing out in contrast-

But the Careers needed weapons first too. Not everyone would focus on her. Get the bow. Get out. There on the edge of the woods was a tarp and an orange backpack. Get the bow, get the backpack, disappear. The bow was sturdy, not simple wood. It could take a blow.

The gong sounded.

Katniss jumped from the platform, hit the ground hard but didn’t let it stop her. Sprinted to her prize. Slid the last meter, hands grasping the brow, shrugging the quiver on her back, arrow already notched-

The boy in pursuit of her crumbled to the ground. She nocked another, felled another tribute in her path.

Tried not to look. Not different from an animal. It couldn’t be not now. Not now.

She sensed danger before she saw it. The knife hissed past her ear, close enough to taste the sharpness of its edge. Katniss batted it aside with her bow and loosed an arrow in the same breath.

Dark hair, sharp grin, the unblinking focus of a predator. Her arrow flew toward the Career’s heart. The girl twisted just enough to spare herself a fatal hit, but the arrow still punched into her upper left arm. It wasn’t her throwing arm, but it slowed her—made her stop to rip the arrow free and gauge the damage. Giving her time to run.

Grabbed the backpack. Same time as another. A short struggle then warm blood sprayed on her face. The boy’s grip on the backpack loosened as he fell forward. Knife in his back.

Not ten meters away, the other girl clutching half a dozen knives in one hand, readying the next while looking directly at her. Closing the distance. Still pursuing her.

Katniss snatched the orange backpack, slid her arm through one of the straps.

The second knife split the skin above her right eyebrow even as she ducked away. Blood streamed hot down her face, clouding her vision, flooding her mouth with metal.

She staggered but didn't shoot. Not wanting to waste the arrow. Turned tail. Her path was clear. She ran for the woods.

There — the whistle of a blade. In time, she hitched up the bag to protect the back of her head, why would the other girl aim for anything else, sadistic Capitol hound?

Adrenaline shot through her, propelling her forward as the knife hit the bag. The woods were the only safe place. The Careers wouldn’t follow yet. Not with the bloodbath going on, not when the supplies hadn’t been scavenged yet.

She didn’t stop running. Jumping over undergrowth, twigs, and bushes tearing at her skin and clothes. Distance. She needed to create as much distance as possible.

After a few minutes as her lungs screamed, she slowed into a jog, attempting to get her bearings. Couldn't believe her luck. She had a bow, some supplies. She would need to take inventory-

Those weren't her steps. She whirled around.

Impact. The air stolen from her lungs as a body slammed her to the ground. A braid smacked her face.

No. The female tribute from District 2.

Katniss scrambled, kicked with her feet, fighting to dislodge her, to breathe—but the weight on her was unrelenting.

Right in her ear, her voice was a growl soaked in madness. “You made me bleed.” Her hand fisted Katniss’ braid and yanked her head back. “And what? Thought I would just let you escape?"

Katniss elbowed her in the gut, managed to turn only for the Career to climb onto Katniss’ abdomen. Bracketing her firmly with her thighs, pinning her in place with one hand, she seized Katniss’ wrists and shoved them above her head.

Katniss bucked her hips, trying to throw her off, but the Career stayed rooted, balanced like a coiled snake. Katniss kept her breathing steady, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a flinch. Her gaze flicked past her, marking the distance to the bow lying in the leaves—three paces, maybe four if she had to roll.

"I thought you might want this back." The girl twirled the arrow slick with her own blood in her hand, while Katniss squirmed beneath her. She could even see the dark spot on the Career’s jacket where Katniss had shot her. "Maybe here." She poised the arrow like a mirror at the same spot Katniss had shot her, digging it into Katniss’ flesh, their blood mingling.

She panted, heart hammering, as the Career loomed over her. "That's how you got your eleven? Prided yourself to be some big bad hunter?" The Career smirked, eyes glittering.

Katniss twisted hard, jerking one knee up, and for a split second her grip loosened. Not enough to throw her, but enough to make her grunt — a small sound of annoyance that told her she got under her skin while keeping her own silence. "What has you so silent? Where is your fire now? C'mon don't be so pathetic."

Katniss spat her in the face. The other girl recoiled, quicker than she could follow, she had exchanged the arrow for one of the knives hanging from the belt around her shoulder. Pressing it against Katniss' throat. Drawing a ribbon of blood.

"Be a good girl. Beg and I'll make it quick."

Katniss snarled even as blood trickled down her neck.

"C’mon, I’m sure you sound all too sweet, lover girl. I promise I can be gentle." The Career purred leaning down, drawing the blade up her jaw, nicking the skin there until the knife rested against her lips. She leaned in, weight shifting so she was settled into the dip of Katniss’ pelvis, Her heat seeming to bleed into Katniss like an infection.

She gave a teasing roll of her hips, stretching Katniss’ still pinned wrist further above her head until Katniss’ grimaced, the muscles in her shoulder burning. Her breath fanned across Katniss’ cheek — close enough to kiss, close enough to kill. "That's what you're into isn't it, considering, lover boy." A snicker.

The other girl was putting on a show. For the sponsors, for the Capitol. Katniss sneered, the mention of Peeta enough for her to lurch up and headbutt the other girl even as it earned her a slashed lip. The fresh sting barely registered over the satisfaction of listening to the other's cursing. The answering dark glower and the bit of breathing room, enough to maneuver-

Froze as steel kissed her throat.

Katniss swallowed. The Career’s knife pressed harder, cut deeper, while her other hand shoved Katniss down into the earth. Her eyes flashed, a spark in those dark eyes, fascination almost Katniss recognized as the Career watched the blood gather, dripping down her neck.

Then she fell forward, flattened herself along Katniss’ front. The cold of her blade joined by wet warmth. Licking up her throat. Moaning. Her blood. The other girl was just tasting her blood.

Katniss forgot to breathe. Uncomprehending. A storm of sensations and emotions wrecked through Katniss.

The scent of metal, fresh sweat and copper heady, dizzying. Blood and saliva. Fucking unsanitary. At least she wouldn’t have to deal with some disease or infection if the Career killed her now.

Her chin was grasped harshly. "Not gentle then. I hope your sister is watching."

The Career's smile was stained with her blood, her hand reaching up to press into the wound on Katniss' brow, hips rocking down as Katniss jolted up with a pained gasp. Relishing in her pain. Her tongue grazed her skin and Katniss jerked sideways. Attempted to get away. She caught Katniss anyway, but the movement earned her a flash of irritation in those black eyes. Followed the trail of blood from under her eye, down her cheek to her jaw. Licked the drying blood from Katniss’ neck again. Left a kiss on the wound.

Not like the kiss from Madge on her cheek. A soft brush of lips. Leaving behind a tender warmth. No, a threat, a hint of teeth.

Her tongue slid over her lips in a taunt, her gaze flicking deliberately to where her saliva now glistened on Katniss’ skin. Like a claim. Both brows raised, eyes alight.

A shiver ran through Katniss. Her stomach twisted. She blinked up at the green of the trees. The girl’s skin glimmered with sweat, hair sticking to her forehead and cheek.

Her mouth hovered near Katniss’ lips, panting hot air into her mouth. “I should carve my name into your skin,” she whispered, almost reverently. “Just so everyone remembers who took you down, Twelve.”

She shivered.

"Here, look at the camera. Don't you want your sister to see you one last time?"

Fury blazed hot in her chest. Unfreezing her. Because she would give neither the girl on top of her nor the watching Capitol masses the satisfaction of laying her like some willing sacrifice.

I don't care if we're rich. I just want you to come home. You will try, won't you? Really, really, try?

Really, really try. I swear it.

"Clove?" A male voice rang out. Enough to distract her assailant.

Enough for Katniss. She jerked up. Dislodged the other girl. Scrambled forward, taking a fistful of dirt, pine needles, whatever, threw them into Clove's face.

Cursing, sputtering was the response.

This was her terrain. They might not be her woods but woods.

Before Clove had her bearings again Katniss was gone. Her bow and backpack in tow.

Blood and saliva cooling on her skin.

*

Nothing more than a pack of wild dogs, snarling, slobbering, wishing to tear her apart. But by the time they reached the trunk of her tree, she was already too high for them to catch—burned hands and leg screaming, but out of reach.

They might bark and claw, but none could follow. Six of them.

Correction seven. Peeta was with them.

That stopped her. His words—empty. She should have known. Just like his actions. He didn't need to fear being changed because this was him. A traitor. It didn't matter. He was just as heavy and strong as the rest. Let him try to come up.

Katniss bared her teeth in a smile. “How’s everything with you?” She called down from her fork in the branches.

The snarling cut off.

“Well enough,” said the boy from District 2. “Yourself?”

“It’s been a bit warm for my taste.” Her burns flared at the reminder. Envisioned the tittering laughter of the audience back on the Capitol. “Air’s better up here. Why don’t you come up?”

“Think I will.”

He climbed up with his sword in hand, hauling himself branch to branch while the others cheered him on. With luck he wouldn’t just fall but with this much stupidity also fall onto his own sword.

Still, just to be sure Katniss shifted a few meters higher up in the tree, clenching her teeth against the tightness of her skin, the rawness of her burned hands. Heard the splinter crack and watched him crash flat on his back.

She laughed—sharp, ugly—until the girl from District One took offense and hurled a short sword up at her. It didn’t even make it halfway before clanging to the ground near the District 4 boy.

Cursing. Like animals they started to turn on each other. Shoving. Weapons at the ready until the boy from District 2 got in between, pushing them away from each other.

Katniss leaned forward, cheerfully. “Maybe you should throw the sword!” She chuckled as it caused another fight to break out until she heard Peeta’s voice.

“Let’s just wait her out. She’s gotta come down sometime. Either that or starve. We’ll kill her then.”

“Okay,” Cato said. “Somebody make a fire.”

Below, the female tribute from Two hadn’t spoken. Clove just watched. When Katniss’ gaze caught hers, Clove freed a knife from her vest. Aimed for her. Katniss, even sitting, drew her bow in answer.

A lifted brow. A tilt of the head. What was quicker? Arrow or knife?

The knife lowered. Katniss set the bow down. But her eyes stayed on Clove, narrowed.

The Careers settled in, fire crackling beneath her. Katniss watched them after having eaten something, drinking from her canteen. Only then for her eyes to trail back to Clove. And right beside Clove’s boot—resting in the dusk-light as if it belonged there—was another sheath of arrows.

Katniss jerked upright, forgetting her injury until pain shot up her leg. The tree swayed, drawing Clove's attention who noted where her gaze had landed, her mouth curving into a self-satisfied smirk. Tapping the sheath with her toe, dangling it right in front of Katniss’ nose. Just out of reach

Six arrows she had left. She needed that sheath.

Katniss’ chest went tight. After the cuts Clove had left on her skin. After the knife pressed to her lips. The ghost of that smirk and those taunts still there, haunting. She wanted to make Clove swallow her own teeth.

But the Careers stayed directly beneath, blocking any clean shot. Only Clove hung just far enough out, as if to dare her.

Katniss’ hands curled into fists. Even standing, she doubted she could put an arrow cleanly through a Career’s skull without breaking the shaft—and making replacements out here would be pitiful. Clove must have known. Was taunting her.

So Katniss sat back. Stewed. Peeta the traitor beneath her. The Capitol’s little killer baiting her.

A faint chime broke her focus. A parachute, small tin—too small for food. Salve. Relief washed over her. Haymitch hadn’t forsaken her. Despite her ignoring his advice, even if he liked Peeta better.

“Thank you Haymitch,” she breathed.

It eased the fire in her leg and hands, better than cool water. The balm was bliss against her burns, a moan slipping free before she caught herself. The burn on her leg was different. She steeled herself, knowing a camera would just drink in every pained expression, her every gasp and bit down on the insides of her cheek. Throat and eyes burning. She wouldn’t let them see. Not Prim. How bad this was. How much it hurt. But the salve might give her a chance. If she got away from the Careers.

Eyes dropping, exhaustion gnawing at her bones, she almost thought she imagined it for a moment. Eyes in the opposite tree. An animal? In the settling dusk it was hard to tell. Not reflective. Not shining. Human. A small form. Her little shadow. Rue—dark eyes fixed on her, finger pointing up. Katniss followed her gesture to the wasp nest.

It was too much to hope for simple wasps. Not in the Hunger Games. Trackerjackers. Rue was gone by the time she looked back.

Leaving Katniss with the knowledge she was trapped between trackerjackers above and the pack of Careers beneath her.

Which sparked a foolish idea.

By dawn, Katniss’ fingers were numb from gripping the knife. The last fibers gave way with a wet snap. The nest dropped.

It hit the ground with a wrong, wet sound. The first scream came before the pieces stopped rolling. Gold-and-black swarmed upward, a living cloud. Descending on Glitter who stumbled, fell, didn’t get up. The other Careers broke instantly, scattering into the trees. Clove the fastest even so she lunged for the arrows before bolting.

Katniss dropped from the tree, landing hard on her bad leg, and chased. Through brush, past flashes of flailing bodies—Cato swiping at his head, the girl from District 4 screaming—but her eyes locked on the gleam at Clove’s back. The flash of silver on Clove’s back lit her blood like fire.

She told herself she needed those arrows, that it was practical. But part of her just wanted to wipe that smug look off Clove’s face. Clove headed for the stream, probably to hide from the trackerjackers. Crashing into the stream, diving beneath.

Katniss followed her under, trackerjackers still droning overhead. The cold hit like a punch. Katniss used the momentum to slam them both deeper, pinning Clove against the current. They locked eyes—dark, near-black, giving nothing away—and the smirk was still there, warped by the water. She pulled Clove down into the current, at first to hide her—hide them both. Katniss’ grip shifted. She pushed harder.

For a moment she saw only silver bubbles and a blur of movement—Clove’s arm coming up, fingers clawing for Katniss’ face and throat. Katniss shoved back, kicking hard. Clove twisted, tried to drive a knee into her ribs, and when that failed, she went for the bow strapped to Katniss’ shoulder.

The water boiled with bubbles between them. Clove’s eyes opened underwater, defiant, unyielding. Katniss ripped the sheath free but didn’t let go, holding her there, feeling the fight slow under her hands.

This time she had the upper hand. This time Clove’s life was hers to take.

Katniss held her there a breath longer, long enough for the thrashing to slow, for the truth to settle—her life was in Katniss’ hands.

One tribute less between her and keeping her promise to Prim. A life in her hands.

Two she had already taken. She only ever took what was needed. Just for her family to survive.

Katniss released her.

Clove erupted from the water, gasping, coughing. Katniss surfaced beside her, arrows clutched tight, both of them panting, neither looking away.

Shouts from the bank broke the moment. The rest of the Career pack stumbling back in their direction. Katniss turned and ran.

The venom caught her mid-stride, tilting the ground, folding the trees in on themselves. She hadn’t noticed she gotten stung. She kept walking. At least she thought so. Far away. Away. The world pitched sideways.

*

Green so much, green. Tiny many legs. Everywhere. Around her. On her

Katniss woke with her body heavy. Breathing hard, flexing her fingers into the leaves beneath her. She was on her stomach; the world still edged in green haze. Joints stiff. Her pulse was loud in her ears, but not louder than the awareness that she wasn’t alone.

Clove sat crouched in the moss a few feet away, elbows on her knees, knife idly rolling between her fingers. Dark eyes gave away nothing. Her smirk was all teeth, baring canines. The restless energy in her posture made Katniss think she’d been waiting like this for a while, impatient for the hunt to start. A ripple passed through Clove’s expression as their eyes locked — or maybe Katniss imagined it — and she deliberately looked away, but couldn’t block out the thrumming presence beside her.

“You kept me waiting,” Clove spoke at last, her voice tinged with something.

Waiting for what? Katniss slowly sat up. Someone had taken off her jacket and shirt leaving her in her bra. Her gaze flickered down her bare torso, fingers rubbing the weird green goop she found on a sting, remembering the trackerjackers, between them. Some plant matter? Someone had pulled the stingers out. Treated her stings.

Her eyes shot back to Clove who gave her a nonchalant wave with her knife.

"That's the part where you say thank you."

No. The Career wouldn't. But peeking from the neck of her shirt noticed Katniss the same green mass. Clove lifted a brow. Waiting. And then over her shoulder Katniss saw her bow, both sheaths of arrows, her clothing. Just separated from her, guarded by the other girl.

Who was faking patience. Her foot tapped restlessly against the ground, knife spinning and spinning. Those dark eyes stayed locked on her, expectant. Katniss realized with a start that she wasn’t just waiting to kill her — she was waiting for something else. A hunter laying in wait. For what?

She had the chance to kill Katniss while she was wrecked by the venom from the trackerjackers. Could've easily ended this. But she waited. Had hauled around the sheath of arrows for the off chance of stumbling over Katniss to taunt her with it.

Katniss rose to her haunches; the twirling of the knife stopped. The other girl leaned forward on her tip toes. Her jacket fell open, and Katniss caught sight of the arrow—still lodged between the knives strapped across her chest; the one Katniss had punched through Clove's arm. The tendons of Clove's neck stood out, she seemed to shake.

Katniss locked eyes with her. In the light of day, it was easy to see the black of her pupils swallowing the rich brown. She gave a fake start right. Listening to Clove scramble. Urged herself into a run to the left. Darted between trees. But her limbs were sluggish, weighed down by venom. How long had she been out? She made another turn, nails leaving marks across her back.

Knew she couldn't outrun the other girl. Listened to her footfalls. Braced herself. At the last moment whipped around. Used Clove's own force against her to throw her to the ground. Only the other girl was quick. Taking down Katniss with her. They rolled, Katniss using the momentum to get a grasp on Clove. Hoping her height would be enough to make a difference. They rolled to a stop. Katniss on top, having Clove's hands pinned with her own above her head. Both of them flushed and panting.

Clove bucked up at her, but Katniss flattened her down with a snarl. She expected threats. Cursing. Only to find Clove grinning a softer version of a smirk, amused. Her eyes trailing lazily over Katniss, over the bared skin. She didn't have her knife in hand, didn't attempt to reach for one in her vest.

"We are still not even for you trying to drown me." Clove drawled, looking up between her black lashes a stark contrast to her light skin and Katniss hesitated, confused, which gave Clove the opportunity to strike.

Jolting up in grip, her thighs wrapping around Katniss' hips, teeth finding purchase on her throat. Biting down hard. Katniss grasped but was disoriented. Air punched from her lungs as she was flipped onto her back.

Not even struggling as biting turned into nipping, suction before Clove leaned back with a brush of her lips. Staring down at her, strands of hair escaping her braid, pine needles and forest clinging to her, a wild thing. All encompassing.

Her hands were free. Katniss realized. Went to grasp Clove's hips. To shove her off. Free herself and get away.

Clove kissed her — hard enough that their teeth knocked together. Her tongue shoved past Katniss’ lips, frenzied, plundering. It wasn’t different from fighting her: all blood, sharp edges, pain. Nails bit into Katniss’ jaw.

Teeth caught her healing lip, splitting it again. Katniss hissed, Clove moaned into her mouth, arched against her. Katniss’ hands gripped, trying to push her away, trying to pull her closer. Overwhelmed by heat and copper. Used the moment Clove drew back to breath, noses brushing together to drag her closer, to bite down on her lower lip, ears buzzing with the sweet sound of Clove's answering moan, almost a surrendering whimper, her weight melted against her, hot and unyielding —

The snap of a twig.

Her heart thundering, she barely registered the knife hitting the tree. Clove sitting up. Looking absolutely wrecked. Blood dripping from her lips, her own or Katniss'? But Clove pushed her down as she attempted to sit up, stiff taking in their surroundings. Her face had gone blank but a deep pink flush colored her cheeks, spread down her throat down her clavicle.

Katniss tried to shake off her stupor, got onto her feet as Clove circled the space. A second heartbeat throbbing in her gut. Katniss blinked, pulse still hammering in her ears. Then she saw it — the small shoe. A children's shoe. The little girl. Rue.

Clove might not have seen her, but she had seen Katniss notice something. Followed her gaze, knife at the ready. Katniss shoved her off balance.

"Don't!" Katniss looked over her shoulder, saw the knife harmlessly for now sticking in the ground. Only to find herself pushed into a tree.

"What are you doing?" Murderous. Now the glint was back. Clove pinning her with her forearm by the throat to the tree, almost having to stand on her tip toes, knife pressing into her jaw, her proximity overwhelming and Katniss found it hard to concentrate.

Gaze involuntarily flickering down to those red stained lips. Swollen. Her whole body tensely coiled. Not even the rough bark digging into her back brought clarity.

Shook it off. Gaze wandering to the trees. Somewhere was Prim-Rue. Who had helped her.

"I'm not letting you hurt her."

"Let me?" Clove pressed harder against her, knife drawing blood and the girl was going to bleed her dry, sucking it out of her, bit by bit.

Expecting her to back down. Let her do what she wanted. No.

"No. Not her." Katniss glared down at her, leaned into the pressure of the knife. "Don't you have bigger game out there? It’s beneath you to go after a child."

Clove's gaze flickered between hers. "Well, I'm waiting on you. We are four to four."

It took a second. Kills. Other tributes. Katniss must have killed with the trackerjackers at least two others. Together with her two kills at the bloodbath. She swallowed bile. Exhaled sharply.

Clove leaned back slightly, knife running down to rest between her clavicles then over her heartbeat. "Perhaps I should carve a C here, so no one gets the idea of stealing my kill."

Katniss stilled. Her hands were free. Reached where her arrow had pierced Clove and pressed down. "So, I should leave another mark too?" She challenged, needing the other girl to back off. To clear her head.

Clove hummed, stepped back. Surveying the trees. "Come out. You get to live. For now, at least. But I want to see Twelve's little ally. Only right I see what advantage she got herself." Clove shot her a look, obviously sarcastic by advantage.

Katniss pushed herself away from the tree. "I'm sorry. She's not going to hurt you. Neither am I. Just let her see you." Like a ghost, Katniss hadn't even heard her Rue peeked at them from behind a nearby tree warily.

Clove tensed in surprise, obviously not having noticed her this close either.

"Is she your ally?" Rue asked, not even looking at Clove, big brown eyes, so innocent staring up at Katniss.

Clove chuckled, her expression hardening. "She wished. No. I'm saving her for last. Or I guess the both of you now. If you last that long." Clove offered without a hint of remorse. Lifting her arms, knife still in hand, stretching her back, not the least self-conscious. Then without any fear of attack gathered her knives.

"I'll hunt you down later. You better be in top form. This was just pitiful." Clove shot her a look over her shoulder, disappeared into the woods, probably in the direction of the Cornucopia.

Leaving Katniss behind once more bloodied. Confused. Throbbing in more than one place. With a fresh little ally looking at her with her mouth open. Especially at her bare torso. Her neck.

Katniss slapped her hand on it. Clove had bit her. Just like that. Like some animal. Her face flushed. How long had Rue been there?

"I need to get my stuff." Whirled around as Rue dutifully followed like a shadow.

*

The smoke from the second fire was already wafting through the sky.

She needed to make a decision. To do something, she couldn't have put Rue in danger for nothing.

Her eyes scanned the pyramid for anything, anything to trigger an explosion, time was running out.

A burlap sack of apples. Nestled almost innocently into the side. If she freed the apples, she might trigger more than one mine.

Twelve arrows. How many could she spare? None of course. But this could tip the chances. For all of them against the Careers.

Katniss stood, focused her aim, and drew the bowstring back to her cheek. Released her breath at the same time as the arrow. It tore a gaping hole into the sack, baring the apples inside, the quickly following second arrow caught the falling open flap. The bag teetered, apples spilling forth.

She was thrown from her feet. The ground shook. The impact stole her breath. Debris fell down around her, and she shielded her face with her arm. Realising she was unable to hear it fall to the ground next to her.

Katniss couldn't hear anything. Acid smoke, burning remains filled her visions while she rolled to her side, couldn't help but laugh seeing the flaming ruin of the Careers' stash. But she needed to get out of here. She got onto her knees, couldn't stand.

Cato would make death slow and painful for this. Prim. Prim would have to watch. So she crawled forward. Only for two more blasts to rock her forward. Somehow she managed to drag herself into the underbrush just at the edge when Clove with Cato at her heels burst into the clearing.

Their companions close behind. Peeta not with them. Katniss melted further into the ground. Clove remained still, eyes taking in the wreckage but Cato next to her was everything but. Hacking at the ground with his sword, shouting words Katniss couldn't hear.

Perhaps it would have been comical; the tantrum. If it wasn't meant for her. If the hacking and wild swings of his swords wasn't him wanting to split open whoever did this, which was Katniss. Only a meager few meters away. Her grip on her bow tightened.

Nine arrows. But she was dizzy. Couldn't stand. She gnawed on her nails.

The boy from District 3, the one who set up the mines, threw stones into the ruins, must have given the all clear because the Careers approach the ruins. Picking through the remains for something to salvage. There was nothing. The mines had been perfectly set up.

In a heartbeat Cato turned on the boy from Three, shouting, shoving him, who turned around, probably to run. It was no use. Cato had him in a headlock from behind. Mountain of a boy he was, his muscles rippled, one sharp jerk, the boy fell to the ground. Brutal but quick.

Cato's rage wasn't extinguished. He was shouting. Pointing with his sword at the other Careers. Stomping off into the forest. The male tributes from One and Four looked at each other hesitating before following.

Clove stayed. Why? She was crouched in the ashes. Katniss froze as Clove held something up between her fingers. One of her arrows. The broken shaft of it.

Enough to give her away. Because Clove gracefully rose, created space for the boy from Three to be collected by a hovercraft while her eyes trailed over the woods.

Calculating. Searching. For her. She circled the wreckage, looking at the ground. Attempting to track her. A hunter after its prey.

Katniss swallowed. She could try to crawl away. But it could also be the thing to give her away. The slightest movement. Sound. The dizziness had subsided and the utter silence was replaced by a ringing in her right ear. Nothing in her left. Should she risk moving?

Perhaps her thundering heart was a siren song for Clove, or she had the scent of her blood memorized. Almost as if called, Clove closed in on her location. Why was the Career so sure she was still here?

Clove’s footsteps were unhurried, weaving close to the treeline. Every shift of shadow made Katniss’ pulse leap. She stayed low, still as she could manage under the tangle of bushes, bow ready in her grip.

A flicker of movement—closer now. Boots scuffed the dirt. Clove’s shadow cut across the green above her. Too close.

Hiding was over. Fight or flee?

Katniss hadn't time to consider when Clove paused just in front of her.

Katniss’ breath stilled as Clove’s boots crunched closer. A shadow fell over the leaves above her. Too close. Too late.

Hiding was over.

She shot her hand out, caught Clove’s ankle in a white-knuckled grip, and yanked. Clove went down hard with a startled grunt, knee hitting the dirt, but she was already twisting toward Katniss. Katniss surged forward, shoving into her, rolling them both into the open. If she could knock her off balance—just for a second—she could run.

But Clove was faster. She coiled like a spring and slammed Katniss onto her back. Katniss’ bow skittered out of reach. She clawed at Clove’s forearm, brought her knee up, managed to buck her sideways, and scrambled halfway upright before Clove’s weight crashed into her again.

They grappled, limbs tangling, boots grinding into the dirt. Katniss landed an elbow to her ribs; Clove hissed, but her grin was feral, eyes alight. She straddled Katniss’ hips, pinning her wrists to the ground. Katniss could see her mouth moving—sharp words, no doubt—but nothing reached her through the ringing in her ear.

Clove took note. Probably expecting an answer. Some verbal sparring. Some reaction to her usual baiting.

Snapped her fingers near Katniss’ head. Once. Twice. Her grin faltered at the lack of reaction. Katniss just shook her head, breath ragged.

The fight-or-flight panic narrowed everything to raw instinct. Clove had her pinned. Katniss knew what came next. The knife, the killing blow.

A flicker of irritation crossed Clove’s face—almost a pout—before she leaned down fast, catching Katniss’ mouth in a hard, uninvited kiss. Trespassing into Katniss’ space like she owned it. Rough, biting, claiming something for herself before the moment ended abruptly. Katniss jerked against her hold, but Clove lingered just long enough to make it clear this was on her terms.

Then she broke away, breath hot against Katniss’ cheek, eyes unreadable, and shoved her aside like she weighed nothing.

Katniss hit the dirt and stayed there, heart hammering, expecting the knife, the killing blow—anything. But Clove was already on her feet, brushing ash off her palms, gaze turning toward the ruined stash.

Without a word, without a backward glance, she walked away.

Katniss lay there, stunned, lungs burning, every muscle primed for a fight that never came. She should be glad. Clove was letting her go. That should have been a win.

So why was her chest tight, her thoughts spinning, her skin still prickling where Clove’s mouth had been?

Clove was already walking away, not even glancing back. Like none of it mattered.

Katniss stayed on the ground a moment longer before she caught sight of the smoke in the distance. The signal fire. The other Careers were hunting. Rue was out there alone while she was wasting time. She pushed herself up, shot a last glance at the Clove who had her back to her, uninterested and bolted for the trees.

*

Katniss kept low in the underbrush, eyes locked on the small orange pack sitting on the table before the Cornucopia. Peeta was back in the cave, the dirt soaking up his blood. His infection spreading through his veins with every heartbeat like the moss across the cavern walls.

If she was fast enough, maybe she could save him. If not—well, the Capitol would have its tragedy for the cameras.

Her legs were starting to go numb. She forced her breathing under control. This was something she could do. Not play pretend, performing some role of star-crossed-lover, leaning into the shy affection of a boy in love with her, all too fragile.

Survival. That’s what she was an expert in.

Even so, her mind tangled between survival and a wild undercurrent pulling at her — raw and dark as the woods around her — the memory of Clove’s rough kiss, teeth knocking, nails biting, fire and pain mingled with something primal, almost electric. Peeta’s soft lips were a lie she played for the cameras; Clove’s knife, her teeth and mouth were far more honest, almost simple in their brutality, her body still smarted in various places.

Six tributes left. Someone else was out here, waiting. Clove undoubtedly. Probably just beyond the treeline. Not after the spoils yet—waiting for bigger game.

Who else?

Red hair. A blur. Foxface darted out, snatched her pack, and vanished before Katniss could even raise her bow. Smart.

Clove could have probably caught her—if she wanted to.

If she wasn’t waiting on her. Hesitating wouldn’t change it. Peeta wouldn’t hold on much longer with the infection setting in. Katniss burst through the trees. Closing in on the table.

The knife hissed past her ear as she sidestepped it. Whirling around, loosening an arrow in the same breath.

Clove’s dark hair and sharp grin came into focus. Predator eyes, unblinking and hungry. The arrow flew for her heart, but Clove twisted just enough—shaft grazing the shoulder.

Katniss kept moving, loading instinctively as she reached the table, grabbed the small orange backpack, slipped her arm through the strap. Then a knife sliced her side, blood hot and slick. She staggered but released another arrow. Knew it would miss before it left her fingers.

Clove slammed into her, driving her flat onto her back, pinning Katniss’ shoulders beneath her knees.

This was it. No more games. Katniss prayed for Prim—prayed it would be quick.

But Clove wasn’t in a hurry.

Clove lounged above her, a predator savoring the hunt. “Beneath me again. I think you like it that way,” she teased, voice low, almost tender in the way only a hunter was before mercy killing wounded, struggling prey. Her grin sharpened, but for a breath, something flickered in her dark eyes — a promise, a challenge.

Katniss’ gaze flickered to Clove’s lips — cracked, bruised, just like her own — fierce and demanding. Against that, Peeta’s kisses hovered in her mind: soft, warm, desperate for tenderness. Clove’s mouth was a knife-edge—sharp, wild, and bleeding fire.

“Get off me,” she snarled.

“I don’t think so,” Clove offered, eyes crinkling with the grin that curved her lips as she took note of Katniss being able to hear her again. “Where’s lover boy? Strapped to some tree while you play nurse? Pathetic.”

She opened her jacket, revealing rows of gleaming blades. Selected a small, cruel curved knife.

“I promised Cato if he let me have you I’d give the audience a good show. But we both know you were already promised to me.”

Let me have you. The words settled low in Katniss’ gut, igniting her resistance. She bucked and twisted, but Clove’s weight held fast—compact and strong from a lifetime of training.

“C’mon, that’s all you got? You can do better.” Clove hovered over her. “Where’s your little ally? Rue? It didn't take long for her to die. Now it’s your turn. Then we’ll let nature take care of lover boy. How’s that sound?”

Fury blazed in Katniss’ chest. Not Rue. Not her little ally, whose three-note melody haunted her buzzing ear—a cruel lie now.

“Where to start?” Clove studied her, pinching Katniss’ chin between a curled index finger and a thumb to tilt her head as if to envision the masterpiece she would carve.

Katniss lunged forward to bite at her, but Clove caught a fistful of hair, forcing her head down with a low chuckle.

Clove’s fingers trailed over the bruise on Katniss’ throat, slow and deliberate, sending a shiver deep into her spine. “My teeth look good on you,” she purred, as if tasting something sweet. Then the knife pressed cold against Katniss’ lower lip, slicing slow enough for the sting to bloom. Blood welled, hot and metallic, dripping down her chin. Clove’s eyes drank in the scarlet like a thirst — hungry, possessive. “I think I’ll start here.”

Katniss clenched her teeth, refusing to flinch. The thought of Rue gave her fire enough to meet death with open eyes.

She made no sound. Held Clove’s gaze until the other girl leaned down, tracing the blood from jaw to lips, spitting Katniss’ own blood into her mouth before silencing protest with a brutal kiss.

Lips demanding against hers, teeth scraping with a growl as Katniss bit back fiercely. Tongues tangled in a wild, savage dance—a fight for dominance. The kiss was obscene and raw, with heat and pain fused so tightly Katniss felt like she burned from inside out. Clove’s flush deepened, cheekbones sharp in the shadowed light, hesitation flickering like a heartbeat before she hissed in her ear, nibbling at the lobe: “I might just miss you. You made this fun. So, I’ll make it quick.”

Katniss braced for pain.

Blink. Clove was gone—ripped away by some massive force.

Not Peeta. Not a hovercraft. Something else.

Thresh. Gleaming in sunlight, towering and powerful.

Thresh held Clove off the ground by the neck, fury roaring. “What’d you do to that little girl? You kill her?”

He spun Clove, slamming her against the side of the Cornucopia.

“No! That wasn’t me!” Clove gasped.

“You said her name. I heard you. You kill her? Cut her up like you planned to cut this girl here?”

Thresh lifted Clove clean off the ground. Her boots kicked, nails clawing his wrists. As he knocked her back against the Cornucopia again.

Katniss’ lungs faltered, pulse racing.

“No! No, I—” Clove choked, eyes locking with Katniss’.

The next breath burned like it was choking Katniss herself. Chest tightened, breath catching, a hollow cold spreading through her where Clove had been. The wound on her lip throbbed, but it was the absence-

Wide brown eyes—not black on her. She lunged for Thresh’s legs with all her strength. They crashed down hard.

“Clove!” Cato’s shout cut through the roaring in her ears.

Thresh scrambled up. Katniss’ hands found her bow, but the fight was out of her league.

Instead, she shoved Clove to her feet, heart pounding with something fierce and desperate — a wild, possessive need to keep her alive.

“Run!”

*

Katniss pushed through the thickening underbrush, every breath a ragged fight, every step heavy with exhaustion and dread. Behind them, the chaos of the Cornucopia — the thunder of footsteps, the distant roar of Thresh and Cato — faded slowly beneath the forest’s shadow. But as she glanced over her shoulder, Katniss saw Clove faltering.

The girl’s pace slowed, shoulders sagging. Her breath came in harsh, uneven gasps. Her face was drained of color, pale as ash.

Katniss’ gaze dropped to the back of Clove’s head and froze.

Even beneath her braid Katniss could make out the dark blood matting her tangled hair, clinging to her neck and staining the pale skin beneath.

It was the same spot — the one where Thresh had slammed her against the unforgiving metal of the Cornucopia. The memory flared sharply: the sickening crack, the brutal force.

Without thinking, Katniss stepped closer, reaching up to brush the damp strands from Clove’s neck.

In a flash, Clove caught her wrist, spinning Katniss hard and slamming her back against a tree trunk. The impact rattled Katniss’ teeth, a sharp jolt of pain radiating through her shoulders. Before she could react, a blade pressed cold and unforgiving against her throat.

“Don’t touch me,” Clove hissed, voice rough and ragged, each word scraping over raw muscles and nerves stretched taut with pain.

Katniss swallowed hard, forcing steadiness into her voice despite the blade’s cold kiss. “You’re hurt.”

Clove’s lip curled in a snarl, fierce and unyielding. Yet beneath the defiance, Katniss caught a flicker — something raw and fragile, a trembling ember refusing to be snuffed out.

“I can still take you,” Clove spat, voice trembling with rage and pain alike.

Katniss’ fingers traced the subtle tremor running through Clove’s arm, drawn to the uneven hitch in her breath. Katniss didn’t hesitate.

She pulled Clove’s arm over her shoulder, trying to steady her, trying to keep them moving forward.

“Come on. We can make it to the cave — to Peeta.”

Clove snapped at her hand, teeth sinking hot and fierce into Katniss’ flesh. She shrugged off the hold like it burned.

“To lover boy? I don’t need your pity,” she growled, eyes flashing venom. “I’m not your ally. Not your pet.”

Katniss bit back the sting of the words, fighting the flare of frustration and helplessness blooming in her chest. Of course you’re not, she thought.

But as she watched Clove struggle, the pain and weariness written in every sharp breath, every restless movement, Katniss was drawn like a moth to the flame, ignorant to the danger of being burned, the fierce need to help overshadowing everything else.

Clove doubled over suddenly, retching harshly onto the cold forest floor. Katniss caught her before she fell, cradling the girl’s shaking frame as blood and bile stained her pale face, strands of hair sticking to sweat and grime.

The scent of iron and sickness filled the air.

Dusk settled around them, folding the forest into shadows thick and heavy.

Katniss’ gaze flickered between Clove’s snarling, wild eyes and the faint path that led back to the cave — to Peeta.

The boy who had once given her bread, who kissed her with quiet longing, waiting, bleeding, fragile.

The thought stabbed through her. Is he already gone?

A cannon cracked through the twilight.

One less tribute.

Five left now. Had it been Peeta? Thresh or Cato?

Katniss’ chest tightened, the ache spreading deeper. The choice pressed against her — one she wasn’t ready to make.

Her fingers curled tighter as she threw Clove’s arm back over her shoulder. She settled Clove more securely over her shoulder, ignoring the sharp protests—the biting, the snarls—the wild, jagged edges of Clove’s pain and pride. They’d make it to the cave together if she had to carry them both.

But the distance was long. Darkness would catch them first. Teeth clenched against the raw ache inside her.

Clove’s weight grew heavy against her. Steps faltering. Darkness closing in.

Shelter, they needed to make camp. She would need to see to Clove’s wounds.

Peeta just needed to hold on.

Katniss led them beneath a little protrusion, a ledge of roots and dirt giving them some cover, hopefully some protection from sight. Gently settled Clove down, despite the girl’s stiff resistance, the raised hackles and sharp breath, who almost slumped over sitting up. Clove’s eyes glared with feral resentment, but the tremble in her hands betrayed the fight slipping away.

Katniss tore off a strip of cloth from her shirt, dampened it with water, and pressed it gently to Clove’s fevered forehead.

Clove’s eyes flashed sharp and wild, lips curling into a snarl as Katniss gently peeled back the torn edge of her jacket to inspect the arrow graze on her shoulder.

“Don’t think I’m gonna thank you for this,” Clove hissed, baring teeth like a cornered animal.

Katniss bit back a smile, surprised how instead of annoyance, amusement rose inside her chest. Treating the wound with slow, practiced hands. She dipped her fingers into a small container of ointment she’d grabbed from the feast’s spoils— and carefully spread it over the scratch.

Clove flinched, then, without warning, jabbed a clawed hand into Katniss’ arm, nails scraping over skin. "You must get off on playing nurse." A hiss, biting back pain.

Katniss held steady, voice low and calm. “My sister’s got our mother’s healer blood. By now you know I’m a hunter.”

One sharp brow arched up, lips curling. “So I’m letting you do this for nothing?”

Katniss’ gaze didn’t waver, meeting the question head-on. “Letting me?”

For a long moment, Clove only blinked, the sharpness in her eyes dimming beneath a flicker of exhaustion. She swayed, unsteady even sitting up, and Katniss was quick to steady her, cradling her carefully.

There was only one chalky tablet. Either for treating infection or pain in the bag. Perhaps the salve would be enough to treat Peeta too. Katniss paused, closed her eyes.

“Take this.” Katniss held it out for Clove who sniffed, turning away.

Patience fraying, Katniss grabbed the back of her neck, fingers finding purchase in the fine hairs there. Uncaring if she was aggregating Clove’s injury at the moment. Clove struggled for the barest moment, before slacking at Katniss’ words like a kitten getting scruffed. “Be a good girl, swallow.” Katniss tilted Clove’s chin up, pushed the tablet between her lips. Felt the barest flick of Clove’s tongue against her fingers.

Held the canteen to her lips. Held onto her, even as Clove drank without protest, eyes hooded with pain probably, pupils blown and resting on Katniss.

Katniss lingered on the quiet moment, studying the lines of Clove’s face—fierce and unyielding, but fragile beneath it all. Especially as her well-defined brows relaxed, smoothening out the usual fierce expression she had. The lack of resistance was more unsettling than any bite or snarl.

Clove barked, irritation flaring again as she jerked from Katniss’ support. “What?” she spat, voice hoarse, trembling from cold and pain at her silent staring.

Katniss rolled her eyes. Organized the supplies so the small backpack wasn't needed anymore before pulling out the tarp. Settling down next to Clove despite her sharp inhale. Putting the tarp over them both, their shoulders brushing, warmth seeping between them. The small closeness was something neither dared to name.

“Rest,” Katniss murmured. “I’ll keep watch.”

Clove grumbled, but didn’t argue, her breathing slowing as sleep took hold.

Her head found Katniss’ shoulder, breath hot and uneven against the sensitive skin of her neck.

Katniss sat still, heart caught in a storm of confusion and guilt—haunted by the choice she’d made, torn between the boy who needed her and the girl who fought like a cornered beast.

*

Katniss hadn’t slept. Every rustle in the undergrowth, every whisper of wind through the leaves, she’d marked and weighed, afraid it would be Cato or Thresh stumbling on them. Afraid of closing her eyes and waking to find Clove gone — or herself choking on her own blood, a knife in her throat.

The salve had worked better than she’d hoped; under the grey morning light, the gash along Clove’s shoulder had knit together leaving behind new pink skin. Lightly brushing back the hair from Clove’s face, her skin wasn't clammy, not feverish.

When Katniss rose, brushing dirt from her hands, Clove stirred. Dark eyes opened, sharp despite the haze of exhaustion or her head injury.

“I'm leaving,” Katniss murmured. “I have to check on Peeta." She didn't want to think of what may be waiting for her. He had been barely hanging on before the feast. Now a day had gone by.

Clove’s gaze slid toward the direction Katniss meant. Her lip curled. “Useless. The cannon at dusk? That was lover boy’s end.”

Katniss’ jaw tightened. “You can't know for sure. And I didn’t ask you to follow me.”

Clove waved her protest off, pushing herself upright, muscles taut beneath torn fabric. Still paler than usual, she blinked her black lashes fluttering against her cheek, the slightest tilt to the right before she caught herself. Not back to full strength. “You practically begged me to stay. To be your ally.”

“Your way to win is back at the Cornucopia with Cato," Katniss said flatly, pointing over her shoulder. “We both know you are not staying because your chances are better with me."

Clove’s nostrils flared, a low sneer cutting across her face. “I can win on my own and I surely don't need you."

“Then why not leave?”

She leaned in, voice dropping to a rasp. “Because your death is mine. No one else’s. Not his, not the Capitol’s. You die when I say you do — and not before.”

Katniss swallowed. Clove didn't look away from her, lips in a flat line. Before the Career could close in on her she turned around and set off through the trees, Clove falling in behind her without another word.

By midday they reached the cave. The forest knew. Katniss already knew. Like back then when the sirens had gone off, when she had collected her sister from her classroom, gone to the mines, stood next to her mother, Prim's small hand in hers, waited and watched clutches of miners spill out. Again and again. Fewer and fewer people. Balls of ash and soot. Had remained standing there. Despite the instinctive knowledge, despite hoping—

Stayed standing as her mother faltered, falling to her knees. Silent in between her mother’s screams and Prim's confused tears.

The air inside was stale, unmoving. The smell of infection gone. As if nothing had ever been there. No body, no blood. But the moss was flattened where Peeta had lain. Even as he now was simply gone.

She closed her eyes. Hoped he hadn’t woken from the sleep syrup. Simply slipped away. Peaceful. Gone in his delirium. Hadn’t searched for her. Hadn’t thought she had abandoned him.

Which she had.

She stood there too long. Long enough for the ache in her chest to settle into something heavier, something hollow. Rue. Now Peeta.

And in their place, Clove — breathing at her back, a reminder of the exchange she had made.

The sound of Clove shifting her weight broke the stillness. “You should be relieved,” her tone was almost bored. “Less dead weight.”

The words slipped under Katniss’ skin before she could put her armor back on.

Heat rose fast in her chest — grief spiking into something sharp, unsteady, a feeling she could actually use. Before she knew it, her hands were on Clove, shoving her down. They hit the ground hard, but Katniss’ palm cupped the back of Clove’s head, keeping it from striking stone. Even angry, even lashing out, she couldn’t bring herself to hurt her. Afraid one wrong move and the cannon would signal another death.

She pinned Clove flat, knees to either side of her ribs, her breath ragged. “Are you Careers incapable of feeling anything?” she growled, her face inches from Clove’s.

Clove’s eyes didn’t waver. If anything, there was a glint there — the kind Katniss had seen when her knife hit true. The kind that said you think you’ve won?

And then she moved. A shift of her hips, thick thighs bracketing Katniss’, testing the hold. She pushed herself up just enough to close the gap, her mouth crashing into Katniss’ in something fierce, unyielding.

Katniss didn’t give Clove the satisfaction of flinching when their mouths met. If Clove wanted to make this another fight, fine. Katniss could fight in any arena.

Her lips were hot, hard, insistent, teeth catching Katniss’ lower lip until she tasted copper once more. Clove pushed up from the ground, trying to reverse their positions, and Katniss shoved her back down with the full weight of her hips. Clove’s hands came up, not to shove her away, but to claw at her shoulders, nails scraping through the fabric, dragging Katniss closer. Her body arched against Katniss’, all sharp angles and restless motion, like she could grind her way out from under her if she just moved enough.

Katniss held fast, one hand braced against the dirt, the other spread flat over Clove’s collarbone, feeling her pulse hammer. Clove bit her again — quick, punishing — and Katniss answered without thinking, dipping her head to the warm line of Clove’s throat.

It still stung where Clove had marked her, remembered the way the skin had ached for days after, was still sensitive. She sank her teeth in just below the jaw, holding her there until she felt the shudder run through Clove’s frame.

Clove’s breath hitched — almost a moan, almost a snarl — and her nails dug in at Katniss’ scalp, tugging hard enough to sting, pulling her closer instead of pushing her away. Katniss eased the bite, her mouth softening over the mark, tongue soothing the wound in slow circles before trailing back up to meet her lips again.

This kiss was messier, open-mouthed, breaths tangling, the taste of blood and heat and damp earth between them. Clove’s mouth moved like she wanted to win at this, too — lips catching, pulling, then yielding just long enough to steal another breath. Katniss didn’t give ground. Not an inch.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing hard, lips swollen, the space between them thin as a blade. Katniss could still feel the pulse in Clove’s throat under her mouth, still tasting her on her tongue.

When Katniss pushed off her, Clove lay back a beat longer, breathing hard, watching her like she was already planning the next round. When she followed, it was the way a hunter trailed prey, waiting for the stumble.

Her supplies were running low. Especially if she had to feed them both, the Career seemed to have nothing on her but her vest of knives. She needed to hunt. She needed air.

Clove fell in behind her without speaking, a silent shadow at her back. Once, on the narrow trail between rocks, their hands brushed. Neither pulled away. The ghost of the touch lingered, same as the press of Clove’s body, same as her taste.

The forest seemed too small somehow, the air warmer, though the canopy hadn’t changed. Katniss’ bow was steady in her grip, but her mind kept drifting — not to Peeta in the cave, not to the danger of other tributes, but to the taste still lingering on her tongue.

She crouched beside a patch of trampled ferns, tracing the fresh tracks with her fingertips. The forest smells — damp soil, pine resin — were overlaid with the faint scent of Clove still clinging to her skin. Heat flushed along her neck where Clove's mark still throbbed, pulsed with every heartbeat.

Behind her, Clove moved quietly, but not quietly enough for Katniss to forget she was there. Each shift of weight on the leaf litter sent a prickle down her spine. Katniss could picture her perfectly without turning — dark eyes tracking her every move, lips still reddened, the faint shadow of teeth marks at her throat.

A squirrel darted up a tree ahead, and Katniss drew an arrow, sighting along the shaft. But her pull wasn’t as smooth as it should have been; her mind stuttered over the memory of Clove’s thighs bracketing her hips, the sound she’d made when Katniss’ teeth sank into her skin. Her right ear still buzzed with static after the explosion of the Career stash. The shot went wide, the squirrel vanishing into the branches.

She swore under her breath.

“Losing your touch?” Clove’s voice was low, amused — no real mockery in it, but the weight of knowing.

Katniss didn’t look back. “Still better than you.”

Clove chuckled, and it was the worst sound for hunting — because it made Katniss’ pulse spike, made her mouth go dry.

"Is that so?" Clove pressed into her back, Katniss stiffened looking at her over her shoulder, their noses nearly brushing, only for Clove with a flick of her wrist to release a knife.

The bird hadn’t even cleared the treeline when the knife flashed past Katniss’ shoulder. It hit with a sickening thunk, pinning the creature mid-wing to the trunk. The impact knocked loose a shower of leaves, and for a moment Katniss could almost feel the jolt in her own bones.

Clove brushed past to collect it, shoulder grazing hers just enough to shift her footing, and yanked the blade free in one swift motion. No apology. Only the quick wipe of blood on her sleeve before she slid the knife back into its sheath.

"I thought you were the hunter." Clove taunted, throwing her the bird.

Katniss fumbled, nearly dropping it. "Not exactly elegant."

"I thought we wanted to eat something. I'm not keen on waiting on you and starving." Clove shot her a challenging look. Katniss' eyes narrowed.

Notching an arrow, bringing down another bird easily. "If I wanted to kill a bird I would. But there is not much meat on them." Katniss pushed past Clove with the second bird in hand.

"Oh, you are on."

Clove disappeared into the trees almost with a bounce. Katniss shook her head. No need for foolish posturing.

"2 to 1." Clove sing-songed close by.

Katniss cursed. Eyes back on the tracks. Heart calming, falling into habit. Shooting a rabbit. A groosling. Following another one.

Then the cannon fired.

She froze. Her first instinct wasn’t calculation, it was fear.

"Clove!" She wasn’t in sight, didn't answer her shout, she crashed through the underbrush with little care for silence. No. Not her to. "Clove!" Please. She couldn't. Not another.

“Katniss!”

The voice broke through the trees like a lifeline. Clove barreled into her sight, into her without even stopping, uncaring as Katniss' bow was squished between them awkwardly. Katniss cupped her cheeks, checking her over.

“Was that you?” Clove asked, eyes wide, gaze leaving Katniss' to check their surroundings, clutching at Katniss arms.

“No. I thought it was you.”

They stood in tense silence for a moment, both trying to calm the fear they didn’t want to admit to.

“Then who—?” Katniss trailed off, stomach lurching. Seeing the berries in Clove's hand, half smushed now against her jacket. "Did you eat them?" Panic. "Clove, tell me you didn't eat them!"

"What?" Clove shook her head confused then realised what she was talking about. "No, I found a bush of them. Thought I'd show them to you, see if you knew them." Clove held the berries out and Katniss slapped them from her hand.

"These are nightlock berries. They're poisonous. Just one and you'd be-" Katniss shook her head, snarled. "You don't eat anything you don't know, do you Careers learn nothing in your fancy academies?"

Clove lifted a brow, tilted her head. Simply flicked Katniss' nose. "Did you just listen to me? I didn't plan on eating them before checking with you. You are supposedly the forest expert. If you hadn't I wouldn't have dared to eat them. What do you think I'm some kind of idiot? We aren't desperate yet. Or is your haul that bad?"

Katniss crinkled her nose. Clove had seriously just flicked it. Huffed. "Show me the bush." Then looking over Clove, seeing a rabbit and a lizard hanging from her pants she taunted. "And I won for your information. So if you want to eat something it's time to play nice."

"I don't play nice." Clove leaned closer to her, breath teasing her ear. "But perhaps we can come to an agreement."

Their gazes locked and Clove smirked, as Katniss involuntarily shivered. Unsure of her own reaction. They reached the bush. Full of nightlock. The barest hint of red. Katniss pushed the bush to the side.

Foxface—her body still, her eyes wide open. A smear of purple stained her lips and chin. The berries scattered near her open hand. "She must have been following us."

Clove paused next to her. "I didn't even hear her."

"Me neither. She must have thought them safe seeing you pick them." Katniss remembered Foxface stealing from the Career stash. Had food been in her feast bag? Hungry and desperate-

Katniss shook it off. Closed those glassy unseeing eyes. Opened her pouch, plucked a few berries.

"What are you doing?"

"We are close to the end. With luck perhaps Cato might like berries too."

Clove stilled next to her. Katniss simply moved away, listening to the warning thrills of the Mockingjays as the hovercraft appeared, taking Foxface with it.

Thresh, Cato, Clove and her. Two allied tributes still could win. Clove still had options. Katniss didn't want to kill Thresh, attacking Cato directly would be suicide in close quarters. The last two days had been filled with drama and death, hopefully enough to give them respite, for the Gamemakers not to herd them together again. To force a finale upon them.

Katniss chose a tree. Started on the ground a fire, plucked the groosling and skinned the two rabbits, cooked them over the fire. Clove sat in silence next to her. The smell of roasting meat mingled with pine and the distant hush of falling water. The flames burned low, orange and gold flickering over Clove’s sharp profile. She poked at the embers with a stick, eyes distant.

They ate in silence at first, knees touching, sharing bites of the same knife. Katniss didn't know what to say. Give Clove leave to choose Cato? Hadn't she already? Even so after everything wasn't she allowed to want to survive, to want to go home? Keep her promise to Prim?

Clove wanted to win. Katniss wanted to go home. Cato probably also wanted the honor and the riches. Clove had to know Katniss wouldn't roll over, wait for Thresh to be killed and then take her turn, let Clove carve out her heart, present it to the Capitol and claim victory.

Katniss would struggle and fight. It was part of her. Cato was her next target, if she wanted it or not. Whether Clove was with her or not. But for now, she was.

So Katniss nudged Clove's shoulder. Pulling her out of her head. Looking away as Clove shot her a look. Elbowed her not too gently the moment Clove looked away. Waiting for the curse, the retaliation, to smudge grease from the meat across Clove's jaw. Laughing as her whole face scrunched up in disgust, only for Clove to glare, paint her own grease streak across Katniss' face.

Causing them to forget the meat and eating as they struggled, trying to keep the other's hand from their faces, greasy hands intertwining, nearly pushing each other off the tree log they were sitting on until they were breathless with laughter.

The sound high. Previously unheard as Clove had her head thrown back, unsettling how young and human it made her.

Dimly she was worried the whole arena could hear their laughter, but then Clove tucked at their joined greasy hands to kiss her. Her eyes glinted, bright and wild.

The kiss came sharp — not just bold but edged, teeth grazing Katniss’ lower lip in challenge. She leaned in as if to claim something, one hand clamping at Katniss’ hip like she was holding her in place for the kill. Katniss pushed back without meaning to, mouth answering with the same rough intent, until it blurred into heat instead of dominance.

They broke apart in a breath, eyes locked, neither willing to step back first. The fire cracked between them. Clove thumbed at her lower lip before pulling away. Reaching for a water canteen to clean her face and hands. "You're insufferable."

Katniss blinked. "I am?"

Clove shot her a look, kicked her shin.

They put out the fire. Katniss climbed up the tree without a word, hands and feet finding their holds on instinct. The bark dug comfortably into her palms, the rhythm of hoisting herself between branches steady and familiar. She didn’t even look down until she heard the faint hitch in movement below.

Clove moved slower, more deliberate. Katniss thought back to her lessons, to what she knew of District Two — the region closest to the Capitol, nestled between mountains. Careers probably never learned anything but killing and someone from Two had simply no need to climb trees.

The branch in Clove’s grasp swayed precariously, and for half a beat she went still. Katniss reached down, fingers steadying the limb without a word.

Clove’s gaze flicked up, sharp and unreadable. “I don’t need your hand,” she said, voice dry as flint. She climbed past her, deliberately avoiding the branch again, shoulders tight with stubborn pride. The muscles in her arms shifted under her jacket as she moved, all controlled precision — and Katniss found herself watching longer than she meant to before dragging her eyes away.

They reached the fork Katniss had chosen, a thick horizontal branch with the trunk at their backs. She moved to settle in, but Clove didn’t take the other side. She stepped in close, swung one leg over, and straddled her.

“Didn’t you want to keep me from falling?” she murmured, the corner of her mouth curling. “Better hold onto me, then.”

Katniss opened her mouth to answer, but Clove cut her off, swallowing the words in a kiss that was more heat than bite. Her hands pushed Katniss back into the trunk, rough bark scraping through her shirt. The tight coil of her muscles caged Katniss in, every shift pressing them closer, every breath dragging against her own.

Katniss felt the deliberate weight of her, the warmth settling heavy between them. “I think you’re steady enough,” she hissed against her lips, though her fingers had already curled into Clove’s hips as if to push her off — only her grip didn’t quite follow through. Even so Clove tightened the hold of her legs, nails digging into Katniss’ shoulder.

“Mm. We’ll see.” Clove kissed her again, deeper this time — tongue teasing, breath hot — before breaking just enough to speak.

“Maybe I should stay here,” breath brushing her mouth, “just to keep warm.” She lingered there, teeth grazing Katniss’ jaw in a slow, claiming drag, as if to prove she could stay as long as she pleased.

Then she slid from Katniss’ lap in one smooth motion, curling in at her side. “Get some sleep. I’ll keep watch.” It wasn’t a suggestion.

Katniss stayed still, not trusting herself to move. She hadn’t slept in days, and now she was supposed to close her eyes with this girl next to her who seemed to take the most pleasure in tormenting her, promising to stand guard.

But when Katniss glanced at her, Clove’s dark eyes weren’t scanning the ground below. They were on her, a knife spinning in a slow, restless loop across her knuckles. Tap, twirl, catch. Tap, twirl, catch. The steady weight of her body pressed close, her breath warm against Katniss’ arm, the faint scent of leather and pine still clinging to her.

It was like feeding scraps to a wild animal, allowing it to follow you inside, letting it sit at your table ravenous and always hungry, not expecting it to maul you the moment you closed your eyes to sleep. Some traitorous part of her wasn’t sure she’d mind.

She was so tired.

*

The first sign something was wrong came suddenly—the light bleeding away, an unnatural dusk falling despite it being still early morning. No thunder, no clouds. Just a sharp, chilling drizzle.

Clove froze. “Did you hear that?” Her knives slid free.

Katniss strained, notched an arrow, but heard nothing. Twisting around, turning her head to hear.

Then the hulking shape slammed into her. She crashed to the ground, jaws snapping near her throat. Her bow stopped the worst, but she fought blindly, breath catching—until she saw brown eyes, intelligent, haunting. Rue looking at her.

“No,” she whispered. Its stinking breath wafted over her face. Slobber dripping from its gaping maw.

Clove’s blades found the mutt’s skull—once, twice—and it went limp, blood splattering both of them.

Rue eyes in some mutt. “They gave them the eyes of the tributes,” Katniss breathed, voice tight. Or more. Did they have their souls? Their memories? Katniss retched.

Clove pulled her up, growls echoing close behind. The mutts came—many, monstrous, twisting dog bodies with human faces and terrible eyes.

“Run,” Katniss ordered, pushing Clove forward.

They dashed toward the Cornucopia, rain slicking the ground, breath harsh in their lungs. One mutt lunged; Katniss shot it, right in the eye, through a Foxface eye.

Katniss gave Clove a boost to reach the edge of the platform, nearly throwing her up before crawling after her, knees shaking.

They scrambled up the golden horn, slipping on dried blood. Clove kicked another mutt off Katniss’ boot and stabbed fiercely at any gaping maw.

At the top stood Cato, battered but towering, sword loose in one hand, eyes narrowing at their approach.

“Clove?” He sounded confused. “Where were you?”

Clove halted. Katniss’ breath hitched. The Cornucopia was small, and she was caught between two Careers, with mutts snarling below. She wasn’t a short ranged fighter.

“I had to kill the boy from Eleven alone,” Cato shook his head, voice breaking then turning hard. “Thought he killed you. Now you’re here—with her.” His gaze slid over Katniss. “Have you betrayed your District? Me? Sullied yourself with some girl from Twelve—”

“Shut up, Cato.” Clove’s voice was calm, steady, but her body didn’t move. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

Katniss notched an arrow. Cato favored his right side, the fight with Thresh visible in his stance. But his armor held, and there was little room to maneuver.

“Good.” Cato nodded, deflated, his gaze turning to her. ”Let’s finally end this, Twelve,” Cato spat, shifting on his feet, to look down to the mutts gathered on the ground. “Or maybe I’ll just feed you to the mutts—for the trouble you caused me.”

Katniss caught Clove’s expression—no regret. Not quite. Just a cold, deadly calm.

This was it. Saved for last.

Her first arrow grazed Cato’s cheek. He roared and charged. Katniss ducked, fired again—clipped his arm. Two arrows left.

He closed in, sword descending in a brutal arc. Katniss caught it with her bow; pain jolted through her arm as she slipped away.

Clove remained frozen—knuckles white around her knives.

Katniss fired again, this time it grazed his thigh. Furious, Cato lunged, swinging wide. She dropped and rolled but Cato caught her. It was a shoulder-check—raw force—and it drove Katniss to the edge. She stumbled back, almost slipped. Cato caught her by the collar and snarled. With punishing force driving her into the Cornucopia. The air left her lungs.

"This is it. One more kill. It's the only thing I know how to do. Bring pride to my District. Not that it matters." His hand closed around her throat.

She clawed at him—hopeless.

“Cato! Stop!”

Pressure eased. Black spots crowded her vision.

“What are you doing?”

“She’s mine.”

“Stop playing Games.”

“Get off her.”

“Clove.”

He released her. She collapsed, coughing.

Clove rose slowly, eyes sharp as knives, and stepped forward—

The moment her blade flashed, it wasn’t hesitation but pure, brutal intent. Her knife slashed into Cato’s chest, ripping through armor and flesh. He hissed, staggering back, breath ragged.

“We could have gone home together,” he roared, spreading his arms wide before pointing his sword at Clove.

Clove’s eyes flicked to Katniss briefly—then returned to Cato.

He struck at her leg; she twisted aside with unnatural grace, slicing deep into his thigh. Their weapons collided—a brutal dance of fury.

Cato’s blows were raw, hammering strikes, trying to overwhelm.

Clove was sharp, vicious—each movement calculated and deadly, every slash an accusation, every stab a promise. She was the storm he never saw coming.

Katniss sucked in a breath, heavily getting to her feet. Bracing herself on her knees. Observed Clove pushed further and further to the edge under Cato’s heavy strikes. With a last breath she rammed Cato low with her shoulder, knocking him off balance just as Clove trapped his sword between her blades.

They fell over the edge together. A moment of weightlessness.

Katniss clawed at the slick metal rim, muscles burning. Below, Cato crashed into the mutts, snarling and striking, but overwhelmed by their sheer number.

Screams filled the arena. No cannon.

“Katniss!” Clove’s voice tore out, rough and unguarded.

Then she was there — peering over, shadow spilling across Katniss, eyes raking over her in a flash of something sharp that flared and vanished the moment she saw her still hanging on.

Her hands clamped down, not just to pull but to claim — nails biting through cloth, fingers locking so tight it felt like she could tear Katniss from the Cornucopia itself if she had to. “Up,” she hissed, voice low and edged.

She hauled her in with brutal efficiency, chest to chest for a breathless moment, metal scraping Katniss’ ribs. The stench of the mutts rising thick below, and then she was wrenched onto the Cornucopia.

The mutts’ snarls echoed below, but Clove’s grip didn’t ease even when Katniss’ knees hit solid ground. She held on as if daring anything — anyone — to try and take her again.

She fell onto her back, and remained there. Breathing hard. Throat sore. New wounds pulsing.

Still screaming. No cannon.

Clove was beside her now, quiet, shaking. “He’s still alive." She stood, pacing the length of the Cornucopia, jaw clenched. “I can't see him."

She closed her eyes, tried to tune it out. The metal cold against her burning skin. One ear buzzing the other filled with screams.

"It’s not right.” Clove leaned over her, shook her awake. "Please."

She blinked. No, it wasn’t. Katniss heaved herself up, crawled to the edge.

Mutts. The screaming was more silent now. Almost choked.

She followed the sound to the mouth of the Cornucopia. Where the mass of the hulking bodies was thickest.

There they shifted a fraction and she could make out what remained of Cato, saw the rising and falling of his chest. His mouth opened, blood pouring out. His eyes found hers.

One arrow left.

She let the arrow fly. The cannon sounded. She fell back on the Cornucopia, panting. Without the screaming, Clove's breathing was audible. Clove’s hand brushed hers—steady, real.

It was finally over.

“Why is there no announcement? The cannon fired. The mutts are gone.”

“Maybe we’re too close to Cato. They need to collect him.”

“C’mon.” Clove kicked her lightly, when Katniss took too long, pulled her up by the scruff of her jacket. Steadying her as she swayed on her feet.

Falling more than climbing down the Cornucopia. Clove bullied her back up again. Her feet were molasses. Clove pressed into her side, threw her arm over her shoulders, pulled her to the lake, unceremoniously dropping Katniss at the shore.

Wandering into the stream herself to clean her face and hands. Then the Mockingjays trilled warningly—just as the hovercraft appeared to collect the body.

Katniss sat, watched the water dripping down Clove’s softly rounded jawline. Waited for the declaration that this was finally over.

That’s when the announcement came. “Greetings to the final contestants of the 74th Hunger Games. The earlier revision has been revoked. Closer examination of the rulebook has disclosed that only one winner may be allowed. Good luck—and may the odds be ever in your favour.”

The earlier revision. That two of them could live.

A bark of laughter startled her, and Clove was suddenly next to her. Not stabbing her or cutting her throat but once more heaving her to her feet. Patting the dirt from Katniss’ clothes. Pushing a water canteen to her lips.

Then with a pause opened her jacket, there nestled in between her various knives was still that singular arrow. The first one. The one starting this.

The one Katniss had shot her with at the bloodbath, caused her to bleed and Clove had kept it all this time. Now she placed it in Katniss’ hand.

"To make this fair.” Clove squeezed Katniss’ fingers close around the arrow, then let go of her. Backed away. “Count to three. Then we do this.”

"Do this?" Clove gave her a look like she was an idiot.

"The revision is hardly unexpected. It’s always been one victor. The best one wins. Simple."

She remembered her promise to Prim to try to win. To Rue, to win for them both. If Rue had been standing in front of her, she would’ve thrown the bow down already. It wouldn’t even been a choice.

Katniss swallowed. Simple. Looked at Clove. The female tribute from District Two. A Career. Her enemy. Her hunter. Never her ally. Eyes settling on the dark bruise on Clove's throat. Almost matching to the one throbbing on her own.

Clove easily could have slit her throat. Instead had given her an arrow. Pulled her to her feet. Just as she could have slit Cato’s throat while he was focused on her. Hadn’t. Rather had made her intentions obvious. Fought face to face. Despite his advantage.

"One." Her fingers curled around her bow. "Two." She notched the single arrow left, pulled back the bowstring. Watched Clove pull her knives, a reverse grip, "Three."

Her muscles strained under the tension of the notched arrow. But she didn’t move.

Her eyes fixed instead on Clove’s eyes. Like muscle memory she batted away the knife thrown her way. Ducked beneath a hastily, almost lackluster strike aimed to gut her, then lunged forward, tackling Clove to the ground.

The ground bit into Katniss’ skin as they crashed together, a brutal tangle of fists, legs, and knives. Every movement tore through bruised ribs and scraped flesh, but neither gave an inch. Clove’s strength was a relentless weight, precise and sharp, like she was drinking in every moment of this fight—the fight she’d been waiting for since the Games began.

Katniss gasped, chest heaving, muscles trembling with effort and pain. Clove’s weight pressed down on Katniss like a storm—relentless, precise, her eyes blazing with the fire of a predator savoring the kill that wasn’t quite hers yet. Her breath was harsh, eyes wild and fierce, locked onto Katniss with something electric—expectation, hunger, something that made Katniss’ heart hammer painfully against her ribs.

But Katniss didn’t fight back. Not out of weakness, but choice. Her lungs burned, her heart thundered in her ears—but her body went still. Understood this was nothing more than a handful of earth thrown on an already closed casket.

The thrill faded, replaced by a spark of something sharp and raw—disbelief.

“Fight,” Clove hissed, voice low and raw. “You gave your sister a promise. Don’t falter now. Don’t be pathetic.”

Slowly, deliberately, she tipped her head back, baring the pale skin of her throat—the same place Clove had been drawn to since the first moment. The dark bruise blooming there matched the one on Clove’s own neck. The silent surrender Clove never expected of her.

The breath caught in Katniss’ throat before she whispered, “I want you to do it. I want you to win. Go home.”

They would not make her take the life she had spared and sacrificed for.

Clove’s nails dug into her arm, sharp and unforgiving, pupils blown but instead of the killing strike Katniss expected, Clove’s breath hitched. Instead of death, Clove’s lips found that skin, a searing kiss that claimed more than death ever could. Pressed her lips to that bare throat—warm, fierce.

Katniss froze, every instinct screaming, but beneath it all, something tender and fierce bloomed—a silent understanding in the fire of that touch.

Clove nuzzled along the column of her throat, until she captured Katniss' lips in a kiss. The tips of their noses brushing together. Her eyes closed, moaning when Clove, in contrast to the graze of her usual teeth, lightly ran the very tip of her tongue around the outline of her lips, her heartbeat settling lowly in her gut, pulsing with every beat. Heat all compassing as her hand tangled itself in Clove’s hair, pulling her impossibly closer. Her other hand, running up along Clove’s neck, settling over the mark her teeth left there, pressing into it causing Clove to groan into her, turned the kiss sloppy.

"Damn you."

Clove broke away suddenly, eyes dark and restless, panting against her lips. Pressing their foreheads together. She pushed off hard, pacing in furious circles—snarling like a beast caught in its own trap, claws scraping the dirt, eyes wild with frustration and something rawer: fear.

Katniss watched, left with this terrible physical ache spreading through her body, the smell of Clove trapped in her nose. The air cackling with the wild fury wrapped tightly around them both.

When Clove stopped and met her gaze, voice rough and low, it was the barest whisper. “What do we do now?” A question heavy with the weight of two souls tangled beyond the fight. “They want their victor.”

It was worse than a knife. Like she had stripped Katniss to apart, dug beneath her clothes, her flesh right to her bones. To something fragile. Something which shouldn’t be exposed.

Yet the dip of Clove’s head, like the finest entrapment. A call Katniss had to answer.

They want their victor.

A victor. They didn't need to give them the satisfaction. Not after everything.

Katniss rose slowly, reaching into her jacket for the pouch of nightlock berries, cold and final in her palm.

“We end it. On our terms.” Katniss held out her hand. "Together."

Clove’s eyes flickered, sharp and wild, then she nodded, fierce and reluctant. "I can't believe you are making me do this." She growled through clenched teeth.

“On three?” Katniss asked.

“One.”

Clove pulled her close, lips pressing urgently to hers, sharp and claiming, pulling her down by the collar—breath hot against her skin. “Two.”

“"Three." A last shared glance, berries up to their lips-

“Stop! Stop! Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victors of the 74th Hunger Games, the tributes Clove Fuhrman of District Two and Katniss Everdeen of District Twelve!”

They froze, still clinging to the berries and each other—victorious, unbroken.

Katniss pressed closer, unwilling to let go, and felt Clove bury deeper into her.

The mockingjays trilled. Then a hovercraft materialized above them. Katniss tightened her grip on Clove and, by the way the other girl burrowed deeper into her embrace, the feeling was mutual.

There was noise. Katniss barely lifted her head from Clove’s shoulder before her limbs froze. An electric current locked them in place. They were gathered, separated.

The last thing she saw were Clove’s wide, dark eyes.

She couldn’t move, couldn’t reach her, not even a twitch of her fingers, then: the prick of a needle in her neck, everything slipped away.

*

Katniss had to keep telling herself: Clove was alive. Haymitch had said she was getting ready as well—prep team and stylist fawning over her, coordinating their outfits, he was sure he was fine, having just seen her. But after solitary weeks, days? Katniss had to make sure.

Almost close to madness. The weight of silence and not knowing too much. Eating. Sleeping. Staring at the walls. Madness nibbling at the edges. Just time to think.

Cinna’s dress hinted at what was coming. Nothing bold, no flames. Innocent. Childish after all that blood on her hands.

Their reunion would be a show.

Katniss was so tightly wound, lost in her head when something touched her shoulder—she spun, ready to fight—only to find Haymitch’s calm grip on her wrist. He let go before panic could take root. Smelling surprisingly bathed, not soaked in liquor. The crowd’s roar pressed down, deafening after so much quiet, she had to blink to focus on him.

“Let me look at you,” Haymitch drawled, circling her slowly. “Nervous? How about a hug. For luck.”

Katniss considered him. She’d hugged him already—once, stiff and tight. Grateful, elated after having no one for company and she did owe him she guessed. But this time, he held her close, swaying gently, low in her ear.

“You’re in trouble. Both of you. The Capitol hates being mocked—and right now? They’re the biggest joke in Panem."

Katniss swallowed the bitterness. She hated them too—for Rue, what they had done to her, to the other tributes, those mutt creations. For what they made her do. “I’m not exactly happy with them either."

“I'm serious. It's not just about you,” Haymitch clasped her shoulders, stared her down. Prim. Her family, Clove. “You’re in love. That’s your shield. You’re sixteen and mad—madly in love enough to be reckless. It’s what will keep you alive.”

He pulled back, and Katniss fixed his tie absently, thinking of Clove—how the Career was brutally honest. Confident. Had someone briefed her? Haymitch was gone before she could ask, leaving her alone as introductions were made, the audience going insane with every second.

The moment came. The platform rose, lights blazing, screams roaring, Caesar’s voice teasing and bright.

And then Clove.

She burst toward Katniss, hair loose and wild, wearing creamy white like it would make her seem less deadly. She crashed into Katniss—gripping her so hard it almost knocked the breath out of her. Kissing her roughly. Unrelenting, biting that newly healed lip with a quick nip, drawing fresh blood without hesitation.

“Mine,” she growled low, eyes dark and dangerous.

Katniss’ breath hitched. Not tenderness — a claim. Sharp and savage. She curled her fingers into Clove’s dress, her pulse racing but her voice steady.

“My lip was barely healed…”

Clove smirked, sliding closer like a wolf marking territory. “No need to pretend you don’t enjoy this.”

She’d been afraid—afraid Clove wouldn’t make it back alive, afraid of what state she’d be in if she did. Afraid of the Capitol watching them both like wolves circling a fire. She’d had endless hours to overthink every possible outcome in their forced separation. Every worst case, every impossible hope.

And then Clove was here—warm, alive, infuriating—and Katniss stopped thinking altogether.

She met her halfway, giving back as hard as she got. Clove’s mouth was on hers again—hot, bruising, tasting of copper and defiance. Katniss bit back, fingers fisting in the soft fabric at her waist, yanking her closer until there was no space left between them.

For a heartbeat, something in Clove’s grip shifted—a subtle falter, almost like a catch of breath—but it didn’t loosen, didn’t retreat. It was more like surprise, like meeting a force she hadn’t quite expected to match her blow for blow.

Katniss felt it too, a flicker deep in her chest, something sharp and raw that left her breathless in a different way. It was no longer just the heat of the moment—it was something unspoken, an understanding in the storm of teeth and hands and lips pressed tight.

The kiss changed—not softer, exactly, but slower, deeper. The edges lost their frantic scramble and became a slow-burning flame. One of Clove’s hands tangled hard in Katniss’ hair, angling her head to take more, while the other pressed firm against her spine, pinning her like a secret possession.

They didn’t pull apart until breath was a necessity, not a choice—leaving them both raw-lipped, dizzy, the air between them charged and electric.

They didn’t bother hiding it. The crowd could see the fire, the tension crackling between them like a live wire.

When Haymitch pushed them toward the couch, Clove dropped her shoes and eased sideways into Katniss’ lap, settling her weight like she owned the space.

Katniss stiffened for a moment, heart tripped as Clove cupped her neck, thumb brushing over her pulse point. Deliberately, pressing into the spot.

“Stop that,” she said, voice flat..

“No need to make such a face, it’s unbecoming,” Clove mocked, adding, a predator’s grin curling her lips. “Just wait, I’ll have you wearing my teeth as soon as I can take my time with you.”

Before Katniss could respond, Clove lunged forward, noses brushing, lips pressing hard against hers.

Caesar’s voice cut through the moment, a bucket of cold water, his high pitched voice.

“Oh, the tension. Those two are on fire. Aren’t they, folks?”

Katniss flushed, but Clove’s eyes flashed dangerously as she answered. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

She glanced sideways at Katniss, the briefest shadow of disdain crossing her face as she scanned the audience. False sweetness settling in her expression. “We are just so thankful to be here.”

Katniss thought about how much easier the arena had been. Clove’s ferocity was honest there. Here, she had to cloak it in charm, but the edge never dulled.

“So,” Caesar asked, sing-songed, leading, “what now?”

Clove laughed—dark and sure. “Now? I keep her close. Make sure Katniss doesn’t forget why she came back alive.”

Katniss arched an eyebrow. “Charming.”

Clove’s grin was a predator’s promise. “Get used to it. There’s nowhere you can run that I won’t find you.”

Katniss smiled tight, her heart pounding with the dangerous pull she both resented and couldn’t deny.

Caesar launched into his familiar banter, warming the crowd for the long night ahead: the Games, condensed to spectacle, death and grief filtered through glitter and lies.

Clove’s hand found Katniss’, fingers threading tightly, grounding her.

But then the screen turned to live. The recap of the 74th Hunger Games began. With their very first confrontation, Katniss shooting Clove, the Career wasting no time to hunt her down and pin her. The whole scandalous scene in full length. Interwoven between their scenes were snapshots of Peeta.

The boy from Twelve. His deliberate choices to shield her, the tragedy of the Star-Crossed-Lovers. A pause in between to show Rue, embedded in a bed of wildflowers, her song had been cut, her gesture of farewell, of honoring her, the bread she had gotten from District 11 before the cave was shown. Her and Peeta. Kissing.

The grip on her hand tightened, the sting of nails unmistakeable. She stopped breathing as Peeta reached for her cheek on the screen, brushed away her hair, leaned forward to kiss her again. A growl vibrated against her bare shoulder. She closed her eyes as Peeta succumbed to the sleep syrup, to his injury. Her name on his lips.

Katniss’ stomach clenched.

The grip on her hand tightened. Herself tightly wound as their confrontation with Cato played out. Their little scene with the nightlock cut short.

Katniss buried her face against Clove’s hair, trying to hold on to the here and now—holding on to her.

The anthem rang out. Clove pulled her to her feet as President Snow took the stage, followed by a little girl with a cushion bearing the crown. President Snow twisted the crown in two.

The first half fit smoothly around Clove’s brow. Her chin lifted. It suited her with her sharp cheekbones and regal bearing. Snow smiled down at her before turning to Katniss. Offering the second half.

His smile never faltered—but his eyes were cold. Unforgiving. Freezing her blood. A snake in the high grass. Striking the moment you looked away. Venomous. He didn't believe any love story, didn't applaud them. Even as his puffy lips stretched into an unnatural smile. But for now, he presented them to the Capitol, to thunderous applause. Clove without hesitation raised their intertwined hands like a call to arms. A gauntlet thrown while Katniss smiled and waved.

But Katniss’ hand never left Clove’s.

They were victors—bound together, surviving. Together.

*

The penthouse suite in the Training Center was eerily quiet, the city lights of the Capitol flickering beyond the vast windows. Clove and Katniss stood opposite each other, the weight of suddenly being alone for the first time settling heavy in the air.

At least the illusion of being alone and safe.

President Snow had given them in his finite kindness a rare gift. They could choose where to live now — together, in District Twelve or District Two. It wasn't a choice. Not to Katniss at least.

Katniss’ gaze dropped to her feet. “I have to go back to Twelve. To Prim.”

Clove’s eyes flicked over her, sizing her up. “You stayed alive. You kept your promise to her. Surely that's enough for her.” Her tone was flat, deadpan.

Katniss blinked, heart tightening despite herself. Prim was twelve, she wasn't sure how much Clove did know about Prim about District 12 but Clove’s words didn't invoke much confidence. Reminded her how different their backgrounds were.

“She's twelve. She needs me.” Katniss stated, brokering no argument.

Clove shrugged, stepping closer, the faint scent of musk and sweat mixing with the sharp cold of her stare. “She has your mother, does she not? She's a kid, she'll adapt, you can probably write or call.”

Katniss bristled, nostrils flaring. “You sound like you don’t want me to go back.”

“I don’t want you to waste yourself in that backwater District.” Clove’s lips twisted. “Twelve’s the poorest, the weakest. The one everyone laughs at. No one takes you serious. Your singular victor is a fucking joke who is always in some drunken stupor.”

"He isn't Twelve's only victor any longer." Katniss’ hands curled into fists. “And it's better than some polished little District thinking themselves superior to everyone while just being the Capitol's most loyal little sacrificial pigs. Be my guest and rot in obscurity in your overfilled polished little Victors' Village."

Clove smirked, baiting her deliberately. “Better than pitifully choking on coal dust, buried in some miner's town."

Katniss’ breath hitched, the old fight igniting in her chest.

Katniss shoved Clove hard against the wall without thinking, the sharp crack of wood splintering echoing like a gunshot in the quiet penthouse.

Clove’s dark eyes flared with surprise—and something more dangerous. She didn’t retreat. Instead, she hissed, her fingers digging into Katniss’ shoulders like claws. “This is how you want to play, Twelve?”

Katniss’ breath hitched, chest heaving with sudden adrenaline. “Don’t pretend you don’t want this,” she snapped.

Clove smirked, leaning into the shove, pressing her body flush against Katniss’. The heat of her skin was a live wire against Katniss’ own cold fire. “You think I want to lose my throne for some backwater District? Not a chance.”

Their bodies collided again, a brutal mix of wrestling and raw need. Katniss’ nails raked down Clove’s back, Clove’s teeth grazed Katniss’ shoulder. They knocked over a chair, the crash barely registering beneath their ragged breaths and grinding teeth.

Every touch was sharp and claiming. Neither gave ground. Katniss’ heart thundered—not from tenderness, but from the storm of adrenaline and something darker: possessiveness, hunger, the kind of desperate claiming that only survivors understood.

Slowly, the snarling and biting blurred, muscles tensed into something closer, closer—Clove’s hands twisted in Katniss’ hair, pulling her down. Katniss gasped as their lips met, a fierce collision of teeth and tongue, like a battle turned kiss.

Their hands collided, tangled, ripping at clothes and skin, nails scoring flesh. The penthouse erupted into chaos—glass shattered, cushions scattered, and a decorative vase toppled in their violent dance.

Katniss growled low in her throat, teeth bared like a wildcat. Clove snarled back, biting at Katniss’ collarbone with sharp, scorching teeth, the sting exploding across her skin.

Their bodies writhed together, twisting and turning on the plush rug as they tumbled over furniture and broken glass hitting the ground hard..

Katniss’ hands found Clove’s waist, gripping hard, pulling her closer. Clove’s breath hitched, trembling but fierce, her hands clutching Katniss’ hair, tugging her head down.

Their faces were inches apart, breaths mingling in heavy, ragged gasps.

Then the fight faltered—shifting like a switch flipped.

Katniss’ lips brushed Clove’s in a rough, hungry kiss, teeth scraping lightly over soft skin. Clove responded instantly, mouth opening, tongue darting out to taste, claiming. The kiss was feral, sharp-edged, all teeth and fire and heat.

The weight shifted; suddenly Clove was beneath Katniss, her lithe form arching into Katniss with a growl, fingers pressing hard into ribs, grinding hips slick and heated. The space between them vanished as their bodies pressed and jerked.

Katniss grinded recklessly against Clove as if the friction could burn away weeks of fear, days of distance, and silence.

Clove arched up into her, teeth grazing the hollow of Katniss’ throat, nibbling and biting with reckless abandon. Katniss’ hands tangled in Clove’s hair, fingers dragging over the tender curve of her neck, pulling her impossibly closer.

The heat of their bodies was all-consuming, breath hot and quick.

Katniss’ heart hammered in her chest as Clove’s lips found hers again—softer this time, deeper, desperate. They kissed like the world was ending, like they needed to swallow each other whole.

Clove’s nails raked down Katniss’ back, the sharp sting only fueling the fire between them. Katniss gasped, arching her back to press more fully into Clove’s weight, heat, and wildness.

They moved together in a tangle of limbs and whispered growls, biting, scratching, and grinding—violent and tender all at once—until neither of them could tell where the fight ended and the hunger began.

Katniss’ fingers tangled in Clove’s dark hair, raking through it with her fingers as their panting breath mingled. Clove arched her back, luxuriating beneath Katniss’ weight, the faintest smirk pulling at her lips.

“Fine,” Clove murmured against her lips, “Twelve it is.”

Katniss sighed, let their foreheads rest together, and gave Clove's lower lip a sharp nip. "Is this how it's always going to be?"

Clove’s grin was all teeth and satisfaction. “I guess we'll find out. I think we'll get along swimmingly if you continue to be this agreeable."

Katniss’ breath hitched, muscles trembling, overwhelmed by the rush she rarely let herself feel. She wasn’t used to surrendering to this chaos, to being so utterly consumed—yet Clove had cracked something inside her, set it ablaze.

Any protest from her Clove silenced with another breath stealing kiss.

Then the sharp screech of Effie’s voice shattered the moment, pulling them apart like a bucket of ice water.

“What have you done? Look at this mess!” Effie’s horrified shriek echoed through the penthouse. “The decorations, the furniture! This is—scandalous! Absolutely scandalous!”

Haymitch appeared at her side, half-amused, half-exasperated. “Alright, you two. Save some of that energy for the Capitol audience, yeah? I think we have enough messes to clean up.”

Katniss blinked, heart still pounding erratically, trying to catch her breath. She helped Clove to her feet, who shot Effie a lazy, unimpressed eyebrow raise and rolled her eyes like she was enduring a tedious annoyance.

Then Clove nudged Katniss hard with her shoulder, voice low and teasing, “You better find a way to keep me entertained in our new home. You wouldn’t like me bored.”

Katniss swallowed hard, a headache blooming behind her eyes. The sudden shift—going from that brutal, almost violent closeness to the cold light of reality—knocked her off balance.

She wanted to argue, to push back, but the heat of Clove’s challenge and the weight of their tangled fingers spoke louder than words.

“I’m already regretting this,” Katniss muttered under her breath, it was the truth even if she didn’t dare imagine parting from Clove.

Clove just grinned—sharp, dangerous, and entirely confident she’d won this round.