Scarlet.

III

"Begin Again."

My prep team arrives minutes after I pick up the last shards of glass scattered on the kitchen floor; I lie about why my hands are bandaged, of course, they're not particularly interested, since their main concern is my wretched appearance. They don't even notice Cato walking out of the house behind their backs; they're too busy scrutinizing my every flaw and tossing around suggestions to fix the situation.

They talk a lot, but I've learned to silence their voices. In my mind, the events of this morning replay over and over again. I've never trusted anyone, not even my own shadow, and my father's warning has helped keep my walls high and firmly in place. I must stay alert, and once again, it's time to doubt everything and everyone.

I pay attention as my prep team discusses the impact the Games had on the Capitol; apparently, it was a big success, and everyone is eager to have us back there. The idea makes my stomach churn; all the luxuries and comforts of that place feel like a massive trap, as if they're caressing the very spot where they'll later stab me.

"I bet you're as excited as the rest of us," Alora says. "You'll be a mentor in a Quarter Quell!"

With my body surrendering, my mind torturing me, and loneliness drilling into my bones, I had overlooked the fact that I'll be a mentor in this year's Games. As the youngest victors, Cato and I will step into the spots of Enobaria and Brutus. To top it all off, this is the year of the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games, which means it's also the Quarter Quell.

The Quarter Quell takes place every twenty-five years, and the Games grow a little more sophisticated as the districts' loss in the war is celebrated with lavish rituals. The rules change, and it's much harder to come out of the arena alive. In the last Quarter Quell, they sent twice the number of tributes into the arena. According to the stories in the training center, it was a legendary battle, and ironically, the male tribute from District 12 won that year. A man who, as Brutus claims, has completely lost his mind.

I hear someone knocking at the door and use that opportunity to distance myself momentarily from those incessantly chattering women. Nouria greets me with a hug, and I invite her inside. I linger on the porch for a few minutes, allowing the cold wind to brush against my face. I notice Marjorie arriving at Cato's house, her purple coat billowing as she juggles a couple of bags. She faces my way and waves with enthusiasm.

"They look heavy," I say, pointing at the bags in her hands. "You need help?"

"No," she replies. "Thanks, but I can do it."

It's amusing how she makes her way to the entrance, struggling to open the door. I hold back a smile. She's a tiny girl, and the bags are three times her size, but she's determined not to accept help. It reminds me of how I used to handle things when I was her age. The difference is that she does have her family around, at least her brother. I've never seen the Hadleys, and Cato and I aren't close enough for me to ask about his parents.

The loud thunder and darkened sky announce an impending storm, abruptly causing me to stop in my tracks. The unease I've been experiencing lately isn't solely due to the Games. Over the past fifteen days, I've been feeling worse than usual—a recurring pattern during this time of year, to be honest. It's because Maximus and Anmon's birthdays are approaching. Same month, a couple of days apart.

I don't remember much about Maximus, as I was just four years old when we spent his seventeenth birthday together before he went to the Games. I have more memories with Anmon, though they're not particularly numerous or special. Maximus's death affected him immensely. I couldn't understand it back then because I was really young, but lately, I've had plenty of free time to think about it.