Scarlet.

XII

"So It Goes..."

We will arrive in the Capitol at nightfall, just like we did last year, and Lauren tries to keep everyone happy with the luxuries available on the train, but there's a lot of tension in the air.

"We'll watch the reapings tonight; we need to strategize for every possible scenario," says Lyme, breaking the silence in the wagon. "It's better to be safe than sorry."

I wonder who will be the one to kill me. If one thing is certain, I don't want it to be Brutus; I know that he would be too cruel. I want a quick and painless death. He will want to make a spectacle out of it.

I go to my room, dragging my feet, slamming the door shut, and throwing myself onto the bed. I curl up under the blankets, ready to sleep for hours, until someone knocks on the door. I sigh heavily before getting up to answer whoever is bothering me. I was expecting Cato, strangely, but it's Enobaria who's standing in the hallway.

"Why?" she inquires, and those are the sole words that escape her mouth.

"What do you mean?" I respond, raising my voice without even noticing it.

"You know damn well what I mean," she retorts in the same tone. "Didn't you have enough last year?"

The silence becomes a thick barrier between us, and I feel vulnerable under her threatening gaze.

"Please, just go," I ask, wishing she would leave me alone.

She crosses her arms and looks at me with a hint of disappointment and disbelief.

"What's going on?" she asks. "You're acting way too strange; this isn't you."

"And what do you know?" My voice trembles, and a huge lump forms in my throat. "You're not my mother; stop speaking like you were."

Her face pales quickly, and a whirlwind of conflicting emotions is reflected in her face. She opens her mouth to speak but stops herself. Enobaria closes her eyes and sighs deeply. I guess she's trying to control her anger.

"You're right, I'm not your mother," she eventually concedes. "Because if I were, you wouldn't be in this mess."

She turns around, and I watch her leave while a part of me longs to tell her everything that had happened in the Capitol. I want to tell her the true reasons behind my decision, but I don't know where to start, and I'm not sure if she'll even believe me.

Enobaria seems to hear my thoughts and pauses before leaving the room, asking one last time. "Is there really nothing you'd like to tell me?"

My teeth chatter, and instinctively, my nails dig into my palms. Tears blur my vision, and I fall to my knees, clutching my head with both hands. A scream tears through my throat, and my heart begins to race uncontrollably in my chest.

I tightly shut my eyes, trying to stop the thoughts that threaten to shatter my mind: fleeting memories of my childhood, of my siblings' games, of my own games, of what happened in the Capitol. Blood and more blood—the color red momentarily blinds me as a stabbing pain shoots through my head.

I hear a distant voice calling my name, gradually pulling me out of the spiral I'm in. I try to control my breathing in some way, but it's as if my lungs are filled with iron. Over the minutes, the voice becomes clearer, and I recognize Enobaria's face to my right. I want to tell her to leave, that she doesn't need to worry about me because I can take care of myself, but the words won't come out of my mouth.

"It's alright, it's alright," she repeats over and over again, her hands applying pressure to my shoulders. "You're safe."

I nod with difficulty, and she helps me stand up, supporting me carefully to ensure I remain on my feet. Though my entire body trembles, I begin to regain some stability. I want to explain what happened, but the words get stuck in my throat. I'm embarrassed for revealing such vulnerability, exposing a side of myself I've always tried to hide; I'm nothing more than a completely useless, pathetic, and frightened little girl.

I attempt to regain composure when, unexpectedly, something unusual happens: Enobaria hesitates for a second, then hugs me. The gesture is awkward, uncomfortable, and entirely unfamiliar to both of us. Nevertheless, I can sense the sincerity of her intention, and it catches me off guard, leaving me uncertain of how to react initially. Gradually, my muscles relax, and I allow myself to be held.

It doesn't last long, but it's enough for me to feel a strange connection with her. I pull away slowly while the shame of showing my vulnerability lingers. But somehow, I also feel some sort of relief.

Upon our arrival in the Capitol, we are escorted directly to the Tribute Tower. This year, there are no cameras or people waiting for us at the train station, just a group of Peacekeepers urging us to hurry. I feel a knot in my stomach as we reach our designated floor. I ask Cato if he'd like to switch rooms with me, as I can't set foot in that place without feeling nauseous. He agrees, and I move to a room at the end of the hallway, although it's practically the same thing.

Just as I'm about to throw myself on the bed, Lauren knocks on the door, telling me to come to the common room to watch the replays of the reapings. I sit down next to Ezra, who has been very quiet since this morning.

The reapings were equally hurried for the other districts. Throughout the history of the Games, there have been a total of seventy-five victors—fifty-nine are still alive. I'm sure that, like every year, District 2 will be part of the career alliance along with the tributes from Districts 1 and 4. Brutus and I were the only volunteers, along with an old woman from District 4. It's evident that a strong sense of camaraderie exists among the majority of the victors, with comments and remarks filling the room as each one recognizes a familiar face stepping onto the stage.

Honestly, I don't care at all. I take notes of our allies: the siblings from District 1, Cashmere and Gloss, who won the Games in consecutive years; Capitol's darling, Finnick Odair, the youngest and most arrogant victor to ever exist; and finally, an elderly woman around eighty years old, Mags Flanagan, who took the spot of a redheaded girl that looked absolutely horrified.

Haymitch Abernathy, the only victor from District 12, staggers on stage, loudly cursing until Peacekeepers forcibly escort him to the Justice Building. The screen goes black, and no one says a word.

I'm the one who breaks the silence as I get up to go back into my room, saying, "So we're in with the siblings, the Capitol's darling, and the old fuck."

"Clove!", Lauren scolds me after choking on the water she was drinking.

"What?" I ask; I'm not in the mood for niceties.

"The siblings from District 1 are the safe choice," Brutus says. "Mags will be a burden, and Finnick probably knows that we'll want her in the alliance only to get to him."

"Anyone with common sense can tell that she won't make it out alive," I cut in quickly. "The sooner we get rid of her, the better. I'm just being nice."

Lyme insists that we should still try to ally with the District 4 tributes, but they will likely reject our offer. The other tributes don't seem to be much of a challenge; most of them appear weak and have various health issues. The only serious competition for Brutus consists of Cashmere, Gloss, Finnick, and the female tribute from District 7.

Johanna Mason, who won her Games a couple of years ago, has exceptional axe-handling skills and looks a little bit out of her mind. She won by pretending to be weak and naive. The other tributes underestimated her, let their guard down, and she ended up massacring them all.

Lauren has put together a spectacular welcome feast, but I'm not hungry, so I only fill my plate with half a serving of beef stew. I can't finish my meal, and when I reach for a glass of wine, Enobaria takes the glass from my hand.

Infuriated, I get up from the table and head to my room. I'll die in a couple of days, and she won't even let me have a drink. I slam the door behind me and step into the shower, allowing the hot water to carry all my problems away.