THE ODDS WERE ALWAYS IN OUR FAVOR ─── CLATO

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟏𝟕

𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄'𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐕:

A few hours later, I am dressed in what will either be the most sensational or the deadliest costume in the opening ceremonies.

I'm in a simple gold unitard that covers me from ankle to mid-thigh. Shiny and glittery gold boots lace up to my knees. Anastasia and Bolivar told me that it was inspired by the Romans with their short, leather clothing. But it's the fluttering and beautiful golden headpiece, crafted so carefully. It's made of streams of orange, yellow, and of course, the gold is what defines this costume. Anastasia plans to sprinkle something all over us just before our chariot rolls into the streets. She hasn't told me what yet.

"Okay," she says, squatting down beside me. "It's just a little powder. It'll make you both radiant and glowing, like the sun. It'll be like a bubble of glowing rays around you. Mind you, you may feel hot because of it, but it won't be bad. You won't fry yourself to death."

She looks at my nervous expression and grips my arm. "It's something me and Bolivar came up with. You'll be perfectly safe."

I swallow, nodding, but I'm not fully convinced yet that I won't be fried up by the time we reach the City Center.

My face is relatively clear of makeup, just a bit of highlighting here and there. My hair has been brushed out and then tied down my back in my usual style- ponytail.

"I want the audience to recognize you when you're in the arena," says Anastasia, almost dreamily. "Clove Kentwell."

It crosses my mind that Anastasia's calm and normal demeanor masks a complete madwoman.

Despite this morning's revelation about Cato's character,I'm actually relieved when he shows up, dressed in an identical costume. He should know about being golden and glowing, being the Golden Boy of District 2.His stylist, Bolivar, and his team accompany him, and everyone is absolutely giddy with excitement over what a splash we'll make.

Except Anastasia. She just seems a bit excited, yet weary and nervous as she accepts congratulations. I wonder if she's always like this before Tribute Parades.

We're whisked down to the bottom level of the Remake Center, which is essentially a gigantic stable. The opening ceremonies are about to start. Pairs of tributes are being loaded into chariots pulled by teams of four horses.

Ours are golden. Like blinding golden. They must be Capitol Mutations- or Mutts, as we call them. Anastasia sees my awe-struck face and smiles.

"I know what you're thinking. These aren't Mutts."

I turn to her, eyes wide in surprise. "They're not? These are...real animals?"

"Yes," she says, giggling. "They're called the Akhal-Teke. From a country called 'Turkmenistan.' I think the country was wiped out before Panem."

That checks out. I nod my head curtly, not saying much else. My jangled nerves aren't really letting me, either.

The animals are so well trained, no one even needs to guide their reins. Anastasia and Bolivar direct us into the chariot and carefully arrange our body positions, the drape of our capes, before moving off to consult with each other.

I'm surprised to find myself so nervous. All my life, I've told myself that when this moment came- if it ever did, I would be prepared. I wouldn't be nervous. I would be strong, confident, and ready.

But it's always easier to say things then actually do them.

I don't notice Cato as he takes his place on the chariot next to me.