Scarlet.

II

The Games have broken something inside me, and in a way, I place part of that weight on Cato and our strange dynamic. Our alliance turned intimate, to the point that he couldn't bring himself to kill me even though he was supposed to do so. Maybe I'll never know his true reasons, and honestly, I care less and less about it, but somehow I'm incapable of hating him anymore.

I wake up at dawn, having forgotten to close the curtains, and the sun shines brightly. Cato is still beside me. I watch him sleep for a while, unsure why he's here. Everything is an enigma with him, and I'll probably never figure it out. He wakes up and just stares at me. His cheeks are sunken, just like mine, and an indescribable sadness fills his eyes.

With trembling hands, I trace his features using the tips of my fingers while I struggle to keep my eyes open. We're close, maybe even too close, but the numbness inside me prevents me from pulling away. My palms are bandaged, and I don't recall much from the previous night, but everything hurts, and the fabric on my hand is stained scarlet.

Cato hesitates for a couple of seconds but finally places his lips on mine. It's gentle and awkward. I hold his face with one hand, pretending to know what I'm doing, although it's hard for me because I've never kissed anyone before. It's just so strange, so unexpected, and so nice. He pulls away; his breath brushes against my face, and we're just inches apart until I decide to kiss him this time. And a voice inside my head keeps on repeating, "I knew you were stupid, but not that stupid."

He gets on top of me, careful enough not to hurt me with his weight. I feel my heart pounding in my chest, especially when he momentarily pulls away from time to time, as I don't want him to stop. His fingers gently grasp the back of my neck, and he begins to leave a trail of kisses down my neck. A soft giggle escapes my lips as his tender touch tickles my skin. His laughter mingles with mine, and his hold on me tightens, drawing me closer.

I instinctively lift his face from my neck and see a mixture of emotions swirling in the depths of his eyes; it mirrors the thoughts racing through my own mind. But fearlessly, I kiss him again, because we're already fucked up for good. His adjustment to my rhythm is subtle—a mere heartbeat of hesitation before he matches my intensity.

We snap back to reality when we hear someone knocking on the front door. Cato pulls away, sighs, and then walks towards the door. I follow him and pull at the collar of his shirt to feel the warmth of his body pressed against mine again. He holds me by the waist and pushes me until my back meets the wall.

The knocks on the door become harder to ignore, and I can't help but curse. Who would be so annoying at this hour? The sun isn't even out yet.

I distance myself from Cato and notice that my clothes are stained with blood, probably related to the bandages on my hands. I quickly change my clothes and head downstairs, muttering insults along the way. My living room is a complete mess, with shards of glass and ceramics scattered everywhere, liquor, and dried blood on the table and the floor.

Enobaria had mentioned that my prep team would come today, but I didn't think it would be so early. Mentally preparing myself to deal with Alora, Fayette, Kezia, and Nouria, I'm aware that I'll have to endure their remarks about the chaos in my house. But honestly, I don't care.

I open the door and am taken aback to find that it's not them but rather a tall man with fair skin and brown hair. He's dressed in an unusual white uniform and looks quite surprised.

"Can I help you, sir?" I ask. "Are you lost or something?"

"I thought you'd miss me a little bit more," he says while laughing. "Is this how a victor greets her old man?"

He unbuttons his shirt collar, and upon seeing the birthmark, I recognize that he is indeed my father. I jump into his arms like a little kid, and he holds me firmly, chuckling. I lead him inside the house, ignoring the mess at the entrance and the fact that Cato's in my room.

"You've certainly inherited your mother's temperament," he remarks, kicking some ceramic fragments. "I'm not surprised, though."

"I was upset," I say, looking at the ground. "Care for breakfast?"

"Don't worry, Clove," he says, shaking his head as he approaches me. "I've only come to congratulate you on your victory. You did a spectacular job."

He hugs me once again, and, as he presses his lips to my ear, I know that his visit hasn't been just a casual one; something's wrong. Something's so incredibly wrong for him to reappear after five years; I knew that he wasn't this lovely old man.

"Listen closely because we don't have much time," he whispers softly. "I'll leave a note in your pocket. I want you to read it carefully and then burn it. Try not to contact that number until the Victory Tour is over, no matter what happens."

"I'm really glad to see you too," I say, attempting to fill the silence. "I've missed you."

"Don't trust anyone," he whispers again. "Take care, Clove. Please do."

He steps back, places his hands on my shoulders, and leaves a kiss on my forehead before walking away. I follow him to the porch and watch him disappear in a car with tinted windows. I lock the door and lean against the wall, retrieving the note from my pocket. I read it with a knot in my stomach.

"Uprisings spread across districts during Games. Situation approaches critical. Expect targeting during Victory Tour. Rebels. Emergency: call. Disregard false intel. Updates will follow if needed."

I quickly memorise the ten digits on the back of the paper, then head to the kitchen to burn the note before Cato walks down the stairs. The water carries the ashes down the drain while my heart pounds so intensely that I feel it in my temples. I grip the table to prevent myself from falling to the ground. Once again, I find myself on thin ice.