lethal 。 𝔠𝔞𝔱𝔬 𝔥𝔞𝔡𝔩𝔢𝔶

016 ─── unlikely allies .

lethal
016 ─── unlikely allies .

" find your strength "

rowan's view

ℑ had only been in the Arena for three nights. Only three nights, though I had no idea how many nights it had been in the real world. Something I remember from watching previous Games is that the Gamemakers can control night and day, bending light to their will. As if they weren't already convinced that they were gods.

I stood in place for a good ten minutes after Cato left, frozen, unable to move for some reason. I kept watching the cascading water that was my only defense fall in a beautiful wall of mist, droplets landing on my nose, dampening my hair. I was waiting for him to come back. He didn't.

Of course he didn't. I scolded myself for being so foolish; he was Cato Hadley, the vicious killer from District 2. I had made a mistake in even trying to help him, a mistake that nearly cost me my life at his hands. I wouldn't make a mistake like that again. Not with Cato, not with Peeta, not with anyone.

I grabbed my belt and fastened it around my waist, the blades glinting in the rays of sunlight that fell through the waterfall, winking at me as if to remind me of the blood I had spilled. The people I had killed. I almost wanted to leave the knives behind altogether, but I knew that they were my only defense against the other tributes.

Slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I departed the cave, sad to see it go, but the memory of Cato's gaze burning into me, and his sword of cold steel pressing against my neck made it easier to walk out. I slipped out around the wall of water, my eyes flitting around to check for anyone before I darted into the woods.

The twigs snapped under my boots, my muscles more relaxed since the tribute number had dropped, leaving less chance that I would run into anyone. Or maybe it was the lingering memory of Cato behind me, watching my back, that made me blind to danger.

I absentmindedly reached up and ran my hands through my hair, loosening the braid that my hair was still in, after almost two days. Dirt and grime clung to my scalp; I was sure that my appearance was hideous, not that I cared.

I pulled out the elastic that was holding the mediocre braid together, pulling my hair apart so the tangles fell down to my waist, before pulling it up into a ponytail, tying it as tight as I could. I was hit with the sudden urge to get rid of it all, chop it off so it only reached my shoulders; it had certainly proved a nuisance so far. But looking at the exact shade of it, knowing that it was the same colour as my father's, I knew I couldn't.

A crack resounded through the crisp, cool air, making my stomach drop to the ground. Because unlike the other snaps of branches, this one hadn't been caused by the boots Cinna had given to me before I was sent up into this hellhole. No, someone else had stepped on a branch, and that someone else was behind me.