² MANIA ─ catching fire

[ 006 ] there will be no fair fight

BY THE END OF THE TRIBUTE PARADE, all Atlas wanted was to return to his chambers and strip off every piece of this ridiculous costume practically suctioned to his body and collapse into bed. Each percussive clash of a gong throughout Panem's national anthem still rang loud and clear in his ears, and each slow blink brought forth every face of every child he'd slashed to death all those years ago in an arena he'd tried to sever himself from to the back of his eyelids like an after-burn seared into the darkness. The moment he'd stepped off the chariot, his appetite had vanished.

When he'd glanced over to Alecto, however, her face was a sheet of steel, and her piercing blue eyes sliced through every tribute before her as she strode forward, cutting a straight line through the crowd bustling and bumbling around in the Training Centre. In the murky background, he could hear Evander rattling off about their dinner options to Alecto—who wouldn't answer him, testament to her less-than taciturn character—his voice a faraway sound as though Atlas had his head submerged underwater, and Atlas had to wonder if anyone else was as sick as he felt. Until he flicked his gaze forward and noted how quickly Chaff, who'd been within eye-shot, averted his gaze as though he'd been electrocuted upon contact. But, no, the victor from District Eleven hadn't been looking at Atlas.

Whether it was the way Alecto had won her Hunger Games or her unnerving vow of silence and general recondite nature, Atlas couldn't tell. What he could see, however, was how unsettled all the tributes seemed to be as she stalked towards the elevator, directed by the Capitol attendants with Evander and their escort in tow.

All these seasoned killers, professional survivalists who could slice another human being to pieces and rig explosives without blinking an eye in the face of all the damage they could do and all the destruction they have done, and not one of them could stand to maintain eye-contact with his nineteen-year-old daughter.

"Hold the doors!" Evander called, speeding his pace up to a slow jog as the elevator doors began sliding shut. In the nick of time, the doors stalled and then parted once more as a Capitol attendant hit the button on the side of the elevator.

Already, there were a party of four in the elevator: Atlas' gaze first zeroed in on Haymitch, who only smirked when he spotted the gold band adorning Atlas' ring finger, to which Atlas gave him a tight smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Then he spotted Katniss, who glared at him with palpable mistrust, grey eyes guarded, and Peeta, who nodded awkwardly and offered him a small smile. Lastly, Atlas spotted a very naked and very smug Johanna Mason leaning lavishly against the railing, unbothered by her exposure as she talked a blue streak to Katniss, who stood stiff, clutching onto Peeta like she was on the verge of self-ejecting from the elevator and he was the last thread holding it all together. Every inch of Johanna's skin had been spray-painted gold to match her tribute parade costume, and it scintillated under the lights of the elevator.

Clearing his throat, Atlas averted his gaze respectfully as the elevator doors shut on the cramped party.

Beside him, Evander laughed, and let out a playful wolf-whistle as he gave Johanna a glancing once-over in appraisal. "Looking good, Jo."

Johanna only sent him a sardonic smile, all venom and teeth. Instead of gracing him with a response, Johanna turned to Alecto, who'd been pushed up against her from the lack of room. "You like?" Johanna asked, her tone half-mocking-half-flirtatious.

Blushing beat-red, Alecto looked away as Johanna picked up the ends of Alecto's white-blonde hair and ran her fingers through the wiry strands. Alecto's spine was ram-rod straight, and she looked every inch just as pained as Katniss, who tilted her head up and cast her smouldering gaze skyward. When Johanna turned to talk to Peeta, Alecto dropped her gaze to her feet, and Atlas caught the crease between her furrowed brows and the ghost of a frown on her lips—the first sign of emotion on her face that Atlas had seen in awhile that wasn't anger. Lifting a brow, Atlas watched the emotions chasing each other across the stoic plane of his daughter's face. Was it jealousy, that green-eyed glint in Alecto's eyes as Peeta chatted away amiably with the gloriously flesh-naked Johanna? It couldn't be. Alecto didn't seem like the jealous type, but that could only be outwardly. Internally, Atlas wouldn't know. Alecto kept her internal world private and impermeable, so nobody could stick their hands in there to mess things up.