blood on my hands.

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Katniss and Peeta sat patiently at the table in their penthouse apartment of the Training Centre, waiting for Haymitch to give them instructions on how to handle the Quarter Quell. She was mindlessly pushing her food back and forth across the expensive plate, lost in thought while he was glancing between her and their mentor with his chin in his hands.

The two of them had, less than a year earlier, been crowned Victors of the 74th annual Hunger Games, but the Quarter Quell was unlike anything that had ever happened before.

The tributes were to be chosen from the existing pool of victors, and while she was sure it was because President Snow wanted to eliminate the threat she'd become, it didn't make her any less nervous to face an entire arena of seasoned killers.

"I want you guys to forget everything you think you know about the games, alright?" Haymitch announced bluntly as he poured himself a large glass of wine. "Last year? Childs play. This year, you're dealing with all experienced killers."

"Alright," Peeta breathed out while allowing his hands to fall down into his lap. "So, what does that mean for us?"

He took a long swig from his cup, and set it down. The red liquid now barely half filled the glass, but he'd just top it off in a few minutes anyway. "It means you're going to have to have some allies." He sauntered around the table so he was standing in front of them.

Katniss could feel him watching her but she refused to look at him, because that would mean admitting he was right. She didn't like the idea of Haymitch being right.

Peeta nodded slowly, doing the mental math for the situation at hand. "Okay, well I think that if we—"

"—Whoop, you're not the problem," Haymitch interrupted him easily, eyes focused solely on her. He raised his hand above her head and pointed down at her so Peeta could see.

She immediately rolled her eyes. "No."

"Look," Haymitch sighed, sitting at an angle in the seat next to her. "You're both at a disadvantage. Most of these people have been friends for years."

Katniss raised her brows at him. "That just puts us higher on their kill list."

Haymitch raised one hand, took a small sip, then sighed. "Do it your own way, but I know these people." His glanced between them both. "You go it alone? Their first move is to hunt you down. Both of you."

"Katniss, come on," Peeta murmured, trying to change her mind.

She thought about it for a moment, then with pursed lips finally turned to Haymitch. "How could any of us even trust each other?" She asked carefully, not wanting to sound flat out disagreeable.

"It's not about trust, it's about staying alive," was his answer.

Then he downed the rest of his drink and stood up. While rubbing his hands together, he sauntered over to the doorway of the sitting room. "If you'd both follow me," he hummed somewhat dramatically.

They made themselves comfortable on a grey sofa pushed up against the wall opposite to a sparkly-rimmed TV. "Because I'm such a great mentor, here's the Reaping's from the other districts; this is who you're up against."

The screen opened to District 1, where they were greeted by a dark haired man dressed in a beige tunic with his hand clasped to that of a woman with blonde hair in a leather jacket. Both were beaming at the camera. "Cashmere and Gloss, brother and sister, District 1. Won back to back games, capitol favourites, lots of sponsors; they will be lethal."

He clicked a button on the remote, and a tan woman with a golden band around her head and pointed teeth was yelling something back to the crowd, lightly bumping into the bald muscular man next to her. "And the other half of the Career pack, Brutus and Enobaria."

BLOOD ON MY HANDS ||  Finnick OdairWhere stories live. Discover now