𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐋 ❪ clove kentwell ❫

𝒙𝒙𝒊𝒊𝒊. the hunt

★★★

CLOVE IS QUIET AND UNEASY for the rest of the day, staring contemplatively at the wall and only refusing food. I'm more or less the same. We stay on opposite sides of the cave, keeping ourselves busy. In my case, that means fiddling with the last of the wire in my backpack, mind racing a mile a minute.

What's she going to do? What are we going to do? Really, she could kill me right now and go home. She wouldn't do that, though. Would she?

Honestly, I don't even know why I'm thinking about this. I've already accepted that either Clove or Cato is going to kill me eventually. I can't win.

"I can hear you overthinking," says Clove finally, and I jolt out of my thoughts to realize I've been twisting the wire into nervous, messy knots. "Are you... okay?"

I hesitate. "What are you going to do?" I ask, just barely above a whisper.

She averts her eyes and crosses her arms, tapping her foot on the cave floor. "What I was originally going to do," she says after a long silence. Her voice is firm, set in determination. "We're going to hunt down Cato." She pauses, sounding a little unsure. "And then I'll win."

That's it, then. We're keeping our alliance. Clove will win alone.

"Are you sure?" I ask. "You could..."

The words go unspoken. Clove shakes her head. "No."

I wonder once again about her mentor, their strategy in the arena. Are they trying to play us off as lovers? What's real and not real?

I don't know how to feel about the whole thing. My emotions are completely scrambled by now.

Clove unwraps her bandage, inspecting her wrist. "The swelling's going down," she reports, rewrapping it. "Should be better by tomorrow."

Part of me doesn't want it to get better. Part of me wants to just stay here in the cave with her, to feel that fire I felt when I kissed her. But tomorrow, we're going back into the woods. To hunt down the fiercest, most brutal tribute in the Games.

I look up and meet Clove's eyes, and she studies me closely, head tilted. "How does it feel?" she asks. "You've killed two people now."

Two people. Glimmer and Marvel. Why did she have to remind me? I bite my lip and stare at the ground. "It feels... It feels empty. Like I should be feeling something. But I'm not."

I think I feel mostly shock. Why am I not crying? I realize now that I've hardly shed a single tear since the Games began. Am I turning into a monster?

Clove nods. "Yeah. That sounds about right."

So she understands. We really are alike. I think back to the Capitol, the roof of the Training Center. She asked me why I cared. I think we're alike. It feels like a million years ago now.

"On the roof," I say tentatively, and watch her tense at those words. "Do you remember?"

"Yeah," she mutters, sounding slightly strained. "What about it?"

"Why were you up there in the first place?"

Clove takes a deep breath and lets it out in a slow exhale. "My mentor... wanted me to play the Games a certain way. I didn't feel like getting pushed around."

I wonder if this has something to do with Cato. Unexpectedly, something dark stirs inside me, and I tamp it down with a slight panic. Am I jealous? Do I really have feelings for Clove?

"That makes sense." I set down the wire and fiddle with my ribbon, feeling restless. "You don't seem like the type to like being pushed around."

Clove smirks. "Yeah, I'm glad that's obvious." She hesitates, face returning to its neutral stony expression. Her voice drops to a whisper. "I don't think Cato and I would've ever worked out."

I stop and look at her, seeing real, true vulnerability for a second. Just like on the roof. I remain silent, but shift a little bit closer. Clove doesn't move.

She lets out another long breath and smiles ruefully, shifting in her spot. "We're both just too fucking broken."

Broken. So many broken kids here. I think of District Two. Cold and distant. Stone mining, harsh training.

I don't say anything, instead getting up and walking over to sit beside her. After a few moments, she hesitantly stretches out a hand. I thread my fingers through hers and give her hand a gentle squeeze.

It's her who kisses me this time, long and slow. I let out a shivery gasp when I feel her tongue sweep across my lip, and I feel her smile.

She's smirking again when the kiss breaks. "Not bad," she says, giving me a nod. Her dark green eyes flash with that something I can never figure out.

I blink fast, feeling my heart beating rapidly. "Thanks."

I realize it's getting dark. The end of day... Nine? Ten? Has it really been that short of a time? It feels like I've spent a lifetime in this arena. "I can take the first watch."

Clove scoffs and gets up, careful not to jostle her wrist. "I'll do it."

"No, I can," I insist, following her to the entrance. "You need to get some rest. Besides, I won't be able to sleep."

She scrutinizes me, and there's a short pause before she speaks. "Really?"

I look down. "Nightmares."

"Same."

We stare each other down for a few seconds before Clove finally sighs and moves to my sleeping bag. "Wake me this time, would you?"

I nod, satisfied. "Sure. Goodnight, Clove."

"Goodnight," she mumbles back, yawning and huddling up tighter in the sleeping bag. She looks soft and harmless for a moment, and the sight makes me smile.

Marvel's face appears in the sky tonight. A single tear slips down my cheek, and that's it.

The next morning, the hunt begins. Clove's wrist has completely healed, and she says the cut from Marvel's spear doesn't hurt anymore. My nerves are buzzing again, but having Clove beside me makes me feel better, somewhat. She's armed me with two knives, a big one and a little one, but I feel uncomfortable with them. My hands can't stop trembling.

I don't like the forest. The place is alive, full of strange creatures and plants and one ambitious, bloodthirsty tribute. Every little noise makes my nerves stand on end, and the trees block out the sky in some places.

"Got anything?" Clove asks, breaking me out of my stupor. We're sitting by the water, waiting for my snares to catch something. Our plan is to walk along the stream and look for Cato. Clove says it's better to hunt than to be hunted.

"Not yet," I reply, watching as a few squirrels jump from tree to tree. They remind me of Rue. My heart clenches.

There's a sharp intake of breath from Clove and I turn around, nerves spiking. I relax somewhat to see it's a moose, moving downstream. It stops, gracefully dipping its head to drink and then looks up, ears twitching. Then it opens its mouth and shows its rows and rows of fangs.

Another moose appears out of the opposite tree line, sharp teeth bared. Then another, and another, and another. They surge forward collectively.

Clove grabs my arm and we run.