Chapter 1
At the stroke of 04:00am, a military alarm sounded through an unornamented room bathed in darkness.
The hand of a teenaged girl, usually so apt in the art of grace, slams onto the device. Bitten down nails jab at the button meant to stop the obtrusive sound before it could continue on into the silence.
Most Careers were trained at a very young age to wake up before the rest of the world to start training, like soldiers. District 2 liked to advertise that fact, spinning it as an honor to serve the district at the crack of dawn when civilians would usually be arrested for wondering the streets at such an hour.
Only Careers were allowed to be traveling this early in the morning to work—what a shame for everyone else.
The body under a thin layer of sheets rustled and groaned. There was a pause, and the body buried deeper into the warmth of its cocoon.
If the people of District 2 were to see her now- Clove Eligius, the rumored deadliest knife thrower in Panem, unwilling to lift herself from the warm embrace of her bedsheets- they might struggle to hold back a laugh. Of course, the girl would deny it until the day she died or kill whoever dared mention such a vulnerability, but in the stillness of her quarters, Clove slept on.
That was until a sharp rapping against her metal door caused her body to jolt upward. A gruff voice said something that her brain could not sort through in its alarm and residual sleep.
"-get to it."
Heart set off in a stuttering race, Clove stumbled to her lamp, flicking it on and snapping her trunks and drawers open. As she dressed, her ears picked up on the heavy boots walking from her door, and her cognitive processes slowly started to kick in fully with the halting of her shaking hands.
The material of her training clothes felt cool to her bed-warmed skin, and she mourned the loss as she strode to the only mirror in the connecting bathroom. Her green eyes greeted her in the mirror, a little blurry, a slight drooping from sleep, but still sharp. She glared back at them for good measure before beginning her morning routine.
She tied her long hair up tight, despite the fact a few strands always landed up breaking away from the rest to brush against her face during training. She knew her hair was a bit long, a bit over-regulation, but she really didn't want to have to cut it if she didn't have to. Her black training shirt pulled against the bend of her elbow, and the hem rose up so that cool air could pass underneath to her abdomen. Another shiver ran through her body, and she quickly finished her hair with a cringe, pulling the sleeves more securely around her thumbs.
After her teeth bathed and the rest of the sleep was washed down the drain, she could gather her bag and leave. She'd make her bed and tidy her drawers too.
She'd leave nothing behind that could be used against her.
There were only a few days left of training before Careers had the week off due to the reaping. While one boy and one girl from Clove's level was to be sent off into the games, the rest would continue their training for the next reaping. The cycle never ceased. If you're never chosen for a reaping before you turn 18, which many are not, you either waste your gained skill by doing a lower-ranking job, such as a blacksmith, or you get lucky and qualify for peacekeeper training.
Although, if you ask Clove, that is entirely not luck. To be at the every whim of the Capital seems like more of a nightmare to her. She'd rather conquer than be a conquerers puppet. Her bitterness towards peacekeepers would land her in her grave before she'd even be able to put on the heavy white uniform.
When Clove was all set to go, she grabbed her worn-out bag and ran up the stairs. When she rose from her room in the basement, Kai was already at the table, seemingly not having any intention of making breakfast for Clove as well.
Kai was her guardian. Her guardian was a peacekeeper, a pilot of the hovercraft, as well, when called to duty. Since peacekeepers were never stationed where they originally come from, Clove was sure Kai had not been raised in the stone homes of District 2. The man was not very forthright with any personal information, so she could only speculate which district. Clove was an orphan, which wasn't uncommon in her district, and guardians volunteer based on how well they think the child has a chance of winning the Hunger Games. For many, buying a child and putting them in the Career Academy is a means to possibly gain fortune and access into the Victor's Village as well as fancy Capital events. Clove happened to be picked by Kai, a middle-aged man with dark features and intimidating stature. His eyes were the most intimidating. They were often bloodshot and looked like black marbles shining, devoid of warmth. His hair and morning shadow was a black shade that seemed nearly blue in certain light but gained peppered white with every passing year. He was said to have killed his wife. Just like his district, Clove was not shared any further information. They say the wife had done something- committed an act of rebellion.
"Kai is a fantastic peacekeeper to the capital," they all whisper, "the best."
Kai stood at his desk when Clove strode into the main room of their quarters, hunched over a mess of papers and drinking from a steaming cup.
She remained silent as always, how Kai preferred, but clicked into a parade rest with one hand behind with the other. Without looking up, he waved her away, but only after making her remain in the position for an extra set of seconds.
Upon being absolved, the green-eyed girl flew into their small kitchen, looking for fuel and watching the time. Perhaps she could still get to the academy building before they dumped the oats. She left the house at exactly 04:26, a time that required her to move quickly if she wanted to make the train.
"Rip apart that Tertia girl, won't you," Kai's hard voice startled her and faltered her sure steps. Clove was surprised he even took the effort to open his mouth, but also shouldn't be so surprised. Kai knew everything about the happenings of District 2; of course he would know the rankings right now.
"Yes, sir," She quipped before leaving, desperately ignoring the undertone of impatience and condescension in his statement.
Her tired eyes stared at the meticulously laid stone pavement as she walked through the large archways of the station. She'd wished there'd been leftover coffee to spare for her, but had seen the empty pot in the sink. Perhaps she'd be extra lucky, and they'd still have that out at the academy, too. The thought made her laugh bitterly to herself.
A large percentage of District 2's teenagers lived on the training center's campus. In a way, it seemed like a more appealing option to Clove, but also despised the idea of having to room with another Career. No, she thought. That would undoubtedly be the tenth dimension of hell. She refused to interact with her peers more than needed. There was too much at stake for emotions to get involved.
Surprisingly, someone had left the heavy door of the gym open, so Clove pocketed her ID card and slipped in, planning to take a short cut to the center. The gym smelled sterile of cleaning supplies as Clove strode in from the back. Weaving her way through a series of doors and hallways, she opened one that broke out into the large training courtyard where they'd been called to today. The center's stonework climbed up all sides around the neatly trimmed grass of field, but the sun shone brightly through the windows and ceiling. Despite the well-kept state of the courtyard and futuristic equipment lined up across the clearing, the area had a distinct older feeling because of the Gothic architecture. Because this building was one of the most Capital-endorsed, it was more modern than a lot of District 2's architecture, but she'd assume the builders of District 2 still couldn't quite help themselves. A small rebellion in its right. And people said District 2 was the Capital's Submissive.
Sadly, Clove saw no food or drink in sight as she approached the growing cluster of uniforms standing over large tables. Nothing edible, just cold, hard weapons.
"Looking a little tired there, Clove," Cato sneered with a stupid smirk on his face. He wore it like a fashion statement, and Clove frequently felt the urge to punch it off.
"Fuck off."
Clove normally would ignore him, but today wasn't her day.
"Eligius! What did I tell you about those arms," one trainer snapped at her from the right of her. Bother her and Cato snapped into a parade rest until dismissed. Clove kept her arms consciously uncrossed over her chest this time.
Cato turned back to her, unphased by the interruption. "You know you don't have to be so difficult all the time. You can just give in."
He lulled his head to the side like a fat cat bathing in the sun as he looked down at her. He watched her eyes intently as he purposefully moved his hands to "adjust" his pants. Clove stopped herself before she could cross her arms again in a strong protective stance.
Clove raised her eyebrows and then dropped them into a disgusted sneer. Unfortunately, the disgust and loathing in her eyes never seemed to put him off. If anything, it fueled more vile comments. He liked that she hated the idea of being with him. Clove had the right mind to think it got the boy going even more. Sick fuck.
"Have it your way. We'll have plenty of time for that in the future," Cato supplied cockily, taking her silence the way he wanted to.
"Whatever you say, Cato," the brunette made her voice sickly sweet, ditching her attempt to put multiple curses on him with her mind.
Cato forced his tongue against his cheek in that stupid smirk and moved on to the other Careers. Clove humored herself taking out her knives to see if they needed any tending to. If not, she'd just warm up their handles. Usually, she'd be next to Cato, engaging in conversation with her fellow Careers. It was vital for her to not be caught blindsided by being some kind of a loner in their troup. The discussion was never friendly per se, what with them all competing against each other. Sometimes, you'd get a genuine laugh or a soft smile before they had to turn around and start a brutal training circuit.
But, again, it wasn't Clove's day.
"You won't be needing those," the female trainer told her from her position above the trainee.
The knife vest swayed in midair as Clove frowned and placed it back down. Her fingers fidgeted and flexed without the security of her knives.
After hours of cardio and physical training, Clove's mask was cracking. She had no energy to run all of her suicides, yet the power of her pride caused her body to stretch to the limit and beyond. They hadn't touched anything knife related today, and Clove felt less competent during training than she usually would. After Cato had slammed her shoulder into the ground for the fifth time, she wanted to drop onto the mat and sleep or cry; either one was fine. Clove hadn't cried in years, but the feeling of wanting to cry was still there, waiting for her to crack. The thing was, she would rather die a painful death than cry in front of anyone, much less any of these people. Another day of training had passed with only sweat and tense muscles to prove for it.
One day- and she promised herself this every grueling morning, every time she got knocked flat on her ass- she would be liberated from all of this. She wouldn't have to worry about indifferent handlers like Kai who cared less about her wellbeing than the grime on his shoe. Soon, she would be free from the looming shadow of the Games.
After she'd won.