LEGENDS ▹ the hunger games au

𝐢𝐱

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍

ALL GOOD THINGS CAME TO AN END.

The final day of training ended with the private sessions where each tribute had fifteen minutes before the Gamemakers to impress them with any skills. The cafeteria had grown quieter and quieter as the tributes were directed to sit side-by-side in wait of their turn. It was easier to keep up the irreverent, invincible manner they all had adopted when the arena still felt so far away. As more and more people disappeared through the door, all anyone could think was twenty—three of them only had a matter of days to live. The humorous attitude from the days before had lessened sufficiently by then, the reality of the situation finally weighing down upon each and every one of them.

The reality was this: most of them didn't want to kill each other.

After the whole incident with Blitz, they still stared at the Mellarks, but Willow no longer felt it was out of hatred or ridicule. In fact, the more they came to know the other tributes, the worse it was. Because, on the whole, neither Rye nor Will hated them, not totally. Some they even liked. And a lot of them were so damaged that their natural instincts would have been to protect them.

But all of them had to die if one of them was to get home.

As the girl from Twelve, Will was scheduled to go last which meant sitting in the cafeteria that got progressively more and more uneasy while the tributes slowly filed out. With each passing district, the tension continued to rise until the atmosphere had become nearly unbearable. Not even Rye had said what he was going to do, even when he left her side with a kiss to the top of her head. Her nerves were getting the best of her until she caught herself biting her nails.

But then she realized something.

The Gamemakers wanted a show, that was all they ever wanted.

They wanted to lean in and be witnesses to something exciting. There would be a bow in the arena, of course, this was a guarantee. Truth be told, she had nothing to prove to them. Her job, now, was to bring as much of the Capitol's anger and as much of the Capitol's wrath onto her own shoulders — serve herself up as a distraction until Rye was the last tribute standing.

If the Gamemakers wanted a show, Willow Mellark could give them that.

"DISTRICT 12: Willow Mellark, report for individual assessment."

When the sliding doors peeled apart, Will was busy resisting the urge to smile, trying to remember that friendly manners had no place here, when she suddenly sensed the tension in the room. Peeta had warned her to expect general drunkenness and gluttony on the part of the Gamemaekers, but this wasn't the case at all. They were on high alert, straight—backed and ruffled, whispering amongst themselves while even the famous Plutarch Heavensbee peered down at her.

Then she was hit with a sharp odor she couldn't place.

Willow turned her head and then she froze.

On the wall, in dripping red dyes, her brother had painted the giant symbol of the Mockingjay.

It was treasonous, and it was beautiful.

"Miss Mellark..."

At first, she wanted to be angry at Rye, for being so stupid, for putting his life on the line like this. But she didn't have it within her. Any hesitation, any uncertainty Will may have before felt immediately melted away.