¹ THRONE ─ the hunger games

[ 026 ] this is what we do

PAIN BLASTED THROUGH IKO'S SIDE as the District 9 girl slammed a crowbar into Iko's ribs, smashing the wind from her lungs. Involuntary tears sprung to Iko's eyes, and the office space with its wooden desk and glass windows and the face of the girl, snarling and livid with primal instinct, warped together in a smudged watercolour of bright panic. If she wasn't so stunned by the impact, she might've been galvanised into action by the fact that the girl wasn't going to go down without a fight. She wasn't a boring opponent. Though hopeless and manifestly lacking skill, Iko could respect that she wasn't rolling over and exposing her belly to her teeth.

Iko blinked to clear her vision and brought her arms up to block another crushing blow as the girl took another wild swing. This time, Iko locked the crowbar between her wrists and gritted her teeth as another wave of pain shuddered down the bones of her arms, down to her shoulders. Without hesitation, Iko slammed her foot against the girl's gut and wrenched the crowbar from the girl's hands when she doubled over and stumbled backwards. Iko cast the crowbar out of the office and kicked the door shut behind her as it clattered to the ground, cutting off the exit. Silence seethed between them, a desolate tension thickening the stagnant air, as both girls regarded each other like predators in the prairie.

Fear flickered over the girl's features—bruised and dirt-slicked, like she'd been tangled with the jungle for days until she'd become something untamed and wild—for a moment so brief Iko thought she'd imagined it, and, in a blink, had been replaced with resolve, a steely determination. Iko's expression didn't shift, but she stood straighter, flicked her eyes over the girl's form in a glancing once-over, tracking the tension wired in her muscles, the scrawny arms, the awkward stance, the palpable lack of a killer's confidence. Through the window behind her, Iko spotted the sky darkening like a new bruise.

With a wild cry torn from her throat, the girl lunged, arms outstretched as she moved in to tackle her. Iko sidestepped, and at the last moment, seized the girl by the wrist and twisted, hooking her shoulder under the girl and flipping her over. A winded grunt escaped the girl's chest as she hit the ground hard on her back. She was a fighter, but she was also untrained. Amateurs got careless, got in over their heads. The girl from 9 knew it, but rather than succumbing to her fate, scrambled back onto her feet as Iko stood over her, already bored. Teeth bared, the girl raised her arms, hands clenched into fists. Three days of crash-course combat training in the Capitol couldn't match the years Iko had on her. Killer instinct was drilled directly into Iko's bones the way it was imprinted in the girl's head to steer clear of people like Iko.

"No," Iko said, firmly. She unstrapped the belt of knives from her waist and dropped it on the ground beside her feet. Shucking her pack off her shoulders, Iko dropped that on the ground, too. Her rifle, which was rendered useless since she'd found out she'd used up all her ammunition already and hadn't brought any spares with her, she discarded on the desk atop a stack of papers. Flummoxed but wary, the girl pinned Iko with a piercing stare, her wide brown eyes darting over Iko, clocking her actions. Iko flipped the two knives in her hands over her knuckles. She tossed the one in her right at the girl's feet and dropped the other on top of her pile of possessions on the ground. "We're gonna do this right."

The girl let out a harsh laugh as she snatched the weapon up. "As if you care about what's right," she snapped, raw hatred glistering in her eyes.

"I've done enough," Iko said, and Alex's face—the lack of recognition in his eyes after he'd watched her kill the District 5 boy—flashed across the forefront of her memory. Bile threatened to rise up her throat.

"Fuck you," the girl spat, fury creasing her features. "I don't want your false pity."

"Then keep your guard up."