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ANTICIPATION
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ONTARI DOESN'T STAY with Finnick for the entire night, no matter how much it aches to let him go. She tries to imprint his current appearance in her memory— soft blonde hair in a disarray on his head and the pillow beneath him, covers half-drawn over his body, lips partially swollen, eyes watching her every movement. She wants to remember this. No matter how much it hurts, she can see the pain reflected in his gaze as well. He doesn't want her to leave, either, and that makes this all the more real. It brings her an odd sense of comfort.

She gives him one last, lingering kiss before forcing herself to walk toward the door. His gaze is like knives in her back as she moves. At the last second, her hand on the knob, she turns back around. "See you tomorrow."

Finnick smiles, sad but still charming. "See you tomorrow."

In the arena. The words go unspoken, but the weight of them presses onto them both. She leaves before she's fully tempted not to.

Back on the eighth floor, Ontari finds the lights dim, the dining room, television area, and foyer empty except for one hunched figure that sits at the long table. She squints, recognizing them on sight.

"I was waiting for you," he says.

"You didn't have to," Ontari tells Woof, shifting her weight onto her other foot. Her cheeks burn with slight embarrassment— she hadn't taken the best care in putting her clothes back on or making herself look as she did before she left. She'd skipped some buttons while putting on her blouse. Woof's calculating eyes see right through her.

"I know," he replies, a knowing gleam in his eye as he slides down from the straight-backed dining chair and stands on the plush rug, "but I wanted to. CeCe, Cassian, and I were worried. I finally had to force them to get some sleep."

"I'm sorry for keeping you up." Ontari realizes guiltily that she has no idea what time it is.

Woof ducks his head as he comes closer. He's not a very tall man, making up for it in his stocky, muscular frame. They're eye-level.

"Again, this was my choice," he assures in a more gentle tone. "I've been worried about you, and I wanted to ensure you got back safely."

"I'm fine," Ontari replies, the lie used so frequently that it almost doesn't feel like one anymore.

Woof's eyes, blue like her own, crinkle. "Are you?"

The younger girl keeps her mouth shut.

Her former mentor sighs. "Seven years, and you still haven't learned that it's okay to admit that you're not okay."

Ontari feels the familiar weight settle on her shoulders. The truth is, she rarely admits her faults in fear that her family will crumble. As the catalyst for the hurricane of events the Nightfall's have been thrown into, she feels the responsibility to uphold a certain sense of self-control. Though they may not admit it, they look to her for strength— even Hestia. If she falls, so do they.

The all-knowing Woof sees her pain reflected in her eyes. Sighing again, he pulls her into his warm embrace and allows her all the time she needs to return it. She isn't sure of the last time she'd been hugged like this. His arms are sure, firm in their meaning and not hesitant to reveal what she means to him. A comfort as much as a crutch. Letting her know it's okay to break on him, and he'll pick up the pieces without judgment.

But Ontari does not break. She holds back the tears of fear until her head almost aches with the effort, because if she starts now, she doesn't know if she'll ever stop.

Woof was already in his mid-fifties when they met. Most mentors are distant with their tributes because they fear getting attached, but not Woof. They instantly got along. At his age, he was old enough to be her father, and he was, in a way. He became her sense of support through everything.

She hates how her years being the Capitol's plaything had caused a separation in their relationship. She couldn't visit as much as she wanted to, and yet, here he is, acting as if that was never the case. Proving that certain bonds cannot be broken.

Ontari releases him first or else they'd stay like that all night. Woof searches her eyes, likely seeing that she'd held back her tears. He doesn't force anything out of her. Rather, he takes a step back, allowing her space and saying, "Get some rest."

She laughs, though it comes out more like a scoff. "Like that'll be easy."

Ontari retreats to her room, opening the door to discover a crumpled form on her carpet. Her forehead wrinkles in confusion until her eyes adjust to the darkness. Cassian is sleeping on the floor beside her bed, one arm used as a pillow and his long legs tucked in near his chest. He looks like a child. The little brother he will always be to her, no matter how tall he is.

She backsteps into his room and fetches the striped comforter from his bed. After returning to her own quarters, she gently lays the blanket over him and adjusts it so it's covering his entire body from the neck down. He shivers in his sleep.

Ontari quickly dresses into a red nightgown, purposely avoiding her appearance in the mirror, even as she uses a special serum to remove her makeup. It takes her a moment to remember that there's still gold dust on her arms and legs. Cursing under her breath, she tries to scrub it off until it becomes obvious that it isn't working and that she needs to take a shower.

Once she's standing under the running water, Ontari realizes this could be her last one in a while. She's seen some Games last for a month. While she is doubtful that these will continue on for that long, even two weeks without a shower or bath is enough to make her skin crawl with discomfort. She wants to savor it, but at the same time, she really wants to climb into bed.

She does so fifteen minutes later. The sheets feel angelic to her skin, a firm reminder that the Capitol will always be on top and have these luxuries at their disposal. She clenches the covers in her fists. Not for long.

Before closing her eyes, she glances down at her brother on the floor beside her. If she was strong enough, she could have lifted him up so he isn't sleeping on the carpet. He looks comfortable, though. His sleeping form has erased the lines between his eyebrows that are ever-present. It smooths his skin. At least this slumber is kind.

Ontari turns over, wondering if hers will be the same.

-:-

The next morning is a blur. She's thrown off by the amount of deja-vu she experiences while getting led to the roof, climbing the electronic ladder to the hovercraft, and getting her tracker injected into her arm.

Venus is with her, of course. He needs to help her look presentable for the first day, even if whatever he manages to accomplish will likely come undone by nightfall. It's his job to help her dress and make sure she's prepared to make the journey up into certain death.

"Eat," he commands, nearly shoving the menu into her sweating hands. "We do not want a repeat of last time."

Last time, before she'd known which parts of which cacti were edible and had nearly died from starvation. Her stomach churns at the memory of how weak it had made her. Although she's nearly certain that they won't reuse the desert idea again, she orders a cup of applesauce and a glass of water anyway.

When they reach the Launch Room, they get right down to business. Venus brushes her hair back and secures it with an elastic so it will be out of her face. She's seen many tributes make the mistake of leaving their hair down, then struggle to fight with it in their faces.

Ontari's eyebrows crease as he helps her into this year's uniform. It's nothing like the one she'd worn for her previous games, which had absorbed sunlight during the day to keep her from freezing to death at night. Instead, it's a thin, blue-silver jumpsuit edged in black. The sleeves curl around her palms so they're almost impossible to ride up on her arms. The shoes are black and made of nylon, the soles rubber. She runs the bottom of her foot along the smooth tile floor. It barely budges.

They're going to be facing something slippery.

Venus slides the gold ring onto her finger. She doubts he understands what it symbolizes — maybe he thinks Finnick has proposed to her — but a shiver still shoots down her spine at the thought of him finding out. She doesn't trust that he'd be pleased knowing she's trying to take him down. And the rest of his home.

When Venus' brown eyes meet hers, she's careful to hide her emotions behind a mask of cool indifference.

"Good luck," he says, and it sounds honest.

Ontari merely nods in reply.

"Ontari Nightfall, please prepare for launch," a robotic voice speaks over a hidden intercom. Another chill shoots down her spine. She'd forgotten how haunting that sentence is.

Venus squeezes her shoulder in an uncharacteristic display of support before stepping away. She steps onto the metal plate with a dull thunk of her footsteps. Her heart thrums in her chest, blood rushing through her veins as it truly begins to dawn on her. This is it.

Ontari turns around to face her stylist as the glass cylinder slides down around her. It's a terribly claustrophobic few moments, the seconds stretching into years as she waits for the plate to rise and take her to her fate. Her breath feels shallow in her lungs. This is why Cassian can never be in a locked room— the knowledge that she can't escape from this, no matter how hard she could slam herself into the glass, is nearly suffocating. She feels ready to pass out from the familiar claws of terror that gladly accept her in their clutches.

The plate rises, causing her gaze to instinctively snap up, resting on the last face she'll see before reliving hell.

"Make me proud," Venus mouths, his bald head gleaming in the fluorescent lighting before the plate takes her out of view.

Ontari is already fighting to control her breathing once the breeze kicks in, rustling her ponytail. She has to shield her eyes against the glaring sunlight. At first, her heart jumps with sudden, unyielding fear, remembering the long days under the blistering heat of the sun in the desert. Then she realizes that the wind is too strong and too cold. And that sound... she's heard it all the time in District Four.

Ontari lowers her hand from her eyes to see water spreading out in every direction.

The voice of Claudius Templesmith echoes throughout the waves, sealing her fate. "Ladies and gentleman, let the Seventy-fifth Hunger Games begin!"

_____

"YAH YEET!"
— logan paul

honestly i'm soooo excited to begin this section of the book because it's finally time for all that action!

also, i've been on the fence about whether or not to leave this as a stand-alone book. i have plans for this if it continues into mockingjay, but i'm not sure about it. what do you guys think?

the next chapter is going to be much longer and more exciting, i swear!

-kristyn