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BONDS FORGED
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ONTARI'S COMMENT MUST have had the proper effect on Katniss, because at the next day of training, the younger girl approaches her while she's busily catching up on her readings of edible plants. The older tribute doesn't notice her at first. But then, upon clearing her throat, Ontari looks up from the book and doesn't bother to hide her surprise.

"Can you help me?" Katniss asks, the question clearly foreign on her tongue. "With sword fighting, that is. I could give you a lesson on archery if you want."

Ontari raises an eyebrow. "There's an assistant that could help you."

"Yeah, but from what I've seen, he's an ass," she says without blinking, causing Ontari to smile widely and close the book.

"Of course I'll help you."

She isn't sure what made Katniss suddenly decide to be civil with her. Maybe her words made her realize that the other victors have been through as much hell as she has. Maybe Haymitch nudged her in the direction of actually wanting to make friends. But either way, she's glad it happened, because now she has a greater chance of gaining her trust in the arena. And it'll be a hell of a lot easier to keep her alive that way.

Last night, Johanna had come to their floor to discuss their options for allies. Cassian had been requested by Brutus, Cashmere, and Gloss, while Ontari caught the eyes of Enobaria, Chaff, Seeder, and the siblings from One as well. Each had been politely declined. Now Ontari has a reason to fear Enobaria ripping out her throat with her teeth while she's sleeping, but tries not to dwell on that fact too much.

They know for sure that Wiress, Beetee, Finnick, Mags, and Blight are on board, making eight of them total. Katniss and Peeta make ten. It's a fairly good number, but it still leaves too many people trying to kill them.

Ontari wonders if they should include some of the other Careers. This year's twist had fueled their anger toward the Capitol, but would they give up more fame to two teenagers? She isn't sure she's willing to take that risk.

She trains Katniss in the art of sword fighting for exactly an hour. The younger girl is determined, she has to admit, and fairly decent with a blade in such a short amount of time. Ontari mainly condenses everything she'd taught Cassian into a simple enough lesson which Katniss seems to grasp.

But if one thing's for sure, the same cannot be said for Ontari and archery. Katniss teaches both her and Finnick simultaneously because he'd given her trident lessons or something, and she can't help but feel completely inept as each arrow misses its mark. Not even her immense upper-body strength aids her. This, the fact that she's covered in sweat, and the frustration of everything going on is digging her into a deeply sour mood.

Cassian strolls past them, shoving down his chuckles as he chastises in a scarily accurate imitation of their father's voice, "No arrows in the house."

Ontari shoots her brother a look that clearly reminds him she could easily beat him in a swordfight again.

Even if the Nightfall siblings did manage to train in the years since their Games, it was almost always with handheld weapons. Ontari's sword had been her saving grace while in that desert arena and she chose to stick with it afterward. Cassian's interest is in knives, but she'd forced him to train with multiple weapons just in case. Their father hadn't allowed anything that shoots in either of their homes. While fake swords and knives were easy to purchase, plastic bows and arrows were not.

With a raising of his eyebrows, the younger Nightfall sibling reaches for one of the extra bows at the target beside Katniss. He twirls a single arrow between his fingers before nocking it into the bowstring. A breath is released from his mouth as the three of them watch curiously. The tension releases in his shoulders, his arm pulling back so the string goes taut—

The arrow hits the bullseye. Katniss blinks, vaguely impressed, while Ontari doesn't bother to hide her shock and instead full-on gapes at him. Finnick applauds politely. Cassian smirks as he plops the weapon back in place on the table.

"Believe it or not, you didn't teach me everything, O," he says smugly to his sister. As he turns and walks away, Ontari gives him a crude gesture, causing him to accidentally let a laugh out.

Katniss blinks again. The rest of Panem — including many of the victors — have never heard Cassian laugh. Always the quiet, mysterious, and tough younger brother of Ontari, he's supposed to be the exact opposite of her. He's not supposed to laugh. He's allowed to do a small chuckle of amusement at most. But, in that split second, he'd allowed his mask to slip.

"Forgive my asshole of a brother," Ontari says dismissively to take the girl's attention away from the mistake. "He's a show-off and a sore loser."

As Katniss turns back to the target in front of her, Ontari glances at where her brother has retreated to the knife station. He picks up blade after blade, sending them cartwheeling through the air as hard as he can. Each dull thunk of the point meeting its mark in the heart of the target has her wondering if it's supposed to be a metaphor for himself and the heart he isn't supposed to show.

-:-

The final day of training is the one that really counts— it's where the tributes have to perform in front of the Gamemakers for individual scoring. They only have fifteen minutes to impress them this year. Ontari stays up late thinking about what she can possibly do, but draws a blank. She'd merely sword fought a dummy her first Games and hadn't gotten a very high score. Somehow she has to do well enough to score decently.

At lunch the next day, most of the other tributes joke about what they're going to do. Sing, dance, tell jokes. Mags signs that she's thinking of taking a nap.

"What are you going to do?" Ontari asks Peeta, who shrugs.

"I'm... not sure," he responds after a beat. His mouth pulls into a frown. "Fifteen minutes isn't a lot of time."

"You should do some camouflage," she suggests, twirling her fork absentmindedly. "You're talented and they'll see that."

Peeta's blue eyes glaze over as he goes deep in thought. "Yeah."

Since he's appearing to form some sort of plan, Ontari turns away from him to let him think. She still doesn't have any idea what she's going to do. Maybe she can perform some sort of routine and show her knowledge of various weapons, but would it be enough?

She loses her train of thought completely when Finnick's hand snakes around her waist and pauses on her other hip. It only stays there for a moment. She goes utterly still as his fingers slip under the waistband of her black leggings and rest comfortably there, his palm flat on her stomach.

Johanna notices the change in her facial expression from across the table. Her narrowed gaze flickers from her to Finnick, gauging their reactions to see if she needs to intervene.

Johanna has had a strange reaction to their relationship ever since it began. While she understands it's to protect their loved ones, she despises that the Capitol controls them. Her frequent eye-rolls in response to their flirtatious interactions are aimed toward Snow, not them, but to others, it's hard to read it that way.

That's why Katniss watches the District Seven victor with an expression of confusion. She knows very well that Ontari and Johanna are friends; she's probably wondering why
her face is beginning to display such an outward air of disgust.

Every nerve of Ontari's has narrowed to Finnick's touch. He hasn't moved his hand and doesn't appear to want to, the action almost comfortable instead of suggestive. Cassian doesn't catch that drift. From his spot on the opposite side of Ontari, he has the perfect view of where Finnick's hand is. He keeps shooting looks of discomfort around the room.

In less than a few seconds, they've caused a disturbance in the dining hall without needing to say anything. The other tributes are silent. There's no sound except for the slight clanging of cutlery against dishes and Cassian clearing his throat.

Finnick, feigning confusion, glances around the table. "Well, it's gotten awfully quiet. Beetee, what were you thinking of doing for private training?"

"Maybe electrocute myself and do some sort of dance," he replies, pushing his thickly-framed glasses farther up his nose. It's as close to a joke as he can get.

Once lunch is over, the seating gets rearranged so each tribute has to sit with their district counterpart. Ontari and Cassian clasp hands as they wait. Even though he doesn't show it, she can tell her brother is nervous. For the first time, a real sense of competition raises the tension in the room.

"You'll do fine, Cass," she mumbles in encouragement.

He sniffles and rubs his left ear— a nervous habit. "I don't know why I'm so worried."

Ontari glances around at the other tributes, her eyes slowly traveling over each individual person. "I think we all are."

Cassian's heading into the room before she knows it. Keeping up her façade, she sits with her back straight and one leg crossed over her knee. She pretends to examine her nails boredly as she waits for her name to be called.

"Ontari Nightfall," the electronic voice announces over the loudspeaker twenty minutes later. She stands calmly, squaring her shoulders as the double doors slide open to let her into the training room.

It looks the same as it did seven years ago. The same impossibly high ceiling, where bright, fluorescent lights hang. Her eyes scan over the metal walls — one tribute had apparently wrecked them with a club one year when they were still made of concrete. The floors are sleek as well, good for moving on. She plants a foot and tries to slide it. While her clothes should glide easily, the grips on the bottom of her sneakers stick.

Ontari quickly searches the room for any sign of what Cassian has decided to do, but there isn't a trace that anyone was even here. The weapons have been restocked on the rack and new dummies are lined at the opposite end of the room.

She glances up at the Gamemakers. Usually, they're beginning to get rip-roaring drunk by the time she gets in, but now, they're sharp and giving her their full attention. There isn't even any alcohol in sight. The glimmer of a force field is faintly visible around them. She doesn't remember them having one and wonders what could possibly have happened for these changes to occur.

Her eye drifts to Plutarch, but he gives her no indication he's on her side and instead stands with his hands behind his back. His silver hair is neatly combed and he's dressed in a fine black suit for the occasion. He's not as thin as she remembers him being when she'd seen him in the Capitol once, but he's not overweight, either. He looks healthy.

All of this transpires in seconds, but it's already too much time lost. Ontari marches toward the weapons rack and grabs the throwing knives before jogging to the end of the room where the dummies are. She tosses them as randomly as she can on the floor. Then, running back to the rack, she repeats her action with a spear and places it in a different spot. The bow and quiver of arrows is a last-minute decision that she may regret later. Finally, she grabs a perfectly constructed sword and releases a slow breath.

She hadn't tied her hair up this morning. She probably should have, but maybe having her shoulder-length locks in her eyes the entire time will only add to the challenge. Will the Gamemakers see that?

Ontari squares her feet about four meters away from the first dummy in the staggered blob she'd created with them. In another impulsive move, she throws the sword, still in its sheath, out in front of her. It lands with a clatter on the floor and spins recklessly. She smirks, setting her feet in a pose to run, and cracks into motion without warning.

She keeps her head up and eyes on the dummy even as she bends down to retrieve the sword. Her arm crooks at just the right angle to grab the handle instead of the point, then, just as she pulls it into her body, she rips the sheath off and releases her grip on it immediately. Ontari mimes raising her arm to stab the dummy. But just before she does, she drops to the floor and slides just as she hoped she would, her plain leggings doing nothing to grip the tile. Her foot stops her momentum and pushes her back into a standing position. Just as she regains her balance, she stabs her sword into the spine of the dummy with brute strength.

Ontari searches for the next weapon as she draws the blade out. The spear lays near the next dummy. She drops the sword, not wasting a second before ducking and sprinting toward the handle. Her hand closes around it blindly. As soon as her hold is secure, she runs away in a rapid zig-zag motion to gain the proper distance between herself and the next dummy.

Her chest heaves by now. The hair closest to the back of her neck is starting to stick to it, but she rears her arm back anyway and rockets the spear toward the second figure. It crashes into the faceplate with a satisfying crunch.

As she runs back to gather the bow and arrow, she starts to get a bit cocky. Ontari releases another deep breath from her mouth before crouching low, using her momentum to launch herself into the air. She twists her body into a front-flip that appears to happen in slow motion.

She's really glad she had a lot of days being bored in the training room.

Her confidence falters as she lands, her ankle rolling a bit and threatening to make her topple onto her backside. She regains her balance before continuing on toward the quiver. Snatching it from the ground, she slings it across her back and grabs an arrow from it in the same motion.

Once she has the bow in her hands, she slows down a bit and tries to remember what Katniss taught her. Don't rush it. Keep your hands steady. Remember to breathe.

Ontari pulls the bowstring taut and pauses before releasing the arrow. It lands in the shoulder of the third dummy, dangerously close to a miss. She's already moving again in an attempt to divert their attention from her mistake. In almost rapid succession, she fires two more arrows, these landing slightly closer to the heart.

It'll have to do. She slips out of the quiver before moving on to the last weapon: the throwing knives. There are three total, each one scattered around the final dummy. In an effort to catch her breath, she doesn't bother with the fancy ducking and instead allows herself a little extra time to pick them up from the floor.

Ontari jogs a fair distance from the blob of dummies. She squares her shoulders, allowing herself a moment to gather her wits before she secures the first knife in her hand and raises her arm. It sails toward the first dummy with the sword hole tearing open its gut. She smirks as it lands in the heart. Next, she aims for the face of the one with the arrows embedded in its chest. It hits the front of the skull with a dull thunk. Finally, she poises to throw the last knife and launches it into the gut of the figure with the spear in its face.

Ontari's chest heaves in time with her breaths. Even though her aching muscles are begging her to stop, she isn't done.

She sprints back toward the sword and returns to the center of the training room. Looking up at the Gamemakers, she says strongly, "One's fight is never over."

Plutarch raises an eyebrow in response, but that's all he does.

-:-

Cassian is waiting in the dining room when she returns to the District Eight floor. Woof and Cecelia sit across from him, snacking on fruit but only appearing to do so because they need to occupy their hands. All three of them snap their heads toward her at the sound of the elevator door opening.

The first thing Ontari notices is that her brother's hair is flat on his head with sweat. The second thing is that he doesn't appear troubled for once, so maybe his training went well.

"How'd it go?" Woof questions as Ontari slides into the seat beside Cassian.

"Fine, I think," she answers, reaching for a grape in their bowl. "I performed a non-stop training montage with four different weapons and tried to include some parkour. I only messed up a few times, so overall, I think it went well." As she pops another grape into her mouth, she turns to her sibling. "What about you, Cass?"

"They had seven knives in there and seven dummies," he explains, "so I took the knives and threw them into every single face with all of my strength. Turns out I actually dented the blades of four of them. The points had curved in."

No wonder there were only three knives when she got there.

"I'm glad you both thought of something," Cecelia says. "The scores won't be televised for another two and a half hours."

"Do you think Mags actually took a nap?" Ontari questions to her brother.

"Probably." He reaches for a piece of strawberry. "They'll give her a good score, though, because she's old and fragile and it's Plutarch. He'll find a way."

After spending most of their time filling up on fruit and regretting it, the four victors meet in the sitting room to watch the scores be televised. Cabel isn't anywhere to be seen. The district escort may be watching from his suite, or maybe he's sleeping off a hangover again.

Ontari sits with her legs curled into her chest. She'd showered and changed beforehand, wearing a fresh pair of comfortable leggings and a red tube top that isn't too unbearable. Cecelia had braided her hair down her back. It isn't the same as when Hestia does it; she feels a prickle of homesickness at the thought.

Mags scores a seven. Finnick, a ten, though that isn't surprising, considering how ruthless he can be. Johanna gets a nine. Ontari finds herself holding her breath as her brother appears on screen and a number flashes beside his picture.

She releases a gasp of surprise. "Eleven!"

Woof claps him on the back, though there isn't much time for more reactions because Ontari's is coming up next.

Ten. She feels satisfied at seeing the score, knowing that they must have changed the standards for victors and that she'd still made a considerable achievement in getting double digits. Her smile is real.

It's Cassian that looks troubled.

Peeta shows up on the screen once they reach the end of the show. For a moment, Ontari thinks she's seeing things when his score flashes beside his official Capitol portrait. A twelve. Katniss gets the same score.

It's deadly silent in the sitting room. Cecelia quickly turns the projector off, the space growing so quiet that there's a ringing in Ontari's ears.

The two youngest victors have just made Hunger Games history. Both of them had scored the highest possible number, though it's nothing to celebrate. The higher you score, the more people come after you.

It just got a hell of a lot harder to keep them alive.

After two minutes where nobody speaks or moves, Cassian gets up from the sofa and walks out of the room. Ontari immediately uncurls her legs to follow him. They leave Woof and Cecelia in the sitting room, trying to think of what they can do next.

Ontari is tall, but Cassian's legs are far longer than hers. He reaches his bedroom before she can catch up to him and slams the door. The sound echoes down the hallway, a clear sign that he doesn't want to talk. But Ontari knows her brother.

She stops outside of his door. "Cassian?" When he doesn't reply, she raps her knuckles on the wood. "Come on, Cassian. I'm coming in."

She gently turns the handle and pushes the door open. He hadn't turned any of the lights on, so the twilight sky turns the interior a soft purple as it seeps through the window covering the entire opposite wall. The Capitol is still partying outside and will be until the Games end. The lights from the skyscrapers surrounding the Tribute Center look almost like gigantic stars.

His room is practically identical to hers, so she knows exactly where to look for the bed as she peers around the door. Cassian lays flat on his back on top of his blue striped covers. He stares blankly at the ceiling, mouth set firmly.

Ontari approaches the mattress and waits. After a few moments of him not moving, he gives in and scoots to the opposite end so she can climb on. She sighs as she lands beside him and stares up at the ceiling as well.

When Cassian wasn't wrecking his room at home, he'd stay trapped in his mind, sometimes stuck in bed for days and only getting out to use the toilet. Ontari had been careful to figure out what would get him out of those stupors. She'd tried coaxing him out of bed, bringing him his favorite teas and trying to get him to drink them, and countless other things. One thing she'd never done — and would never do — was force him.

Cassian is like a turtle sometimes. He'll disappear under his shell where he thinks nobody can find him, but if you wait, eventually he'll emerge from it.

It takes ten minutes.

"I didn't think I'd score that high," he admits, his voice the most vulnerable it's been since the twist had been announced and he'd exploded. "I thought everyone else would be wreaking havoc in that training room even though we all joked about it. I thought a nine would be nice and normal. I didn't intentionally break the knives."

He pauses, swallowing. Ontari waits patiently for him to continue.

"I was hunted," he finally says, his words digging a new wound into his sister's heart. "And not in the average Hunger Games sense where everyone is. The Careers and even other tributes singled me out. They built human traps everywhere. Everyone wanted to kill me because I was a victor's brother, everyone wanted the glory.

"I thought that, because, now I'm a victor, too, I was just like everyone else. I could blend in this time. But now, as the only person with the second-highest score, I feel like I have a target on my back again. And the fact that we're helping these stupid kids—"

Cassian stops himself, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. He releases a shaking breath through his mouth. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. It's just — protecting them is going to potentially cost us our lives."

"I know, Cass," she says gently, "but think about it again. They'll be our best shot at finally destroying Snow. And if we don't make it, I don't care because at least it'll mean a better tomorrow for our family and the rest of Panem."

His reply comes hesitantly. "You feel the same way about Finnick? He's in just as much danger."

"Finnick made his choice," she answers. "We don't control each other."

Cassian nods, turning his head and burying it in the crook of Ontari's neck. He puts his arms around her like he used to do when they were little. As she rests her cheek on top of his head and hugs him back, she realizes that even though he's much bigger than her, now, he really is still just her little brother.

"I'm scared," he whispers so quietly that she almost doesn't catch it. It's like he's afraid someone will be listening, as if the city surrounding them can hear.

"I am, too," she tells him honestly. "I'm really, really scared."

_____

attention: i love the nightfall siblings so much and i would die for both of them

i love exploring the different sides of cassian's character. he seems like a tol shell but really he's just a smol boy with too many feelings and no idea how to deal with them

also, ontari is such a badass!! i enjoyed writing her private training scene so much and hopefully you were able to catch the gist of what she was doing

i tried to make this chapter a little longer as an apology for the wait!

-kristyn