To all the Readers reading this far, thank you so much for your continued support!

I'm so happy to be able to share this story with you and I hope that you will keep reading until the end!

I look forward to reading your comments, suggestions, questions, and predictions! Don't leave me in the dark! Tell me what you like and what you don't like. :) 

Kindly vote on this chapter! It means the world to me <3

Stay safe and take care! ~ CANGEL

***

Scarlet Wolfe

     "Now, I know this is your interview, Crimson, but if you don't mind, I'd like to ask you one question in regard to your sister."

     "Ask away, Caesar."

     "As her twin, you likely know her best. If you had to pick three words to best describe your sister, what would they be?"

     "Hmm, let me think: Impulsive. Quick-tempered."

     "I think we all saw that earlier."

     "Deaf."

     "Excuse me?"

     "You really didn't know?"

     "Deaf...as in..."

     "Caesar...Scarlet Wolfe hasn't heard a single sound since she was three years old."

***

     Her back burned and stung. Each movement sent sharp, agonizing waves through her body. Scarlet winced, the oversized shirt they had given her before being escorted back here, clung to her dampened skin. She had expected a punishment, but not the searing pain that now throbbed under the fabric and an order for the wound not to be treated.

     She bit her lip, trying to focus on something—anything—other than the pain lancing through her body. This type of pain was something that she was used to back in District 14, but after so many days of luxury, it was like her mind had forgotten how to block out the pain.

     The floor had been dark and empty when she returned. No one had waited up for her. Surrounded by nothing but darkness and silence, Scarlet had watched her brother's interview, turning off the screen as soon as it finished. She lowered herself into her makeshift bed on the floor, laying on her stomach.

     Anger. Betrayal. Hurt. Rage. She should feel those things, but instead, she only felt numb.

     Crimson had exposed her secret. He had laid bare her greatest vulnerability in front of the entirety of Panem. In front of all the tributes she'd be facing in the Arena. In front of Finnick. Why his opinion mattered to her, she didn't want to think about; only that he was sure to return to his original assessment of her. Fish fodder.

      She closed her eyes, a few tears slipping down her cheeks. But even in her pain, she understood her twin's strategy. He was brilliant, cunning, and as ruthless as she had been when she purposefully embarrassed Roe in front of the Gamemaker's in the Training Center. He had reaffirmed the distance between him and her, solidified his alliances, and shattered her image in just three minutes.

     Could she beat him?

     Scarlet opened her eyes, staring at the shadowed white wall of her room. Crimson was so much better at this game. He understood people, manipulating them with ease. In this quiet moment, the gap between them seemed insurmountable.

     People would want him to win. With her challenge hanging in the air, people would want to see her fail.

     Her mind spun, refusing to turn off and allow her much needed sleep. She had hoped to have a good night's rest before entering the Arena, but doubts continued to plague her.

     Did anyone still believe she could win? Was there anyone who still wanted her to win?

     Scarlet's breath hitched, her body tensing with the tightening muscles of her back tensing. She couldn't give up yet. She refused to give in to the weight of the doubts lingering in her mind. Cassandra had believed in her. Cadmium was waiting for her.

     It didn't matter that the other tributes knew her greatest weakness. She knew theirs. She had a plan, and she would follow it. Crimson's actions would not alter her plans.

     With a deep shuttering breath, she closed his eyes again, willing herself to sleep. Tomorrow, she would fight for her life.

     Tomorrow, she would prove them all wrong.

     Scarlet was going to win the Hunger Games.

***

     The morning of, was quiet. Despite her resolve, she had managed only a few intermittent hours of sleep before the bright light of dawn signaled that it was time to get up. She moved slowly, her body still aching and her wounds raw from yesterday's punishment.

     In the shower, she winced as the cool water traced the wounds on her back, reminded of the medicine that could heal her quickly, but remained just out of reach. Another part of her punishment. She would enter the Arena wounded and weak, vulnerable to both the other tributes and the environment. Infection could kill her faster than any tribute if she wasn't careful.

     Stepping out of the shower, Scarlet stood as the heated air dried her body. She left her hair untouched, tangled and slightly damp, as she walked to the sink. She brushed her teeth and looked at her reflection, meeting her own gaze in the mirror. Resignation stared back at her from familiar hazel eyes.

     Anger, always simmering beneath the surface, flared to life like a match dropped on kerosene. She slammed her fist into the mirror, shattering the glass. Pain stung her hand, as she pulled her hand away, glass stuck into her skin. She didn't care. Her broken reflection, distorted by the cracks and missing pieces, stared back at her with determination. The fire in her eyes burned brighter.

     Fight to live or lay down and die, Scarlet.

     No matter the odds. No matter the punishments. No matter the consequences. No matter the doubt.

     She would never give up. She would never quit. She would never stop fighting.

     She rinsed out her mouth and left the bathroom, leaving the shattered mirror behind her. She dressed in the clothes that she would wear into the Arena: a sleeveless undershirt, a long-sleeved shirt, a thick jacket, and thick pants that clung to her skin. She pulled on gloves, thick socks, and perfectly fitted boots, lacing them up tightly. A hood that could cover her head completed the outfit.

     She hoped that the clothes meant the Arena would be cold. A cold environment wasn't common; the Capitol usually preferred hot and humid environments. A pretty scene to complement the blood and guts spilled.

     Most districts weren't used to cold weather, but District 14 was cold, and Scarlet was used to frigid temperatures and snow. Her survival knowledge was based in such an environment and would give her an advantage if the Arena resembled her home. But that advantage extended to Crimson as well.

     She clenched her fists, feeling the fabric of her gloves stretch taut over her knuckles, the roughened fabric pulling at her injured hand. She would be ready. No matter what the Arena threw at her, no matter what challenges lay ahead, she would face them head-on.

     Scarlet Wolfe was determined to win, to survive, and to return to District 14 as a Victor.

***

Finnick Odair

     Finnick had just dropped Loach off at the boarding station. Each tribute was escorted down to the room by their escort or mentor and two peacekeepers, but Finnick wasn't allowed to go past the doors. Beyond those doors, each tribute would be checked and examined to ensure that they were not trying to sneak any unauthorized weapons or tools into the Arena.

      Once cleared, they would be given a tracker injection and escorted onto the airship that would fly them to the Arena.

     Both Loach and Roe had done well in their interviews. Not that they'd had to do much to succeed there. Everyone held high expectations for District 4—apart from Finnick. They were well equipped, highly skilled, and usually easy on the eyes.

     Since the moment he had walked away from them after the scores had been announced, he hadn't said a word to them. He hadn't planned on saying anything to Loach now, but he couldn't help himself. "Ally or not, you can't blindly trust anyone in that Arena, Loach."

     Loach didn't respond, but Finnick told himself it was better to leave with no regrets. Not because he had any hope that his tributes would win this year, but because he had to at least try to help them. He needed to be able to look at himself in the mirror and know that he tried. That he had done his best.

     As Finnick walked back toward his room, he mentally prepared himself for the days ahead. The tributes would enter the Arena, but he had his own battle to fight. One full of lies, deceit, blackmail, and secrets. Even as a Victor, Finnick's viewing of the Hunger Games was still mandated, but more than that, as a mentor, he needed to watch. Study. Strategize. Be ready to do anything to save his tributes' lives.

      He would socialize with the richest citizens, laugh, tease, and even romance a few of them. Finnick wasn't above anything when it came to trying to save a life. But apart from that, there would be interviews with Caesar that most mentors were required to have, late-night visitors—

      Finnick slammed into something small. Reaching out to steady them and himself, his hands tangled in long black hair. "Shit."

     Scarlet pulled away instantly, her face a mask of stone as she glared up at him. "Let go."

     He let go, holding up his hands in response. Scarlet turned away, ready to keep going. A quick glance around told him that her only escort was two peacekeepers a few feet behind her.

     "Hey, Scar—" he cut himself off, remembering that she was deaf. Talking to her back wouldn't do any good. Finnick took a step forward, grabbing her sleeve, before quickly releasing her and stepping back. Scarlet turned around, arching an eyebrow in question.

     "Is no one else walking you down here?" He asked.

     "She eyed the space around them before looking back at him. "Do you see anyone else?" Snark coated her words.

      "No. I don't." Finnick snapped back, feeling a surge of frustration. Sometimes, she was infuriating to deal with. With the stress of the day weighing on him, he couldn't find the normal enjoyment in their banter.

     Finnick let out a slow breath, remembering why he had stopped her in the first place. Cassandra had asked him to. Finnick hadn't even known the stylist personally, but he had been there when she had been arrested. He had seen the tears streaming down her face as she was escorted into the back of the black car with her hands cuffed behind her back. He had heard her desperation as she begged him to make sure that Scarlet knew what had happened to her.

     He could do this one last thing for her. Though he knew he had to be careful, with the peacekeepers nearby and hidden cameras likely everywhere, one false word could make it him being arrested for treason. Being a beloved Victor gave him freedom and certain liberties, but even he could be accused of and found guilty of treason.

     "Listen, what you did was incredibly stupid yesterday."

     Scarlet narrowed her eyes up at him, he could see her temper spike. "I don't really care what you think."

     "Well, I hope that was a reaction to getting a bum replacement for your traitorous stylist and not something we can expect to see more of in the Arena."

     She stilled. Her sneer faltering and her eyes searched his. "Traitor?"

     "Yeah, I wouldn't think much about it though." Finnick shrugged, keeping his tone purposefully even though his own words made him sick as he recalled Cassandra being arrested and him being helpless to stop it. "Turning someone like her into an Avox isn't a light decision that President Snow would make without proof." Bile rose in his throat, his stomach twisting into a tight knot.

     "An...Avox..." Scarlet mouthed the word, barely making any sound. Her face twisted in pain for just a moment—showing only a flicker of emotion before it was gone, replaced by her typical smirk. "That's too bad. I really liked her clothing styles."

     Though her words were said with harsh shallowness, the small flicker of pain was enough to let him know that the smile was fake. She was hiding her feelings behind the mask she wore, either because she wasn't willing to show vulnerability in front of him, or because she was aware that the Capitol was likely listening.

     "Yeah, she had a bright future ahead of her." Before it was snatched away from her. "If only she hadn't been led astray." He added smoothly. "Be careful out there, Scarlet." He said, as he brushed his fingers against her jacket sleeve. "It'll be cold. Probably very close to what you're used to in District 14."

     Her eyes focused on him; confusion swirled in her hazel eyes. "Why are you telling me this?"

     "Normally, if a tribute doesn't have a mentor, the stylist would have accompanied them down here. If they're any good, they can tell you a lot about the environment from the clothes you are given to wear. I'm not that good, so I can only tell you that it'll be cold. Colder than what most of the tributes will know what to do with."

     Her smirk slid into a frown as her brows pinched together. "But why are you telling me this?"

     The easy answer was guilt over not being able to help Cassandra and being the one to deliver the news to Scarlet just hours before she would enter the Arena. But that wasn't the real answer. Finnick just didn't know what the real one was. "Don't hesitate in there, Little Wolfe. Remember the challenge you made yesterday." He started walking backwards. "I'll be watching."

     Scarlet winked, her shoulders relaxing and her grin returning to her face. "Don't worry, it won't take too long, Golden Boy."

      He shook his head at her unabashed nature. Where she got the confidence and bravado from, he didn't know. He'd never seen a tribute from District 14 who was as cocky and confident as her with so few reasons to be. Actually, he'd never seen a tribute from District 14 who was cock. Period. This year, they'd been given two.

     "Do you have any other advice for me?"

      "Yeah, don't die in the Cornucopia."

     "How do you know I'm going to the Cornucopia?" she asked, her eyes narrowing on him. He could practically see the wheels turning in her brain as she tried to figure out how he knew her plans. It wasn't that he knew she would go straight for the Cornucopia, it was just that couldn't see her running from it. She'd want to get her hands on good supplies and weapons. She'd want to stay and fight.

     Instead of answering, he winked at her before turning around and continuing away.

     "Hey, Finnick."

      He stopped walking, surprised to hear her voice calling out to him. He turned around, seeing her run a hand through her long hair before blowing out a sharp breath. He waited patiently as she decided if she was going to say what she wanted to or keep it to herself.

     Finally, her eyes meant his. "It's probably too late for you to do anything about it...but District 4 should stay away from Crimson."

     Finnick nodded his head slowly. He already knew that. He had told them that much. Whether or not they listened...well, that was a different story. He had his own reasons for not wanting his tributes to ally with Crimson, but he was curious as to why she would tell him anything. Even if Crimson killed his tributes, it would only help her. "Why?"

      "I don't know exactly what he has planned, but I know that if he has two options, he will always pick the better one."

     "And does he have two options?"

     "As far as I can tell, he has two. But you probably know that better than me."

     "Why would you tell me this?" he asked.

      She shrugged. "Consider it returning the favor. For telling me about the clothes. Or whatever."

     Her answer made sense, but she was purposefully indifferent. Her eyes met his and they are anything but indifferent. She wasn't thanking him for the knowledge about the clothes. She thanked him for telling her about Cassandra.

     She started walking backwards. "Or consider it payback to Crimson, for telling the entire Capitol and all the tributes that I'm deaf. If they make it out of the bloodbath alive, keep them away from Crimson." She turned around. "And me, if you want them to live a little longer!" She called over her shoulder without stopping.

     Finnick turned away from the small fiendish girl who would soon enter the Arena. He didn't know if she would walk away alive, but over the past days in the Capitol, Finnick had learned that she shouldn't be underestimated.

     She would fight. She would kill.

     Cassandra had believed in her.

     This small, wicked, deaf girl from District 14.

     Yesterday, his belief had been shredded with the announcement of her impairment. A twelve-year-old winning was already an impossibility, let alone a twelve-year-old that couldn't hear.

     But, alone in the empty hallway, the morning before the 67th Hunger Games began, Finnick found his belief in her rising once more.

     "Be wicked, Scarlet." Finnick murmured quietly to himself as disappeared from his sight. "Be as wicked as you dare."

-------------

Thank you so much for reading!

If you enjoyed this chapter, please vote or comment! 

As always, take care and stay safe! ~CANGEL