above and over your head ; steel & emmett blitz

☵

Our first day of training goes a little like this - half of the tributes break down the door and make for the weapons while the other half fuck off to get smashed somewhere. I think I had stood somewhere in the middle, because I'd always been like that, and because, even now, I feel lighter than I have in years, with three separate panic attacks left behind on the train and a big bold 1 on my back.

It's enough to make peace with at least, to maybe try and understand who these people I'm going into the arena with are, because I know that's what my family would want me to do. So that's what I do. It's that simple.

Simple like the way I used to fraternize with the enemy and play with peacekeepers until we both got bored. I've had practice walking the line between friend and foe, even though I could never really tell the difference.

My eye catches on the girl from Eight first, where she's standing in front of one of the dummies, sword clumsily clutched in her hand. From here, when the light hits her face just right, she reminds me a little of Cathy, smart but still so small, still so doted on.

I'm walking over to her before I can stop myself.

My mother would tell her sharply to stand up straighter, to fix her position and rap her knuckles. Harper would show her how it was done, all flashy and confident and unwavering. Silk would teach her to use it the way she had picked it up, to use the situation to her advantage.

I don't know what I can give her but this.

"Here." I reach out to where her hands grip the hilt and readjust her grip, "You're holding it wrong."