Hazel's thoughts swirled like delicate flakes caught in a storm as she stared at the rapidly cooling oatmeal before her. Her appetite was as nonexistent as the morning sun shadowed behind thick grey snow clouds. A snort escaped her. It would snow today of all days. She glared at the cold, sludgy bowl. He can't reasonably take credit for the weather.

"Are you all right?" Bellona watched her with a twitching brow.

"What makes you think I'm not all right?" Hazel could barely swirl her spoon through the bowl.

"You've been staring at that oatmeal for twenty minutes, and were you just laughing?'

Hazel dropped the spoon. "I'm not hungry."

"And the laughing?"

Hazel shrugged, expending much effort into avoiding Bellona's gaze, "Just losing my mind, I guess."

"If you are worried about the tour..." Bellona tilted her head, stepping closer, "A whole squadron will be assigned to your security."

Hazel smiled sadly at the young peacekeeper before her. Bellona couldn't be much older than her. Her features, while hardened by physical training, still held the roundness of youth. She was earnest, and her eyes shone with belief in what she was saying. However, despite being a peacekeeper, she seemed somewhat naïve, though something about that made her endearing.

Pulling at the edges of the bandage around her hand, Hazel finally decided to discard her breakfast before it resembled cement more than food.

As she rose and began to scrape the remnants into the trash, she murmured, "I wish that were all I was worried about, Bells."

The mere thought of the next few days and weeks made her want to run into the woods and never return. She shook her head as a shiver coursed through her spine at the memories of the green cloak melding into the faded, frosty, verdant woods. If she was hallucinating here at home, she couldn't even imagine how her fragile mind would react in more triggering environments. Then, there was the prospect of Senator Snow eating dinner with her family.

Bellona studied her for a moment when the front door flung open, and Sable strode through with a burst of fresh flakes in his wake. A bright smile graced his features. Snow peppered his hair as he cradled a steaming cup. "Morning girls, beautiful day, isn't it?"

Hazel dropped the empty bowl into the sink, "Glad you're here. I think it's time for a jog."

Sable's smile immediately faded as he coughed, "Oh no. Don't do this to me. How come you didn't make Bellony go?"

Bellona smirked as she shot Sable a look, striding to the front doors. "She likes me better." She made a show of looking down at her watch, "Have a good shift, old man."

Sable grumbled as Bellona slid the door shut behind her. He gazed longingly down at his coffee and then at the large flakes falling from the sky. "But it's snowing."

"Like you said," Hazel glanced out at the shimmering snow, "It's a beautiful morning. Besides, never let a little snow stop me before." Hazel hurried up the stairs, mumbling under her breath, "And I am not going to start now."

Sable huffed as he yearned at his cup of coffee before sucking it down in large gulps.

As Hazel rounded the corner, Rowan's room caught her eye. His door was again ajar, with only darkness coming from within. Hazel paused to peer inside. It was dim, cold, and devoid of her brother. She cast a glance behind her as she stepped into the shadowy room.

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

The space was still mostly bare, and it looked less than lived in. Boxes held the majority of his belongings. His bed was made, the blankets were crisply folded, clearly untouched for some time. It was as if he was frozen in the past or simply rebelling against the future. Refusing to settle into this new life. On his table lay a journal with several pens. Hazel slid closer to it. It was thick, brown, and leather-bound. The cover was worn, and it didn't close properly, as the pages were bent, corners folded in several places.

Hazel ran a finger over it. The leather was soft beneath her touch. She was more than a little tempted to peek inside as her nail hooked the cover's rounded edge. But she paused. Reading it without his permission would be a violation of his privacy. She sighed. Hadn't their privacy been impeded enough? With that thought, she pulled her hand back as if the journal had burned her.

"Ro, where are you?" Hazel decided then and there on her destination as she backed out of the room.

Within the hour, the crunch of snow underfoot, the fog of mouth breathing, and the occasional curse filled the crisp morning air. Hazel's left foot was tender, but nothing she couldn't manage. She did what she could to hide the mild limp from Sable. Lucky for her, the coldness of the air soothed any inflammation that had remained from her injury.

Sable, despite his grumblings, jogged easily. His breathing was steady, his gait fluid. All that adamant avoidance appeared to stem more from annoyance than the physical toll. Hazel glanced at him out of the side of her eye. He was fully the soldier Snow had described him as. Sturdy, muscled, and clearly, he could endure the brutality of a life on the battlefield. But it was bizarre that such a decorated member of the military was here with her, of all people.

"Why are you here, Sable?" Hazel breathed.

"I'm being held here against my will." Sable scowled, "You are forcing me, or don't you remember?"

"I mean, what made you take this assignment?" Hazel asked as they began to descend the last hill before the cemetery.

Sable considered her with a wary eye, "I'm wondering that myself right now."

Hazel shook her head, "Honestly, why?"

Sable looked out at the white-washed landscape, "I volunteered."

"You're messing with me." She couldn't imagine him requesting something so mundane.

"Believe it or not, ma'am."

"Why?" Hazel nearly tripped, thinking of Sable asking for this assignment, "Was District Seven on your bucket list or something?"

"Hardly." Sable glared up at the snowflakes that were readily collecting in his hair. "Did it for the kids-er uh, the Draytons. Served with their Dad, and I promised him I would look out for them."

Hazel cast another side-long look at Sable. She had figured the Drayton's father had passed, but she had never outright asked, and neither Leo nor Bellona ever volunteered the information. "What happened to him?"

Sable swallowed hard, pausing.

Hazel suddenly felt intrusive. "I mean, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"Killed in the war." His eyes flickered to her for a moment before sighing, "Rebels."

"Oh." Hazel refocused on the path before them, "I'm sorry."

Sable shrugged, "You were just a wee thing then, as were they." He let out a deep breath, "I've been looking out for them ever since."

"Is that why you are still a private?"

Sable's glance hardened but also flashed with surprise.

Hazel clarified, "No disrespect or anything. It just seems odd that someone like you, hasn't gained a few more ranks by now."

Sable huffed out another cloud of heavy steam, "I was born to be a soldier. Consider myself a damn fine one, not to brag. Never was interested in moving into management." He fought a gruff smile, "But this assignment does have me reconsidering my life choices."

Hazel couldn't help the smile that graced her lips as they arrived at the familiar entrance. Outside of the freshly laid snow, there was something different about the cemetery. A sleek, dark vehicle was parked right outside the gates.

"Is that the mayor's car?" Sable asked as he slowed to a walk.

Hazel stared at the vehicle as she followed suit. The dark car was covered in a fine dusting of white. It was the only vehicle like it in all of District Seven. "Looks like it. Maybe the Mayor is paying respects this morning?"

As the two turned the corner around some thick pines, Sable's stare settled on her, "Don't go running away on me this time."

Hazel eyed him, "No promises."

Sable turned to the gravestones blanketed in snow, and his smirk died. "Doesn't look like it is the Mayor paying his respects this morning."

Hazel followed his stare, and her limbs stiffened. Standing over Silus's grave was a tall, elegant man draped in a deep maroon coat. His black leather-gloved hands were clasped behind his back. A bouquet of winter lilies was in his grasp. Bright white flakes that matched the rose on his lapel coated his shoulders.

A lock of blonde hair fell over his face, blue irises sparkling as they met hers. But instead of surprise lingering in their depths, expectation waited there.

"Sable, I think I'm hallucinating again," Hazel whispered.

Sable straightened, voice deepening as they approached the man who haunted both her day and night. "No, ma'am."