A few hours prior.......
Senator Coriolanus Snow's gloved fingers caressed his jaw as his eyes fixed on the sunset-draped scene of the arena. His tall frame elegantly leaned against a crystalline glass balcony, overlooking a colossal screen. He inhaled deeply through his nostrils as the camera focused in on Hazel. The girl remained barefoot, motionless, and fixated on the sea, hugging her legs tightly. For hours, she had not stirred, transfixed by the lifeless body of the tribute from district ten.
A growing hum of innumerable conversations taking place all at the same time pulled Coriolanus' focus from Hazel. The ground floor, designed like an amphitheater, was packed with an audience comprised of the press and Capitol elite. The innards of the expansive building were buzzing with activity like a hive of colorful bees. And at the center, like the queen, Lucky Flickerman stood on an elevated platform, dressed in a dapper green suit chattered endlessly. The screen behind him flashed with the live feed of the arena, the faces of the nine remaining tributes displayed vertically along its edge. Despite Flickerman's attempts to captivate the crowd, the hum of side conversations intensified as the audience grew restless. Some stood to stretch, while others made their way to the concession stands for a snack.
Just as Lucky's voice faded from Coriolanus' attention it was replaced by an equally grating sound, a laugh that was unique if not completely irritating. Coriolanus's scrutiny shifted to the balcony directly below him, where the mentors lounged.
Festus was seated, his hands animated as he conversed with a feminine figure leaning over his terminal: Persephone Price. Her face was unnaturally serene and her laughter, airy and untroubled, floated up to the third and highest tier where Coriolanus observed them. The two mentors appeared deeply engaged in conversation, occasionally glancing at the screens before them.
Encased in glass, this second-level balcony offered a panoramic view of the television and the crowd below, while providing a partially insulated environment for the mentors. The lounge was equipped with plush recliners and private viewing pods, each furnished with monitors linked to different camera angles within the arena. The decor was comprised of rich textures and a color palette of brilliant gold and a deep, patriotic red. A well-stocked bar crafted from dark mahogany rested at one end of the lounge, bottles of expensive spirits glistened like gemstones within glass cabinets.
Scattered across the balcony, the remaining mentors occupied themselves in varied ways. Phyrne, mentor of District One, reclined before her terminal, cocktail in one hand and cigarette in the other. Next to her, Ermias, the mentor for District Twelve, indulged in heavy drinking, surrounded by a mountain of food items he had steadily depleted over the past few days. Meanwhile, Orla, mentor of District Eleven sat with her head supported by her hand, her breath shallow as she dozed before her terminal.
In the rear of the lounge, Mags paced back and forth, her wavy fishtail braid swaying with each step. She made frequent visits to the bar for drinks, occasionally pausing to glance at the live feed of the arena. She would watch for a few seconds before tilting her head back and downing her drink in one go.
Augustus Trask reclined in his viewing pod at the forefront of the mentor's lounge. Clad in a suit of midnight teal, his long dark hair, highlighted with streaks of royal blue, was neatly tied behind his neck with a matching velvet ribbon. With his arms crossed, he perused the array of screens with a deceptively nonchalant tilt of his head. It would almost seem that he was at ease in the lounge if it weren't for the rigid way he held his shoulders. They were raised and stiff, like a cat ready to pounce at any sign of danger. Surrounding him were the three victors from district two, their attention fixed upon him with reverence, as if they were students observing a respected professor.
"Would you like to take a break, Mr. Snow?" Coriolanus started as Dr. Gaul's voice broke his concentration, "These have been long days. And there seems to be a bit of a lull."
She stood behind him, observing him like a specimen in her laboratory. He sent her a soft side smile over his shoulder and exhaled through his nose.
"That they have," Coriolanus said, straightening his posture, placing his hands on the balcony's edge. "But no, thank you, doctor" he replied, his voice steady, though his gaze returned to the screen.
"At least come sit down, and I'll get us something to drink," she instructed, her tone almost motherly.
Coriolanus relented, casting a lingering glance backward, "Alright."
He followed her through the third-floor command center, The design radiated sleek functionality, with glass half-walls surrounding the space, offering an unobstructed view of the building's interior. The steady tapping of fingers on keyboards reverberated off the glass in the otherwise quiet space. Technicians occupied each station, deeply engrossed in their duties—typing interfaces, fine-tuning cameras, and scrutinizing data. Few raised their eyes as they walked past, whether from obligation or apprehension was not entirely evident.
He adjusted his immaculate suit's collar as he passed rows of monitors and control panels until they reached their crimson and gold command chairs. The two seats stood out like oddly out of place thrones in the sophisticated third tier. They were elegant but well cushioned, designed for long hours, or days, overseeing the workings of the Hunger Games. Both were designed by Gaul to oversee the entire building and which she affectionately dubbed the Hawk's Nest.
Just before they settled into their chairs, a technician approached, eyes downcast, "Doctor Gaul, Senator Snow. I have a status update. As you can see tributes from seven, twelve, eleven and eight are still on the beach in tract four. The tributes from one and two have continued to complete systematic searches of each tract, currently they are in tract eight. It seems they continue to hunt for the district seven tributes. Finally, the tribute from four remains in the tract twelve tunnels."
Gaul barely spared a glance at the technician as she pulled up a small side table beside her chair. An avox entered, head bowed, carrying a tray with a tumbler of posca, a bowl-sized glass of milk and a roll of butter crackers. Anticipation seemed to ripple through her, evident in her shimmying back and forth. "Thank you. We will start night rounds shortly. I don't think our hunters will be catching any prey tonight. I might even give them a break from my pets. Don't want to ruin the anticipation." Gaul winked at the technician, but he remained with his head bowed, merely nodding and typing into a handheld device, resting on his forearm. Gaul, seemingly unfazed continued, "Keep an eye on the girl from district four," she instructed, seizing the sizable glass. "I'll give her one more night before we flush her out."
With a sigh, Gaul waved off both the technician and the avox as if they were pesky flies and they dissipated as fast as they had appeared.
As Coriolanus settled into his seat, Dr. Gaul passed him the glass of murky posca. He muttered a grateful, yet weary thank you as he took it. Dropping into her own chair beside Coriolanus, she took a sip of milk and nibbled on a cracker, chewing softly while scanning the array of screens before them. "The district two boy is closing in quickly. Wouldn't be surprised if he caught up with the tributes from seven by tomorrow." she murmured, scanning Coriolanus out of the corner of her eye.
Coriolanus nodded, his focused narrowed intently on the screens, yet he remained silent. The monitors displayed various perspectives of the arena, many not meant for public viewing. On one screen, Marina was captured stumbling through the dimly lit tunnels of tract twelve. Another showed the district one tributes joining Caleb on a hunt in tract eight. Meanwhile, on the beach, the camera focused closely on Hazel's thoughtful face as she and her group assembled to share a meal and talk.
"So, you are after that blue haired bastard too?" Ethan's voice filled the building.
The murmur of the crowd faded, their attention shifting to the tribute's conversation. Coriolanus' brows furrowed slightly as he cast a brief look towards Augustus Trask.
The remark caught Augustus' attention, causing him to lift his head sharply from his screens to the primary monitor. The three victors beside him exchanged whispers.
"You could say that" Ian replied.
"Well, I'm going to make sure that prick gets nothing from these games." Ethan replied.
Below in the lounge Augustus' shoulders straightened. The victors around him snapped their attention from the screen to Augustus and back.
"We are already halfway there, considering Eve is... you know," Ethan said, his voice trailing off.
Dr. Gaul popped another cracker in her mouth and tilted her head to the side. Augustus Trask had straightened further; his jaw was tight and posture rigid as he stared ahead at Ethan's image.
"I would think allowing mentors to bet on the games would be illegal," Silus questioned, taking a sip from one of the glass water bottles.
Coriolanus shifted uncomfortably in his seat, resting his elbow on the chair's arm and leaning on his hand. His blue eyes, hard as sapphires, stared at the images of the arena.
Ethan sneered, bits of soft chewed trout raining from his mouth, "As if the rules apply to him. He believes he's above the law. "
Lucky Flickerman's distinctive voice echoed throughout the room. "And there you have it, folks. It appears our tributes lack the affection we hold for our esteemed district two mentor. They simply don't understand the generous Augustus Trask as we do, do they?" Flickerman proclaimed, his tone rich with dramatic flair. A ripple of laughter spread through the crowd, punctuating the atmosphere with sporadic chuckles.
Coriolanus stiffened as Augustus rose from his seat and made his way to the mentor's balcony. His long black hair cascaded over his shoulder as he approached. With a charismatic wave to the press and the crowd, he followed it with an exaggerated bow. Laughter rippled louder, accompanied by smatterings of applause. Cameras flashed and clicked, capturing Augustus' display. Augustus leaned over the balcony, his sharp jaw stretched into an unnerving smile, his deep voice booming, "It seems these tributes understand my finances better than I do! It's unfortunate they're in the Hunger Games, or I might be tempted to employ one as my accountant. " Augustus laughed, shaking his head in amusement.
The audience then exploded into another round of raucous laughter.
"And a good sport too." Flickerman laughed winking up at Augustus.
Turning back toward his seat, Augustus's expression shifted from entertained to something much more serious. As he stalked back to his viewing pod, he raised his chin, cocking his head and arching an eyebrow at Coriolanus and Gaul.
"Maybe not as good of a sport as he seems," Gaul chuckled.
"He will get over it," Coriolanus replied, locking eyes with Augustus briefly.
"Regardless of Caleb's involvement, the responsibility for your friend's death rests with the Capitol. Those tributes are merely executing the Capitol's orders." Ian spat to the group before him.
Silence fell upon the audience. Gaul ceased her cracker munching and glowered at the screen while she took an extended gulp of milk.
Hazel finally spoke, "Careful, you sound an awful lot like a rebel."
Coriolanus scanned the screen, but from the corner of his eye, he caught Festus transitioning from biting his nails to a subtle fist pump. "Good," Coriolanus whispered to himself, as he struggled to suppress a small smile creeping across his lips.
Ian shifted his attention, "Maybe, but we all rebel in our own ways, don't we?"
Gaul leaned closer to Coriolanus, her voice devoid of warmth. "It is one thing for him to disparage an esteemed citizen of the Capitol, Mr., Snow. But I will not allow that district eight rat to continue to promote rebellion ideals to all of Panem."
Coriolanus met her eyes; they simmered like coals about to burst into flame. Maintaining his composure, Coriolanus turned to the technicians, "Change the main feed to district one and two."
Shortly, Hazel and her companions vanished from sight, and the scene shifted to Caleb, Julian, and Elara setting up their camp for the evening. This transition elicited a collective groan from the audience below.
Gaul leaned back a fraction, her eyes cooling a few degrees, "You can only cut away the feed so often."
"Understood, Doctor," Coriolanus responded, nodding his head in agreement, speaking loud enough for the techs to hear him he commanded, "Let's add some more pressure to our tributes in tract four. Initiate the thunderstorm sequence." Multiple voices repeated back his instructions without question.
On the screen in front of him, almost instantly the dark clouds turned a deeper shade of gray blue, lit intermittently by flashes of lightning.
"I have to tell you. There's been criticism brought to my attention, Coriolanus. And while I cannot fully express how excited I am about the popularity of my games this year; some believe Ian should have been executed for his crimes. Critics are saying he should not have been permitted to participate in these games. And now, with him continuing to encourage rebellion..."
Coriolanus met her rapidly cooling stare, his face carefully impassive.
"You know I trust you, but I can't help but think allowing him to continue was a mistake."
Coriolanus tapped his fingers against his jaw thoughtfully. "You are right, and I should have known," he murmured. "Leaving him handcuffed and shackled wasn't enough. He's too dangerous." He focused intently on the storm brewing on the other side of the arena. "I will correct my mistake, doctor. Let's see if he can withstand this storm," he instructed the nearby technicians. They acted promptly, with the operators swiftly adjusting the environmental controls to intensify the weather conditions in the arena.
Gaul placed a hand on his arm, eliciting the slightest flinch from Coriolanus. "Let's wait a few hours," she glanced at the restless crowd. "Perhaps closer to midnight, to be less conspicuous. We'll unleash it when everyone is asleep, and perhaps our friend from district eight will experience lightning up close and personal."
Coriolanus agreed to her proposal, and the storm lingered offshore, brewing, awaiting his signal.
Gaul leaned back, a mischievous glimmer in her eye. "That will shake things up nicely," she remarked, her voice colored with peculiar delight. Her temperament appeared to have shifted back to her baseline, "Though, I do wish my babies could get a little more screen time."
"Your eels have been particularly well-fed today," Coriolanus appeased, his voice low, lightly teasing. Almost as if he was testing the waters of her mood.
Gaul merely hummed as she resumed eating her crackers, a cool smile danced on her lips.
A recognizable feminine laugh wafted up to the hawk's nest, prompting Coriolanus to roll his eyes. He leaned into his radio, his voice soft but stern, "Security, please escort Ms. Price from the mentor lounge. "
A voice crackled over the radio in hurried agreement. Gaul said nothing but gave him a sidelong glance.
"She's pushing it. Her last tribute passed hours ago, and I've been more than generous with allowing her to remain this long," Coriolanus remarked in a restrained tone, squinting as he watched Persephone continue to laugh at something Festus said, "It sets a bad precedent."
Stolen story; please report.
"I agree," Gaul said, her white teeth shining in the dimmed lights of the command center. She scanned his face with a broad smile. "Wouldn't want dear Festus to get distracted. Now, would we?"
Coriolanus cleared his throat before taking a long drink.
Gaul turned slightly towards him, her gaze piercing as she observed him monitoring the computer readings. "You seemed to have solidly linked yourself with the girl from seven. I can't help but think she is distracting you," she remarked, her tone laced with intrigue.
"You want to have this discussion now?" Coriolanus sighed.
"I'm surprised we haven't had it sooner. But there's no time like the present," Gaul replied. "Do you think it is smart to gamble on her?"
Coriolanus continued to face forward, sending a small nod to the crowd and press below, "You know game makers aren't permitted to bet money on the games."
Her lips curved slightly. "Who said anything about money?" she inquired, easing back into her chair, steepling her fingers. "Mr. Snow, as my most promising pupil, I will support your ambitions. But I think you need to be prepared for the real possibility that the result of whatever it is you are doing may not be what you want to achieve."
He glanced at her, his demeanor appeared composed, but a hint of a furrow teased his brow, "I'm simply doing what you've taught me all these years— taking the necessary steps, to come out on top."
Gaul's smile widened slightly at his response. "I see. And you've chosen to rest the odds of your victory on the back of a district girl..." she paused for a beat, scanning him as if she was searching his very soul, "...again."
Coriolanus paused, setting down his glass and running his fingers over his forearm slowly. His eyes held a faraway look, which was both gentle yet unyielding, "I can assure you, this is different."
"From what I can tell, there are more similarities than differences. But more importantly you have a slight problem, Mr. Snow," she continued, her smile broadening as she tilted her head to the side.
"And what is that?" Coriolanus asked, casting a cursory glance at the screens. Picking up the tumbler again and downing another sip.
"That little wildflower carries a flaw that is easily exploited," she explained, her tone carrying a note of amusement.
"Is that so?" Coriolanus' asked as he brushed a lock of blonde hair from his face, prompting Gaul to continue.
"Besides the fact that she lets her tongue run away with her," Gaul's tone deepened, "that girl has a glaring weakness she couldn't conceal even if she tried: she makes decisions based on the softer emotions. Such irrational thinking renders her vulnerable."
"While I agree that she sometimes speaks out of turn, her way of thinking saved my life."
"Indeed, but it endangered her own. You cannot tell me that was wise."
"No, but I am grateful for it nonetheless." Coriolanus shrugged shaking his head as he appeared to be remembering his near-death experience in the seven tract.
"And I'm sure the District Nine tributes were grateful she advocated for them before they hunted her down. She allows herself to be swayed by ideals that put her and others at risk."
Coriolanus' eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Her performance in the games thus far disproves that, at least partially. She is responsible for killing Eve from District Two and Owen from Nine."
"Yes, but only when backed into a corner."
"Isn't that even more impressive?" Coriolanus argued.
"How so, Mr. Snow?" Gaul's eyes narrowed.
"It shows her innovation and ability to adapt quickly." Coriolanus' voice was hushed but several of the technicians and staff had grown slower in their movements, as if attempting to eavesdrop on the conversation.
"She does remind me of a favored student of mine." She smirked as she scrutinized Coriolanus' expression. "If she were from the Capitol, she would be an excellent student. However, she is not, and never will be. And her propensity for empathy will keep her from ever being more than a mere district girl."
"Her misguided kindness might be seen as a flaw, yet her courage in the face of danger is a true strength."
Gaul's eyes sparkled with intrigue as he considered his defiance. "Courage," she pondered, "to me, it's nothing but recklessness masquerading as valor. Such traits are dangerous to possess, whether in the Games or..." She pivoted, her grin gleaming ominously, "in the Capitol."
"Nevertheless, it appears she has won the favor of the Capitol, despite everything." Coriolanus gestured to the crowd below.
Gaul unrolled more butter crackers, her fingers brushing over them delicately as if they were treasures. "You make a compelling, impassioned argument on her behalf. But that leads me to another question you seem intent on avoiding: why?"
Coriolanus shifted in his seat, rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck. He bit his lip thoughtfully, as if pondering the question himself.
Gaul seized the moment. "The Capitol may have succumbed to her charms, despite her flaws, but the real question remains, have you?"
He set his cup down with a definitive clink, cleaning his mouth with the back of his hand. "Are you fond of your mutts?"
Gaul's laughter rang out, catching the attention of the nearby technicians. She dabbed at her lips with a napkin, "In a way, I am. But they're simply a means to an end."
Coriolanus locked eyes with her, his gaze unwavering. "As is she."
Gaul chuckled softly as she reached for another cracker, popping it into her mouth. "I almost believe you."
He didn't respond to Gaul's probing, instead settling deeper into his chair.
"If she manages to survive, perhaps you can find a way to..." Gaul turned her intense observation back to him, her eyes wild. "...rid her of that weakness."
He took another long drink of posca, "We'll see." Coriolanus stared at Hazel's image on a monitor near him, the girl was resting on the beach with a harpoon at her side.
Gaul nodded slowly, redirecting her attention to the monitors. She then proceeded to issue a series of commands to the technicians, adjusting the camera angles and preparing for the night in the arena.
The sight of a handful of peacekeepers moving through the mentor lounge captured Coriolanus's attention. Persephone was being led away; her glossy hair shimmering around her like a silky shawl as she shook her head. Gathering her belongings, she glanced up toward the hawk's nest. With a glaring eyeroll directed at the command center, she disappeared.
As time trickled by with relative calm, an hour or so passed. The energy of the crowd dwindled as the night wore on, their anticipation ebbing away with the static on the screens. Lucky Flickerman took this quieter moment to lean back, casually sipping a cocktail. Coriolanus, absorbed in his screen, appeared to fight against the weight of fatigue pulling his eyelids down. Then, a soft voice filtered through the speakers, slicing through the quiet and snapping him alert.
"Snow?"
Hazel's weary voice resonated through the expansive room. Snow straightened up abruptly, holding his breath.
"Your little wildflower is dreaming again," Gaul murmured beside him, a smirk playing on her lips.
Hazel lay sprawled in the sand, tossing and turning. The storm lingered on the horizon, poised to advance at his command.
The main feed had returned to her. The gentle hum of the crowd dimmed as Hazel turned over, her red hair spread around her like a tangled copper halo. Her eyelashes rested gently against her cheeks. Her voice was soft but unmistakable.
"Snow?" she asked.
Coriolanus sat up straighter, his breathing still paused. Gaul chuckled next to him. The voices of the people stirred in surprise. Every eye in the building seemed to seek out Coriolanus' reaction.
"Would you look at that..." Gaul commented, still drinking slowly from her vat of milk.
Press members were taking his picture. Coriolanus squared his shoulders, gave a practiced tilt of his head, and a small smile, accompanied by a shrug. This seemed to appease them, and the murmuring grew louder.
Just as he was about to lean back in his chair, the audience began to point to the main monitor in urgent murmurs. Coriolanus 'expression darkened as a shadowy figure emerged from the palms up on the screen. A collective hush fell over the crowd, whispers rippling through the room like a gust of wind through tall grass. The low sounds of the people grew in intensity as they began to recognize the figure striding purposefully toward Hazel.
Then, as the glint of the knife caught the light, a wave of gasps swept through the audience, followed by uneasy shuffling and subdued exclamations. Panic flickered in some faces, while others leaned forward in anticipation. Ian stalked across the beach, malicious intent was clear on his face, his steady attention zeroed in on the redheaded girl sleeping, unaware.
Lucky Flickerman downed his drink, his features were ablaze with excitement. With a swift flourish, he grabbed his microphone, "Ladies and gentlemen, maybe this won't be a dull night after all!" His enthusiasm injected a surge of energy into the crowd.
Coriolanus barked orders to the technician beside him, his voice rough. "Move the storm forward. Increase intensity. And initiate snowfall."
The technician's fingers flew over the keys in response, his steady "Yes, sir," affirming his compliance.
Gaul's laughter continued. "Snow and lightning, quite the spectacle," she remarked. As she delicately opened a fresh roll of crackers, it seemed she was getting ready for the evening's amusement.
The storm now enveloped the entire District 4 tract, casting a veil of snowflakes and unleashing crackling bolts of lightning.
Ian knelt over Hazel, pinning her to the sand. His actions elicited gasps from the crowd as they settled into their seats, a tense hush descending over the building.
"Increase lightning. Increase thunder volume. Now." Coriolanus commanded firmly. One of his hands gripped the chair's arm while his thumb tapped against his glass of posca.
"Careful, Mr. Snow." Gaul cautioned. She gave him a thorough once-over, muttering 'means to an end' to herself.
The audience remained transfixed to the screen. Festus was now standing, hunched over his pod, posture rigid, his hands clenched around the console. Coriolanus caught fervent words from him directed at Hazel's image, as if his voice could somehow reach her, "Damn it! Wake up. Wake up, Hazel! "
Lightning flickered across the district four landscape as Ian pressed his knife against Hazel's throat.
The building erupted into a collective gasped, some stood frozen while others looked to those around them, watching each other's reactions to what was unfolding. Flickerman cracked an irreverent joke about backstabbing the tense crowd. Even Orla was now awake, alert and observant.
Coriolanus gripped the arms of his chair. "Increase snowfall," he told the technician, taking another sip of posca, clutching the glass tightly.
Hazel then stirred from her sleep, and the room fell silent. Her green eyes glittered under the strobing light of the storm. Snowflakes coated her eyelashes and caught in her hair.
Recognition and fear flickered across her features as she struggled against Ian's grip.
"Increase intensity," Coriolanus ordered once more.
"Disregard that command," Gaul interjected with a dry laugh, her crumb covered nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. "Let the players, play. I want to see what happens."
Coriolanus turned away from her, gripping the glass tighter as he watched.
Hazel questioned Ian, tears rolling down her face while she shot dagger-like stares up at the boy.
"Don't cry. It may not seem like it, but I'm doing you a favor, Hazel." Ian tilted his head searching her face.
Hazel scoffed at him. The flashes of lightning reflected off the crystal tears that trailed over the sides of her temples.
"I know it doesn't seem like it now..." His eyes became distant and hard. "But I promise you, a valiant death is better than anything waiting for you outside this arena."
Gaul caught Coriolanus eyes as he sat forward, his thrumming his toe of his dress shoe against the floor. His jaw was tight, and his posture was taut.
Do you want me to cut the feed, doctor?" A nervously shifting technician asked from a nearby console.
Gaul's eyes began to smolder with a familiar heat, but her voice was strained, "No, hold firm. I wish for Mr. Snow to witness the consequences of allowing tender emotions to govern one's decisions."
"What do you think happens when you're a victor of the Hunger Games, Hazel? Do you think you belong to yourself?" he probed, his gaze piercing into hers before sweeping over her and then returning to her face. Hazel shifted and averted her eyes.
Ian leaned in closer, whispering in her ear, "Death would be a welcome ally compared to the predators awaiting your victory. And yes, that's what I told Ava. I spared her from a fate far worse than death." He paused, a tear welling up in his eye that he brushed away with his elbow, "Someday her mother will be grateful to me."
Coriolanus's jaw tightened visibly, his posture tightening as he shifted in his seat.
The muted hum of the crowd on the ground floor had escalated into a louder, resonating buzz as people spoke loudly, with a few shouting curses at the screen.
Hazel also cursed him under her breath.
A few in the audience yelled for her to get up, to fight back. Their shouts harmonized with Festus' own declarations. The mentor appeared to be quickly losing control of his demeanor.
"I don't believe you, " Hazel muttered as she appeared to be pressing herself further into the sand, away from the knife.
"Whether you believe it or not doesn't really matter," Ian persisted.
"I still don't understand. This is about Snow, isn't it?" Hazel questioned.
Coriolanus's foot stopped shaking and Gaul sent him a side glance but said nothing. A few technicians in the command center dared to spare a peak at his face before rapidly turning their heads back to their duties.
Ian's knife drew nearer. "It's far more than just Snow," he murmured close to her face. "The Capitol is teeming with people who make what I have done look like a children's bedtime story."
More tears leaked down her face as she closed her eyes, "At least tell me why I have to die."
Ian pulled her wrists that were in his hand down until they were resting on her abdomen and backed the knife away from her neck. Ian's eerily calm voice cut through the howling wind, "Snow isn't the only one who will benefit from you being the victor. There are numerous wealthy donors betting on you. And from that delivery from your mentor, their numbers are even greater than I had anticipated. I refuse to let those butchers get what they want."
Gaul shifted, clearly agitated. Her voice was glacial as she turned to Coriolanus. "One more word from him, and I want you to hit him with the lightning."
Coriolanus froze, his expression cracking despite his effort to stay composed. "Doctor... you'll kill her."
"Your ambitions with that girl might entertain my curiosity but don't you think for a second I will allow rebellion to breed in my games." Bits of cracker fell from her mouth as she seethed.
"So, you became a butcher yourself?" Hazel's voice was hoarse as she persisted in questioning the boy who was poised to end her life.
Several spectators erupted in applause at her defiance.
He snorted and shook his head. "I might have blood on my hands..." At that moment, the ground shook as another crack of lightning streaked across the sky above them like electric branches of a tree. He smirked up at the sky before his gaze returned to her, "They are bathing in it."
"Hit them," Gaul commanded.
"Wait, Dr. Gaul," Coriolanus said, extending his gloved hand toward the staff, signaling them to pause, his breaths coming heavily. "Hold that order."
Another crack of lightning made Hazel jerk. Ian's form was illuminated above her, his hair standing on end as static circulated around them. The strobing flashes lit up his eyes.
Dr. Gaul met his gaze steadily as he approached, placing a hand on the arm of her chair and leaning in to emphasize his point. "Doctor, the Capitol, and indeed all of Panem, is captivated by her. To kill her now would erode the goodwill they have towards the Games. The boy is correct; people are not just placing bets; they are emotionally invested in her victory. If she dies at the hands of another tribute, it's part of the game, but if we intervene directly, it could spark a riot."
Gaul turned her gaze from Coriolanus to the tributes on the beach, awash in a sea of blinding lightning and crystallized snowflakes. Taking a deep breath, she surveyed the building from the increasingly noisy ground floor audience to the tense mentors on the second floor, all standing and captivated by the scene, then back to Coriolanus' clear blue, imploring eyes. "I will trust you," her voice was deep, "but this better be some end to require such means."
Coriolanus leaned back but held eye contact. "I promise you; it is."
Hazel's cracking voice came through the speakers, resonating around them all, "I thought you wanted Augustus to lose these games, just like Ethan."
Now Augustus was standing as well, he had taken several steps forward toward the main screen, his body was tense as he watched.
"Ethan and I may share a common goal, but our methods for achieving it are quite different," Ian replied slowly, his voice low and steady. "If he knew what I know, he would have killed you long before I ever had the chance." Hazel shook her head.
The crowd's noise swelled as the murmurs gave way to open conversation, with more people speaking and speculating aloud.
Mags wandered away from the bar for the first time that day; her balance was shaky, but her eyes were alert.
The radio at Coriolanus' station crackled to life, startling him. "Sir, there's a situation in the mentor's lounge," security's voice announced.
"Handle it." Coriolanus snapped into his radio, eyes never leaving Ian and Hazel.
"Sir, I apologize, but it requires your attention. You have been requested," the voice replied.
Coriolanus' gaze swept over the balcony below. Festus was toe to toe with Augustus, his gestures animated, his complexion flushed, and his curls quivering. His skin had taken on a reddish hue. He appeared to be moments away from decking the man before him.
In contrast, Augustus stood collected, with folded arms and an unyielding expression. A faint smirk played on his lips, vanishing whenever he glanced at the scene unfolding on the beach. His penetrating gaze then locked with Coriolanus', filled with expectation.
"I'll handle it," Coriolanus whispered into his radio.
He took the tumbler of posca and retreated to the elevators at the back of the command center. Gaul observed him silently over her shoulder, taking another cracker and eating it. Coriolanus acknowledged Gaul with a curt nod as he observed the elevator doors closing painfully slowly. With the sound of a gentle chime, the doors parted to the second tier. He walked purposefully toward the two men. The rest of the mentors stayed silent, their attention alternating between Augustus, Festus and the arena.
"What did you do?" Festus's voice thundered. "What the hell does he mean?"
Augustus raised his hands defensively. "I have no idea. He's a delusional district brat." The three victors encircled Augustus, forming a protective barrier around him as if they were his personal guards.
"Bullshit," Festus retorted, glaring at the screen before advancing toward Augustus. He seemed he could care less about being outnumbered, his anger overwhelming his better judgment. Coriolanus pushed his way between them, the snap of cameras adding another layer to the ruckus that had seized the entire facility.
"Senator Snow, I'm sure you are going to deal with this," Augustus remarked, gesturing at Festus with a chilled detachment.
Coriolanus nodded, squaring his shoulders, his voice taking on an authoritative tone, "Gentlemen, let's settle down. Have a drink and relax. Let us leave the fighting for the arena."
Festus barely looked at him as he directed his ire at Augustus.
Hazel grunted as she struggled against Ian.
Festus hurled another curse towards Augustus as he observed his tribute battling for her life.
"Don't blame me that they didn't put down that rabid dog before the games began." Augustus replied with a pointed look at Coriolanus.
Ian shifted the knife, positioning its tip over her heart. He made shushing sounds, lips pursed. "I'm truly sorry, it is just the way it has to be," he mumbled softly.
"No. This is your fault. I don't know how, but it is," Festus shouted at Augustus, his chest heaving.
On the screen a soft plea was barely perceptible, "Please..."
Festus made a lunge, but Coriolanus swiftly caught him by the collar, stopping him in his tracks. "Calm down, Festus. It's not what you think," he whispered urgently into the other man's ear.
A look of confusion washed over Festus's face, and he parted his lips to question Coriolanus. The three men jumped when Hazel's ragged scream reverberated through the building. Coriolanus, Festus, and Augustus simultaneously turned to the screen. A curse escaped Festus's lips as Ian's knife began its descent. The audience's reaction was a throbbing beat that vibrated the very floor on which they stood. The collective gasps, the haunting thunder and Hazel's cries of distress all drowned out the sound of Coriolanus's glass shattering against the marble floor.