The sickly sweet perfume of Sapphire's Breath still lingered in Hazel’s mind as she awoke, a haunting reminder of the night before. The events replayed behind her eyes like a macabre film: the beaten appearance of the tributes, their bruised faces, the look of defeat in their eyes, and the way their bodies slumped from exhaustion and pain. These images refused to be pushed aside. The dull thuds and Leo's muffled cries still rang in her ears, a relentless loop that chilled her to the bone. The thought of closing her eyes and slipping back into sleep was almost as terrifying as the reality she was living, so she stayed awake, her gaze fixed on the wall.
The sound of the lock clicking open snapped Hazel back to reality. The door swung open, and Indira stepped in, her bright yellow dress glowing in the sunlight streaming into the room. Sequined flowers adorned her shoes and sparkled, while similar embellishments wove through her long braid.
Indira's elegant eyes swept over Hazel. "It's time to get ready for the interviews." She stood tall, her voice calm yet assertive. Peacekeepers flanked her, and she turned to them with a firm expression. "I don't need your assistance."
A particularly burly peacekeeper, clearly not Leo, seemed equally uninterested in being there. His bloodshot eyes, and dark circles under his eyes were drastic in the bright light of the sun. "Commander Drayton has ordered that the tributes are not to be left alone and unsupervised with anyone."
Indira's irritation was unmistakable, her jaw tightening. "If you insist on staying, then so be it. But I trust you'll do your best to stay out of the way."
"Understood, ma'am." The peacekeeper stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. He slumped in the corner, rubbing a wide hand over his face.
Indira’s gaze zeroed in on Hazel's hands before she whirled around. "I want these handcuffs removed immediately."
His tired eyes widened at her command. "Ma'am, Commander Drayton has ordered that—"
"I don't care about Percival's orders right now," Indira cut him off, her voice sharp. "I can't dress her for the interviews with those on."
The peacekeeper's eyes darted between Hazel and Indira, clearly conflicted.
"If you don't remove these cuffs right this instant, I will personally ensure we all have a meeting with the Commander."
Reluctantly, the peacekeeper stepped forward and unlocked the cuffs. He then retreated back to the corner with an irritated sigh.
Indira shot the peacekeeper a stern look before taking a seat beside Hazel on the bed, her expression softening. Hazel rubbed the faint red lines circling her wrists like unwelcome bracelets.
"Thank you," Hazel mumbled.
Indira gave a gentle nod, her voice hushed. "I've heard about the recent events." Her expression turned somber. "That terrible incident with the escape attempt, that poor girl from District Eight... and then, of course, Iris Overstreet." She shook her head, her braid swaying, sadness flickering in her eyes as she stared out the window.
Hazel could only nod in response.
"How are you holding up?" Indira asked, her tone softening.
Hazel hesitated, searching for the right words. "I'm not sure, to be honest," she finally admitted. "Do you know what happened to Leo?"
Indira shook her head. "All I know is that he's no longer on this security detail."
"It's my fault." Hazel dug at her cuticles, avoiding Indira's gaze. "Because of me, he was beaten by the Commander. I’m not sure if he is even alive."
Indira gripped Hazel’s shoulder, her expression contemplative. "Leo is an adult, and he made his choice, fully aware of the potential consequences. Providing contraband to tributes is a serious violation. He knew that."
Hazel's eyes filled with guilt. "But he was just trying to help Silus and me."
Indira scowled at the peacekeeper in the corner, who was not-so-subtly eavesdropping. "Regardless of his intentions, the rules are clear." She turned back to Hazel. "Now, let's shift our focus. We've got work to do.” She examined Hazel's hair, a frown creasing her brow. "A lot of work."
"Is it really necessary to get all dressed up?" Hazel asked reluctantly.
"Absolutely necessary." Indira waved her hand dismissively. "This is your last chance to make an impression on the Capitol audience. You've already garnered attention with your rescue of Senator Snow and Festus Creed. Now, we need to solidify the audience's admiration and, more importantly, their financial support."
Hazel responded with a flat expression. "Sounds fun."
Indira's gaze turned thoughtful as she regarded Hazel. "I've been contemplating what you should wear for the interview. Tell me, Hazel, what's your favorite color?"
Hazel paused, a softness touching her expression. "Blue."
"Blue it is, then."
Indira spent the next few hours preparing Hazel for the interview. Hazel first confronted the challenge of removing her bandages, wincing as the hot water from the shower met her injuries. Despite the searing pain, she found a strange comfort in it. It meant she was awake and still alive, for now. After the shower, she rebandaged her wounds as best as she could, using supplies provided by the peacekeepers at Indira's aggressive insistence. She struggled awkwardly in the bathroom, trying to wrap the bandages while glancing at her reflection in the mirror. The cuts were still raw but had started to scab over, resembling jagged, angry red strips, as if clawed by a mountain lion.
As Hazel slipped into the beautifully crafted ensemble provided by Indira, she couldn't help but be drawn to the deep blue skirt. Its design reminded her of the outfit her mother had chosen for her reaping—though this one wasn't maternity wear and appeared to be extremely expensive. The skirt's fabric flowed around her with every step, its deep blue resembling the early morning sky before sunrise, sparkling with tiny, glinting crystals.
The top portion of the outfit was equally exquisite. Crafted from light blue embroidered lace, it was adorned with delicate, glittering beads that caught the light with every movement, creating a subtle shimmering effect. The bandages at her neckline peeked out along the side of her neck.
Emerging from the bathroom, Hazel presented herself to Indira. Indira's eyes lit up with satisfaction as she circled Hazel, taking in every aspect of her appearance. "It's perfect," she murmured, a pleased smile spreading across her face.
Indira then tackled the challenge that was Hazel's hair. She arranged it in a half-up style, allowing the remainder to fall in smooth, silky waves like a cascade of crimson willows.
Finally, Indira placed her hands on Hazel's shoulders, turning her around. Her soft smile dissolved into a knowing scowl. Sitting Hazel down on the bed, Indira set to work with a gentle touch, dabbing makeup along her collarbone. "The injuries from saving Senator Snow can be spun as heroic, almost endearing. The Capitol will love that narrative," Indira mused. "But this," she paused, "is clearly not from a falling tree."
"A 'gift' from Commander Drayton," Hazel muttered.
A cough from the corner drew instant ire from Indira. She worked in silence for a moment, her brow furrowed as she carefully masked the burn.
Indira took a step back to appraise her work. The once angry red burn was now hidden. "There, that's much better. Now, let's go over some interview strategy. And don't run away this time, or I will have them put the cuffs back on."
"Don't tempt me," Hazel nudged Indira's arm. A genuine smile graced Indira’ beautiful features.
They proceeded to review the questions Lucky would most likely ask Hazel and Silus. They were easy enough—questions about District Seven, her parents, her siblings, and, of course, how she felt having her little brother in the Hunger Games with her. After a while, Indira paused, her expression turning serious. Her eyes searched Hazel's. "I want to warn you about some particular questions that might come up. And I don’t want you to be caught off guard."
Hazel frowned, puzzled. "About the trees falling in the arena?"
Indira averted her gaze, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her dress. "Yes, that incident, of course, but there's more..." She exhaled deeply, gathering her thoughts. "I'm sorry, I don't know how to put this gently, but they're likely planning to ask you about Senator Snow."
Hazel balked, biting back a laugh. "What? Why would they ask about him?"
Indira’s discomfort was evident, her posture stiff yet controlled. "Sometimes we don't realize how our actions are perceived, especially here in the Capitol. Things that might seem inconsequential can become the talk of the town. Your dance with Senator Snow at the auction, the way you heroically saved him in the arena, and the reports of him personally driving you back to the manor. There are even paparazzi photos of you two leaving his lab together."
Hazel swallowed hard, stunned into silence. The implication was so far from anything she had considered possible that words wouldn't form.
Indira continued, her voice steady. "All these instances have not gone unnoticed. In fact, they've sparked quite the speculation."
Hazel's stomach sank. "What kind of speculation?" she managed to ask.
"That there might be more going on than what's typical between a senator and a tribute." Indira shifted on her feet, clearly uncomfortable.
"That's completely ridiculous." Hazel's world started to tilt on its axis. How was this happening?
"It might seem so to you, Hazel, but to the Capitol, based on what they've seen and heard... well, they tend to read between the lines." Indira's voice was steady. "Think of it like this," she said, her eyes locking with Hazel's. "In the Capitol, perception often becomes reality. And the better the story, the more they invest. The tale of a girl from District Seven with a heart of gold, chosen in the reaping alongside her dear brother, who then saves the life of Panem's most eligible bachelor. Not to mention you are the niece of a previous tribute. That's a goldmine of a story.”
Hazel paced back and forth, chewing her nails, her nerves tingling and her stomach churning.
Indira leaned closer, her expression intense. "It can be more than a story. It's an opportunity, a strategy, and if done right, it can be an investment in your survival. Or in Silus’s."
"Can’t we focus on Silus and me and maybe how we saved Snow and Festus?" Hazel's voice wavered.
Indira nodded. "We could, but why not both? Your story with your brother is compelling, and your actions in saving two prominent members of the Capitol are heroic. However, it doesn't hold the same level of intrigue or attention as a potential special connection between a tribute and a senator, especially when that man is Coriolanus Snow."
Hazel continued pacing, digging at her nails. "But none of it is even real."
Indira's tone was practical. "Reality isn’t the point. The Capitol doesn't care. They are enthralled by the spectacle. They feed on drama and compelling stories. And whether you like it or not, you've found yourself in the midst of one such story."
Hazel shook her head, the unease growing within her. Images of those poor creatures in the jars at Snow's lab flashed through her mind as she continued to dig at her fingers.
Indira took Hazel's hands in her own. "I know this is unexpected. But playing into this story, as distasteful as it may seem, could very well be the difference between life and death for you or Silus. We're in a game of perception here, and right now, our best strategy is to manipulate that perception to our advantage."
Hazel stared down at their joined hands, torn between her revulsion at being a pawn in another game—especially one entangling her with Snow—and the overwhelming desire to ensure Silus's safety.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
"If it means getting Silus back home to Seven..." Hazel's voice trailed off. She finally lifted her eyes to meet Indira's. If I am willing to give my life, what’s a little dignity too. "What exactly are you asking me to do?"
Indira's grip on Hazel's hands was gentle yet firm. "All I'm asking is for you to play along as best as you can. Let the Capitol and its citizens construct their own narratives. Your role is to keep them engaged and maintain their interest. It's like feeding a small bite to a ravenous dog – it only makes them hungrier for more."
Hazel had never felt more like prey in her life. A pressing question formed in her mind. "Is Senator Snow aware of all this?" her voice was barely above a whisper.
"I don't know," Indira admitted, her voice barely audible. "But it's unlikely he's oblivious, given how the rumors have spread throughout the Capitol. Gossip channels and freelance analysts have dissected every piece of footage from the reaping onward."
Hazel exhaled deeply, an overwhelming sense of unease settling over her.
Indira's hand rested on Hazel's shoulder, her grip reassuring. "Believe me, Hazel, I truly want you or Silus to live. Of all the tributes I've escorted over the years, you two have the best chance. Trust me on this."
Hazel looked up, seeing the sincerity in Indira's eyes. It was so different from the polished performance she put on during the yearly reapings. Indira seemed to be fighting to be different people depending on her audience. Snow's assertion about continuous games outside the arena felt more accurate than ever. "Thank you for everything, Indira."
A knock on the door signaled the arrival of another peacekeeper. The afternoon sun was beginning to meld into the evening. Indira led Hazel toward the door, but they were stopped by the peacekeeper from the corner, who placed a hand on Hazel's wrists.
"I need to cuff you before you leave this room," he said.
Indira scoffed, and Hazel met his eyes. "Courtesy of Commander Drayton?"
"Yes, ma'am," he replied with a small smile.
As the cold metal of the handcuffs clicked shut around her wrists, a surge of helplessness filled Hazel. The sensation brought back the lingering sounds of Leo's beating, the muffled cries and dull thuds that still haunted her. The sight of the other tributes' battered and bruised bodies flashed in her mind.
Led out to the waiting buses, Hazel saw Silus already seated, his wrists similarly bound. He was dressed in a sharp navy blue suit and tie. His eyes brightened upon seeing her. Unable to embrace due to their restraints, Hazel reached out and clutched his good hand.
"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice low, worry etched in her face.
Silus nodded, his expression tight. "And you?"
She managed a half-smile, the weight of the previous night's events pressing on her. "I think I'd prefer the Games over this interview."
"You and me both," Silus agreed, his voice carrying a heaviness that mirrored her own.
As the buses arrived at the studio, the tributes were uncuffed. Greeting them outside was a weary Commander Drayton. A limp cigarette dangled from his chapped lips. Hazel shuddered. Unlike previous occasions, there was no speech from him this time, only a cold, piercing glare as he observed the tributes stepping off the bus. His irises darkened when they met Silus and Hazel.
Notably missing from the group were the tributes from Districts Nine, Six, Three, and Eight, reducing the number of participants for the interviews to only two-thirds. The remaining tributes were dressed in their finest, their mentors having ensured they presented themselves most elegantly for the televised event.
As the tributes with their escorts and mentors navigated through the bustling Capitol staff, each mentor offered guidance, ensuring their protégés were prepared for the spotlight awaiting them. Inside the studio, they were ushered into a spacious waiting room. Plush chairs and large screens broadcasting live interviews adorned the space. The room buzzed with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety as each tribute mentally prepared for their moment in the spotlight.
The interviews began with Lucky, his characteristic charm on full display as he tossed his signature coin into the air. He made a brief announcement about the evening's program being unexpectedly shorter, avoiding direct mention of the missing tributes. Instead, he hinted at some misdeeds on their part. The absence of the District Eight tributes was noted, with Lucky informing the outraged audience about Ian's alleged actions as a rebel sympathizer and his brutal crime against two unarmed women. The reaction from the audience was immediate and palpable, a mix of shock and murmurs rippling through the crowd.
Attempting to lighten the somber mood that followed the announcement, Lucky cracked a few jokes about having more time to interview the remaining tributes.
The interviews progressed, starting with District 1 and continuing in numerical order. The audience, both in the studio and watching from their homes, was captivated, their focus unwavering on the tributes who took the stage. Indira sat beside Hazel and Silus, her quiet presence a constant support. She scratched at her cuticles as each tribute shared their stories, their hopes, and their fears.
Hazel's attention was drawn to Caleb Thornley from District 2 during his interview. With his dark eyes and curly hair, he exuded a natural confidence typical of his district. Eve Preston, his fellow tribute, complimented him with her long black hair and piercing green eyes. They both wore elegant outfits in dark maroon, mirroring the attire of the previous three victors from District 2 and their mentor, Augustus Trask, who were present in the waiting room. Their matching colors created a sense of solidarity.
Caleb joked with Lucky, promising to be the fourth consecutive victor to bring honor to District 2. The victors exchanged high-fives and patted Augustus on the back, their actions and matching outfits giving the impression of a cohesive sports team. They seemed like they were part of some grand athletic event rather than the Hunger Games. Hazel's eyes ached from the constant eye-rolling at their display.
When it was District 4's turn, the crowd buzzed with excitement. Marina Brookings, with her chocolate brown hair, and Flynn Waters, with his striking sea-green eyes, both exuded an athletic grace. They wore elegant shades of turquoise, capturing the essence of their coastal district. The crowd's enthusiasm for Marina and Flynn was palpable. Mags watched the interviews, shifting on her feet as if mirroring the ebb and flow of the ocean waves.
Soon, it was Hazel and Silus's turn. Silus reached for her hand, offering a reassuring grip. Together, they walked toward the bright lights of the stage. Two chairs awaited them, and Lucky, microphone in hand, greeted them with a warm smile.
"Welcome our District Seven tributes, Silus Starling and Hazel Marlowe!" Lucky announced, his voice echoing in the studio. Hazel felt her heart pound as they stepped into the intense spotlight, the audience's eyes fixed on them.
Hushed whispers came from the in-studio audience. As they made their way to the stage, the people sat up straighter, leaning forward, and a sound of anticipation permeated the air. The crowd appeared to be wealthy Capitol citizens in fine clothing and various colors of hair and accessories.
As Lucky shook their hands and gestured for them to take their seats, Hazel's gaze swept over the live audience. The bright stage lights made it difficult to see, but she could make out a few familiar faces, especially in the front row. And dead center, there was Snow, his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on them and the stage. The tension in the air was almost suffocating. Well, this is going to get really awkward really fast.
"Welcome, you two," Lucky greeted them. "A lot has happened since we last saw each other, and I must say, you two have become quite the heroic pair. All of Panem has heard about how you saved our dear Senator Snow and, of course, Festus Creed." Lucky's gesture directed the audience's attention to where Festus sat, with a broad smile and practiced wave to the cameras. Snow offered a subtle smile and a slight nod, though his overall demeanor remained serious and composed.
Lucky's attention grazed Hazel's neck. Pointing to her bandages, he inquired, "You look wonderful tonight, Miss Marlowe, but are these injuries from your heroic rescue?"
Hazel bared her neck to give him a better view of the bandages. "Yes, they are.”
"What a tough girl you are, nearly taken out by a death tree less than twenty-four hours ago, and here you are, stunning us all," Lucky commented.
A blush crept up her cheeks at the compliment. "What can I say? In District Seven, we're raised to be resilient," she responded, trying to sound light-hearted.
"Indeed. And let me tell you, on behalf of the people of Panem, we thank you for saving our dear Senator. Our Capitol wouldn't be the same place, not nearly as bright or as handsome without him. " Lucky added, "And I guess Festus Creed too," eliciting laughter from the audience, Festus along with them.
"It's our pleasure, Lucky," Hazel replied, casting a glance in Snow's direction. Lucky gave her a wink, causing her stomach to clench in discomfort. Indira's words echoed in her mind: 'Let them think what they want.'
"What do you two think about being considered heroes by the people of Panem?" He continued.
Silus answered without hesitation, "I don't think we consider ourselves heroes, Lucky. We did what any good citizens would have done."
"Not hardly, my boy. Some would have saved themselves, especially tributes in the Hunger Games," Lucky nodded and then turned to Hazel.
"And what do you think, Miss Marlowe?"
"We were just doing our patriotic duty," she replied. Hazel glanced at Snow, and the corner of his mouth twitched higher. "That's how we were raised. Our parents always encouraged us to do what is right, even when it's not convenient or, frankly, safe."
"Sounds heroic to me," Lucky said. He then shifted the conversation. "Let's talk about that upbringing. I understand you all come from a blended family?"
Silus resumed speaking, his tone softening. "Yes, my father and Hazel's mother married when we were small. We don't have many memories before we became a family."
Lucky nodded again, turning to Silus. "I also have it on good authority you were raised by Fern, Hazel's mother?"
Silus nodded, a soft smile gracing his face. "Yes, sir, she raised my brother Rowan and me as if we were her own. And then the twins and Sage came along."
Lucky delved deeper with his questioning. "And I've heard that your birth mother went missing in the forests of District 7?" he asked.
Next to Hazel, Silus tensed at the mention of his birth mother, stiffness creeping into his posture. Despite this, he managed to maintain a composed demeanor for the camera. "Yes," Silus replied, his voice steady, "When I was a baby. Her body was never found, but she was declared dead about a year later."
Lucky, sensing the emotional weight of the topic yet undeterred, commented, "How sad, yet how interesting."
Silus appeared unaffected, but there was a sliver of tension beneath his facade.
Lucky then shifted the conversation to more generic topics, asking about their lives as lumberjacks. He inquired about their jobs, their family dynamics, their proficiency with axes, and various aspects of wood chopping. Throughout this part of the interview, Lucky occasionally lightened the mood with jokes, drawing laughter from the crowd.
As the interview progressed, Lucky's tone shifted to a solemn, dramatic pitch. "It is truly unfortunate that both of you are here," he said, his eyes sweeping over the crowd before returning to focus on them. "And sadly, only one of you can return home in the best-case scenario." His words hung in the air, heavy with implication.
Silus and Hazel exchanged a look, and Silus reached for her hand. The audience responded with a wave of sympathetic 'awwws.'
"And here's an interesting yet tragic tidbit for our viewers: Miss Hazel Marlowe isn't even the first in her family to participate in the Games. Isn't that right?"
Hazel's eyes widened with surprise. "Yes, my uncle," she managed to say.
"We've managed to dig up some footage from that particular Game. It was the third annual Hunger Games, if I'm not mistaken. Gladys, could you pull that up, please?" Lucky called out to his crew. Hazel's heart raced with shock and apprehension as the screens around the room flickered to life.
"Keep in mind, folks, things were a little less sophisticated during the early Hunger Games compared to today," Lucky remarked casually. Hazel braced herself, a knot of dread twisting in her stomach.
As the screens lit up, Hazel's gaze was immediately drawn to the familiar, haunting eyes that plagued her dreams. There he was, her seventeen-year-old Uncle Cedar, his red hair tousled by the breeze on the day of his reaping. The sight of his young face, filled with fear, triggered a flood of memories and emotions. She felt a lump in her throat, struggling to keep her composure as the past collided with the present in vivid, painful clarity.
The footage shifted to the arena, and Hazel's pulse quickened. Her chest tightened, breaths becoming shallow and rapid. An all-too-familiar burning sensation flooded her sinuses, a precursor to the tears she desperately fought to hold back. No, no, no, not here, not now. She struggled to maintain her composure under the relentless glare of the studio lights and the eyes of the nation.
Vivid memories of her Uncle Cedar flooded her mind. She was a little girl, around four years old, and the joy of Cedar lifting her onto his shoulders made her feel like she was on top of the world. "You will do amazing things one day, Hazelnut," he would whisper as he ruffled her hair.
She recalled the small gifts he carved with exquisite detail—tiny wooden animals like squirrels, foxes, and deer. She could almost smell the smoke that lingered on her clothes after her father had incinerated them. Hazel clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms, as she fought to keep the flood of emotions at bay.
Her breath hitched in her throat as the screen displayed the moment of Cedar's Games – the sound of the starting gun, the ensuing insanity, and then the brutal plunge of a knife into Cedar's chest, delivered by a District Two tribute. Then came the chaos that followed, with the District Two tribute falling to a combatant from District One. In those fleeting, tragic moments of the 3rd annual games, Cedar's life was brutally cut short, a young existence extinguished in the blink of an eye. The repercussions of his death rippled far beyond the arena, tearing through the fabric of Hazel's family and altering the course of her life irreversibly. Hazel's grasp on Silus's hand tightened as she bit hard enough on her lip to draw blood.
She struggled to maintain control over her emotions, her breathing becoming labored as she fought back the tears threatening to spill. The crowd around her reacted with audible gasps and murmurs of surprise at the raw brutality of Cedar's death.
Unable to bear the sight any longer, Hazel closed her eyes, shutting out the haunting image of Cedar's lifeless, green eyes staring back from the screen. A single tear, warm against her hot face, traced a path down her cheek.
Silus's gentle whisper, "Breathe, Haze," sounded like he was miles away. She took a deep breath, striving to regain control. She wiped the tear away with the back of her hand while clinging to Silus with the other.
Lucky's light, almost flippant voice jarred her back to the present as the screens flickered back off: "How tragic. You two might be some of the unluckiest people in District Seven. And to think, most people consider seven a lucky number. It's my favorite, personally." The audience's laughter, following his attempt at humor, was too causal and completely out of place, but no one appeared to notice.
"Let's hope you can do better than your uncle Cedar and all the previous tributes from District Seven this time around," Lucky added, oblivious, "Maybe you two can make the number seven lucky again."
"That's the plan, Lucky," Silus replied as he ran his thumb in soothing back-and-forth motions over his knuckles. Her left side ached from the strain her tight grip was putting on her muscles. Another tear threatened to escape, and she wiped it away. She whispered a silent apology to Cedar. They didn’t deserve you.
Lucky noticed her subtle gesture. "There, there, my dear. We wouldn't want you to ruin your beautiful outfit," he said with practiced sympathy and showmanship. "Does anyone have a handkerchief for our dear Miss Marlowe?"
"It's really alright; you don't need to," Hazel started, wiping her eyes with her fingers. Get it together.
Lucky's eyes scanned the audience, his grin widening. Hazel followed his gaze and saw a hand offering a silky white handkerchief. Her heart sank when she recognized Senator Snow, clad in a dark gray suit, striding toward the stage. His tall frame moved with unmistakable elegance, and the white flower on his lapel was a sharp contrast against the fabric. The crowd's reaction was immediate, a wave of hushed whispers rippling through the studio.
"Bother," Hazel murmured, trailing off as Snow approached.
Standing before her, Senator Snow extended the handkerchief with a practiced grace. His styled blonde hair and bright blue eyes captured the studio lights. "Here you are, Miss Marlowe. My deepest condolences," his voice just loud enough to be picked up by the microphones.
Hazel hesitated, caught in the moment. His features were set in the most elegant expression of sympathy she had ever seen. Had he practiced that look in the mirror? A challenge flashed in his sapphire eyes. She swallowed and tried to mimic genuine gratitude as she accepted the handkerchief. Their fingers brushed briefly, sending a jolt through her. His sparkling eyes seemed to laugh at her reaction before he straightened.
"Thank you, Senator," Hazel replied, striving to keep her voice composed. Snow responded with a half-smile and a nod, his perfect posture unaltered as he made his way back to his seat. The audience's whispering grew, the energy in the room shifting.
Lucky, delighted by the turn of events, seized the moment. "Before we conclude, I must address the elephant in the room," he announced, causing Hazel's heart rate to spike. She was sure people at home could see her carotid pulse from their living rooms. Lucky turned toward Hazel. "There have been some rumors floating around the Capitol that I would be a fool not to address since everyone is dying to know."
Here it is. Hazel secured a mask of confusion over her features, hoping it came across as sincere. "Rumors?"
Lucky's smile widened. "Oh, come on now, there's no need to play coy," he teased.
Silus shifted uncomfortably, uncertainty crossing his face. Apparently, Festus hadn't briefed him on the same strategy. Hazel tapped his hand with her fingers, avoiding his gaze and focusing on Lucky. "It's been said that you've been spending quite a bit of time with Panem's most eligible bachelor, Mr. Coriolanus Snow. There’s a rumor about a possible special connection. And after witnessing you two up close, I would have to agree it appears that there is something there." Lucky glanced around the audience, who voiced their agreement, before continuing, "So tell me, is there anything to these rumors?"
The directness momentarily paralyzed Hazel. Though Indira had prepared her for this possibility, facing it head-on was another matter. She took a moment, glancing at the cameras and then the live audience, acutely aware of Snow's scrutiny without needing to meet his gaze.
“I've had the privilege of conversing with the Senator a few times in between natural disasters and dinner parties,” she replied, managing a small smile.
Lucky giggled, as did many in the audience. Snow sat back in his chair, tilting his head and drumming his fingers against his lips, his eyes twinkling. Hazel felt the weight of his attention, every move calculated, every gesture scrutinized.
Hazel swallowed down her growing overwhelm, “But considering today might be my last day on Earth, I'm not sure how much that would matter, even if it is true.” She cast another glance at Snow, long enough for the cameras to catch and long enough for her to catch the amusement dancing on his face. His fingers paused their dance along his lips. Hazle tore her eyes away from him as her cheeks warmed to a rosy shade that she was certain matched the wild roses back home.
"Quite right," Lucky acknowledged, casting his gaze over the audience. "However, Miss Marlowe, I think you are dodging my question. And that blush on your face? It tells a different story. And even those facing their final days can still enjoy the attention of another. "
Hazel’s embarrassment intensified, as did the shade of her face. She took a moment, appearing to contemplate her response. "I'm flattered that people believe I could catch the eye of someone like Senator Snow," she said, trying to sound casual while internally cringing.
Snow tilted his head to the other side, his gloved fingers now caressing his jaw.
Hazel inhaled until her lungs felt like they would burst. "I suppose any girl would be thrilled at the idea, but I'm just a tribute from District Seven."
Lucky leaned closer, resting his elbow on his knees, "I must say, my dear, you're selling yourself short. And if anyone could charm our resident bachelor, it would be the heroic girl who saved his life. Given you aren’t six feet under in a few days. Wouldn't you agree, Senator?"
Lucky turned his bright eyes and wide grin towards Snow. Hazel’s heart pounded against her ribcage, and she wished she could vanish from this excruciating experience. Silus inched closer to her and let out a breath he clearly had been holding for a while.
As Lucky's question hung in the air, the cameras and a glaring spotlight deftly shifted to Senator Snow.
His gaze found Hazel across the room, locking onto her with an intensity that bridged the physical gap between them. At that moment, the rest of the studio faded away, leaving only their shared connection under the spotlight.
The white rose on his lapel caught the light, casting a subtle shimmer that contrasted with his dark gray suit. Snow dropped his hand from his face and licked his bottom lip as he leaned forward. Why does death sound like it would be less painful than whatever this is?
Snow's calm and resonant voice filled the studio. His lips curled up into a smile, "Just like your weather reports, Lucky, right as always."