𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘'𝐋𝐋 𝐉𝐔𝐌𝐏 𝐎𝐅𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐋𝐄𝐃𝐆𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑.
What District 2 victor, Saffron Creek, and prodigy, Finnick Odair, share is the very antithesis of what has been stolen from them. They test the edges of the rules that construct t...
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the turning point . . . . .
Miles away in the industrial lair of the Gamemakers, Plutarch Heavensbee watches and listens to his little group of gold-adorned revolutionaries plot, a fleeting ghost of a smirk flickering upon his lips.
"They're setting into motion," he says to no one in particular.
"She is preparing to fight."
Snow has appeared in the doorway with his white gloves tucked underneath his pleated black sleeves crossed behind his back. The girl to which he refers is unknown.
"That's our girl." Plutarch grins.
"And this is what you predicted."
They regard each other. Two cloud-haired men, each hiding a vital piece of information from the other. Each aware of the other's faults and weaknesses, yet oblivious to their own. One with the Mockingjay and an assembly of rebels and an escape plan. One with a double agent and a wealth of threats.
"Moves and countermoves," Snow continues.
Both, so certain they hold the winning hand.
Meanwhile, in the arena, Saffron is formulating a plan in the impending dusk. Finnick is fileting fish by the shore, Beetee and Katniss have receded into the tree line to get water, Peeta is whittling away at a branch mindlessly.
"You're going to bring them all to their knees," Saffron had whispered to Finnick earlier when he was still in pieces in her hands.
"You and I, together."
"Of course."
That was the first time she had ever lied to him.
Now, she silently apologizes for all she hasn't told him as she notifies Peeta she's going to be right back. He nods. His back is turned. As quietly as she can, she picks up Beetee's coil. It has been left unattended in the sand.
Her pace picks up once she has delved into the forest, and she attempts to quiet her footsteps. She feels idiotically superstitious like if she looks over her shoulder, she will manifest someone into existence. Where is she going? She doesn't quite know.
Anywhere.
To destroy the wire. To hide it. Anything to buy time.
Behind her, the forest murmurs irregularly and Saffron knows that there is someone there.
"Peeta," she addresses.
His machete betrays his indecision from where it sits, poised just above his hip. Saffron recognizes the mental calculus he is doing. And while she wonders if she can talk her way out of this situation, he is trying to decide whether he should attack. If she will attack first.
"Where are you going?" he asks.
"The bathroom." She swallows.
"With the coil?"
When he advances, she retreats, always maintaining the same distance between them.
"There is an explanation for all of this." She tries not to seem like she is begging.
