𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘, 𝐏𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑, 𝐆𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐘 || 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐒 𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐖

𝐗𝐗𝐕𝐈

His thoughts churned as he advanced toward Lucy Gray's hiding place. He contemplated the delicate balance between manipulation and self-preservation.

Lucy Gray, a pawn in the intricate game he found himself playing, held the potential to serve his objectives or become an unintended liability.

The fear etched on Lucy Gray's face did not escape his notice, but in the intricate dance of deception, Coriolanus saw an opportunity.

His charm, once again, would be a weapon to influence her decisions and secure his own escape. Yet, beneath the facade, a sliver of annoyance lingered.

Lucy Gray had inadvertently become a complication in his grand plan, and Coriolanus couldn't shake the frustration that she was now a thorn in his side.

With each step, Coriolanus rehearsed the lines he would feed Lucy Gray— words of false comfort, feigned empathy, and assurances meant to manipulate her into compliance.

The dark tunnel, a metaphorical abyss of uncertainty, held secrets that could either seal Lucy Gray's fate or propel Coriolanus closer to the Capitol.

As he closed the distance, Coriolanus masked his intentions with a carefully crafted expression, embodying a concoction of concern and reassurance.

Lucy Gray's fate, unbeknownst to her, hung in the balance of the choices he would guide her to make.

"Are you okay?" Coriolanus asked, feigning concern.

"The Mayor's going to get me killed, Coriolanus. He already thinks it was me. Billy Taupe, Mayfair, both dead. If they catch Spruce now, or Sejanus talks..." Lucy Gray whispered.

"Sejanus won't talk," Coriolanus tried to reassure her, playing his part well.

"How do you know that? They torture the people they catch for information here. Even Peacekeepers," Lucy Gray retorted back.

"I'm sorry. I am so sorry. I should have dealt with those guns myself. And Mayfair... I just wasn't thinking straight," Coriolanus manipulated.

"I have to run. North. Like Billy Taupe and the others talked about. Away from the districts. If I stay here now, I'm good as dead too," Lucy said.

"What about the Covey?" Coriolanus asked, showing no interest in them.

"They can look after each other. I just wanted to say goodbye," said Lucy Gray.

"I'll come with you," said Coriolanus, seizing this opportunity to finally make her pay and get rid of her.

"What about your family?" Lucy Gray asked.

"Look. I just learned that Hoff is sending me to 2 for Officer Training, but none of that matters now," he told her with his silver tongue.

"You were gonna leave," Lucy Gray said with gritted teeth.

"It's all Panem. As soon as they find that gun, they'll hang me. No matter what district I'm in. When can you go?" Coriolanus manipulated his way, ensuring Lucy Gray would take him with her.

"Tomorrow. Dawn," she answered hesitantly.

"Okay. Meet me at the Hanging Tree. First light," Coriolanus said, receiving a nod from Lucy Gray.

Coriolanus felt a twinge of fear as he emerged from the dark tunnel, the commotion of the Peacekeepers catching his attention.

His gaze focused on the jeering group, and as they dragged a beaten-up man forward, the unrecognizable face caught his eye.

"Whoo-hoo!" The Peacekeepers cheered, reveling in their victory.

As Coriolanus approached, trying to discern the man's identity through the bruises and swelling, one of the Peacekeepers slapped him on the back.

"We got one. I think we got one," the Peacekeeper exclaimed, patting Coriolanus on the back with a triumphant grin.

It took a moment for Coriolanus to realize who they were dragging. The battered figure was none other than Spruce.

"They say his name is Spruce," one of the Peacekeepers informed Coriolanus, emphasizing the severity of the situation.

Coriolanus's thoughts raced with concern. Fear crept in as he considered the possibility that Spruce might talk, revealing his involvement in the events at the Hob.

His mind raced to the plan he set in motion— the Jabberjay sent to Gaul. It was his only hope, his last-ditch effort to ensure his safety and save himself from the repercussions of his actions.

The success of his escape plan hinged on the manipulative strings he'd carefully woven, hoping they wouldn't unravel at the hands of an exposed ally.