The Weight of the Crown

The Voice Of Fire

The ceiling hadn't changed. Still just as white. Still just as silent.

Auren had spent the night counting the invisible cracks in the paint. Listening to the tiny sounds of the hospital: the sigh of a pipe, the muffled steps of a nurse, the creaking of blinds being adjusted at dawn. Her body no longer slept but hadn't fully awakened either. Like a machine someone had forgotten to switch off.

Her wrists bore red marks from the straps. She hadn't protested. What was the point? Protesting meant admitting she felt trapped. And she didn't want to give them one more thing, even if it was just the illusion of control.

When the door opened, she expected a doctor.

But it was him. Again.

Finnick.

He wore a jacket this time, light, clean-cut. His hair still a bit tousled. He didn't look like a soldier. Not like a spy either. Just that old tiredness he never quite managed to hide.

"You back to watch me again?" she asked, her voice a bit rough.

He stepped in without answering right away. Closed the door behind him. A metal tray in his hand, he set it on the table. Fruit. Some bread. A bottle of water.

"No," he said finally. "I brought you breakfast."

She raised an eyebrow.

"You think I'm some kind of luxury prisoner?"

He smiled, but not the easy smile he once gave the cameras. This one was thinner. Almost sad.

"No. I think you're someone who needs her strength back."

She looked away. Just for a second. Just long enough to make him believe his words hadn't touched her. But she had heard them.

"You want to talk about the arena again? The Capitol? Everything I destroyed?"

He pulled out the chair, sat down. Calmly. In silence.

"No. Not today."

A beat. She stared at him, wary.

"Then what?"

"I have an idea," he said.

She raised her eyebrows, almost mocking.

"This should be good."

He leaned in slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. He was closer now. Less distant. She caught his scent, clean, almost salty, a bit of grass and sea. Memories came flashing back. The arena. The water. Whispered words under leaves.

"I'm going to unstrap you."

She stared at him, stunned.

"You're joking."

"No. But there's a condition."

Her head lifted slightly, defensive.

"Of course there is."

He held out his hand.

"During the walk, we hold hands."

Silence.

Auren blinked slowly.

"You want to parade me around like a five-year-old?"

"I want to help you see. See something beyond the white ceiling. See that you're not in a cage. Not unless you choose to be."