Chapter Eighteen | That hangs in the suspense
"She would not allow herself any more time to think. Her early, somewhat Bohemian training had made her something of a fatalist. She felt that events would shape themselves, that the directing of them was not in her hands." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel
Sil knows the routine. Besides having done it herself seven years ago, she's mentored many tributes since. She knows what to do and how to present herself. She knows what to expect.
The parade is practically immediate upon reaching the Capitol. Tributes are shuttled off to the Training Center the moment they leave the train. Stylists wait for them and transform them within hours. Sometimes the transformation is horrendous; sometimes it is lovely.
When the District 1 train arrives at the Capitol station, the crowd is already gathered. It is even more riotous than ever before, because the tributes aren't just anonymous vagabond children from outer districts but famous celebrities that the Capitol already knows. Naturally, the moment her and Gloss step onto the station platform, the cheering is ten times as loud as it usually is.
Gloss is a surly, annoyed grump beside her, but he still manages to smile and appeal to the crowds. Cashmere is with them as well, as their mentor. Another Victor named Lume is also with them, but Sil doesn't know him very well. He was older when she won her games and is probably hitting sixty now. She ignores him and everyone else in their little entourage, except for Evon, with whom she links arms with as she ambles through the crowd. Like her district partner, Sil is very responsive to the crowd. She nods to several people, lifts her hand to greet them, but remains vaguely reserved. She doesn't grin or give anyone her too-wide smile. Starting now, she will be making a transformation of her own.
Evon is practically beside himself as he walks beside her, tittering about the crowds and pointing out 'new amazing' fashions that he simply must try. By the time they reach the safety of the car that will take them to the Training Center, Gloss looks slightly more annoyed than before, probably because Sil and Evon are so busy exchanging fashion tips.
"Darling, I'm telling you right now that raised lapels are out," Sil says as she gathers her dress and seats herself in the car. "With your particular complexion, I dare say a bit of pastel would look wonderful. Muted gold tones are trending of course, but I could see you in lavender."
Evon looks like he's just received a compliment from the Gods.
"Do you really think so? I've always thought purples were a bit...mmm gaudy," he says with a delicate shrug.
Sil shakes her head as the car starts moving, expression morphing into horror at the mere notion. "Dear me, no! You'd look positively exotic. I'm sure Gigi's would have something fabulous. You'll have to stop by, and tell the saleswoman that I sent you."
Evon is about to say something (probably exuberant thank yous), when Gloss snarks, "Would you both shut up. I can't stand another moment of listening to this shit." Cashmere snorts as well, most likely in agreement. Lume just glowers out the window.
Sil simpers and trills, "Well. Pastels would do wonders for you too, Gloss. All those gloomy expressions are not helping your constitution."
Gloss honestly looks like he could strangle her and not feel a shred of remorse. Luckily they're very close to the Training Center, and Sil doesn't say another word because she does value her life, thank you very much. And as much fun as it is to annoy the other Victors with her dual persona, Sil doesn't want to make him hate her enough to hunt her down the moment the Games begin.
The moment the car pulls up in front of the Training Center, they are rushed off to their consecutive stylists. Sil's team is completely new. She's never met any of them before, but greets them graciously as if she's known them her entire life. Because she's already been adhering to Capitol fashion for the last few years, they hardly have any work to do at all. A few touch-ups on her nails and eyebrows is basically it.
"I'll get Iridessa," one of the women say, and leaves to find the head stylist. The name seems vaguely familiar to Sil. She's probably a stylist who has been transferred to the District 1 team from another one. When Iridessa arrives, she welcomes Sil happily, and Sil welcomes her just as happily. It's much too lighthearted than the situation calls for, but this is the Capitol after all.
"Silver, lovely to meet you," the woman says, closing the door behind her. She holds out a dress which is covered in a black fabric bag, and the stylists rush to hang it up. Iridessa turns her full attention to Sil, looking her over with a clinical eye. "Perfect," she says after a moment of this, clapping her hands together with a smile. "Thank goodness you've been keeping good hygiene. So many tributes don't even know what waxing is! You've made our job very easy today."
It's probably meant as a compliment, so Sil smiles. "Oh yes. I wouldn't dream of forgoing waxing!" She cringes just for effect.
The stylists all nod in tandem, like chickens bobbing their heads. Iridessa sagely agrees and says, "You're such a famous Victor, I wanted to do something a little different this year. Would you like to see the gown?"
When Sil nods, Iridessa unzips the fabric that covers the dress, revealing inch by inch of tantalizing silver and diamond-like stones. In all its glory, the dress is spectacular, if not a bit daring. Definitely something Sil would wear out to a high class event. Its made of an efflorescent, chiffon silvery white fabric, but that isn't all. When the light catches it, the entire piece turns almost luminous due to the reflective diamond stones sewn into the fabric.
They are everywhere, clustered heavily at the bodice and trailing farther and farther apart as they drip down the skirts. The fabric is a gossamer chiffon, basically see through but for the diamonds that are patterned over the important bits. Luckily it's only partially see through. The fabric is thick enough to give her some level of comfort, but the hint of her skin beneath is relatively obvious. It's really more like expensive lingerie than an actual dress.
"Oh, it's beautiful," Sil breaths, stepping around the dress to see all angles of it. It represents District 1 well enough, but Sil suspects it had been created to represent her more than her district. The diamond-like stones are luxurious, as is the set of expensive looking jewelry that Iridessa shows her moments later.
A huge diamond ring, a diamond choker necklace that trickles down the collar, and a hairpiece that shines no matter what lighting.
"I'm glad you like it," Iridessa says, handing the jewelry off to one of the stylists. "Let's get you dressed up, shall we?" She takes the dress off the hanger for Sil to step into.
Being surrounded by all this luxury is even better than seeing it within reach. Sil feels like a princess as she stands in front of the mirror. The stylists twitter around her like little birds, doing her hair and clasping the jewelry on. They dust her eyelids with a silvery powder and rouge her lips with deep plum red. Fake eyelashes that seem to flutter out like wings are glued on. There are two tiny little diamonds on the outer edges – fake, of course, otherwise they would drag everything down from their weight.
After forty five minutes of this, it's time to get out the shoes. Sil is impressed with Iridessa's style. The shoes she picks are crystal-like. They're edgy in a way the dress is not. Sil likes them, and they definitely complete the look.
"...What do you think?" Iridessa asks, arms crossed as she looks over Sil for any imperfections. Sil stares at herself too, twisting in front of the mirror. She nods after a moment and says, "It's perfect. Thank you."
They exchange smiles.
"You'd better head to the chariots. It's almost time," Iridessa says, leading Sil to the door. The Victor sends her stylists one last nod before opening the room and heading off to where the chariots await.
Well that had been bracing. She'd forgotten about how it had felt like, having all those stylists look at her like she's a science experiment. Her cheeks are already sore from pretending to smile, and by the time Sil reaches the huge cavernous area where the chariots await, she's tired and feeling a little grumpy, so obviously she's not exactly happy when her first confrontation is with Gloss.
"Well don't you look like a fucking princess," he drawls the moment he sees her. Coincidentally (and inconveniently for her), he is surrounded by other Career Victors. They chuckle, and Sil huffs.
Drama is what she's good at. Manipulating the drama of any situation, spinning everyone in circles until they really start believing that it's all she can do – she's good at that. But she's not here to be a dramatic little fop. If she wants to have even a small chance of surviving past the bloodbath in these Games, she's got to be a little more edgy than normal. A little less like Silver Lamprey Cornelius and a little more like the Sterling Nightingale.
She paints on a smile that is a little more reckless than usual. "You look particularly demure yourself, Gloss darling. Did you insist upon the sapphires, or was that your stylist?"
Gloss is dressed in a similar fashion, but instead of diamonds, he's dripping with sapphires. The little stones are sewn into the fabric of his sheer doublet. Like her, the fabric is gossamer and vaguely see-through. Only the lower half is completely covered, with a thicker, more resilient fabric that is devoid of any jewels. He's wearing these odd breeches that are definitely too tight in the crotch area and will probably take him a lot of effort to remove. She's honestly a little surprised the stylists didn't sew gems into the pants too – imagine the effect he'd have, racing down the track and blinding everyone with his sparkling groin.
She chuckles at the thought and purrs, "How very dramatic you look, my love. All you need is a tiara."
As it is, Gloss has been forced into only a few pieces of jewelry. A long chained necklace drops from his neck. The pendant is basically just a huge sapphire surrounded by little diamonds. He's wearing two rings, one on each hand.
He snarls at her and steps forward, stalking right up into her face before murmuring lowly, "The only reason I'm putting up with you is because you're here instead of Cashmere, but you'd better watch yourself, Silver. You know I don't have much patience."
If he thinks to intimidate her, he's got another thing coming. Silver flashes him a wicked smirk that looks very foreign on her face and leans in closer, tracing a finger over the sapphire on his chest. His nostrils flare at the subtly rebellious move. It's obvious enough that he hasn't put her in her place.
"I daresay not," she murmurs, and her eyes flash with an intelligence that makes him frown. "By the end of this week, you'll wish you had me for an ally, Gloss, but by then, I'll have already moved on." She sighs and gives him a pitying look. "It's too bad, really. Your loss, I suppose."
This time, he laughs. It's loud enough to catch the attention of some Victors standing close by, but not enough to make them stand out. Her threats clearly aren't working on him. As much as she loathes the idea of doing it though, she will have to show some of her true skills this week. There is a target on her back, put there herself. The only way she'll survive this will be to show the others that she isn't the weak, sniveling little Victor she's been pretending to be.
Gloss will realize that before the Games begin, but by then he'll be too late.
"I wouldn't laugh too hard, darling. You might strain your voice before the interviews. Nothing worse than not being able to tell the audience how many people you want to kill, am I right?" she trills a little laugh. "Don't worry. As your district partner, I have plenty of stories to tell about your little exploits. I'm sure I'll be able to wow the crowd for you."
She smiles, pats his shoulder, and walks away before he can cause even more of a scene. Really. Only a few hours back in the Capitol and he's already making a fuss.
The District 1 chariot is, of course, at the very front of the line. She starts to walk toward it, intent on avoiding the other Victors for now, but stops when she sees Katniss and Finnick chatting by the District 12 chariot. For a moment she flounders. Finnick is...he's basically...
"Gracious," Sil breathes, not bothering with subtlety as she looks him over.
"Right? The Capitol Daydream over there is definitely chiseled," someone says from beside her.
Sil jumps. It's Haymitch Abernathy, Katniss's mentor. Why he's talking to her, she doesn't know, but there's this weird light in his eye when he looks down at her that makes her suspect something is off. Has Plutarch gotten a hold of him already?
She frowns and mutters, "I was looking at Katniss's costume." Liar.
Haymitch laughs. "Yeah, I bet. Listen, kid, do yourself a favor and stop lying to yourself. You don't know how many days you've got left."
For some reason, his words sting a little. Maybe it's because she doesn't want to think about the possibility of her death. She hasn't actually considered it yet. She can't die. She's got too many things to do.
With a haughty sniff, Sil turns her head, "Well. Taking advice from a drunkard is certainly not on my to-do list for today."
She starts to leave, but Haymitch grabs her arm to stop her. "Silver. Meet me on the roof later tonight. I've got something I need to talk to you about." There's this intelligent, knowing gleam in his eye that makes Sil pause. Does he...does he know who she is? This situation is starting to rattle her. And that's not even counting the fact that she can't remember exchanging more than a handful of words with Haymitch in all the seven years she's been a Victor. He obviously knows something, or why would he bother seeking her out?
She's got half a mind to ask him outright, but only manages to mutter, "...If I have time," before yanking her arm away and stalking toward her chariot. She'll have to exchange some words with Plutarch, because she's got a bad feeling about this.
She doesn't know much about Haymitch Abernathy, except that he's from 12 and basically lives in a constant state of inebriation. She doesn't know if he's trustworthy or not, if he can keep a secret, or if he's even willing to risk his life for a rebellion that may or may not work. But clearly he knows something, and she's willing to bet that it has something to do with Plutarch.
With a frown, Sil makes her way to her chariot, opting to ignore the conversation going on far behind her at District 12. Whatever Finnick does, and who he talks to, is not any of her business. So what if they'd had a long talk on the phone last night? It's not as if they're really together. For all intents and purposes, Finnick still thinks she's a silly foppish dandy whose worries don't extend past what she's wearing.
She idles beside her chariot with a contemplative look on her face. She doesn't have time to concern herself over what Finnick Odair thinks of her. Too many things need to be planned out, too many people need to be spoken to. And then there's Haymitch Abernathy, who has become number one on that particular list – something that both bothers her and gives her hope.
A horn blows through the chatter-filled room before Sil can come to any conclusions about how she feels regarding the District 12 mentor. Victors immediately part ways and hurry to their chariots. Just outside the tall iron gates, drummers begin to beat and the crowds start to excitedly cheer even before the parade begins. A headache forms between Sil's eyes, which she promptly ignores in favor of a pasted-on smile.
She steps into her chariot. Gloss is right beside her, but he edges as far from her as he can in the sloping cart. She juts a hip against the gleaming wood and fixes her dress. She tries not to look behind her at the lines of chariots in her wake. Finnick is only three chariots down. She wonders if he's looking at her.
When the gates open, the crowd turns into a wild yelling mess that only doubles once the first sign of horses show. Sil is glad, in a way, to be the first one. She has the advantage of being the most noticeable – the first in a long line of others. To say she uses this to her advantage wouldn't be false. Any advantage in the Hunger Games is worth using, and she has long ago realized that the Games don't start in the arena. They start here.
Gloss, apparently, knows this too.
They're barely a few steps in before Gloss suddenly whips his arm out and wordlessly snatches Sil's waist. Her grip on the railing is very suddenly torn away when he heaves her against his side. The diamonds of her dress clink inaudibly against the sapphires of his shirt, and she sends him a surprised look that makes him smirk in amusement.
"The crowd wants to see us unified, don't you think?" he murmurs, and then adds, "Smile, Silver. Imagine the speculation this creates – is Finnick really your one and only, or are you having a secret affair with me because he's so boring? Sponsors will eat it up."
She doesn't outwardly react. It would only spur the crowd on, as well as Gloss himself. Instead she smiles openly and snuggles into his side, wrapping an arm snugly around his waist and lifting a hand to wave to the crowd. Her skirt flaps out behind her like a cape, twisting around Gloss's legs melodramatically. In their see-through clothes littered with gemstones, they must make quite a pair.
As much as she rather loathes Gloss, he's right about one thing: the crowd definitely eats it up. She can imagine what Caesar Flickerman is saying about this intimate embrace. Naturally, Sil decides to milk it with everything she's got, taking advantage of the new situation with a flexibility that she uses every day, pretending to be someone else.
"How intelligent you are, Gloss daring," she murmurs as his hand slips down to her hip. If the crowds don't notice that hand right now, they certainly will later when Caesar goes over the footage. "I hadn't known you even had ideas. A shock, to be sure." She sends him an insipid little smile and then turns to blow kisses to the crowd.
His only response is his arm tightening around her waist. She ignores him, too, instead giving all her attention to the crowd. She's not sure what the other Victors are doing behind her, but she doesn't care. She waves and grins and blows her kisses to the crowd, skirts shearing up and behind her, tickling her legs.
Of course, nothing she does is as effective as what District 12 doesn't do.
The Capitol love their Victors, but none of them quite compare to their adoration of the star-crossed lovers at the end of the line. The moment the last chariot appears, the cheering gets ten times louder. And when Katniss's dress literally catches fire and sends smoke hurtling out behind them, Sil has to glance back to blink at the spectacle, as does almost every other Victor in the line.
It definitely makes quite the sight. Beside her, Gloss scoffs beneath his breath. She only hears it because he's so close to her, but she doesn't do anything to respond to him. She's just a tiny bit preoccupied by the sight of Katniss's fierce expression, which she can just barely see through the tangled limbs of the other Victors that are stretched out behind her. As she's about to turn back toward the front, she catches sight of the lean torso of Finnick, who is just turning back himself.
In the split second it takes for her to be reeled in by his ridiculously good looks, Finnick catches her eye and winks. And, because she's so taken aback by the entire sight of him (as is the rest of Panem, undoubtably), she actually feels her face get a little red. Then it's over, and she's facing the front again, and Finnick is three chariots behind her. Always three steps behind.
A tiny shred of guilt layers over her. Here she is, ogling Finnick's barely clothed body like some Capitolite woman who reduces him to a common prostitute. She has no right to look at him like that. Yet who wouldn't? He is utterly gorgeous.
She goes back to waving, grinning, gearing up the crowd. She clutches Gloss tightly, for no other reason than that she feels lightheaded. The constant swinging of the chariot is making her nauseous. The loud cheers, the beat of the drums, the Capitol anthem blaring in the background, the clop of the horses all press the current situation home. She's going back into the Games. And the plans her and Plutarch have been creating for the last few weeks might not even work. So many variables could alter everything.
President Snow is waiting for them at the end of the long concrete slab. The chariots line up, one after the other in perfect symmetry. There is something to be said about how well the Capitol is able to brainwash these silly creatures who cheer for them and shout out their admiration. It is a sobering thought, but one that is too quickly pushed aside when Snow begins to speak.
"Welcome! Tributes, we welcome you," he starts, sounding just the tiniest bit gleeful at seeing all his rebellious little offspring lined up to face their deaths. It could easily be mistaken for the common excitement that most Capitolites have for the Games. Only those waiting directly before him seem to be able to tell the difference.
"This time, you are returning not as mentors, but as tributes yourselves. We applaud your courage, and your sacrifice." He pauses as the crowd explodes into cheers, and says louder, "And we wish you...happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor."
He nods to them, and like a snake stuffed into a suit, gives Katniss Everdeen a little smile that looks positively evil. Sil does not envy her for being the center of his attention at this moment.
Slowly, the chariots trickle into the gate beneath the tall podium. District 1 enters first, and even after Katniss and Peeta are both inside and the gates are shut behind them, the endless cheering and screaming from the crowd can still be heard thundering through the space.
With a grunt, Gloss drags his arm away from Sil as if he's been burnt. She untangles herself too, careful to keep most of her weight against the chariot should he attempt to make her look like a fool. She can definitely see him pushing her to the floor just for the amusement it would bring him. Instead, he only twists her wrist a little bit as he roughly jerks her away from him. The subtle pain it brings is miniscule, and Sil hardly bats an eye.
"Well done, Gloss," she drawls quietly, watching as the others start to get off the chariots. "I'm sure the Capitol will love watching you grope me during the parade reruns."
He scoffs, jumping down onto the platform below, and says, "Come off it, Silver. As if I'd actually enjoy touching you. I took advantage of the fact that you were at my disposal." He smirks up at her, and she watches silently as he saunters away. Her face is set into an unreadable expression and there's an air of haughty disdain around her by the time her supposed lover appears at her side.
"Had fun with Gloss?" he quips, extending a hand to her. Sil turns her eyes to his. At once, his familiar gaze puts her at ease in ways she can't describe. Instead of responding, Sil just reaches for the outstretched hand and allows him to help her step down from the chariot. But she steps a little too close to him, and the momentum pushes her right up against his bare chest before she can catch herself.
Awkward amusement fills the air between them. Finnick lets out a chuckle and gently wraps his arms around her shoulders in a move that rather shocks her. "You know, Silver," he murmurs mischievously, "you only had to ask. No need to make a dramatic ordeal about embracing me."
She splutters, glares up at him, and wrestles herself out of his arms and away from that gloriously bare chest. "I tripped!" she insists with a frown, eyes fiery. Her determination to prove this to him only makes him laugh harder.
"Yes, of course you did, sugar," he says patronizingly, then pauses and adds, "I forgot – want a sugar cube?" He reaches into the pocket of his very small shorts and pulls out a handful. She's honestly curious as to why he even has pockets and how he's managed to get so many sugar cubes into that one. Her eyes drift down to said pocket with a raised eyebrow.
Finnick copies the expression with a smirk. "Eyes up here, sugar."
As he expects, she immediately blushes and sends him a glower, darting her gaze away from his entire body to instead glare petulantly at the far wall.
"How you even managed to get into that outfit galls me," she mutters.
Finnick laughs. "So that's a no to the sugar cube, right?" He dusts one of them off and pops it into his mouth. As he chews it, he tells her lowly, "And the hard part is getting out of it, darling."
He's so obviously making fun of her that Sil has to sigh. She's unsure if it makes her annoyed or excited. She's honestly never sure where she stands with this man. The night before, she hadn't wanted to get off the phone with him. Now, face to face, she almost wants to turn and run in the opposite direction. Such is the fear of falling too hard, too quickly, for a man who could never truly love her back. How could he, when he doesn't even know her? Flirting, at the very least, is an easy alternative to delving into such morose feelings, and he does it very well.
His eyes are twinkling when he murmurs, "Your outfit looks like it might be difficult to get out of too. Don't suppose you need any help?" He keeps his eyes respectfully on her face, but it makes no difference. Her see-through gown is only sheer in some areas, and doesn't show off anything she wouldn't want people to see. She brushes him off with a pout.
"Gracious, Finnick," she starts, "you're being overly scandalous today. It's making me rather – "
"Excited?"
"Put off," she finishes, eyes narrowed at his little attempt to drag out the truth. Because he's not entirely wrong; she is a bit excited. He does have that effect on her, unfortunately. Not that she's going to just admit it. His ego is large enough as it is.
He grins and hooks her arm around his, apparently not taking her words to heart. He rarely ever does.
"Ah well. If at first you don't succeed..." he trails off with a wink. "I'll escort you to your floor."
Sil isn't sure if he's just being flirty for the sake of it or actually protective, because as he leads her to the elevator, Finnick sends Gloss an almost edgy look that she nearly misses. The other Victors are slowly heading towards the elevators too, though most of them are still in chatty groups with their 'mentors'. In these particular Games, the idea of even having a mentor is almost laughable...and a cause for concern, in her case.
Cashmere and Lume are technically the mentors for District 1, but she's positive that they'll be focusing the entirety of their effort in bringing Gloss back alive. She has no doubt that they'll be leaving her to the wolves...or in this case, the mutts. Having allies is therefore extremely important, which leads to yet another problem: who in their right mind would willingly ally themselves with the fop from District 1? It doesn't matter that she is far more skilled in combat than they know. The image she has cultivated for herself goes against her this time.
Finnick seems to pick up on her quiet contemplation, and once again she wonders how he can so easily read her when he cannot see the truth of her character. As they enter the elevator and huddle towards the back, Finnick murmurs, "We need to talk about the Games, Sil."
She's not entirely sure what he means by that – the Games is a broad topic, after all. She glances at him as the doors shut, leaving them alone behind the gleaming chrome.
"...Yes," she says, pushing the buttons for 1 and 4, "I suppose you're right."
He crosses his arms over his bare chest and sighs. "Listen...I've been talking to...a few people. I think we should be allies. And I think we should try joining forces with Katniss and Peeta."
She swallows. Okay. She translates his words in her head. He's been talking to Plutarch, who hasn't told him about her, only that she'd be an important ally to have due to her considerable amount of sponsors. They should join up with Katniss because she's the one person they need alive if they're ever going to break free of the Capitol. He has accepted the rebellion, then. She wonders if he'd had to think about it, or if he jumped right up and joined. She wonders if he would've joined months ago when they first started 'dating', and if she's been wasting her time with all her pretenses.
"They would make good allies," she acquiesces, playing dumb as usual. "The Capitol does adore their star-crossed lovers."
Finnick pauses, then admits, "They also love their heartless Careers. Look, Silver, you won't stand a chance alone. Cashmere is going to focus on Gloss. You won't have outside help this time around."
She peers up at him, only to find that he's staring hard at her, like he's trying to justify something in his head. The expression makes him look overly serious. It's odd, not seeing his flirty grin or laughing eyes, but she finds that she rather likes this more serious side of him.
"Yes, that's probably true," she says, and wants to say more, but she's all too aware of the camera glaring down at them from the corner of the elevator. It seems that they are always being watched.
"...Did your father make that ring?" he suddenly asks, just as the elevator drags to a halt. Startled, Sil looks down at her left hand where the pearl ring glimmers in the dull orchestrated light.
"Ah...yes," she says, faltering a little. The doors swish open, and they both move to the front of the elevator. She steps out feeling a bit strange, taken aback by the way he so quickly noticed. To be honest, all thoughts of their engagement had drifted far away the moment Snow's announcement about the Reaping blared into her life. She could have almost forgotten entirely that she is supposedly engaged to Finnick.
The doors start to close, but Finnick holds them back. He's staring down at her with an unreadable expression. She's afraid to look at it too closely, lest she see something like disgust written on the planes of his face.
For a moment, they just stand there silently. Then Finnick mutters, "...I like it."
The elevator doors slink shut before she can respond. Her eyes dart up to catch his just as the crevice of space between them passes away. In the split second before they are separated by chrome, she swears she sees the hint of a smile lingering around the edges of his mouth, curling up with that gentle hopefulness she had seen earlier.
But the moment passes too quickly, and as usual, Sil is left floundering in her own confusion as she stares at the closed doors.
She doesn't realize when an exact copy of that hopeful smile stretches across her own face. She also doesn't realize that the moment the elevator doors shut, Finnick lets out a small chuckle as he grins at the floor.
What is that saying again? What you don't know can't hurt you. In this moment, pain is far away and nonexistent. If only it would last.