The days after the wedding are heavy, and Twig is starting to grow angry. If these Rebels are real, then why does it feel like they’re—playing with them? The train, the wedding, they taunt the Capitol and the only people the Capitol has to exert their control over are the people in this building, are the Mentors and the Tributes. They haven’t helped them, they haven’t saved them. So far, it only seems like they’ve made things worse.

But they haven’t come for him. He caused a scene at the wedding, and yet he’s still standing here, when it’s rapidly become clear that Slate is not, Silver is not, Cinna is not. Will he be next? How long will he be waiting for the other shoe to drop? He doesn’t know how Blythe has lived like this all these years, acting like she doesn’t fear the consequences of the things she says, the things she does. Twig feels like he’s going to have a heart attack, and it’s only since the Reaping that his perfect Victor mask has slipped. 

And now, he follows the sounds from deep in Seven’s suite right to her, with bottles and pieces of a broken table around her. The destruction isn’t surprising—for years it felt like he didn’t have an interaction with Blythe that didn’t involve her smashing something, but he still feels wary. Like he’s asking a question he’s not sure if he wants the answer to: “What are you doing?”