#ch5.

Everyone’s heard it all by now: Silver, Slate, and Cinna gone in one sweep after the Capitol’s favorite lovebirds’ wedding. But try as he might, Twig can’t make any sense of it. Everyone could see that Cinna was playing with fire, perhaps, but Silver and Slate were good soldiers. Silver and Slate were people Twig felt he had a lot in common with. And after his own display at the wedding, he feels like he dodged a bullet.

Or, really, he feels more like his time could still come. He’s dodged it for this long, but there doesn’t feel like there’s any avoiding it now. The only question left is when.

Robyn still comes to Seven’s suite like clockwork, waiting for Harbor to return. Twig almost wishes he wouldn’t—it’s hard to look at them without pity, without seeing a loss they don’t want to see. They don’t know what’s worse: that it’s a look into the past, a reminder of when Harbor was taken; or that it could be a look into the future, a warning that Harbor might be gone again, this time for real.

What could he even say to him? What wisdom does he have that Robyn doesn’t already have for themself from losing Harbor? The worst part of it all, perhaps, is that he wants to try anyway. That he sees them both so close to breaking and wishes he could somehow stop it. He’s not sure if he can, for either of them. For any of them, because they’re far from the only ones.

He only clears his throat. Sits across from Robyn instead of leaving them to wait for Harbor alone. A pathetic effort, maybe, but hopefully the start of a better one. “Any news?”

With the Rebels’ announcement, the bubble that surrounded them at the wedding—(where they were in love, and they were happy, and that was all that mattered)—burst. Now, it’s a day later, and they haven’t seen Cinna since the reception. Cinna is nowhere to be found.

Did we do this? They can’t help but wonder. Did we hand them an opportunity to send a message, make a spectacle? Cinna wouldn’t want them to think that, they know. They’re not dying because of you, Hudson, they’d said, right when they arrived in the Capitol. Promise me you’ll never think that. But Cinna’s not here to tell them that again, remind them of their promise. And Hudson thought they’d never have to apply that lesson to Cinna themself. 

They wonder if Cinna did.

It makes them feel frantic, longing to keep everyone that matters to them in their line of sight, so they can’t be snatched away. When they find Griffin, it’s a relief—he’s the one that seems to always be off somewhere, planning things, putting himself in danger. If there’s a list that someone’s keeping, somewhere in the Capitol, they’re sure that he’s on it.

But then, they’re sure that they are, too. That everyone from Twelve is.

“You’re here,” they say, hovering in the doorway. “I thought you might be—off getting into trouble. I’m glad you’re not.”

Once, Twig and Nelly ran in similar crowds. Capitol crowds, of course. That ended, and it ended because of Twig. He was younger, then, but he can’t say that he was worse. Can’t say that he’s better now. He turned his back on Nelly, who had been something like a friend, when that friendship had grown heavier than Twig could handle. And, over a decade later, he’d turn his back on Harbor, who he loved more than anyone in his life, because he feared he’d grown too dangerous.

And it doesn’t escape him that he hasn’t apologized to either of them. With Harbor, he can say that he doesn’t want to be selfish, self-indulgent, beg for Harbor’s forgiveness when there’s so much that’s more pressing than their relationship, than Twig’s guilt. (He could say, too, that he’s sure his penitence is clear in every line of his body when Harbor looks at him.) But that doesn’t make it the truth. The truth might be closer to this: he’s a coward, and he’s never learned how to say I’m sorry.

He doesn’t know how to say it now, either. Maybe the kinder thing to do would be what they seem to have been doing for years, silently skirting around each other, but today he doesn’t. They’re all in this shit together now, aren’t they?

“Nelly.” He says, keeping his voice low. “Is it true what they’re saying? You haven’t—you haven’t seen Cinna?”

Training continues. Like nothing happened at the end of the wedding, like no one’s been missing since. They wonder what the Capitol’s plans are: they seem to want everything to go back to normal, but what will the citizens of the Capitol think what Terra and Osa are on stage and Slate isn’t in the crowd? When Zero mentions Silver and they aren’t there? With Cinna gone, who’s going to dress Gage and Wren?

As usual, Hudson doesn’t have any answers. Hudson doesn’t know. Virgo is just as young as they are, just as new to all of this. Or maybe if it’s different for them, because they grew up in the Capitol. Grew up connected to all this. They share a last name with somebody as legendary as Diose Valey, while Hudson had been nobody before their name was pulled from a bowl.

“Virgo, right?” They say, although they already know. It feels more polite to actually make an introduction. “How’s, uh—how’s Eleven doing?”

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?”  

There’s no reprieve after the wedding, after the Rebels’ announcement. Training continues as usual; Twig watches the doors close behind Harbor again. Today, though his hand is wrapped. When he makes a fist, he can still feel the sting, the bite of broken glass. In the light of day, he finds it difficult to meet anyone’s eye. While he can hope that the evening’s dramatic finish overshadowed his own dramatic display, he knows that Cyprian Stack, at least, won’t forget.

When the doors close, Digit is outside of the training room as well. Truthfully, she isn’t a Victor that he’s had much cause to cross paths with over the years. If he were to take a younger Victor under his wing, it was those who came out of the Games like he did: held up, beloved, swept into the whirl of the Capitol. Digit wasn’t that. And so Twig just—didn’t engage. If he needed something from Three, there was Silver, who Twig held in much higher esteem.

But maybe he could stand to learn a little bit more about being hated.

“Strange how everything just—goes on. No matter how hungover you are.” It’s a poor joke. He can’t cover how he’s feeling for shit, and he hasn’t been able to for some time. The train, last night’s announcement. It seems like nothing stops the Games. No matter how much you need it to.