#chapter five.

DETAILS: currently a hallway, sometime in the night of day three

Her anxiety manifests in white knuckles and crescent-shaped indentations left on her palm. There is tension in every joint, every muscle, and her head is throbbing. She does this to herself. She has since she was a little girl. She doesn’t know how to stop the spiral once she’s on the ride.

It’s been days since she’s heard from Cinna, one of the few people that she’d consider a friend. It’s been just as long since she’s heard from Silver, the single individual that has her rehashing every interaction with a fine-tooth comb in search of hints. The absence of these two people is deafening. It makes her chest ache with a panic that has yet to erupt.

(And she’ll do anything in her power to keep it from spilling over this time. She needs to keep her wits about her. There’s too much on the line.)

Her feet lead her to District 10 and a request for DeeZee comes through clenched teeth. When he appears in the doorway (sans cowboy hat) she looks up at him with a light in her eyes. A fire if you will.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

She doesn’t really care if she is.

DETAILS: as late in the timeline as possible, night

There’s only one thing she can say: “something isn’t right.”

It’s a whisper sent to Blythe who is just out of arm’s reach. They’re in the gardens near the Training Center, way later than they should be there. Peacekeepers are surely monitoring the area in some capacity, but Fava doesn’t see any of them now. It gives her a false sense of security. She shouldn’t let her guard down at all.

Blythe has a bag strapped to her back, the contents of which are unknown to Fava. She is curious, but she hasn’t asked yet. There will be time for that later. Hopefully.

“You’re sure you haven’t seen Silver? Not even… milling about?”

Milling about? What does that even mean? Christ. She’s been in the Capitol for too long. Whatever. Keep talking.

DETAILS: district eleven accomdations, during the disappearance of The Squad

She shouldn’t have been so rude to Griffin when she first met him. Being a mentor is no joke. The unwavering guilt, the life in your hands, is almost too much to bear. And that’s on top of everything she feels from her own time in the Arena, on top of the terrible life that she lived before she was reaped.

Her entire life has changed in a year. There is blood on her hands and a ring on her finger. And the sister she so desperately wanted to protect is in training to fight for her life.

She has spoken to Griffin extensively about their plans for Wren, but outside opinions are always good to have. Especially when someone like Riggs is in a similar boat emotionally. It’s a layer of hell, watching someone you love prepare for the slaughter.

Fava is uncharacteristically emotional when she meets them with a coffee in hand. It isn’t for her. The caffeine would keep her up even longer or amplify her anxiety to the point of hysteria. All she wants to do is cry these days. She figures it’s some sort of karmic retribution. Clearly she deserves this.

It takes her a moment to work up the courage to knock on the door, but she feels marginally better when Riggs appears on the other side. “I got you something. I don’t know how you take your coffee and I know you have stuff here anyway, but we had this dispenser with hazelnut cream and I thought that would — be nice.”

DETAILS: the courtyard, afternoon of day three

Some have hinted that there are people in every District that are ready to stand together. Blythe has told her directly that there are specific people she should turn to with an offer of trust. One of them is missing in action. In some ways that confirms their allegiance. It makes things more dangerous, more palpable, in others.

Fava doesn’t know much about District Eight apart from the fact that most everything she wore in the Capitol had fabric sourced from them. Her wedding dress was likely made with their blood, sweat, and tears. She wishes she could apologize to those that worked on it personally. She never wanted it anyway. (Would that make it better or worse? She never knows.)

It is strictly by chance that she sees Emory Baxwell in the courtyard on the way to the Training Facility. With a belly half full of lunch half eaten, she jogs to catch up with her, calling her name in the process. When she turns to look at her, Fava realizes that she has nothing concrete to say.

But for now its Bed Time :c.