Closed | Self Para. | The Capitol: Kyan's Apartment | Day 72
“You’re an asshole, you know that?”
The image of Gleam is hazy, blurred by time. Her biting remarks had stayed with him as if the words were scars upon his skin, but they were never so sharp. Far from a joke, yet hardly an attack. An observation between friends. He couldn’t deny the accusation.
“Never said I wasn’t.”
Kyan was never one to dwell on the past. What’s done is done, the world pushing them ever forward, but he was helpless against the cold shock of dread and panic. He’d give anything to be there again, 15 years old and tossing insults while they perfect their knife work. He’d give anything for one more back alley meet up, hiding from suspicious officials. He’d give anything for them to take it back, to say they’d been confused, that this wasn’t her fate.
The holo’s remote shattered as it hit the wall. He hadn’t even been aware he’d thrown it. For the first time in his life, Kyan’s hands trembled as the usual cold front he maintained crumbled to dust. Was this devastation? Desperation?
“I’ll be fine.”
The dusty back room of the Justice Building was sweltering as he saw Gleam off on reaping day, foolishly jealous that her name had been pulled and not his own. Her arms crossed over, expression hardened as if his farewell had been an inconvenience.
“I dunno, you were pretty pathetic at target practice last week.”
If he were being honest, he had never once doubted her ability to reach victory. They’d spent years sparring, trading blows as freely as they had cutting remarks, and even if Kyan had spent years mocking her technique, Gleam was a more than capable fighter.
Was.
But she’d never been good at controlling her anger, never made an effort to keep in line. Gleam was loud and unapologetic, refusing to fit the mold they had cast for her. They should have known it would be her downfall.
The Capitol pinned hit on the rebellion, but Kyan was smarter than that. Her years of nonconformity was a danger to no one but Snow and, of course, herself. There was nothing the President hated more than an unruly victor who threatened the system. Gleam had never been one to let someone hold power over her, and Snow refused to be painted a fool. It was only natural for him to get the last word in whatever war they’d been waging.
Kyan was under no illusion this had been a message for the rest of the District 1 team, as well. There was no doubt Snow had known about their secret meetings or the pretend romance with Helios. Gleam’s death was a warning — a promise — that with any misstep, they’d be next.
Their conversation from just a few days prior came back around. The remnants of the morning’s storm pooled around them in shallow puddles on the back alley’s cobblestone. Kyan hated the rain, but he had gone for her. Because she had asked him to. When Gleam told him of the threat, of how going home to One seemed like a trap, he thought the war was getting to her. His words were not of warning, but of exhaustion.
“Would it kill you to just do what you’re told? For just once in your life?”
Neither of them could have predicted an ending such as this. Killing a victor had been unprecidented before the war, after all, and while she was difficult and incisive in private, the public only knew her to be devoted to the Capitol. It was his fault then, for encouraging her to just go do the damn thing.
The bottle of whiskey must have apparated in his hand, because Kyan couldn’t recall reaching for it. He took a swig regardless, inviting the burn of the liquor to ease the pain of the sky falling around him.
