1 - Uncharted Waters [Hunger Games]

21 - Rising Tide

Chapter 21

 "Control" by Halsey

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

Mira woke before dawn, her body oddly at peace after the previous night. The memory of Finnick's embrace lingered like a comforting warmth. They hadn't exchanged many words, letting the silence speak as they watched the Capitol's festivities below. It was a moment she held onto, knowing it might be one of her last. Finnick's reluctance to let go was clear, despite his attempt to mask it.

Mira, though unable to confess her feelings outright, hoped her actions conveyed what words could not. She wished for more time—time to say everything she wanted but couldn't.

The morning brought no sign of Destan. Instead, Nixie appeared, brisk and efficient, handing Mira a simple shift to wear and guiding her to the roof. A hovercraft materialized, lowering a ladder. With Nixie's encouraging nod, Mira climbed, the electric current binding her to the rungs until she was safely inside. A medic swiftly inserted a tracker into her arm before releasing her.

Inside, an Avox led them to a room set with a lavish breakfast. Mira, nerves churning, forced herself to eat, knowing this might be her last real meal. She swallowed each bite like it was a final act of defiance against what awaited her. Across from her, Nixie sipped champagne, lost in thought.

Mira broke the silence. "Nixie... my mother—" She hesitated, catching Nixie's attention. The older woman smiled encouragingly.

"You said she was your first tribute."

"Ah, yes. She made me cry," Nixie said with a soft chuckle, her eyes distant with memory.

"Is she... why was she portrayed as a mermaid?" Mira asked, referring to the Capitol figurines and pub mats bearing a familiar face.

Nixie smirked knowingly. "Oh no, darling. She was the siren. A far more dangerous and captivating creature." Her painted lips curved thoughtfully. "Your mother didn't care about appearances. She was naturally beautiful, yes, but years of labor left their mark. Her hair was a matted mess, her skin uneven from the sun, her hands and feet worn and calloused." Nixie sighed wistfully. "I still remember Bythe's horror as he described how many scrubbings it took to clean her feet."

Mira smiled faintly, biting into a lemon tart.

"You two are different, yet so alike," Nixie added, her tone softening.

Mira didn't respond, grateful for these glimpses of her mother's past—a woman rarely spoken of at home but celebrated here like a legend. For now, that was enough.

Mira barely registered the quiet hum of the hovercraft as Nixie broke the silence with an unexpected confession.

"To be honest, when I found out I'd be styling Marilla's daughter, I nearly resigned," Nixie admitted, her painted lips tightening. "Your mother left quite an impression on me." Her eyes widened as if reliving a vivid memory.

Mira tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. "Do you regret knowing me?" she asked, her voice almost timid.

For a moment, Nixie hesitated. Empathy wasn't something often associated with Capitol citizens, especially those responsible for tributes. But this was different. This was her tribute—her former victor's daughter.

"I do, actually," Nixie finally said, her honesty cutting through the air like a blade. Mira's chest tightened, disappointment flickering across her face.

Noticing the reaction, Nixie quickly leaned in, lowering her voice to a whisper. "But not for the reason you think," she explained, her eyes darting briefly to the cameras embedded in the walls. Shifting her chair closer, she continued softly, "I've never been one to grow attached to a tribute. It's easier that way. But you..." Her voice cracked with emotion. "I'd give everything—my wardrobe, my reputation—if it meant I could ensure you come out alive."

Straightening up, Nixie adjusted her elaborate hat with a sigh, her elegant facade back in place. "But unfortunately, the odds aren't always in our favor," she said, draining the last of her drink just as the hovercraft's windows blacked out.

"We're here," Nixie announced.

The hovercraft landed, and Mira followed Nixie down the ladder into the underground catacombs. The sterile corridors whispered of death and duty, amplifying Mira's unease. An Avox guided them to the Launch Room. No more small talk passed between them; Mira was too consumed with keeping the contents of her breakfast down. After showering and brushing her teeth, Nixie began braiding Mira's dark hair into an intricate fishtail.

The arrival of Mira's arena outfit interrupted the silence. The clothes were practical—cargo pants, a grey tank top, combat boots, and a hooded jacket. Each piece whispered of survival.

As Nixie helped her dress, she spoke with quiet determination. "Remember what your mentors said—use what you have. And trust me, you have sponsors who believe in you."

Reaching into her shell-shaped purse, Nixie produced a small, familiar object. "Your anklet," she said with a rare, genuine smile.

Mira's heart softened as she accepted the token, her fingers brushing against its surface. "I almost forgot about this," she admitted sheepishly.

Nixie knelt to clasp it around her ankle. "I saved it for last. I know what this means to you," she said. "And no, it won't come off. Trust its craftsmanship, as I trust in you."

Mira stood, moving experimentally to ensure the fit was comfortable. Nixie nodded approvingly and guided her to a couch to await the final call. The air felt heavy, and Mira couldn't stop herself from biting her lip until the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, her nerves fraying.

Nixie placed a steadying hand on Mira's knee, her gaze filled with a tenderness Mira had rarely seen in anyone from the Capitol. She offered a glass of water, which Mira drank in one long gulp.

When the announcement came to prepare for launch, the gravity of the moment struck.

Nixie extended her hand to help Mira stand, leading her to the circular metal plate. As the reality of her impending fate took hold, Mira's knees buckled slightly, and she clung to Nixie like a lifeline. The stylist pulled her into a firm embrace, whispering soothing reassurances.

"You'll be okay, sweetie," Nixie murmured. "Remember what your mentors taught you—and remember the storm your mother carried within her. It's in you too."

Mira's sobs quieted, though her tears left trails down her cheeks. Nixie brushed them away with careful hands, giving her one final look of approval. "Truly a beautiful girl," she said softly, more to herself than to Mira.

The glass cylinder descended around Mira, sealing her in. Nixie pressed two fingers to her lips, then extended them toward Mira in a silent gesture of affection and luck. Mira managed a small nod, hastily wiping her tears as the platform began to rise.

The lights went out, and the world above awaited.

For fifteen agonizing seconds, Mira was surrounded by impenetrable darkness. The air inside the cylinder felt suffocating, pressing down on her chest as though it were alive. She forced herself to take deep breaths, each one trembling, and tried to summon the faces of those she loved—her family, her friends, even Finnick. But the cramped space gnawed at her resolve, clawing at her composure.

Just when she thought the silence would swallow her whole, there was a sudden hiss, and the platform beneath her shifted. She felt herself being thrust upward, the darkness giving way to a blinding flood of light. She blinked rapidly, her eyes struggling to adjust. The air was different—salty and alive.

And then she smelled it.

The sea.

It hit her like a wave, the warm breeze carrying with it the unmistakable scent of saltwater and damp sand. Before she could fully take in the sight of her surroundings, the booming voice of Claudius Templesmith echoed across the arena, slicing through the moment like a knife.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he declared with cruel enthusiasm, "let the Sixty-ninth Hunger Games begin!"

The sound of the gong shattered the last remnants of calm.