𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 | 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐫

THIRTY-SIX

xxxvi. The End

It was always impossible to tell when Aurora Evan's life had truly ended, though that never stopped her from wondering. Was it the day her name was picked from the glass bowl, or even when it was her brother's? Perhaps it was years before that when her best friend had been chosen. Or maybe, the moment the world stopped as Snow announced the third Quarter Quell.

Realistically, none of that mattered knowing death was inevitable and life was exceedingly too short in a world that found entertainment in the Hunger Games.

Though, if only to soothe her existential thoughts, she always went with the answer that her life had ended the moment she returned home from her meeting with President Snow. The same one in which he'd asked her to give up what little innocence she had left, selling her every being to the very people who wished her dead in the arena to spare her famed brother.

Aurora felt sick in the train car as she rode back to District Four. The sun was beaming through the large windows, giving sight to a vast and endless field covered in dried grass and dirt. She anxiously dug her painted nails into the velvet cushions beneath her, trying to distract herself from the bile that rose in her throat.

With her eyes lost in the view, she almost didn't notice a newcomer in the car.

"Hey," the familiar voice of her closest friend filled the room, and for the first time bringing her more dread than comfort. "Brought you some tea."

Finnick sat beside her at the window, placing the small cup on the table. Aurora forced a smile onto her face as she watched him, though it only lasted seconds before it fell once again.

"Talked to one of the attendants, said we'll be home in an hour or two," Finnick sighed, resting his head in his hand, his arm propped up on the seat.

His eyes ran over Aurora's stoic face, concerned at the stillness of her stare and dead expression.

"What are you thinking about?" he dared to ask, afraid to disturb whatever trance she was lost in.

Aurora sighed, biting her bottom lip intently trying to come up with words.

"Nothing important," she settled on, knowing he wouldn't be satisfied.

The worst thing about their friendship was that they were always equally as stubborn, especially when it came to secrets. Aurora could faintly recall the day he'd insisted on pestering her by the hour until she revealed what she'd gotten him for his birthday. Throwing grains of sand and little papers at her all day when she was seemingly alone.

"You're lying," he bluntly said, straightening his posture. "Just tell me."

Aurora knew deep down there was nothing she could ever be afraid of admitting to him. But this felt different. Maybe it was embarrassment, or maybe the fear clouded any sense of judgment she ever had, but she didn't want to tell him.