1 - Uncharted Waters [Hunger Games]

29 - The Capitol's Chains

Chapter 29

"Turning Page" by Sleeping At Last

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

Once the door closed behind them, the walls of Mira's composure crumbled. The tears spilled freely, streaking down her face, though the Capitol's waterproof makeup saved her from a mess. Finnick stepped forward, pulling her into his chest without hesitation. She clung to him as her sobs wracked her small frame, her fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt.

"I'm going to ruin your shirt," she mumbled against his chest, her voice muffled and thick with emotion.

Finnick's lips curved into a soft smile, his voice laced with tenderness. "Lucky for you, Capitol makeup is transfer-proof." He pulled back slightly, tipping her chin up with gentle fingers so he could meet her eyes. "Hey," he said, his tone low and soothing. "Go get your things. It's time."

Mira blinked, her mind sluggishly catching up. She stepped away, moving towards her belongings in a daze. Her gaze landed on the small, worn bag that held the few tokens of her life before the Games.

Home.

The word hit her with the force of a tidal wave, and she exhaled shakily. She was finally going home.

Her fingers brushed against the small token she had carried into the arena, tucking it carefully into her pocket. As her gaze drifted to the mermaid figurine perched on the vanity, her expression faltered, a mix of hesitation and uncertainty clouding her features.

Finnick noticed the pause, his sharp eyes catching the conflict in her stance. "Take it," he said softly, his voice steady and encouraging. "They won't even notice it's gone."

Mira looked at him, her blue eyes wide with a mix of gratitude and trepidation. Slowly, she nodded, clutching the figurine to her chest like a lifeline. "I'm ready."

The ride to the train station was silent, the blackened windows shielding them from the Capitol's curious eyes. The train itself was an odd paradox—luxurious, yet suffocating with the weight of everything that had happened.

Dinner was a quiet affair. Mira, Lassie, Mags, Adrian, and Finnick sat at the table as the replay of her interview flickered on the television. She avoided looking at the screen, instead focusing on the food she could barely taste.

Afterward, they retired to their compartments. Mira slipped into the bed, the sheets far too soft and unfamiliar. She wished, irrationally, that Finnick could be there. His presence seemed to calm her racing mind in a way nothing else could. But instead, her thoughts drifted to Destan—his smile, his laugh, and the way he had shielded her until the very end.

Hot tears welled in her eyes as her mind replayed his sacrifice over and over. She had been called a crybaby before, but now the tears felt endless, coming as naturally as breathing. With Destan's memory fresh in her mind, she cried herself into an uneasy sleep.

The dream was vivid and haunting. Mira found herself back in the arena, standing at the edge of the cliff. The harsh Capitol lights illuminated everything, casting long, jagged shadows. Her breath caught as she saw a figure ahead—a silhouette she would recognize anywhere.

"Destan?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

He turned slightly, just enough for her to catch a glimpse of his smile before he stepped off the edge.

"No!" she screamed, trying to move, but her legs refused to obey.

A sinister laugh echoed beside her. Mira turned shakily, her blood running cold as she saw Stone, her former opponent, standing with a spear in her chest. Her dead eyes glared, brimming with malice.