The Revenant | Finnick Odair

chapter four

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chapter four

CRIES OF MOURNING

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She's hurried up the stairs and slammed the door of her bedroom behind her with so much force the walls seem to shake. Yelena struggles to catch her breath, it tumbling out of her chest each time she swears she's forced it back down into her lungs. There's noise from the kitchen below her, the faint queries of her mother's voice, and the bacon still crackling. Her hands are shaking. She mangles the sealed envelope, hissing at a papercut that burns across her pointer finger. Annoyance, frustration and fear all swirl inside her.

Not today. No. Not today on her birthday. It's her birthday, Snow couldn't do this on her birthday, why would he summon her on her birthday? That's what this letter has to be. A cruel summoning on the Victor's twentieth birthday, just to remind her he still owns her, and so does anyone else in The Capitol.

She yanks the letter out of the envelope, a grunt of exasperation escaping her lips as she unfolds it in a frenzy. Something gleams, sailing across the room and clattering along her hardwood floor. Yelena can't seem to focus on it, only feeling her panicked gaze scouring the words with sheer desperation.

What does it say, what does it say, what does it say?

Dearest Yelena,

I hope all is well in District Eight. I missed you the last time you were in The Capitol, but perhaps we can arrange for another meal together after the Victory Tour, my treat. Thank you for fixing the hole in my handkerchief the last time. I don't think I've ever seen such attentive and careful craftsmanship in all my experience of Capitol tailors.

Please be careful when opening this letter. Your birthday gift was smaller than others in the past years, so I attempted to tuck it gently inside the envelope. I hope it fits.

Your friend,

Caspian Steele

Yelena feels a sense of relief wash over her, starting from the top of her head and slowly working to the tips of her toes, something else coinciding with it. Embarrassment. Her cheeks flush red, and she laughs hoarsely, feeling completely and utterly foolish.

She should've known. Caspian has always written her on her birthday since her own Games. The two have become pen pals of sorts over the years, grabbing a casual lunch or breakfast during some of her visits to the Capitol every once and a while. They could be awkward, but were often harmless.

Caspian is one of the few people from the Capitol who treats her like a real person. She feels like he actually respects her, not because she's a glorified murderer morphed into a celebrity, but because she's an actual human being, and due to that, she respects him.

She plops onto the edge of her bed, mattress creaking at her weight, gaze combing over the words again. Part of her expects them to mutate into a crueler and threatening message from Snow, revealing the truth that it could never be that easy for a Victor on their birthday, but they don't. Snow is not summoning her. Thank God.

Your birthday gift was smaller than others in the past years, so I attempted to tuck it gently inside the envelope. I hope it fits.