HEART OF GOLD | CORIOLANUS SNOW

𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙋𝙏𝙀𝙍 57

If Lilith had thought the permit situation bad before, she did not understand bureaucracy at all. For the first time since the start of her final semester as a student, she felt grateful rather than weird she did not have any theory lessons. The papers she had to deal with at the Hunger Games division more than made up for whatever lecture notes and tutorial worksheets she'd thought she missed.

As February dawned in a swirl of slush and ice, their legal department, comprising all of one attorney and one paralegal, was buried under so much paperwork it felt incredible there were any trees left to form the forest in which the Gamemakers wished to erect their first ever outdoor arena. But the woods stood tall and unyielding against the thick coat of white that had blanketed the Capitol. Ulysses Monty wasn't as hardy.

At its height every winter, the flu bug tearing through the city had claimed their one and only lawyer. While most people were no longer inflicted with serious symptoms by the seasonal virus, if at all, Mr. Monty was not only fatigued, but an avid anti-vaccine activist. His unimmunized body was easy prey, but not as easy as his son's. During Mr. Monty's extended recuperation at home, the infection had spread to his five-year-old, who, similarly defenseless, presently lay in the hospital battling pneumonia.

When Lilith popped by the ICU after one of her physiotherapy sessions, she saw the fruit hamper Snow had sent to the family. She also saw Mr. Monty, white as the scenery, and rushed to stop the victim to a hacking cough from struggling to his feet just to greet her. She saw Mrs. Monty beside him, surrounded by a pile of tissues, eyes red-rimmed and nose aglow like a tomato, and couldn't tell whether her circumstances had resulted from illness or constant weeping. Then she saw their boy, hanging onto life by a thread, and thought she had never seen anything more harrowing—or unnecessary.

He was as small (or as big) as Val, and could have been just as strong and resilient, if only his parents had chosen to believe in science. Medicine was advancing every day, and here was a boy dying of influenza? Lilith could not comprehend. Humans protected their young. Parents protected their children. So how could Mr. and Mrs. Monty not protect poor little Ezra? And against something as simple as the flu?

The injustice of such avoidable suffering sent Lilith bolting from the room. The network of tubes hooked up to Ezra Monty's tiny frame had reminded her of her mother. Her mother who had been terminal. Her mother who had had no choice.

This boy could have been given a choice. He should have been given a choice—by his parents. He should be outside, having snowball fights. He should not be trapped in bed, relying on machines to breathe. There could be someone who actually needed that ventilator. Someone who had no choice.

Although her therapist had given her the green light just that day, this was not how Lilith had envisioned her first run in months. She had tried to start slow, as recommended, but before she knew it, she was flying down pavements and gravel paths and boardwalks as if her life depended on it. Frosty winds bit at her face. Her ponytail whipped vehemently against her muffled neck. Still, Lilith persisted, not stopping until the throb in her arm gave her no other choice. At least she would be able to ice that.

She went to bed with her sling and a cold pack and managed to fall sleep, awaking only moderately sore. Dressing herself for school, Lilith headed to breakfast, chirped out her usual good morning, only to halt in her tracks.

It was her sense of smell that alerted her to the scent, that drove her eyes to search for him. They only found the bouquet of roses on her plate.

Twelve.

Pink.

Again.

"Good morning, Lili," said her father. "Happy Valentine's Day."