HEART OF GOLD | CORIOLANUS SNOW

𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙋𝙏𝙀𝙍 77

A deafening clang sent Lilith running. She had no idea where she was headed, but instinct drove her toward the sound. Except, it had stopped, and Basement Thirty now rang only with the thumps of her shoes and the echoes of her screams.

"Sir? Sir, are you alright?"

She never got a response.

Sprinting past a blur of Games exhibits, Lilith halted abruptly when she came into a circular area, empty but for a structure spanning floor to ceiling, large enough to be an elevator shaft—made of stone, and with no discernible doors. Instead, she could make out seams interrupting the network of gold veins, as if numerous rectangles had been carved into the variegated ivory-blue surface.

For a moment, there was just the thundering of her heart and the susurration of her too-quick breaths as she stared at the inanimate monolith. Everything was silent. Everything was deserted. Lilith tried to smother her panic, to smother the thought that she might be lost, and even Snow couldn't help her. Despite ascertaining that the Hunger Games aisle was still behind her, she struggled to think, to remember where the noise had emanated from. This direction for sure—where he'd gone—but where to go from here?

As Lilith wiped tears from her eyes to clear her vision, her ears picked up the distinct footsteps of a pair of oxfords. In retrospect, she ought to have behaved with caution, but her legs carried on to the source and she could not resist calling out.

"Sir? Sir, are you—?"

Marching around the pillar, Lilith froze. Relief flooded her at the sight of Snow, as normal as ever, replacing two parts of a metal tin—the lid and the main vessel, severely dented in one corner—into a safe deposit box made of marble. Covering it, he pushed the cuboid into an opening on the column, cut as if just to fit this particular receptacle, pressed a button on the console above, and waited for something.

Without looking at her, Snow said, "Sorry. My hand slipped."

All at once, she saw it: the tremor in his hands, the blotchiness of his cheeks. And was that the light or a faint sheen on his forehead?

"Are you alright, sir?" asked Lilith apprehensively.

"Fine." Part of the panel lit up in green, and he pivoted on his heel, striding toward her. "Let's go."

"You're done?" Lilith was stunned as she spun to follow. Snow had not stopped to check that she did. His shaking hands were empty. "Did you find what you came for?"

"Did you touch anything?"

"No, sir."

How could she have?

Her bewildered reply was the end of the conversation. Snow did not utter another word to her—he never even looked her in the eye. His holding open of the lift was his only acknowledgement of her presence. They rode upward in silence. With his hands tucked in his pockets, his eyelids shuttered, his face smooth but for the taut muscle in his jaw, Snow seemed so suddenly still Lilith couldn't even see him breathing. His calm appearance contradicted the impression that she was sensing waves of something intense radiating off of him, and she attributed the latter to an overactive imagination.

Despite her unease, Lilith made a conscious effort to stare forward as they headed down the hall in the Hunger Games division toward his office. There was no use throwing glances at his face; it wasn't like she could do anything regardless the state it was in. Not here, not now, not ever.

Not anymore.

A blinking caught her eye, and Lilith homed in on the device on her desk, its position shifting slightly with every vibration. The buzzing stopped as she arrived at the table, and as she picked up her cordless, her heart tripped.