Coriolanus shoots Lucy Gray, then finds her still clinging to life on the forest floor.
Dive into the twisted mind of Coryo and the lengths he will go through to ensure Lucy Gray can't ever run from him again.
The antiseptic scent of a hospital is the first thing I notice, accompanied by the rhythmic beep of a heart monitor. My elevated leg throbs in sync with each beat, making it unbearable to open my eyes. I lay still, gathering my bearings.
“How is she doing, Doctor?” Coryo's voice from my bedside is more worried than I'd ever heard it.
“She's recovering. The procedure was successful, but we can't predict her reaction upon waking,” responds a weary-sounding middle-aged woman.
Coryo stays silent, his fingers entwined with mine, our palms pressed together. The doctor leaves, the door clicking behind her. Coryo's thumb traces the back of my hand, and after a while, I gently squeeze his hand.
“Lucy Gray?” His heart leaps, and he rises from the chair, clasping my hand in both of his.
I let my eyelids flutter open, although they feel as heavy as ten-ton weights. His handsome visage consumes my vision – his perfectly sculpted jaw set in a worried expression, his blond hair looking far more grown out than I remembered.
“Coryo, what happened? How long was I out?” I groan, wincing as I shift toward him. The hospital room is blindingly white, making it unbearable to look at anything but Coryo.
“Almost two months. What's the last thing you remember?” He asks, brows furrowed anxiously.
I try to recall anything at all. My mind is fuzzy and white, like a still forest blanketed in snow. I strain harder, trying to piece something together. A low melody starts to play in the back of my mind. “The hanging tree. We met under the hanging tree.”
Coryo nods. “Then what? Do you remember what happened to your leg?”
I try to force something, anything to come to mind, but it's all maddeningly white. Wherever those memories exist, they're buried under the snow, and I don't have the strength to go digging. “I can't remember a thing. What happened to me, Coryo?”
His shoulders drop, their earlier tenseness leaving all at once. In fact, his face takes on such a distinctly relieved expression that it gives me pause, though I don't betray my suspicion.
“We stopped at the cabin and found those guns. We decided to drop them in the lake to get rid of the evidence.” He caresses my hand anxiously as he continues, “One of the guns misfired, the bullet lodged in your calf. I took you back to the cabin and laid you on the bed.”
His bright blue eyes shine, and he brings my knuckles to his lips, kissing them. “I knew we weren't going to make it much further with your injury, but when I suggested we get you to the doctor, you refused. You wanted to keep going so badly that you tried to get up and walk. That's when your leg gave out and you fell, hitting your head and fracturing your ankle in the process.”
“Well, my my. That was stupid of me, wasn't it?” I give a faint smile.
“Not stupid. You were scared. But everything will be okay now. I worked it all out,” he reassures, kissing my knuckles again.
“Oh, you did now, did you? What exactly did you work out?” I ask pulling my hand from his, my vision sparking as another bout of pain shoots up from my ankle.
“We have amnesty, and Dr. Gaul covered your surgeries. She thinks we can bridge the gap between the Capitol and districts,” Coryo says, respect for the Gamemaker evident in his voice.
“Why did she care about little ole me? She seemed to want me dead at every other opportunity,” I say spitefully.
Coryo grins. “Because you're mine, Lucy Gray. We could be a force for change. Picture it – a young man from the Capitol with his songbird from District Twelve, who wins the Games and later becomes his first lady.”
His eyes light up with dreams, lost in his own fantasy.
“Coriolanus, two issues with that dream. First, becoming president in a Capitol full of snakes. Second, convincing me to marry you,” I interject.
Coryo's smile falters, just barely. “Dr. Gaul has set me on the fast track to the presidency. President Ravinstill finally has a worthy successor—Me.”
He moves one hand to my cheek, caressing my face gently. “And as for you marrying me… Don't you want the power to make a real difference?”
“Helping people happens on the streets, not from presidential palaces. No, Coriolanus, I don't want to be the first lady.”
Seeing the heartbreak in his eyes, I soften. “You know I would never be happy in the city. I belong in nature, singing and dancing through a meadow of flowers.”
“That'll never happen,” Coriolanus’s tone is final. “Your ankle was too far broken to fix. Just getting around outside won't be possible, much less dancing. You're going to need a cane for the rest of your life.”
My heart drops to the pit of my stomach. “What?”
His soft, sad eyes meet mine. “I'm so sorry.”
“No…” Hot tears roll down my cheeks, and my shoulders shake with sobs. “No no no NO NO!”
“Lucy-” Coriolanus reaches for me, but I shove him away.
“NO!” I must look crazy; I feel insane. I never knew how much I'd needed the freedom to run before it was ripped from me. What is a nomad without the ability to roam?
“I'll do everything I can to make things as easy on you as possible, I'll take care of you,” Coryo says, standing by my bedside with his hands out as if he expects me to leap from the bed.
“You don't understand. You can't understand,” I say, threading my fingers through my hair and shaking my head.
“Then help me understand,” Coryo says, desperately clutching the metal bar of my hospital bed, worry coloring his features.
I look up at him, my vision blurred with more tears. “You could run if you wanted. But me?” I let out a short, angry laugh. “I don't want this life, Coryo. You should have left me to die.”
“I couldn't do that, Lucy Gray,” he whispers, sitting at the side of my bed and clasping my hand in his. “I protected you then, and I'll protect you now. Things are going to get better from here, my sweet songbird.”
“For you? Sure.” I shrug, my lips pressed into a hard line. “For me?” I shift my gaze to the white, sterile wall. “My wings are clipped, Coryo. The life of a bird in a cage is only to look pretty and sing. But what is there to sing for when my life is no longer my own?”
Coryo scoots in beside me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me close.
“We'll find a reason for you to sing again. I swear it,” he soothes, but I can't find it in myself to believe him, or even respond. Everything feels pointless.
I close my eyes and let the world drift away.
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