"I'm going to get you out of there,"
Finnick's voice was firm, each word sharpened by perseverance.
"How?" the young girl challenged, her tone tinged with desperation.
"You're out here, and I'm trapped in there."
Finnick's eyes swept over her, his...
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──── "...𝘐'𝘮 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥." ────
The doors to the citizens of District Four slammed shut behind the Baylis siblings, their echoes reverberating down the narrow, dimly lit corridor. The sound was a grim prelude to the separation that followed.
Andreia barely had a moment to steady her breath before the peacekeepers grabbed her, their grip unyielding as they wrenched her away from her brother. Andrew's voice, raw with desperation, cut through the tension.
"Let me go!" He shouted, his voice cracking with urgency. His eyes were wide, filled with a frantic determination as he reached for Andreia, trying to bridge the widening gap between them, "Andreia!"
But the peacekeepers were implacable. With a rough shove, they forced Andrew into a separate room. The door slammed shut behind him with a finality that made Andreia flinch. The silence that followed was oppressive, a void that seemed to swallow all hope and comfort.
Andreia was ushered into her own room, the door closing softly behind her. The room was a cruel contrast of beauty and despair. Silk drapes in deep burgundy and gold lined the walls, and a plush carpet swallowed her footsteps, rendering her movements almost soundless. A grand mirror hung on one wall, reflecting the room's flawless elegance, while a crystal chandelier cast a warm, almost ethereal light that accentuated the room's opulence.
Yet, despite its lavish appearance, the room seemed to carry the weight of countless previous farewells, each filled with a haunting sense of inevitability.
She stood there, feeling numb, her mind reeling from the whirlwind of events. It was as if she were trapped in a relentless nightmare, unable to escape the reality of her fate. She barely registered the door opening again until she felt a familiar hand on her shoulder.
"Andreia.." her father, Kristopher, said softly, his voice a poignant blend of strength and sorrow. His presence seemed out of place against the room's pristine backdrop, his rough, weathered hands contrasting sharply with the delicate surroundings. Yet, in this moment of profound disbelief, his presence was a lifeline.
She turned to him, her eyes wide and glazed, "Papà," she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. Tears welled up, threatening to spill over as the weight of the situation settled heavily in her chest.
Kristopher pulled her into a tight embrace, his hand gently stroking her hair, "Listen to me, Andreia," he said, his voice firm yet gentle. "You must stay strong. Use your smarts and resourcefulness. Keep your wits about you, and don't trust anyone. Remember what I taught you about survival."
