Splintered

Chapter Eighteen: Strange Things Did Happen Here

Frost-covered mud crunch beneath Hazel's boots. Sparse, lifeless grass littered the ground in sporadic patches. Graves, if you could even call them that, lined the cemetery in crooked rows. The District Twelve graveyard was an overcrowded plot of haggard land, a death-colored boutonniere that completed the district's coal-dust-soaked ensemble.

The white of the morning frost merged with the black and gray, making everything feel and look muddy, dull, and lifeless. Lily would hate it here. Linden probably would consider it inspired.

Hazel felt a weird comradery with the place herself. Not for the depressing color pallet but more because it was as though her sentiment matched the setting. She had, after all, spent the rest of the night wide awake, terrified of what waited beneath the canopy of unconsciousness.

"I don't mean to be rude," Bellona said as she walked beside her. "But you look like hell."

Apparently, Bellona recognized the similarities as well.

"Good to know that the outside matches the inside." Hazel sighed, her breath puffing out in gray steam.

"Restless night?" Bellona asked, studying her out of her peripheral vision.

Hazel pulled her coat tighter, "Something like that."

"I swear I heard you talking with someone."

She was grateful for the coolness of the air and the murky morning light as it masked any blush that threatened to break free. "Probably just sleep talking again. Been doing it since I was little. I thought I grew out of it."

"Oh right," Bellona's face melted into pity.

Hazel's face grew instantly warm despite the frigidness. "Did you watch that part of my games?"

Bellona nodded. Hazel would rather be buried in the cemetery than think about how many others heard her speak Snow's name in her sleep. She battled her feet to walk normally. "Did I say anything....interesting?"

Her guard shrugged, "Couldn't tell."

A small amount of relief filled her. "You have an issue with sleepwalking, too?" Bellona asked.

Relief gave way to a fresh wave of concern. Hazel paused, staring at her with a desperately perplexed grimace, "Not that I know of."

"Weird," Her guard faced her, "I thought I heard you moving around in there, but no one came in or out all night."

Bellona stuttered, watching the harrowed expression filter over Hazel's features. "I mean, maybe it was nothing."

Hazel grimaced the image of her tipped-over chair burning in the back of her mind. "Probably."

"Maybe, I have something that can help." Bellona tugged on Hazel's sleeve, "Give me your hand."

Hazel relented, opening her palm. Bellona reached into her uniform pockets, pulled out her balled fist, and pressed something into Hazel's open hand.

Hazel shivered. Something about it reminded her of Snow's ghost giving her the knife. But this was no knife. It was cylindrical, hard, but most definitely plastic in nature. She furrowed her brow, catching a glimpse of the undeniable orange tint of a prescription bottle.

Hazel's voice dropped to a whisper, "Bells, are you giving me drugs?"

Bellona stifled a laugh, shaking her head, "They're yours."

Hazel's eyes widened, looking at the bottle again.

Bellona continued, "You forgot to pack these, and I had a feeling you might need them."