Splintered

Chapter Forty-One: On the Night Train

Glasses clattered together in jarring, sharp clinks. Tangerine brandy sloshed out of Festus's glass as he exuberantly toasted Snow and then proceeded to do the same to everyone in the room.

Hazel was perched at the too-blue table, doing her best to relax while glaring at the familiar navy roses.

Another midnight in Snow's domain.

His private train glided gently through the darkness. More than once, her attention had settled on the black void whirling by outside. The day itself had been just as blurry after her speech.

The press had swarmed, peppering him with questions and comments. Even the folk of District Eight had lingered, curiously witnessing history unfold instead of returning to their factories.

Hazel had soaked it all in, stationed at his side. He hadn't let go of her hand for what felt like an eternity, seemingly intent on keeping his lucky charm within reach.

They had finally departed District Eight earlier that evening. The journey to District Five would be long, and Snow had insisted on a head start, after relishing the aftermath of the announcement for far too long, of course.

She briefly caught the silvery moon overhead, flanked by murky clouds. Sleep called to her, even though she doubted she'd be fortunate enough to enjoy it.

The official Victory Tour train trailed several miles behind, set to rendezvous at a satellite station near District Two before long.

Now they were all gathered in the lobby car, roses and sweet brandy thick in the air. Everyone seemed to be attempting to unwind.

Indira studied her warily, nails nervously tapping the crystal cup in her hold. Bellona, weaponless, lounged on a couch, indulging in cheap beer. Sable even seemed somewhat relaxed as he stretched his shoulders, chewing on a chocolate chip muffin.

Leo was the least at ease. Opting to remain stationed in a corner. His hand lingered just above the holster of his weapon. Once again, he was caged within himself.

"You are a genius!" Festus slurred too loudly for the close quarters. "A bloody genius!"

Hazel's attention soared back to her mentor, who was toasting Snow again.

"Ambitious, Fest, just ambitious." Snow smiled over the rim of his glass, something unnaturally vivid and probably expensive. Despite his half-hearted deflection, he absorbed the praise like the purest oxygen. His coat had been stashed away, tie loosened, posture relaxed, though his rose remained peeking out of his vest pocket. Pride radiated off him like heat from damp grass. "I couldn't have done it without help."

He was contemplating her steadily, but she kept her gaze fastened to the swirling murkiness outside.

"Man, I would pay good money for a frame of the look on Trask's face," Festus sighed, satisfied.

Hazel swallowed. Gaul and Augustus had disappeared many hours ago. Seemingly long gone from District Eight. They took their sour expressions and threats with them.

Was Gaul already on her way to Seven? Maybe she would send Augustus instead. Or a legion. Or hell, a bomb.

Hazel reclined further into the seat.

"Got'em running. Tail between their legs." Festus downed his drink. Whirling toward the television, he grappled for the remote.

"Do we really need to watch anymore?" Indira moaned, pushing away the remnants of her beverage.

Festus ignored her. The Capitol news was fervently covering the events in District Eight. Debates had already started. Arguments and counterarguments were made. All of it centered on Snow and now Hazel and, of course, the concept of District voting rights.