𝙰𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗 ✪ 𝙵𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝙾𝚍𝚊𝚒𝚛

- ȶɦɨʀȶʏ ʄօʊʀ

back from the dead so heres a (short) chapter !

Willa woke up not knowing where she was, how long she had been there, or who else was there. She could hear screams piercing through the walls. She got up from where she had been laying and tried going closer to the edge of her cell only to be met short by shackles on her wrist she only now noticed. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared down at the shackles—metal, tight, cutting slightly into her skin as if they had been there for a while. Her wrists were raw. She didn't remember getting them. Didn't remember anything after the wave. The screams came again, shrill and too human to ignore. Willa flinched, backing up against the wall, chains clinking with every movement. The cell was dimly lit, smooth concrete all around her, save for a thick, glass-paneled door on the far side. No windows. No clock. Just the flickering overhead light and a faint hum, like something was always watching. Her throat was dry. Her muscles ached. Her head throbbed like something had been taken—or forced in. They should've let her die. Willa closed her eyes, trying to slow her breathing. The last thing she remembered was the jungle—the way the ground trembled before the wave slammed through it, and then—

Nothing.

They must have pulled her from the arena. But that wasn't supposed to happen. Not unless you were dead or a Victor. And she hadn't died and she hadn't made it to the end.

So why was she here?

"Ah. You're awake," Willa's head snapped up at the sound of a voice. She knew that voice all too well and it meant trouble. President Snow. Snow stood just beyond the glass, a phantom in his white suit, hands clasped loosely behind his back, eyes glittering with interest. His presence turned Willa's blood cold. He didn't need to be loud to command a room—his quietness was a weapon all its own.

"You died quite beautifully," he said mildly, as though they were chatting at a dinner party. "Or so we led them to believe."

Willa didn't answer. She pushed herself to her feet, unsteady but defiant, the chains dragging against the floor with every breath she took. Her fingers curled into fists. Snow stepped closer to the glass, inspecting her like something beneath one of his roses.

"You shouldn't be here. By all accounts, you should have been reduced to nothing in that wave." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "But the arena has its secrets. And so do we."

Willa's voice cracked from disuse, but she forced the words out anyway.

"What do you want from me?" she asked. Snow tilted his head.

"Survival, Miss Levine, is such an unpredictable thing. The Capitol has been watching you for some time now. Your instincts. Your restraint. Your... unpredictability." He paused, letting the silence stretch. "We think you could be useful."

Willa laughed then, bitter and hollow.

"Useful? For what? More propaganda? More games?" she said. Snow's expression didn't change. He turned slightly as if surveying the long corridor behind him.

"You see, rebellion is not extinguished with fire. Fire spreads. But we've found a new way. A quieter way. One that requires... tools." He faced her again. "You could be one of them."

"I'll never work for you," Willa spat. Snow's smile deepened, like he expected that.

"I admire your spirit. It reminds me of another girl who once said something similar." He leaned slightly closer to the glass. "But she had more to lose. Do you?"

Willa said nothing. Her fingers twitched at her sides.

"Sleep well, Miss Levine," he said, stepping back into the shadows. "Tomorrow, your evaluation begins. I suggest you make yourself presentable."

With a hiss, the lights in the cell dimmed until only a thin glow remained. The silence pressed in, heavier than the chains. But Willa stood there long after he was gone, heart pounding, breath shaking. They thought they could twist her into something else. They didn't know her at all.