Splintered

Chapter Fifty: When Mercy Screams Its Violent Love

Why on Earth had he gone back?!

Vesper kept his gaze still and downcast, yet he didn't seem to be able to stop the rest of his body from shivering.

Hazel whipped her head toward the outside. Thankfully, Vetch was nowhere in sight. Just more peacekeepers piling in. She hoped he was gone; whether he'd made it back to Eleven or if what he'd said about Thirteen was true, it didn't matter, as long as he was miles away from there.

The other avox sank to the floor, devastation, pouring off him.

That had to be why. He had to be. Vesper went back for his friend.

Snow stretched his shoulders, studying the cowering figure. "Aligned yourself with those murderous rebels?"

"Maybe he was just returning?" Hazel intervened.

Leo's arm brushed hers, "Marlowe," he warned into her ear.

"Let's ask the man himself, shall we?" Snow responded, circling the hunched figure. "Were you coming back to your job? Back to the Capitol? Back to me?" Snow volleyed the questions like bullets. And each hit their target.

Vesper's eyes went from brick to coals as they finally lifted, meeting Snow's. He didn't need to utter a sound for it to be clear what he was communicating.

"What a disappointment." Snow bent toward the avox, fingering his bloody collar. Peering down at the neat row of stitches snaking along the avox's shoulder, Snow smirked. "Though I should really be more surprised. What did Gaul promise you? Money? Luxury? Preservation?"

"That was hardly all," Cress interjected.

"Something to add, Mr. Fields?" Snow stood, targeting the older man.

"Everyone has their price." Cress's gaze slid over Vesper. "Some revenge, others money, and still others something more valuable than any monetary gain. All of it you brought upon yourself, Senator."

Snow seemed unmoved by the interruption, entertaining it for the time being.

"And what do you seek, Mr. Fields?"

"Freedom," Cress concluded.

A couple of peacekeepers laughed while those among the rebels who were conscious enough to respond considered the man speaking for them with solidarity.

"I've heard that before," Snow's attention skimmed Hazel, "What do you need to free yourself from, Sir?"

"From you, of course," Cress answered, face hard. "From a Panem where you would be President."

Snow's features turned practically feral. He circled to the windows, peering out.

The adolescent sunlight was turning everything a muted, cool-toned navy. Frost was giving way to a hazy early morning mist.

"You want freedom?" Snow's voice was colder than an ice block in the dead of January. "Far be it from me to withhold it from you."

Hazel shifted forward. Whatever Snow was about to do, she had to intervene. Yet, a sensation distracted her, a soft yet fervent warning warmed her ear, "Don't."

Leo's fingers tapped against Hazel's, and she paused.

"Everyone of them, outside. Now," Snow demanded in Private Merrick's direction. She gave a stern order, and the peacekeepers all around the car jumped into action, scrambling like bees at the direction of their queen.

"What are you doing?" Hazel asked, incapable of holding herself back any longer.

Snow ignored her as he continued to direct Private Merrick. "The injured, too. I want them off this train."