𝙰𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗 ✪ 𝙵𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝙾𝚍𝚊𝚒𝚛

- ȶɦɨʀȶʏ ֆɨӼ

Breaking Willa was a lot more difficult than President Snow initially thought.

But she finally started to break during the third week of torture.

At first, she'd refused to scream.

They had cut, burned, drowned, starved, and electrocuted her in ways that blurred the line between pain and madness—but still, she hadn't screamed. She bit her tongue until blood filled her mouth instead. She'd spat it on the floor in front of them, glaring through swollen eyes, her body shaking but unbent.

"She's quite resilient," one of the Peacekeepers had said, almost impressed. Snow only smiled, calm as always.

"Everyone breaks eventually. It's only a matter of how long they believe they can resist." he said. The next day, they stopped hurting her body and started hurting her mind. They played sounds through the speakers in her cell: the screams of people she loved. At first, she told herself it wasn't real, that it was just recordings, tricks. But the Capitol had recordings that sounded real. Finnick's voice, calling her name. Katoa's laugh twisted into a sob. Even Brutus, shouting for her to run.

Sleep-deprivation followed. Then water so cold it burned.

And when she finally fell unconscious, they shocked her awake.

By the third week, Willa was unrecognizable. Her hair clung to her face, matted and wet. Her lips were cracked. Her wrists were raw and bleeding where the metal cuffs rubbed against her skin. Every breath was shallow and unsteady. She'd stopped counting the days—they blurred together into one endless scream inside her head.

And still, she refused to say what they wanted.

She wouldn't give them the names. Wouldn't tell them what District 13 was planning.

So they changed tactics again.

The door hissed open, and Snow himself stepped in. He moved like a phantom—slow, deliberate, perfectly clean in his white suit, a crimson rose pinned to his chest. The smell of blood and antiseptic filled the air.

"Miss Levine," he said softly, almost kindly. "You look terrible."

Willa lifted her head, her eyes glassy but sharp.

"Can't imagine you look much better up close," her voice was raspy. Snow smiled faintly, lowering himself into the chair across from her.

"You have fire. I admire that." He folded his hands neatly on the table between them. "But fire without control burns itself out. You're not the first to resist, my dear. But I can assure you, you will end like the rest."

She said nothing. He leaned forward slightly.

"Tell me. Do you think Finnick Odair misses you?" Her entire body tensed, but she didn't move. "He's quite... passionate in his grief. Reckless. It's touching, really. I wonder how long he'll keep that up once he realizes what you've become."

"Shut up," she muttered, her voice breaking.

"Ah, there it is. The crack." Snow smiled again. Willa's breathing quickened. Her vision blurred with tears she refused to shed. He stood, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve.

"Do think about what I said, my dear. I'd hate for your suffering to be meaningless." Snow said. As he left, the guards stepped forward. One of them turned a dial, and the hum began again, the sound she hated most. The electric whine that came right before the pain.

And for the first time, Willa screamed. Snow didn't smile when he heard the scream.

He didn't need to. He simply turned the volume down on the monitor beside him and watched Willa collapse to her knees, trembling, hands clutching at the cold floor as if she could hold herself together by sheer will. Her face was a mess of tears, dirt, and blood. Her voice cracked into raw silence.

"Record that," he said quietly to the technician beside him. "Every second."

"Yes, sir." the technician said. Snow stood there for a long time, hands clasped behind his back, gaze fixed on the screen.

"She lasted longer than expected. Stronger than most," he murmured. "That kind of resilience can be... repurposed. Begin her conditioning."

They didn't let Willa rest.

When she woke again, the world was soft and wrong. The cell was gone—replaced by a pristine white room that hummed faintly with sterilized air. The shackles were gone too, though her wrists still bore the deep, angry marks. She was dressed in Capitol white, her hair clean, the blood gone from her skin. But the calm didn't feel like mercy. It felt like control.

"Good morning, Willa," said a woman's voice. Smooth. Unfamiliar. "How are you feeling today?"

Willa blinked, trying to locate the source. The voice came from nowhere and everywhere—speakers embedded in the walls.

"I'm fine," Willa croaked. "Where am I?"

"Home," the voice said cheerfully. "Or, at least, somewhere much safer than before."

Willa laughed once, hoarse and bitter.

"You mean I'm still your prisoner." she said.

"Not a prisoner," the voice corrected softly. "A guest. A very important one. The Capitol sees potential in you, Willa. You've survived things others could not. You're strong, adaptable, admired by the public... and you care about people. That's what makes you valuable."

"Valuable for what?"

"For rebuilding. The war won't last forever. Someone will need to help remind the people what order looks like when it's over."

"You want to use me."

"You can call it that, if you wish."

Her mind flickered—images of the arena, of Finnick's hand reaching for her before the wave hit. Her throat ached.

"He'll find me," she whispered. "He'll come for me."

"Oh, Willa. We're counting on it." The voice chuckled faintly.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧

ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ ᴅᴀʏꜱ ʟᴀᴛᴇʀ...

The war room was silent except for the hum of the projector. Static cleared, revealing a familiar backdrop—the grand marble of the Capitol stage. Snow stood before the cameras, poised and calm, a faint smile on his lips. Behind him stood a figure in white.

"Citizens of Panem," Snow began. "I come to you today not in anger, but in hope. The rebellion has claimed many lives, including those of misguided souls who once fought with honor. But sometimes," he paused, his gaze sliding meaningfully toward the figure behind him "the Capitol finds it in its heart to forgive."

The figure stepped forward into the light.

Willa.

Finnick's breath stopped.

Her hair was pale now, braided neatly, her eyes empty and distant. She stood perfectly still beside Snow, her expression calm, almost serene. The only thing that gave her away was the faint twitch in her fingers, like some part of her still remembered how to fight. She wasn't close to being fully conditioned. Snow placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Even the strongest can find peace," he said. "The Capitol welcomes back one of its own."

Finnick's chair crashed to the ground as he stood.

"No. That's not her." he shakily said. But deep down, he knew it was. He just didn't want to believe that she was alive - alive and being tortured.