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Greyson felt the world around her spin when she woke up, a tube sticking out of her arm and her wounds cleaned. She was inside a hovercraft, listening to two people converse in hushed voices, an edge of panic etched into the conversation. She breathed deeply, a sharp pain in her throat throbbing as she inhaled. Sitting up, Greyson yanked painfully on the IV connected to her arm, wincing as it came out and left her hand, hitting the floor. Standing up was a struggle at first, but she knew that whatever was behind those doors would be worth it.
She knew those voices, they were distinct and very familiar. Haymitch and Plutarch, she guessed. If Greyson wasn't looking, she would've tripped over an unconscious Beetee and Katniss, their wounds also cleaned and sterilized. Katniss looked so peaceful now, so different from how she was before Greyson passed out. Katniss must have done it, broken the arena somehow.
"How're we going to tell her? You saw how they were in the arena, the plan – "
"Plans change."
Greyson took another step toward the door, flinching in surprise as the door slid open to reveal the two people she suspected to be there. The two men looked tired and stressed, but weakly gave her a smile once they saw who it was.
Haymitch sighed deeply, unable to make complete eye contact with her. "Morning, sunshine."
Plutarch urged her inside the room, placing her at the head of the small table, his brow furrowed as he opened his mouth. Greyson looked around the room, noticing how many people, important people, were absent.
"Where's Finnick?" She asked, looking at Haymitch when Plutarch wouldn't answer her. "Where is he?" When she didn't receive an answer she slammed her hand on the table, her eyes reddening with tears. The silence was hurting her ears, and internally, her heart was beating too fast to be normal. Something wasn't right. "Why aren't you answering me?"
"There wasn't enough time to get all of you out. Finnick still had his tracker in his arm, there were too many risks." Plutarch tried to explain, but Greyson was turned around, facing the wall with her arms tangled in her matted brown hair, pacing in a small line.
"No, no, no, no. No." She rushed out, harsh sobs wrecking her body. Her knees trembled, threatening to drop her to the floor. "This isn't real. This isn't real," she tried to reassure herself.
Haymitch frowned at the sight, not just because he felt bad, but because he'd promised Finnick long ago that he'd get Greyson out of the arena, even if it meant leaving him in the hands of the Capitol. Now, all Haymitch felt was guilt.
