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"Kitten?" His voice was soft, delicate and cautious, as if he was speaking to a beast ready to pummel him into the ground.
She had found herself back where she started, sat in a corner, bracing herself with her arms wrapped tightly around her waist and tucked up legs, doing the breathing techniques Dr. Yu had instructed her to do whenever she felt. . . reckless. After speaking with Coin, Greyson felt something within her snap as she walked out of the room. Something that made her heart snap in half, not out of sadness, but out of fear. And she hated herself for it, she hated Coin and Plutarch and Snow and all of her demons that would be taken to the grave with her, for making her feel that way. She wanted the floor to swallow her up, but the waves kept washing over her in pounding tremors.
She shut her eyes so tightly that she saw stars burst behind her eyelids. She whispered under her breath. "My name is Greyson Hunter. Victor of the 66th Hunger Games. I-I have to kill President Snow. . ." Greyson choked on her words, air caught tight in her windpipe as though someone had began strangling her. "I will kill him."
A shadow passed over her vision suddenly, and her eyes flickered up to the person. "Grey," he crouched down in front of her and clasped her face in between his hands, holding him to her. "Shh, don't speak, darling." He murmured as Greyson tried to protest out of embarrassment.
She should have known he would've followed out after her, she was oblivious to anybody's actions beside her own, and that made her vulnerable. She wanted to push Finnick away, but he held her in a strong embrace, waiting for her to calm down so he could look her in the eye.
He frowned at her, to which her chest stirred with an unpleasant feeling. "I hate seeing you in pain." He admitted.
Greyson leaned her head back against the wall of the dark, abandoned hallway she found them sitting in. Her hand reached up to cover one of the hands that rested on her jaw. "I think," she paused in thought, her eyes wandering in the dark shadows, "I think I'm terrified." She looked up at him. "And I think that's the worst thing I could possibly be right now. I have to watch everyone I have left in the world, everyone that I've created such fond memories with just. . . wash away, and all it could take is one swift bullet to the head."
Finnick stayed silent, watching her with his intense, green-blue eyes.
"And it's not like I can stop any of them, or you, or even myself. I know what must be done, I know we could die, and I know we may not see one another again after this is all over, but if I don't try I'd never be able to forgive myself for being such a coward." She whispered the last part to herself, looking down at the seam in her pants; her military-grade pants.
