hope | c. snow

1

"SNOW MEANS I'M DYING. SNOW MEANS I'M FALLING."

-

"Snow," a tall man greeted Coriolanus, who was walking over to his seat for the Reaping.

The man looked to be the same age as him and was wearing the most expensive brand in the Capitol that Coriolanus recognized from the slight stitchings on the edges delicately marking the word, "L." It was the very brand his cousin Tigris had talked about—the innovative, new fashion that would lead the trend in the upcoming decades. The man had dark olive skin, a big contrast to Coriolanus's pale skin, which was so pale that it looked as if he had never seen the sun before. His dark eyes gleamed in the light, staring down at the blond man with an air of natural arrogance.

Coriolanus forced out a smile. "Moon. On time for once?"

"Perhaps. And you're wearing something other than your uniform for once. I think we're both surprised, darling," said the man. His dark voice and his perfectly trained Capitol accent echoed through Coriolanus's mind as if he were scratching at an open wound. "You seem ... excited. You want the prize that badly?"

"I just want to serve Panem," Coriolanus lied through his teeth.

"Of course you do," Gahel laughed. The man walked closer to him and grabbed his shoulders before whispering in his ear. "But I'm so regretful to tell you that your prize isn't going to be here. At least, not today."

At those words, Coriolanus looked at the man in disbelief, his blue eyes slightly wider than usual, but Gahel just tapped his shoulders, smiled at him, and left to sit in his spot.

Is he lying? Coriolanus pondered.

But even though he despised the man, he knew that Gahel wasn't the type of person to lie, as he was honest, at the very least.

His thoughts wandered around, but Coriolanus couldn't do anything further than just go and take a seat at his designated spot.

As soon as he was putting his bag away, Sejanus Plinth, who sat next to him, confirmed his disbelief.

"Hey, Coriolanus ..." Sejanus started, his brown eyes wide with worry. He leaned in and whispered to the other boy. "Um, I know you have high hopes for this. But there's no prize today. Not anymore. I'm so sorry."

"What?" Coriolanus hissed.

Sejanus just looked at the blond boy in apology.

Coriolanus saw Gahel Moon walking to his seat, which was oh-so-conveniently right behind him, a smug grin on his face and mouthing: "I told you so."

He didn't want to see that face right now.

But before anything else could happen, Head Gamemaker Dr. Gaul came on the stage.

"Welcome. How ... tantalizing to see all your shining young faces on this auspicious day," said Dr. Gaul, her eyes scanning the room calmly contrary to her crazy outfit. "I am Doctor Volumnia Gaul, your humble Head Gamemaker in charge of the War Department and all its affiliated concerns." The woman chuckled for a second. "I've been broken free of my laboratory today to examine you, the leaders of the next generation. I won't be around forever after all. And now to that end, I am honored to introduce to you the creator of the Hunger Games themselves, Dean Casca Highbottom."

Coriolanus had to keep himself from changing his composure. What did Sejanus mean? What did damn Moon mean by his words? Why were they introducing the creator of the Hunger Games out of the blue? Wasn't he hidden from the public?

What was happening?

Coriolanus followed the others to turn backward and see a short man, who turned his head after his name had been announced.