The train was quiet, the hum of the tracks vibrating through the soles of my feet. David was asleep, clutching the black stone pendant, and the adults had finally retired. But I couldn't sleep. The luxury of the train felt like a velvet trap, and I needed the night to breathe.
I slipped out of my room and headed toward the dining car. That's when I saw her.
She was young, with hair the color of autumn leaves and eyes that seemed to hold a thousand unspoken screams. She was clearing the remains of our dinner, her movements fluid and ghost-like. I knew what she was—an Avox.
I knew she wouldn't understand the signs I had taught David, so I reached for a small notepad and pen left on a side table. I stepped into her line of sight and wrote: "I see you. I am Zinnia."
The girl's head snapped up. Her eyes went wide, darting to the cameras. I moved slightly, using my body as a shield. She took the pen with a trembling hand and scrawled: "Lavinia."
"Where are you from, Lavinia?" I wrote.
"District 4," she replied, the ink bleeding slightly as she pressed down hard. "I tried to run. They caught me. Now I am a ghost in a machine."
"We are both ghosts here," I wrote back, meeting her eyes. "But ghosts can move through walls. Ghosts can hear things the living miss. You are not alone anymore."
We "talked" for a long time in that heavy silence, the pen scratching against the paper being the only sound. We shared names of people we missed and the colors of the homes we had lost. For a moment, the train didn't feel like a prison; it felt like a sanctuary.
I heard the rhythmic click of Peacekeeper boots in the next car. I didn't have much time. I took the scraps of our conversation, carefully folded them into small, flat squares, and tucked them into the hidden lining of my sleeve. I would keep her words close to my skin, a secret vow.
I reached into my hair and pulled out a plain, black bobby pin. It was scratched and humble, the kind of thing a guard would never look at twice. As I pressed it into Lavinia's palm, I let a pulse of my Life's gift flow into it. The metal began to hum with a steady, grounding warmth—a secret heartbeat she could feel even through the fabric of her uniform.
I looked her directly in the eyes, my voice a soft, low vibration. "Keep this. It will keep you safe."
I didn't mean it would stop a Peacekeeper's lash or a Capitol bullet. I meant it would keep her safe—the girl from District 4 with the autumn hair. It would keep her mind from shattering and her spirit from being swallowed by the silence.
Lavinia's eyes filled with tears. She understood the weight of the promise. She slid the pin into the dark fabric of her uniform, right against her collarbone.
The Peacekeeper rounded the corner, and she instantly became a shadow again. But as she walked away, her shoulders were straight, and she touched the spot where the pin was hidden.
I went back to my room with her name pressed against my wrist, ready to face the Capitol. I wasn't just a tribute anymore; I was a protector.