The Night Seneca Crane Died
I was agitated. They've outsmarted me. It was too late. Claudius already announced the name of the victors.
That night, Snow called for me. I knew I was in deep trouble.
I entered the room and I was taken aback by the sight of the round, dark colored berries encapsulated in a goblet. Nightlock.
On that same terrifying moment, the president walked to me from behind.
"Kids, Seneca. Kids got the better of you. What a shame," he said.
"I – I… " nothing came out.
I turned to look at him, but I only saw two tall, burly men, unarmed, straight faced. They weren't in motion, but I knew I was going to die.
An area not so distant from where I was standing, laid my stuff. And a few feet away, was a phone.
My mind was playing. The revolver in my bag, or call for help?
Suddenly, I raced to the desk, where the phone lied, hastily dialed the numbers 46213, and uttered my last words.
"Take over," I said and put down the phone.
The last thing I remembered was one of the men strangling me with a thick rope, tugging very hard, until my life came to an end.
Now discerned, I knew I did the right thing. Plutarch has always been the ultimate traitor. He's the perfect guy.
And he succeeded.