Chapter Forty; Unseen Circumstances

Seneca suffered a brief moment of uncharacteristic shock before he was able to get his emotions under control, and taking Stephanie up in his arms, straightened his back to look down the hall at the gathered guards.

"What is this?" Seneca demanded.

The guards in front of him shifted awkwardly, exchanging glances.

Seneca's gaze fell on the lifeless body of Cen just past the open door.

"What is he doing here?"

There was more awkward shuffling.

"He said that his sister was Ficen the stylist. He said that if he could speak with her he could straighten things out. But then Ficen refused to see him and he tried to escape…"one of the guards answered.

"And are you in the habit of granting prisoner's requests?" Seneca barked.

A few of the guards flinched and there were a series of mumbled, "No sir's."

Seneca threw one more distasteful glance at the stylist's body.

"Get rid of it and send Ficen down here immediately," Seneca ordered.

"Yes Sir, right away."

Two of the guards disappeared back into the room and closed the door, while another two disappeared down the hall towards the prepping room to fetch Ficen.

"And what about her, Sir? I'm afraid she seen him." The guard gestured to Stephanie's lifeless form in Seneca's arms and then back to the closed door that concealed Cen.

"I'll take care of her," Seneca enforced in a warning tone.

The guard and his remaining companion threw a puzzled glance at Seneca before nodding hesitantly.

"Open that door," Seneca ordered and the guard nearest complied, opening the door to one of the other rooms in the hall. It was one of the smaller photo studios.

Seneca paused at the threshold of the door, Stephanie still limp in his arms, her face pale against his shoulder.

"And make sure that information on this occurrence goes no further, or perhaps I will be forced to look into why a prisoner was allowed to leave the secure facility, for I have no doubt that bribes were involved," Seneca threatened.

The guard seemed riled for a moment, ready to vehemently deny it but an icy glare from Seneca silenced him and he merely nodded his consent.

Seneca entered the room, kicking the door shut behind him and making his way over to the sofa in the room, he set Stephanie down on it.

Seneca frowned down at Stephanie who still remained unconscious. A fainting tribute? She'll not survive the bloodbath, Seneca thought, and with that thought came a growing frustration that Seneca found he couldn't justify.

There were two, sharp raps at the door and Ficen opened it after a pause with a somewhat hopeful expression, that hardened and her eyes narrowed dangerously when she saw Stephanie lying still on the sofa.

"Get in and close the door. Ensure we are not disturbed." Seneca directed his last order at the guard and then not bothering to wait for Ficen, turned his back to her and knelt down beside the sofa.

Ficen appeared by his side a few moments later, grim faced and jaw clenched.

"Does this happen often?" Seneca asked, eyes trained on Stephanie's face.

Ficen took a while to answer but when she did, her face was an emotionless mask.

"Yes. She is forever fainting when situations become too taxing for her to cope with." A hint of smug satisfaction entered Ficen's tone.

Seneca cast a sidelong glance at her.

"Fine. Return to whatever you were doing and cover her absence until she returns. I trust I don't need to tell you that this stays between us," Seneca said, standing.

Ficen wasn't prepared enough and her mouth dropped open, eyes widening in shock. Ficen recovered herself after a moment.

"Surely Seneca, it would be better to leave her with me!" Ficen managed.

Seneca gave Ficen a hard look. "I need her alive," he commented dryly.

Ficen dropped her gaze, her fists clenched so tightly by her sides that there were almost audible cracks as the false nails snapped under the pressure against her palms.

"Yes Seneca," Ficen agreed. Seneca gave a slight smirk. Even after all this time Ficen would still do anything he told her to.

"Good. Now go."

Ficen practically ran for the door, wrenching it open and fleeing the room.

Seneca turned back to Stephanie and watched her for a few moments, before with a frustrated sigh he went over and nudged her shoulder. He could only begin to imagine what her reaction would be when she woke up. He gritted his teeth. If she so much as thought of screaming…But then, he reminded himself; she wasn't afraid of him.

He cursed his own stupidity as he sat himself down on the sofa beside her still form.

He had been too busy watching her that he failed to see when the guards had brought that stylist Cen in. He had only noticed when the guards had suddenly disappeared from the corridor where Stephanie was. Recognition had dawned sickeningly on Seneca at the sight of Cen then and he had raced down towards the guards. He was delayed by having to take the circuitous route to avoid being seen, and so didn't see Stephanie go on her curious, little detour. It was as much to his surprise, as hers he suspected, when he rounded the corner and there she was quaking, her face drained of colour being held up by two guards.

Presently he heard a few muffled curses sound from her beside him and she turned violently, nearly pushing him off the sofa.

He grabbed her wrist tightly and suddenly her eyes flew open, wide and stark with fear.

…

Stephanie for a split second considered she must be dreaming. It wouldn't be a strange dream or rather nightmare to see the face of her would-be murderer?

But the pressure around her wrist and the general aroma of light aftershave drifting to her, told her this was no nightmare. It was too real.

She wrenched her arm free and Seneca stood immediately, staring at her impassively as she took a few moments to try and compose herself, trying to still the tremors.

Stephanie sat up sharply, her thoughts immediately zeroing in on what had caused her to faint. Cen. Stephanie was terrified. Cen had only been the stylist at the boutique she had gone to and he was…he was…dead. Stephanie raised a shaky hand and pressed it to her mouth as her stomach retched violently, the image of Cen, bloody and broken, swimming to the forefront of her mind.

She tried to reassure herself, all the while reminding herself how futile and possibly dangerous it would be to start wailing like a child for Haymitch.

But damn it! She needed Haymitch more than ever. Where the hell was he?!

It was one thing seeing bloody murder on a television screen, but there right in front of her…glassy eyes screaming silent warning. And further more someone she knew and had spoken with – no matter how briefly!

Cen had been in front of her yesterday, his hand warm in hers as he had shook it in the boutique, but now…his heart had stilled and he lay lifeless a few rooms away.

Stephanie clutched the arm of the sofa, shutting her eyes, hand still pressed to her mouth.

Panic still reigned supreme in her. Cen was dead – Why? Had it anything to do with her? What if they were going to kill her? Was she going to be another body, broken and bloodied hidden behind doors? The longer she stayed in this toxic Capitol she felt she could almost feel its poison seeping into her, tainting her.

But – no! Stephanie forced herself to think rationally. Cen could have done any number of other things that would have warranted…this. It didn't mean it had anything to do with her. But if she started acting panicked and frightened then they might grow suspicious of her.

Stephanie forced the tears back, drying her palms as discreetly as she could on her dress before raising her shaky gaze to meet Seneca, who stood patiently waiting, arms folded, looking at her sternly.

For a moment Stephanie feared he would strike her, brief flashes of their last meeting running through her mind.

…

"Finally," he muttered when he seen she had calmed down.

She threw a glare at him, though it lacked its usual intensity given she still remained pale and shaking on the sofa. Her gaze was roaming over the room wildly as if trying to ascertain an escape route.

Seneca sighed before turning to stride over to one of the tables and retrieve one of the bottles of water he had spied on it. It wouldn't do to have her fainting again.

He picked up the bottle and glancing sceptically at the label, called over his shoulder distractedly. "You are quite safe here, so you can relax."

He gave a slight start as she gave a sudden hard laugh. Seneca turned sharply. She was smiling brightly at him but her eyes held no mirth.

"Safe?" She repeated the word with contempt. "Is it possible to be safe in a place like this?" She asked.

Seneca frowned. He thought about growing up in the Capitol, full of its false smiles and people like Ficen who would hand over their own brother to certain death. Seneca had known it as soon as the guard had said that Ficen had refused to see Cen. He knew immediately that Ficen had a larger part to play in this than she was letting on.

Seneca made his way slowly back to Stephanie, bottle of water in his hand. Why was it that Stephanie was always so accurate in everything she said? Seneca thought.

Seneca decided that he didn't like that bright smile that didn't reach her eyes, that …Capitol smile of falseness on Stephanie's lips. She didn't belong in the Capitol, she was too…honest? Too good, to believe that people would hurt…kill one another, just because they could.

Stephanie accepted the water hesitantly from him and he sat down beside her, noticing how she discreetly tried to edge away from him.

She glanced at the bottle suspiciously, raising it tentatively to her lips.

If I wanted to kill you, do you really think I would have to go to the trouble of poisoning your water? Seneca thought. But something stilled him from saying the remark out loud. She had had enough of a fright already. But what did he care? Where had that thought come from?

Seneca cleared his throat and she flinched slightly, casting him a fleeting glance from beneath her lashes while she took a long drink.

"What do you think you were doing?" he asked. His tone was calm yet there was a cold edge to his voice.

Immediately he saw how her shoulders stiffened, and slowly setting the bottle on the ground she got to her feet, walking forward seemingly aimlessly, but all the same, in the direction of the door.

"There are guards at the door," he reminded her.

Stephanie immediately whipped around, her eyes bright and blazing, mouth set in a determined line and folding her arms protectively over herself.

"I don't need to run from you," she bit back sharply.

He was almost waiting for a slap or a kick, but she remained still and standing a few feet in front of him, an eyebrow arched challengingly.

Seneca couldn't help but smile at the return of her fiery self, her previous fear seemingly forgotten – though…not entirely. He could still see it in the slight tremble of her eyes though she fought to supress it admirably.

It seemed he was mistaken before; no matter how much she may wish it to appear otherwise, she was afraid of him.