.
THE LAUNCH ROOM
The room is silent and sterile, all gleaming metal surfaces and antiseptic plastic. Jack sits on a glossy white sofa that feels like it could be hosed down without damage, and rubs absently at the sore spot on his arm where his tracker was injected. Fear is curling up around his bones like slow-growing ivy, twining its way toward his heart.
He shoves it fiercely down again. It doesn't matter. All that matters is reaching his sister in time.
Across the room, Ana gives a little sigh and rubs at her cheek with the back of one hand. His stylist has barely spoken all morning, picking at her breakfast while he stubbornly wolfed down his last chance at hot food. She didn't even comment on the utilitarian plainness of his uniform as she helped him dress; he would have figured it would be a personal insult to her sensibilities. Jack glances over at her, curious in spite of himself.
There are actual tears in her eyes, brimming on her feathery false lashes. She blinks, and a drop spills over and rolls down her cheek, leaving a wet green trail.
"Ana?" Jack says, confused in spite of himself. "You okay?"
"I didn't go to design school for this, you know," she says, softly. "I wanted to create jewelry. Mementoes, you know? Things that would be beautiful and precious." She sniffs. "But I was the top of my class. So they sent me here, to...to watch ch-children..."
She trails off without finishing her sentence. A shiver runs down Jack's spine. Isn't this the kind of thing nobody's supposed to say? But if there are any cameras in the launching rooms, his stylist doesn't seem to care. He's never seen her like this, never seen her show an emotion other than giddy excitement. Didn't know she was capable of it.
"I," he says, and isn't sure what to follow it with. In the silence, Ana crosses the room to sit by him, and gives him a sad little smile.
"You're very fashionable in the Capitol right now, you know. Everyone's buzzing about Jack Forrester and his sister." She wipes at her face with the inside of her tattooed wrist, smudging the iridescent paint around her eyes. "I think you'll have a lot of sponsors. You really do have a chance out there."
He thinks this over, and nods. It's nothing to bank on, but it's nice to know. "Do you-" he starts to say, but the speaker in the wall hisses into life.
"All tributes, prepare for launch." The recorded voice is calm and authoritative.
Jack winces. "Well, that's my stop," he says, and tries for a cocky grin. It turns out lopsided. "End of the line."
She catches his wrist as he starts to stand, and blurts, "I asked the girls to put your sister's hair back the way it was. I thought it might help if she had something to do, you know...before the launch. I...I hope that was right." Her jewel-bright eyes are earnest.
It's suddenly hard for Jack to swallow. Why did he ever think she looked like a freak? She didn't create these games. "That's perfect," he says, and turns his hand to clasp hers for a brief moment, fingers interlacing. "Thank you." And he means it.
She looks relieved, and manages a watery smile. "I'm sorry we didn't get a chance to do yours, too."
It's not hard to grin this time, flashing teeth as white as his hair. "Nah, it's okay," he assures her. "You were right. It looks fierce. I could use a little fierce."
"Sixty seconds to launch," comes the calm recorded voice, and Jack makes a face. The metal circle on the floor is waiting. He steps back onto it, and releases Ana's hand. She folds her fingers together in an anxious gesture, still hovering near him like a frantic hummingbird. His silly, colorful, kind-hearted stylist.
"Good luck, Jack-" she starts to say, and then the glass tube slides down and lifts him away.
He blows her a kiss as she drops out of sight.