alea iacta est // d11 train blitz [78th]

mercy woods.

The train rumbles quietly beneath Mercy's feet, but it doesn't seem to effect the china dishes and silverware so carefully laid out across the table. Napkins, flowers, a basket of dinner rolls, and none of it so much as quivers from the movement.

Fields of white fly past the window, and she can't help wondering what would happen if the train were to de-rail. She'd heard stories of it. Something wrong with the wheels, a nick in the track, a faulty engine. They never said why it happened. It just did, and mostly near the districts.

What would it be like, to run 200 miles an hour into a heap of crystallized, miniature pieces  of frost? Those six little points on each one, it makes no sense that it could happen and no one would be hurt. They always looked so sharp, the edges of snowflakes. Pictures of them in her school books, meant to look pretty, but ultimately remembered as deadly when she's flying past mountains of them at high speed.

A chill runs down her spine, and she shivers, turning away from the window.

Gabriel would tell her everything was okay. It's fine, he'd say, there's no way they'd let a tribute die en route to the Capitol. Can you imagine the uproar?

Mercy smiles faintly. She reaches up and tugs at a chestnut-colored lock of hair, twisting it tight around her finger and frowning when a few strands come loose.

She hasn't met any of them yet. Not her district partner, not her mentors. If she'll end up meeting them at all. She's heard stories, tributes who went into the games without seeing the face of their mentor a single time in the weeks leading up to their inevitable death. Either they'd given up hope or they were to drunk to notice the pleading souls in front of them.

But those were just stories.

Right?

"Hey."

She jumps, her eyes wide like a deer caught the headlights. Probably why Pa ended up naming her after one of them.

She half expects and half hopes it to be one of her mentors as she turns, but somewhere in the back of her mind, she knows it's not them. His voice is too young. He sounds too polite and unaccustomed to this sort of thing. You know, being on a train traveling 200 miles per hour to your impending death, with your potentially future coffin-mate sitting next to you.

"Eve, was it? Nice to meet ya."

She almost glances behind her, wondering if he's talking to someone else. But then she reminds herself to look at his eyes and she can hear Gabe in the back of her mind telling her that people like to make eye contact when they talk to you. And he's definitely looking at me.

It takes me a second to find my words.

"Uh, no, it's Mercy actually." I glance down at my feet, frowning, and twist my fingers into a knot. "You don't have to do this, you know. Pretend you wanna be my friend. We can skip over that part."