isabella | 13 ; wip

The chip in her ear made a buzzing sound before a voice started speaking through it: "Target inbound." She smiled politely as the bartender refilled her drink, tucking a strand of powder blue hair behind her ear and waiting for him to carry on.

"Location?"

"Your six. Red tux, gorgeous brown eyes," the same voice as before said. She risked a single glance over her right shoulder and caught sight of a handsome man descending the stairs in a burgundy suit.

"I call dibs," a third voice chimed in. Issy smirked.

"No, this one is mine."

---

She was born into this, it wasn't really a choice. A woman on the run and seeking vengeance, and a man with the connections to help. That is how her story started. Her mother spared most of the details, but Issy had managed to pick on a few things, like that her mom was once nothing, no one, someone's abused wife until she'd fled District Two.

Her father was a native, though: born and raised. His dad had been the head of security once upon a time, and it was he who'd been leading a scouting mission when he'd stumbled across a pretty young thing, half-starved and only ever looking forward. Her mom and dad had only known each other a month before they were married, so they must have loved one another at some point. Issy blames their decision to have children, personally, which technically means she is to blame for all the silent dinners, but it's true. One too many mistakes, one too many things they'll never get to go back and fix, and there they were.

They were good parents, don't misunderstand. Issy's dad was a stern man, the kind who only ever wore his shirt tucked in, and that was to ensure quicker access to the gun on his hip. But he was also quite funny when he wanted to be, and he had a laugh that was infectious. And her mother had always been fierce in every aspect of the word, somehow making the drab clothes of Thirteen seem more chic. Her eyes were wide and all-seeing, and she usually knew exactly what to say to get what she wanted.

Her parents never fought, though the lack of communication was probably the reason for it, but when they were in the same room, the air around them always seemed thicker. Issy could see the question marks floating between them, feel the pain that neither of them could face alone. She'd become accustomed to it, really. Years of eating breakfast with Dad and lunch with mom, and then suffering through a silent dinner at the end of the day. It had begun to feel normal. Things weren't good, but they weren't getting worse when they could have been. Sure, it was awkward, but it was tolerable.

And then the answers for all those unanswered questions came, and the world began to crumble around her.

---

wip