Now The Songbird Is Gone (Part Five)
Short Summary
Commander Snow wants nothing more than to leave District 2. But why leave alone when he could take someone with him?
The Story
Morning comes quietly.
Too quietly.
Seraphina wakes slowly, her body still heavy with sleep, her mind drifting somewhere between warmth and something she can’t quite name yet.
The sheets are softer than anything she’s ever known, the air still warm, still safe.
Her eyes open. And for a moment, she doesn’t move.
The room is unfamiliar in the way it wasn’t last night, the details sharper now, clearer in the daylight filtering through the curtains.
Then it hits her. All at once.
This isn’t her apartment. This isn’t where she’s supposed to be.
Her body tenses under the blanket, her fingers curling into the fabric as the realization settles heavier and heavier in her chest.
The Commander’s bed.
She slept in the Commander’s bed.
Seraphina sits up too quickly, the blanket slipping slightly as panic flickers through her, her thoughts suddenly loud, sharp, overwhelming in a completely different way than before.
What was she thinking? Letting him touch her like that. Letting him take care of her. Letting herself stay.
She needs to leave, now, before he comes back, before anyone sees, before this turns into something she can’t undo.
Her feet hit the floor, cold against her skin, grounding in the worst way. Her clothes. Where are her clothes?
Her gaze flicks around the room, frantic now, her thoughts racing ahead of her.
She can’t stay.
A sharp knock on the door makes her freeze. Completely. Please don’t let it be him.
The door opens without waiting for an answer.
But it isn’t him. It’s Maris. And somehow that doesn’t make it better.
Maris steps inside like this is normal. Like there is nothing strange about this at all. Like girls wake up in the Commander’s bed every morning and no one questions it.
Her expression barely shifts as her eyes land on Seraphina standing beside the bed, disheveled, tense, clearly not where she’s supposed to be.
“Miss.”
Maris doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t question. Doesn’t even look surprised.
Seraphina feels like she’s going to die out of embarrassment. What would her mother think if she saw her right now? Standing in the Commander’s bedroom.
“The Commander would like to see you in his office.”
Her tone is polite, composed, as if she’s delivering a routine message, as if this happens every day.
Seraphina just stares at her for a second, her thoughts stumbling, trying to catch up.
“He..”
Her voice falters slightly.
“He’s already-?”
“Working, yes.”
Of course he is.
“And he asked that you come as soon as you’re ready. I suggest you don’t keep him waiting”
“Yes. Of course.”
Seraphina answers, even though she doesn’t move from her spot.
It feels like her feet are glued to the ground, as if she’s physically not able to move even though she wants to run away.
Maris doesn’t sigh, she doesn’t even show any sign of irritation. Maris feels bad for the girl in front of her, the girl who’s got the Commander’s attention. Maris knows how he gets when he’s intrigued by something.
He never lets go of it.
His secretary knows how this will end, Seraphina will never leave his grasp.
All that she can do is help her in the best way she can. She can’t help her escape her fate, but she can help her by making sure she understands what to do and how to not make mistakes.
“You’ll need to get dressed.”
Maris moves toward a chair near the bed, where neatly folded clothes have been placed, untouched.
Seraphina’s stomach drops.
“He had those brought in earlier.”
Earlier. Before she even woke up. Before she even had the chance to leave.
Maris lifts the clothes from the chair with practiced ease, shaking them out slightly before stepping closer, her movements efficient, unhurried.
“Come.”
Maris says gently, not unkind, but not soft either.
“He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
Seraphina hesitates for half a second longer.
Then she moves.
Maris steps behind her, guiding her without touching at first, then lightly adjusting her position when she doesn’t move quickly enough, her hands brief, precise.
Seraphina swallows, giving a small nod as she starts to move, her hands clumsy as she tries to figure out where to even begin.
The dress.
It’s too neat. Too untouched. Like it belongs to someone else.
To a girl from the Capitol, not a girl from district 2.
Maris steps closer before she can struggle with it for too long, her movements efficient as she gently takes part of the fabric from Seraphina’s hands.
“Arms up.”
The instruction is soft, but practiced. Seraphina hesitates, only for a second but then she obeys.
The fabric slides over her skin, cool at first, then settling, Maris guiding it into place with careful, precise movements, smoothing it down like she’s done this a hundred times before.
“There.”
She murmurs, adjusting the seams at her shoulders, then stepping back just slightly to look at her properly.
Seraphina feels exposed. Not because of the dress. But because of the situation. Because this is being treated like something normal.
Like they didn’t meet just yesterday. Like he’s not the Commander who’s keeping her brother in jail.
“You should fix your hair as well.”
Maris adds after a moment, stepping toward the vanity, already reaching for a brush.
Seraphina stills briefly at that.
Last night flickers through her mind, his hands in her hair, the slow, careful movements, the way he took his time.
“I… it’s fine.”
She murmurs quickly, almost too quickly.
Maris doesn’t argue. But she doesn’t agree either. Instead, she holds the brush out.
Seraphina hesitates.
Then takes it.
Her fingers move through her hair, slower than they should, her thoughts elsewhere, her pulse still uneven.
Every second feels like it’s pulling her closer to something she isn’t ready for. Something she doesn’t understand.
When she finishes, Maris gives a small nod.
“Better.”
A pause.
“Listen to me.”
Maris says quietly, her voice dropping just enough that it feels more private now, more intentional.
Seraphina looks at her. Really looks this time.
“He’s in a… good mood today.”
There’s a pause. Like that alone should mean something.
Like it’s important.
“You’ll want to keep it that way.”
Seraphina’s fingers tighten slightly at her sides.
“I don’t.. I don’t know what that means.”
Maris studies her for a second, something almost sympathetic flickering behind her otherwise composed expression.
“It means you answer when he asks you something.”
Calm.
Measured.
“It means you don’t interrupt him.”
She steps closer again, reaching up to gently fix a stray strand of Seraphina’s hair, smoothing it back into place with careful precision.
“And it means you obey when he gives you an order.”
That lands. Seraphina’s breath catches slightly.
Maris notices.
“He’s not cruel.”
She adds after a moment, softer now, though there’s something careful in the way she says it.
“But he is… particular.”
Her hand lingers for just a second longer at Seraphina’s hair before dropping back to her side. Maris doesn’t look away. Not inappropriately. Just observant.
Making sure everything is correct.
“Come.”
Maris guides Seraphina out of the bedroom, through his apartment. When they pass the bathroom, Seraphina thinks about last night. How she sat there in his bathtub while he brushed through her hair.
God, the Commander has seen her naked and now she has to face him again?
The hallway outside is already alive. Footsteps echo. Voices carry. People notice.
A pair of guards glance up as she steps past them, their eyes lingering a moment too long, taking in the neatness of her clothes, the way she carries herself, the way her cheeks are still slightly flushed.
Workers and messengers move quickly past the command center slowly, curiosity flickering in their eyes, and Seraphina feels it all, the awareness of hundreds of small gazes weighing down on her.
Maris walks ahead, perfectly composed, leaving her in their line of sight just long enough to make her feel exposed without unkindness.
“This way,” Maris says, voice calm, instructive.
Seraphina nods.
Her steps echo against the polished floors, every footfall louder than it should be, carrying through the compound like an announcement: She is here.
“Commander Snow already had his morning meetings.”
Seraphina nods again.
Even more heads turn as she passes the common areas, whispering and staring, some curious, some cautious, some plainly intrigued.
She can feel their attention like a weight pressing at her back, and she stiffens, pulling her shoulders back, trying to make herself smaller, invisible, but she can’t.
Because she isn’t invisible. Because last night changed that.
Because Commander Snow doesn’t let anyone leave unnoticed once he’s chosen them.
They stop outside a door. Large. Closed. Important.
Maris turns slightly toward her, just enough for her voice to reach without carrying.
“Knock.”
A brief pause.
“And wait.”
Seraphina swallows hard, her throat dry.
For a second, she considers turning around, running, pretending none of this ever happened. Pretending she never stepped inside this place at all.
But then she knocks.
And waits.
It doesn’t take long for her knock to be answered.
“Come in.”
Maris opens the door. Coriolanus sits behind his desk, already composed, already in control, as if the night before never happened.
Uniform perfect. Posture perfect. Everything exactly as it should be. Except for the way his eyes lift immediately to her.
“Leave us.”
Maris doesn’t hesitate. The door closes. And just like that, they’re alone again.
Seraphina stops a few steps inside, unsure where to stand, what to do with her hands, her body, her breathing. She tries to remember everything that Maris told her, but she can’t think clearly now that she’s this close to him again.
He doesn’t make her wait long.
“Come here.”
Not a suggestion.
She moves slowly at first. Then faster when his gaze sharpens just slightly. By the time she reaches the desk, her heart is already racing again.
“Closer.”
She obeys.
And then before she can think, before she can react, his hand wraps around her wrist. Firm. And he pulls her forward.
Straight into his lap.
A soft gasp escapes her before she can stop it, her hands instinctively bracing against his shoulders as she’s forced to sit sideways across him.
“Sir-”
“Relax.”
His voice is low, right near her ear. Too close.
“Or you’ll make this more difficult for yourself.”
His arm settles around her waist. Secure. Unmoving. Not allowing distance. Not allowing escape.
Her body stiffens at first, she knows she can’t fight him. But after a few seconds, the position becomes comfortable and it all starts to feel natural, and Seraphina relaxes.
“That’s better.”
He adjusts her position like it’s nothing, like it’s natural, like she belongs there, on him.
Owned. Displayed. Used.
“Arms.”
He instructs softly, but firmly. Seraphina hesitates, breath catching.
“Up.”
He clarifies, one hand tilting her chin ever so slightly, the gesture gentle but insistent.
Her arms rise slowly, trembling slightly, and she rests them around his neck. Her fingers brush the nape of his collar, the sensation both grounding and unnerving.
His hands settle lightly on her waist, steadying her, keeping her rooted, and she realizes she doesn’t need to fight it.
His free hand reaches for a folder on the desk. He opens it slowly, deliberately, turning it so she can see.
Photographs. Rows of them. Faces. Peacekeepers. Each one neatly printed, labeled. Ordered.
Her breath catches.
“This is your job now.”
His fingers press lightly against her waist as he speaks, grounding her in place.
“You’re going to help me identify the peacekeepers you saw yesterday.”
Her eyes flick up to him, panic flickering.
“I..I don’t know if I can-”
“You can.”
He cuts her off gently.
Too gently.
His thumb brushes slowly against her side, a subtle reminder. A warning.
“You said they spoke to you.”
A pause.
“You remember that.”
Her throat tightens.
“Yes…”
“Good.”
He leans in slightly, his voice lowering further.
“Then you’ll remember their faces.”
His hand leaves her waist only long enough to guide hers forward. To the photos. His fingers wrap around her wrist again, not harsh, but unyielding.
“Point.”
She hesitates. Just for a second.
His grip tightens. Not enough to hurt. Enough to remind.
Seraphina swallows, her eyes scanning the faces, heart pounding louder with every second.
And then she sees him. The one who stepped forward. The one who spoke.
Her hand trembles as she lifts it.
“…him.”
Her finger hovers, then lands on the photograph.
Coriolanus goes still. A smile. Small. Dangerous.
“I see.”
His arm tightens around her waist again, pulling her slightly closer without thinking.
Or maybe thinking very clearly.
“And the others?”
His tone is calm again.
She forces herself to look again.
Another face.
Her breathing becomes uneven, but she points them out one by one.
Each time he watches. Not the photos. Her.
He watches how she reacts, what affects her, what breaks her. When she’s done, her hand drops back into her lap, trembling.
“Only these four..”
For a moment, there is silence. Heavy.
“I figured you’d be a good girl.”
The praise is quiet. But it lands hard.
His hand returns to her waist, slower this time.. Not urgent. Not demanding. Just there.
“These four.”
He repeats it quietly, almost to himself, as if weighing something unseen, something already being put into motion behind his composed expression.
Then his attention shifts back to her.
His grip softens just slightly, his thumb tracing an absentminded line along her side, slower now, less about control and more about awareness.
Awareness of her, of the way she’s sitting so carefully in his lap, of the tension still lingering in her body.
“You did well.”
The words are softer than before. Warmer. Different.
Seraphina swallows, her shoulders still tight, her gaze fixed somewhere near his collar instead of his eyes, as if looking at him directly would make everything too real again.
He notices that too.
“Are you comfortable?”
The question comes unexpectedly, his voice dipping just slightly, something almost amused threading through it.
Seraphina stills. Comfortable?
She’s sitting on the Commander’s lap. In his office. Surrounded by evidence of what she just confessed. Her face warms instantly.
“I-” She falters, her fingers tightening slightly where they still rest near his collar.
He watches the reaction with quiet interest. That small shift. That hesitation. That blush.
“There it is.”
His voice lowers, softer, edged with something unmistakably teasing now.Her breath catches.
“I didn’t say anything.”
She murmurs quickly, almost defensively, her gaze dropping further.
“No.”
He agrees easily.His hand moves, not to force her to look at him, but to tilt her just slightly closer instead.
“You didn’t, but you don’t need to.”
His thumb brushes once along her side again, slow, deliberate, and her shoulders tense before betraying her, relaxing just a fraction into the touch.
Her face burns hotter. Without thinking, without meaning to, she shifts closer. Just slightly.
Just enough that her face turns into the space near his neck, hiding there instead of facing him.
The movement is small, but it’s everything.
Coriolanus stills for half a second. Then a quiet exhale. Amused.
“There. That's better.”
His hand slides up her back, slow and controlled, not pushing, not pulling, just settling there, keeping her where she chose to be.
“Hiding already?”
The words are murmured near her ear now, low, teasing, but not unkind. Seraphina doesn’t answer.
Her fingers curl slightly into the fabric at his shoulder, her breathing uneven again, but not from panic this time.
His hand stills briefly against her back, feeling the shift in her breathing, the way it changes when she presses closer instead of pulling away, and something about that seems to settle him in a way nothing else has this morning.
“How did you sleep?”
The question comes softer. Simpler. As if the moment before didn’t happen at all, as if he didn’t just pull every reaction out of her with quiet precision.
Seraphina blinks against his shoulder, the change catching her off guard, her thoughts stumbling as she tries to follow.
“I… slept.”
She answers after a second, her voice quieter now, still uneven at the edges. He exhales softly, something almost like a quiet laugh under his breath.
“I would hope so.”
His hand slides slightly lower along her back, then stills again, resting there, steady.
“Was it comfortable?”
He asks, and this time the question feels more deliberate, more pointed, like he already knows the answer and is simply waiting to hear her say it.
She hesitates, because it was the most comfortable she’s ever been. Because that’s the problem.
“Yes..”
Seraphina admits finally, barely above a whisper.
“Good.”
The word is simple, but there’s something satisfied in it, something that settles deeper than it should.
His fingers shift again, just slightly, brushing once along her side in a slow, absent motion.
“I don’t like the idea of you being uncomfortable here.”