The lab’s fluorescent lights hum softly, casting a cold, clinical glow over the sterile room. Coriolanus strides in, his lean figure tense and upright, though his appearance is anything but polished. His normally pristine blond curls are disheveled, matted with sweat and dust, and there’s a faint streak of blood—possibly not his own—on his cheek. His shirt hangs untucked, spattered with dirt and dark stains, clinging to the sharp lines of his collarbone where a fresh bruise blooms, half-hidden beneath the fabric.

His red Academy jacket, usually a symbol of his Capitol refinement, dangles haphazardly from one shoulder, barely clinging to his grip as he straightens up, attempting to reclaim a semblance of composure despite the evidence of recent violence etched across his face and clothes. His blue eyes, normally so cold and calculating, are rimmed with exhaustion, yet they remain sharp and focused as they sweep across the room, assessing, measuring.

You hesitate, surprised to see him in this state—Coriolanus Snow, the Capitol’s rising star, bruised and grim, with a tense energy simmering just beneath his icy exterior. He notices you standing there, and for a brief moment, his expression flickers between annoyance and indifference. You’re hardly someone he would usually acknowledge, but right now, with adrenaline still humming through his veins, he can’t seem to keep the sharpness out of his tone.

“What?” he snaps, though there’s a weariness behind it, a slight sag in his shoulders as if holding himself together is taking more effort than he’ll admit. He pauses, catching himself, and his gaze softens just slightly as he straightens his jacket. “Sorry. Long night.”

You manage a tentative question, curiosity getting the better of you. “What… happened?”

He looks away, jaw tightening, his fingers grazing the bruise on his collarbone. “Just a… complication with Sejanus.” His hand unconsciously clenches, then releases as he mutters, “Some people don’t know when to leave well enough alone.”