Hunter
She'd jumped up and left the room so fast that Hunter knew he'd spooked her. He'd been around enough frightened wild animals to know to approach with caution and yet with Snow, he just barreled in there.
What was he thinking?
Better yet, what was he hoping to accomplish?
He could say that he was only trying to get closer to her for more information. That he'd told her just enough about his past with the Queen to make her believe in his dedication to the cause. But none of that was really true. It was convenient, to have those arguments in his arsenal if the Queen asked, but it wasn't really his motivation.
In the past week, Hunter had grown to like coming home to find Snow curled up near the fire. He'd begun to enjoy the way they could sit in comfortable silence without either of them feeling the need to fill it.
And he'd wanted to share a bit of himself. Like she had with her mother and the story of how she'd gotten her name. He hadn't wanted to open up to anyone since his father was captured and now seemed like a terrible time to start, but he couldn't deny it anymore.
The Princess had captured his attention.
She was a puzzle; just as broken as he was for many of the same reasons. Their backgrounds may not have been similar in anyway, but they'd both suffered great losses at the hand of the Queen. That made them kindred spirits in a way.
"What is it you need to show me?" Hunter asked, hurrying after her, swaying on his feet after two glasses of wine. He should have known better. It was obvious that neither of them drank very often — or at all — and he'd made a complete and utter fool of himself.
But he'd also finally gotten to see her smile. Even laugh.
So it was worth it for that, at least. As long as he hadn't completely ruined any shot of getting closer to her.
She didn't answer him, but headed straight for the basement, giving a command to Robbie to let him past.
As they descended the spiral staircase, her voice drifted up to him. "I wasn't completely honest. I did find something," she said.
Guilt clawed at Hunter's throat. He was both desperate to know what she'd found, and desperate not to. If he knew, he could maybe help her. Maybe make some progress with their lack of plan. But if he knew, the Queen would get it out of him. One way or the other.
By the time he reached the base of the staircase, Snow was already seated at the console again, typing quickly.
"I'm not sure what triggered it, but there was a message for me," she said.
"A message from who?"
From behind, he saw her shoulders tense and knew he'd touched on something.
"It doesn't matter. The important part is what the message contained," she said, bringing up a document on one of the screens. It didn't make any sense to Hunter, it was just a list of names and contact info.
"What's all of this?" he asked, stopping right behind her chair, unable to stop his wine-relaxed fingers from skirting down her arm. She gave the tiniest shiver at his touch, and goosebumps rose up along her arm, but she gave no other indication that she even noticed him.
"People that will be sympathetic to the cause. People that can help us," she said, turning in the chair, her eyes bright like he'd never seen them before.
Then Hunter realized what that look was: hope.
"I was going to call the first one tonight and try to find out what's happening out there... If you wanted to be here?"
He gave her upper arm a gentle squeeze. "Of course I do."
Snow took a deep breath and typed in the details of the first person — Harold Bentral — her fingers hovering over the button that would connect the call.
Hunter slid his hand down her arm, covering her hand with his. She was trembling, but he didn't know if that was from him, the promise of help, or some combination of the two. "Together?" he asked, his voice merely a murmur next to her ear.
Snow shuddered and nodded, the line of her shoulders firming. "Together."
They pressed the button with joined hands and held breath, watching the screen for any sign of life.
The computer flashed with 'Connecting' and the screen displayed a scene that sent Hunter's stomach through the basement floor. It was destroyed. The whole place. Whatever the place had been. The monitor showed broken and charred furniture, the camera lens itself even had a crack in it.
But that wasn't the most disturbing part.
Hunter slammed his hand on the end button, hoping the Princess hadn't seen it.
The body, its bones exposed after what had to be years of decay. The dark brown stains of blood all around it.
His blood burned like ice in his veins, a cold sweat soaking through his skin in an instant.
"Snow..." he started, not knowing at all where he was going with it. Her eyes reflected in the blank surface of the monitor now. Wide and haunted, her lips parted in barely contained shock. He felt how cold she suddenly was and then she pulled away from him.
Without saying anything, she typed in the details for the next contact.
Connecting...
Hunter almost didn't want to watch. The Queen's reign of terror knew no bounds, but maybe it had only been Harold that had difficulty hiding his loyalty. Maybe the others would be okay.
When the monitor changed, it showed only static. Hunter felt oddly relieved. Not about the contact — he was surely as dead as Harold — but because he hadn't been faced with another skeleton.
He couldn't help but wonder if he'd had any part in their demise. If doing his job so well for all these years had meant he'd sealed his own fate.
"Maybe this is best saved for tomorrow," he said, but Snow was already moving down the list to the next name.
All in the space of a few moments she'd gone from hopeful and receptive to him, back to closed off and determined.
After the third one wouldn't even connect, she spoke. "You can go."
Hunter straightened from where he'd been leaning over behind her, unable to mistake the dismissal in her voice.
"If you're sure."
"I am."
He hesitated behind her for another moment, not wanting to leave her alone. Suddenly, she seemed so much more fragile than she had only minutes ago. Suddenly, Hunter felt the need to protect her from herself and her own dogged determination.
But if the past week with Snow had taught him anything, it was that the Princess wasn't easily swayed. If she needed space right now, he'd have to give it to her. His better judgement be damned.
Just as he reached the top of the staircase, his communicator beeped.
The Queen wanted an update, he was sure of it. But there was nothing to tell her. She'd already headed them off at the pass and ruined their next course of action. All that was left now was her need to destroy the Princess and cut off the resistance at the knees.
Upstairs, he found Snow's forgotten meal, their empty glasses of wine, and he sighed, cleaning it all up. He'd worn his heart on his sleeve and it still remained there, though now instead of being a welcome sight, it lingered like an embarrassing stain. Evidence that he'd misread the situation — and the Princess — entirely.
Snow didn't come out of the basement for days. Hunter kept his routine, hunting for food she wouldn't eat and chopping wood for a fire that wouldn't warm her. He brought her meals at least twice a day. Usually, he'd come back to find it exactly where he left it, untouched. He remarked about it once and from then on it seemed she attempted to at least move the plate and push the food around, though Hunter still suspected none of it was disappearing.
"You have to take a break," he said on the fourth day. "You need sleep, Snow."
Her eyes were bloodshot, ringed with dark circles, the weight of each deceased contact dragging those bags further down.
She shrugged with one shoulder. "I don't sleep much anyway," she said.
He gnashed his teeth together and grabbed her chair by the arm, swinging it around so she was forced to face him.
"You need to rest. If you make contact with someone at this point you're going to be too delirious to know what's going on."
Her eyes sparkled when she met his gaze and he realized she was on the verge of tears. "I can't stop," she whispered. "There has to be someone she hasn't killed or forced into hiding." That last bit was wishful thinking, but he wouldn't disabuse her of the small solace she found in thinking they could still be alive.
"I'm sure there is," Hunter said, taking her hands in his. "But you're in no state to be planning a coup, Princess."
His eyes drifted to the screen, snowy with static, and wondered how many dead bodies she'd seen in the last few days.
Her gaze followed his. "We can't be the only ones, can we?" She pulled up the list again. "There are only three names left." The defeat in her words struck Hunter like a physical blow to the chest.
"There's always the resistance," he said, squeezing her hands. He was sure at this point that she didn't have any contacts within the organization. And keeping that knowledge from the Queen was a death sentence for him. He rubbed one hand over his chest, trying to ease the knot of pain there. Helping Snow make contact with the resistance would be even worse. But what was worse than dead? More dead?
At least with her, he had a shot.
She sniffled and nodded. Seeing her so weak and broken shattered something inside him. "I've heard about them... Are they really out there?"
The ceiling rumbled with a great crash and they both looked up, a terrible sense of dread settling into the room.