Her clothes are simple. Serviceable tan colored pants, a simple buttoned down shirts hidden under a leather hunting jacket that once belonged to her father. Wisps of her hair stick out from her customary braid, the remnants of the uneven cut her hair had been left with after the explosions in the Capitol. The majority of her scars are hidden by her clothes, but there's no hiding the haunted look in her eyes. Especially as Mags moves closer.

She says something, a mumbled word that isn't all that difficult to interpret. Her name. She'd recognize it anywhere, heard it far, far too often in the past two years. But there's some comfort in hearing it spoken from Mags' lips. Comfort and terror. She had seen Mags die.

"Mags?"

Her voice is small, lacking confidence. As if she doesn't understand what she's saying, let alone believing it. Somehow, she doesn't jump when Mags' hand lands on shoulder. But she can't stop from flinching. She's dead. Dead. She saw her die.