Chapter 270
Chapter 270
Katniss didn't refuse. She walked ahead on her own, stepping on her shadow like a child playing a game.
They strolled side by side through the afternoon streets. Sunlight filtered through the sycamore leaves overhead, scattering dappled patterns across the pavement.
The road was nearly empty—just the occasional bicycle drifting past with a soft ring of its bell.
At the subway entrance, Katniss stopped and turned to face him. "This is fine. You can head back."
Cedric nodded. His eyes had gone soft, and he looked at her like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. He just stood there, caught mid-thought.
"What is it?"
Katniss tilted her head slightly, self-conscious under his gaze.
"Nothing."
He shook his head, then remembered the way she'd smiled while eating—carefree, unguarded—and the corner of his mouth lifted on its own. "I had a really good time today."
Katniss looked at his earnest expression and let out a small laugh before composing herself. "Me too," she said softly.
She didn't wait to see his reaction. She turned and walked down the stairs without looking back.
Cedric stood in place, watching her figure disappear around the stairwell corner. Only then did he slowly turn and head toward his car.
After a few steps, he stopped. He pulled out his phone, opened his notes app, and typed a single line.
He scrolled down. The notes were filled with small moments he'd carefully recorded—every detail of his time with Katniss.
After everything they'd been through, he finally understood what mattered most.
Power and money were nothing but smoke. His old self hadn't known a tenth of the happiness he felt now.
This quiet peace, this gentle contentment—it was something he'd never dared hope for before.
Now, somehow, it was his.
He finished typing, stared at the words for a moment, then slid the phone back into his pocket with a satisfied smile and walked on.
---
One year later.
Spring had arrived. The garden was in full bloom.
Pink cherry blossoms and white magnolias burst open side by side. A breeze drifted through, sending petals fluttering down, blanketing the winding stone path.
Cody sat in a wicker chair in the garden, a thin blanket over his legs, eyes half-closed in the sun.
He looked far better than he had a year ago—color in his cheeks, strength in his voice. The doctor said he had a good eight to ten years left in him.
Katniss walked into the garden carrying a basket of fruit. Cody had his eyes closed, but at the sound of footsteps he started grumbling.
"Boy, I told you to focus on your work and on Katniss. Why do you keep hovering around this old man? I may be nothing but bones, but I'm still perfectly—"
Halfway through, something felt off. He squinted against the light.
He saw Katniss's familiar face, and his eyes lit up instantly. He braced himself on the armrests to sit up straighter, waving her over with a grin. "Katniss! Come here, come here—I was just thinking about you."
"Grandpa, I was here last week."
Katniss smiled as she walked over, set the fruit basket on the stone table, and sat on the bench beside him.
"A week apart is still missing you."
Cody said this without a shred of embarrassment, then looked her up and down approvingly.
"Mm, good color. You've put on a little weight since last time. Looks like that meal plan Cedric had made for you is working."
Katniss shook her head with a helpless smile. "Grandpa, you can actually tell I've gained weight?"
"Of course. These eyes are better than any scale."
Cody lifted his chin proudly, then seemed to remember something. He reached into his shirt pocket, fumbled around, and pulled out a small object.
Sunlight caught it, reflecting a soft, warm glow.
The silver ring.
The pearl's luster had dimmed slightly from a year ago, but the band had been polished clean—clearly treasured by careful hands.
Cody held the ring in his palm, gazing down at it for a long time. Then he took Katniss's hand and placed it in her open palm.
"I've given you this ring twice now."
Cody's voice carried the rasp of age, yet it was impossibly gentle.
"The first time was in the hospital. I thought I was on my way out and wanted to leave you the most precious thing the York family had. The second time was when you and Cedric reconciled. I thought—finally, this ring could sit on your finger where it belongs."
Katniss looked down at the silver ring in her palm. She said nothing.
"This is the third time."
Cody raised his head and looked into her eyes. His gaze held the clarity and peace of someone who had seen it all.
"Sweetheart, wear it. Not for anyone else. For yourself."
He reached out with thin, weathered fingers and patted the back of her hand.
"Give yourself a chance at happiness."
Heat rushed to Katniss's eyes. She ducked her head, blinking hard, forcing the sting back down. Then she closed her fingers tight around the ring and gave Cody a smile.
"Grandpa, I understand."
Cody nodded, satisfied, and leaned back in his wicker chair with a wave. "Go on, get out of here. Stop keeping this old man company. Go live your life."
---
It was past four in the afternoon when Katniss walked out of the garden.
The sun slanted low, stretching her shadow long across the ground.
She stood on the stone steps by the gate, opened her palm, and looked at the silver ring.
Sunlight passed through the pearl's surface, refracting into a soft halo.
She didn't put it on. She just held it tight in her fist, then pulled out her phone.
Two unread messages glowed on the screen.
The first was from Cedric, sent at two o'clock.
[Booked the restaurant for tonight—that Italian place you said you wanted to try. I'll be waiting.]
Her eyes drifted to the second message. A name she hadn't seen in a long time.
Gideon.
His message had been sent ten minutes after Cedric's. Katniss read it, and something wistful stirred in her chest.
[I booked a flight for next Monday. Leaving the country. Don't know when I'll be back. Katniss, if you ever want a fresh start somewhere new—there will always be a place for you beside me.]
Katniss stood in the fading sunlight, staring at those two messages for a long time.
The breeze lifted the ends of her hair, carrying the distant scent of blossoms.
Beyond the gate, the hum of traffic drifted in from the road. The world was loud and busy. But she—at last—was truly free to be herself.
She raised her head and looked at the horizon, painted burnt orange by the setting sun. The faintest smile touched her lips.
She didn't reply to either message.
She slipped the phone into her pocket, clutched the silver ring in her hand, and walked down the stone steps—one by one—into that golden wash of evening light.