The Quell, the Reaping, the arena, the flood, Finnick.

Slowly, Annie became aware of herself. Starched sheets scraped at her aching, tender skin. A rhythm beeped softly in her ears. Bright lights glowed beyond her eyelids. She squinted into them, and as the blindness faded away, she found herself gazing up at a familiar face.

"Mags," the word raked her throat, and tears sprung to her eyes.

Mags let out a gasp of relief as she bent forward and pressed her lips to Annie's forehead. She smoothed the hair from her eyes, tucked the loose strands behind her ear, stroked her cheek. Annie tried to reach for her, only to find her arms encumbered in tubes and wires. A hospital—she was in a hospital. Panic seized in her chest. She tried to pull her arms free, tried to sit up, and suddenly she felt dizzy with pain.

"Whoa, whoa," Haymitch Abernathy stepped forward as Mags eased her back into her pillow. "Take it easy, sweetheart, you just got out of surgery."

Haymitch Abernathy…Annie began to remember. He was part of the plan, the plan to get Katniss out of the arena, to start a revolution—one she didn't think she'd get to see after she'd been impaled in the arena. But she looked to find the shard of wood had disappeared from her side, though she wouldn't have guessed it from the burning sensation she felt deep beneath her skin.

"Where are we?" she croaked as soon as the dizziness began to pass. She roamed the strange, bleak room with her eyes—windowless walls surrounded them on every side, and the ceiling hung low over their heads. The single sliding door across from her bed opened, and men and women in crisp white uniforms stepped into the room, started to check the monitors by her head, adjust the tubes in her arms. Mags gave Annie's hand a squeeze of assurance.

"We're in District 13," Haymitch explained. "You'll be safe here until this war is over."

Safe. She didn't feel safe, not while latched down to a hospital bed, not while one of the nurses began to fill a fresh syringe with morphling. But that didn't matter now.

"Is Finnick okay?" she looked to Mags expectantly, but the old woman dropped her eyes, and Annie felt her stomach sink as she watched the tears swell on her lashes. "Mags…"

Haymitch let out a sigh, and he rubbed at his brow for a moment before he finally spoke, "After you got separated, Katniss ripped a hole in the dome of the arena. When it came down, Finnick was caught under the debris."

Dread crept up Annie's throat. Mags hid her face beneath her hand, her shoulders beginning to quake. Annie's own lips trembled as she mustered the courage to ask, "Is he dead?"

Haymitch couldn't look at her, "No…he's in the Capitol."

Finnick started awake, expecting to find himself at the feet of the Peacekeepers who'd captured him. But when he opened his eyes, they were gone, and all the rest of the world with them. Bright lights bore down on him, and the stark white walls burned his eyes. Blinking, he sat up, ignoring the aches that wracked his body. The tattered remains of the Quell uniform still clung to his ash-coated skin, and the tears and burns in his flesh were festered with oily, yellow scabs. How long had it been since he'd been plucked from the arena?

Finnick turned to find a fourth wall made of glass, where he could see a hallway lined with identical cells, empty as far as he could see.

"Annie?" he called softly, cautiously, fearing retaliation. When no one responded, he grew bolder, "Annie…Annie!" Finnick pressed his forehead to the glass, straining to glimpse into the cells on either side of him, across from him. But there was nothing, no one, not even a guard. He started to search the walls for a handle, a lock, a seam. He stepped back and kicked at the glass pane with all the force he had. It didn't so much as shudder.

The sound of an opening door echoed from down the hall, followed by footsteps and the clacking sound of Peacekeepers' armor. Finnick swallowed at the dry knot of fear in his throat as he backed into his cell, bracing himself for one last fight, for the inevitable pain, for death.

He wasn't expecting to see President Snow step up to his cell. "Hello Mr. Odair," the President greeted him with his usual cool indifference. The Peacekeepers on either side of him had their guns drawn, as if ready for an execution, but he held them at bay. "You're very lucky to be alive," he told Finnick. "That arena almost crushed you after you helped Katniss Everdeen destroy it."

"Where-where's Annie?" Finnick couldn't keep himself from shaking—he'd heard all the ghastly rumors about the President's torture chambers, about what happened to Avoxes before they had their tongues cut out, about all the creative ways information was extracted from spies and political dissenters. If Annie was here…

A glimmer of amusement shone in Snow's eye before he stated, "She's in our custody."

Finnick's stomach turned, and he slumped back against the wall before he could fall to his knees. Lies began to tumble from his lips before he could think, "She didn't do anything, it was my idea to help them. She didn't know, I didn't tell her what was really going on-"

Snow cut him off, "Spare me your excuses."

"Please," tears bit at Finnick's eyes. "I'll cooperate. I'll tell you what I know, I'll do anything you want if you let her go."

"You're not in any position to negotiate, Mr. Odair."

Finnick felt sick. He slid to the floor, and Snow watched him with cold disapproval.

"You know I was going to let you win," he finally said. "All you had to do was keep playing the game."

Finnick could only glare at him, "You think I would have let Annie die?"

Snow rolled his eyes, "Yes, Miss Cresta would have been dead." A smirk began to curl the corner of his lip, "But she wouldn't have been in pain."

Finnick shuddered, and he had to swallow back the bile in his throat before he could speak, "If you hurt her, I won't tell you anything."

But the President leaned forward, his eyes wide with bloodlust as he grinned, "We'll see about that."