Finnick remembers the day that Annie asked him with big doe eyes and a soft smile if he thought she could make it. It was a sunny day but with a sky as dark of a blue as the sea; a slight breeze ruffled Annie's tangle of hair. He wished that they were sitting on grass and feeling flower petals through their fingers, but it was the cold steel of a railing that bit him. It was the day before things changed.

"Make it where?" he had responded, shivering.

"Out of the Arena." She tilted her head sideways, and a tear leaked out of the curve of her eyelid before she quickly wiped it away. He pretended that perhaps he didn't see.

"If you really want to, I think so."

"What if I don't?"

"Don't what?" Finnick paused, understanding. They were playing pretend, again, like they used to. "Don't make it out?"

Annie curled her legs up and puts her eyes into knee caps.

Finnick brushed his fingers against her pearly white hand. Even though she spent hours outdoors every day, all she got were more freckles. So he traced their constellations.

"Come on. You have to go in a few hours. I'll see you on the other side."