The name echoed in his head, in the silence of the town square. For a long moment all he could do was simply stand there in disbelief. He had never foreseen this happening, not even in his darkest nightmares. He had survived the Games, even though he would always be caught in their clutches, but he never expected this.

Her dark hair moved surely through the crowd, she walked steadily to the platform, but he knew what she was holding back, he knew her true nature. She was petrified, screaming inside, this timid girl who would never be able to lift a finger against her competitors.

Against his urge to never let her from his sight, he looked over at the girls, standing there silently, some of them trembling. Was it with relief? At that moment he hated them, wished he had a trident gripped in his hands to use against them, all those cowering girls and the man who beckoned the District 4 female tribute to the stage.

″VOLUNTEER,″ he wanted to scream at them. ″Can't you see there's no way she'll come back?″ But that was the problem. They all knew. And that was why nobody volunteered, why nobody was willing to save her life.

Fine, he decided. It would be up to him to make sure that this tribute, this tribute especially, came back alive. She disappeared behind the stage, as though the Capitol had already swallowed her whole, and her name disappeared with her.

″Annie Cresta!″


Two tributes stood before him, but he only cared about one.

″I will speak to you both individually,″ he said after a long silence, in which he had watched her, trying her hardest not to tremble, but unable to completely hold it back. He hardly gave the male tribute a second glance. ″You first,″ he told the young girl. Her lips moved as if to form the question, ″Me?″ but no sound came out.

Mags watched him, not with a question in her eyes, but a knowing look and ushered the male tribute from the room, closing the door behind them. Once he was sure they had left, he focused his attention fully on her.

″Have a seat,″ he gestured to the chairs in the room, sinking into one himself. He wasn't sure if he could continue standing. She surprised him by shaking her head, her curls swaying with the movement.

″I'll stand,″ she whispered, and though he thought she might collapse from fear and exhaustion, he didn't press her. He nodded at her and another silence stretched through the room. They were alone as he had wanted, but now he had no idea what to say to her. ″It's okay″ or ″I'm here″ or ″It'll be fine″? No, none of those, for none of them meant anything. It was not okay and it would never be again.

″Annie,″ he breathed, lacing his fingers together and holding them in front of his mouth. Her eyes met his and he didn't let them go as he said, ″I promise, I will do everything in my power to make sure you make it out alive.″ That at least, was the truth.


They stood before the transport tube that would take her to the world above—the arena. She stared at it, wide-eyed with fear, trembling, as it seemed she hadn't stopped since the day they called her name. She lifted her hand, and he thought she meant to touch it, to make sure it was real, but then she snapped her hand back and turned to him.

″Finnick, I can't do this,″ she said desperately, reaching for him. He took her into his arms and stroked her hair, his gut clenching as he heard her muffled, ″I'm going to die.″

″No, Annie, no.″ He put his hands on her shoulders and gently, firmly pushed her away from him. Her sea-green eyes swam in tears and he reached up to cup her cheek in his hand. ″Remember what we talked about,″ he told her, ″Annie, do you remember?″ She nodded jerkily, still trembling.

″Hide,″ she whispered and he nodded back at her. It had become apparent during their training that she had no special skills with weapons, camouflage, or even basic survival. He had tried, with no success, to teach her how to wield a trident or at least weave a net to trap her competitors. So, although it killed him that this was all he could do for her, he told her to hide.

"That's right. That's all you have to do. The other tributes...″ He thought of the eager face of the male tribute, the one who had told him ″I will protect Annie.″ ″They'll take care of themselves,″ he told her, praying that this young boy would keep his promise and protect her. He didn't like to think of what this promise would mean to the other tribute he had mentored, he only allowed himself to think that with this Annie would be able to survive.

The timer that counted down the moments to the Games flashed down at them, and the transport tube opened. With less resistance than he had anticipated, she stepped forward into the tube, calmly walking towards a fight to the death. His arms felt cold, empty of her and then the door fell down between them. She began to panic again, wide eyed as her hands pressed against the chamber. He pressed his hands against hers, even as the tube began to lift her away, their eyes never leaving each other.

″Remember, Annie,″ he whispered. But this time he wasn't talking about survival strategy.


He didn't want to, but he couldn't stop, couldn't stop watching as the District 2 male tribute walked closer to where they were hiding. Closer to where Annie was hiding. So far the District 4 male tribute had kept his promise to keep her safe. But the tribute from District 2 had been cutting down his competition without any effort. His heart beat wildly in his chest.

The District 2 tribute looked up and smiled and Finnick knew—he'd found them. The tribute he had mentored jumped down from the tree, as graceful as a monkey, to land on the District 2 tribute and the pair fell to the ground, a wild struggle of fists and a sword and then—

A scream rang out through the arena and Finnick was glad that there were only two tributes left to hear it, two, because the male tribute from District 4 had just been killed. His head rolled across the ground, but the District 2 tribute paid no mind to him. Instead, he grinned wildly up into the tree where Annie hid, and began to climb it.

″You're next,″ he promised, trying to maneuver his sword out of his way so he could climb easier.

″Run,″ Finnick whispered, inches away from the television screen as if somehow his proximity to it would make it so that she could hear him. By some stroke of luck, it seemed that she heard him: the camera zoomed in on her face just as she reached a decision. She jumped from the tree, landing hard on her palms and knees, but as bad as the drop looked she jumped right back up and started running as fast as she could away from her final competitor.

The District 2 tribute dropped from the tree in order to pursue her, but she had a head start and was well on her way to the dam that she had first passed on her way to her hiding place. He was beginning to think she might be able to outrun him and hide again and was starting to feel hope that she could win after all—

When the dam broke out from underneath her feet in a rush of water that immediately began to flood the entire arena. The view switched to the District 2 tribute skidding to a stop, but he was too close to the water already. It swept up on him, knocking his feet out from underneath him and he disappeared beneath the waves. He couldn't feel relief at the fact that it appeared this tribute could not swim because he still had no sight of Annie.

The camera zoomed out for a wide view of the worst of the flooding, and he searched for the dark spot that would mean she was afloat and alive. Just as he found her in the water, the boom of a canon sounded for the final time. His heart stopped in his chest and resumed gratefully only a few moments later as they allowed a close up view of the victor. The female tribute from District 4.

Her mentor fell to his knees, covering his face with his hands. Mags laid a hand on his shoulder as he whispered in disbelief, ″She won.″


Every morning, he would wake up, dress, and walk over to Annie Cresta's new house in the Victors' Village. And every morning he would find her, wide awake in her bed, staring out her window. She hardly did anything else since she came back from the Games. A good day was when he could get her to the dining room to eat. She didn't speak to anyone, not even him and he hadn't seen her show any emotion since she came back either. And so, day after day, he would visit her, hoping that day would be when she finally returned to him for real.

He passed her father, who nodded at him as he made a breakfast that nobody would eat, and made his way up the stairs. Pushing open the door, he was met with the same sight he had seen every morning for half a year. Annie, sitting in her bed, staring out her bedroom window. He sat down next to her, brushing her hair back from her ear. But he might as well have not even been there, for all the attention he earned from her.

Automatically, he reached for her hair, teasing his fingers through it as he had begun to learn she loved—he remembered the way her eyes would close in pleasure as she reclined back into his touch. While he was with her, time became nothing. He stayed there from the moment the sun rose until the moment it set again, but this was the first day that he differed from their established routine.

″C'mon, Annie,″ he pleaded, maneuvering so that he knelt before her on the bed. Gently, he took her face in his hands and forced her to look at him. But even as she looked at him, she wasn't seeing him. ″I kept my promise. The least you can do is come back to me,″ he said desperately.

And then finally, miraculously, she looked him dead in the eyes, and as she saw him, Annie grabbed his hands, still on her cheeks—and began laughing hysterically. She laughed until her laughter dissolved into tears, and it was then that he regained his senses enough to pull her into his arms and comfort her. Her arms hung limply at her sides and her tears quickly soaked through the fabric of his shirt.

″Shh, Annie, shh,″ he murmured into her hair, although all he felt like doing was sobbing himself. Whether in guilt or relief, he didn't know or care. Her fingers grasped at his shirt, but they slipped down, trembling, only to lift and try to grab onto it again, until she was simply stroking his chest.

″Finnick,″ she gasped, ″Finnick.″ He clutched her closer.

″I'm here, Annie, I'm here.″

She took a great shuddering breath and her fingers found purchase in the folds of his shirt. ″How do you bear it?″ She clenched her fingers. ″How do you live?″

He had no answer for her, and they sat there in silence until she fell into a restless sleep and the sun sank low upon the horizon. That day was the last he heard sane words pass her lips.