Big twist in the last chapter huh? It never really said who Annie's partner was, so I figured I might as well take advantage of his anonymity. Anyway, hope you like this next chapter :)

The Train - Planning

Quincy's arm is still around my shoulder when we get on the train.

Now, this is no ordinary train. It's a high-class luxury train made in the Capitol, probably equipped with enough supplies on board to feed the entire population of District Four for at least one day. Maybe more. But we (me, Quincy, our mentors, and the crew, that is) will be here just long enough to eat dinner and watch the recap of the reapings. Then we will be out of the high-class, luxury train and whisked into a high-class, luxury Capitol guest room.

The people tell us that everything is at our disposal. Clothes, food, television; you name it, we could have it. Still, I stay in my reaping clothes. I've lost my appetite. And there is nothing on television that will ever interest me. In fact, the television at home only comes on when it's required.

Quincy is in the same state. We stay in my room for a while, not speaking, just holding on to one another. We are leaving what needs to be spoken unsaid. That one of us is going to die. Maybe both of us.

We stay like this until Ophelia tells us to come eat. I vaguely remember my friends telling me that the food is supposed to be beyond imagination, so my curiosity spikes despite the fact that I am not in the least bit hungry. Quincy and I follow Ophelia to the table, where the rest of our mentors are waiting. There is Finnick Odair, which is to be expected. The newest victors are always the ones to be forced to mentor. Then there is Mags Atlais, which is also not a surprise since she is the only female victor who is fit to mentor us. Our other one, Constance Truman, is a morphling addict. She's so bad, in fact, that her doctors say she will not live to greet the victors of these Hunger Games. But a third face surprises me. No one really ever volunteers to mentor unless a particularly close friend is chosen and they want to do their best to keep them safe. Which, of course, doesn't happen often. My shock evaporates when I see that the mentor is Nath Rutsea; shock is replaced with caution. Fear. Which is strange, because we are supposed to trust our mentors with our lives.

I do not trust Nath. I wouldn't trust him with the dirt between under fingernails, much less my life. Or Quincy's life. But somehow, I have a feeling that Quincy has nothing to do with Nath's volunteering. My older brother seems to sense this too, and his arm tightens around my shoulder.

"Nice of you to join us," Finnick says. There is no sarcasm in his words but my eyes still narrow in suspicion. I never never trust anything (or anyone, for that matter) so pretty.

"Please," Finnick continues. "Have a seat."

Quincy and I oblige. As soon as the soup arrives, my appetite comes back with it. It's a orange broth with dots of brown that tastes like cinnamon and something else. Ophelia calls it pumpkin. There's a crisp green salad tossed in a tart red dressing. The main course is some kind of bird (dove, Ophelia informs me) that is glazed in a sweet crunchy shell. For desert, slices of creamy fudge with your choice of chocolate, vanilla, or caramel. I get one of each and immediately fall in love with the chocolate. I can't eat another, though. Every single bite I took threatens to make a reappearance.

We make small talk throughout dinner, but everyone, even Ophelia, is silent as we head into the living compartment to watch the recap of the reapings. I take careful notes in my head of each victor, sizing them up, looking for a weakness when they're at their most vulnerable. One and Two are huge, particularly the boy from Two. He's at least twice Quincy's size, and Quincy isn't exactly slight. Three doesn't make much of an impression on me. Then there's me and Quincy. The fact that we're related creates quite a bit of mayhem in the commentaries. Five and Six aren't anything special. The girl from Seven looks just as lethal as those from One and Two. Something tells me that she'll be part of the Career pack, even if she's not technically a Career. The boy from Eight draws my attention with his arrogant smirk, yet he doesn't seem to have anything to be arrogant about. Nine and Ten are average. Eleven and Twelve always haunt me, because their tributes are always so malnourished.

So, the people I need to look out for, I think. One and Two. The girl from Seven. The boy from Eight. I also add both boys from Nine and Ten in my head as well, because they are both very powerful looking. The Capitol seal comes on the television, and it goes blank. There is silence in the room for a moment.

"I can't believe Arthor was drawn," Ophelia whispers.

"The boy from Five?" Quincy asks. "Why? Who is he?"

"He's the son of one of the past victors. Dead, now. Alcoholic," Finnick explains.

I add Arthor's name to my growing list.

"Is he dangerous?" Quincy inquires uncertainly. The boy from Five didn't look particularly dangerous; he seemed to be average.

Finnick laughs. "Do you even have to ask? His father knew five different ways to sever a spine."

"Oh" is all Quincy says.

"So, what about you two?" Finnick asks, suddenly sober. "What can you do?"

Quincy and I look at each other. "We work on a fishing boat," I say. Quincy nods in assent.

"Okay..."

"Um...Quincy's pretty handy with a spear..."

"And what about you, Annie?" Finnick asks, pinning my with those incredible eyes. It surprises me that he knows my name. And, as much as I hate to admit it, it sends a thrill through me too. I don't trust pretty, but that doesn't mean I'm impervious or oblivious to it.

"I...I don't know," I say. "I guess I'm okay with a knife. I'm good with traps. Nets and things."

"Well, I can tell you what you shouldn't do," Finnick says. "You shouldn't join the Careers. Normally Four tributes do this, myself included, but you guys...yeah, you definitely shouldn't."

Irritation flares inside me. "Why?"

"Because they would squash you like a bug," Finnick says. "Both of you."

"We weren't planning to join them anyway," Quincy interrupts before I can speak. "I want to die with some dignity."

"You're not dying," I growl.

"Right. I'll keep that in mind."

"See, this," Finnick says, gesturing between our scowling faces. "Isn't going to work. Maybe for the crowd, but you guys need to accept the fact that one or both or you isn't going to make it out of this alive. And you need to decide now, or I'm going to decide for you."

I just gape at him. What a horrible thing to suggest! To choose who's going to win. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

Quincy beats me to the punch. "Annie. I want her to live."

"No!" I say. "Think about our parents. About Tally. What are they going to do if you..."

"You're my little sister! I'm not going to let you die!" Quincy says harshly. "And the others...I said good-bye to them already. "

"Yes, and you can say hello again when you go back to District Four," I yell, standing. As I walk out of the room, I tell Finnick, "Keep him alive, or District Four won't have a victor this year!" Then I stomp to my compartment and slam the door.

After an hour or so of me laying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, there is a knock on the door.

"Go away!" I yell, closing my eyes against the pounding headache that throbs at my temples.

I hear a sigh on the other side. Then Finnick's voice. "I just came to let you know that we entered the Capitol. We'll be arriving at the train station in one hour."

"Okay," I say. I wait for him to go, but there are no receding footsteps. Only breathing.

"Annie, open the door," Finnick requests.

"No," I reply.

"I have something to tell you."

"It can wait."

"No, it can't," Finnick snarls. I've never heard Finnick snarl, not on national television, not in public, not even when he has spoken to me in person. He's always spoken in a seductive purr. Somehow, this portrayal of his real emotions is more attractive. I'm glad he is not in the room to see my blush.

After much consideration, I get up and unlock the door. I open it up, standing in the doorway, not inviting him in but not denying him access. I want to see what he does. Will he barge in? Will he just talk to me out here?

He does neither. Instead, he asks if he may enter. I nod and step back, letting him inside. But I leave the door open. Finnick walks to the bed and stops, turning to look at me. Again, I'm pinned by those green eyes. My mother has this saying, "Eyes are the windows to the soul". If this is true, than Finnick must have a beautiful soul. It's not only the color that astounds me, but the wisdom, the understanding beneath the surface. It's enticing. But I can't let it trap me. Instead of his eyes, I focus on his lips as he begins speaking. "I'm choosing your brother."

This pulls me up short. "What?"

"Every mentor must choose a victor to keep alive in the arena. The person who is most likely to make it home. The others and I agree that your brother is the one," Finnick explains. "I figured that with all four of us working together, then he'll have a decent shot at winning."

I try to say something, but I just nod. I'm grateful that they chose Quincy, but...every instinct I have is crying out. Now my death is certain. Not only certain, but it's confirmed. "Does he know?"

"Of course not," Finnick says. "He insisted that you be the one we choose. I told him that we would."

My eyes narrow. "How do I know you're lying to him and not me?"

"He's bigger, stronger, faster..." Finnick continues. He smirks before adding "smarter" to the list. I scowl, but say nothing. It's not completely untrue. Quincy did always get the better grades in school. I look at my feet, measuring the truth in his words. Never trust pretty.

Suddenly Finnick is looming over me. His nearness makes me look up, once again meeting those eyes. They're mocking me now, flickering green flames. "Or maybe I am lying to you. Maybe I think you should win."

I blink and then scowl. I will not let him play games with me. I step closer to him, so we are chest-to-chest. I look right into his eyes. "Give me your word. That you'll protect him."

My boldness only seems to amuse him more. He bends down so we his face is inches from mine. "I swear on my life that I will protect your brother to the best of my ability while he's in the Hunger Games. But in return, Annie Cresta, you have to promise me something."

"What?" I ask.

"If he somehow manages to lose the Game, you have to try and win," Finnick says. He is so close that his breath stirs the hair in my face.

"Deal," I say, suddenly taking a step back and sticking out my hand. I don't feel comfortable with his closeness. It's not that I don't like it...in fact, I think I like it a little too much. And that just won't do.

Finnick blinks, as if coming out of a trance, and shakes my hand. He is back to his seductive self. Before I can take my hand back, Finnick grabs it and pulls me to him, wrapping an arm tight around my waist so our bodies are pressed together.

"Goodnight, Annie Cresta," he whispers against my cheek. He lets me go and walks out the door, shutting it behind him. I stare at the closed door, putting a hand on my cheek where his lips brushed my skin.

"Goodnight, Finnick Odair."

Has anyone heard of Owl City? If you have, you probably know him from the song Fireflies. If you hate this song and are rolling your eyes as you read this, hold on for two seconds and read. He have better songs. How Fireflies got to be so popular and his other songs didn't, I honestly don't know. However, I quite like Owl City and his song, The Saltwater Room, is a great Finnick/Annie song. If you haven't listened to it, you definitely should.

So, let me repeat.

Look up The Saltwater Room by Owl City. If you haven't already.

It's a great Finnick/Annie song.

Just saying.

~ Smurf