Walking from dinner back to my car with Finnick behind me something happens. It feels like walking into a wall of anesthetic – it sinks in deep, saturating muscle, bone and sinew leaving a cloying sensation of ease in its wake. My steps waver when it hits me, and I know I have Pandora and her funny pills to thank for this. For now, though, im halfway thankful for it.

I make my way immediately for the bed and watch Finnick pull a chair up in front of me. Now is the first opportunity I've had to get a good, long look at him. I had seen quite a bit of him around the dinghy and in town when I was a little girl, and even more of him over the years on Capitol broadcasts and during the games. Every year he looks better than the last- but here, in person, I could see how worn he had become.

The wear wasn't in his flawless skin or chiseled body it's in the set of his beautiful sea green eyes. There's an old man in there, I think, and a sad one to boot.

He seems a million miles away, and I'm not sure what I should do. There's a profound something there, and as much as I want to ask him to tell me what's on his mind, I know I have no precedent to ask for his confidences. Instead, I make my way to the glass of wine he left on the mantle by the door and I sat beside him and waited.

I can't help but feel something for Finnick- I'm not sure if its gratefulness or sympathy and I'm a little too drugged to go making distinctions now, but it's there and though I don't know what it is, it tugs at me; it makes me want to make him feel better.

When I think his reverie has passed I extend the drink to him.

"you back?" I ask with as much levity as I can muster "where'd you go just then Mr Odair?"

He looks up at me, confusion coloring his features "Finnick" he corrects me

"well, Finnick, You look like you can use this" I tell him, shaking the glass in front of him. "Now hows about a distraction, huh?" I say in the voice I'd use to talk to Nauplius when he's down. "how do we turn on this thing?"

As if on cue, the screen comes to life.

I think I catch Finnick cringe when it does.


It's a strange thing to be so disconnected from yourself that you can take in the faces of those obliged to kill you with complete indifference, but that's what happens. It's as if it's all happening to someone else, and I'm merely there to observe, unaffected and indifferent as the exact nature of my calamity unfolds before me.

Finnick grunts and calls for more wine when the volunteer tributes from district One, Grippa and Lilia, take the stage. They're both tall and thick and broad shouldered with light features; Attractive, if not menacing at first glance.

A petite capitol attendant brings Finnick a whole bottle, and he looks so gleeful at the sight of it that it give me pause. I wonder how often Finnick resorts to the bottle to find some peace.

In district two, the tributes were also volunteers. The boy Marcus was large but forgettable. The girl on the other hand, Atia, is small and as spry and vicious looking as she is heart-stoppingly gorgeous.

"She'll rate well" Finnick comments with an acid etched voice as he gulps down a mouthful of wine. He hands me the glass, to finish or re-fill I'm not sure. "But don't worry, you will too" he adds with a smile I know is contrived for the sake of my mental health.

I fill the wine glass but I don't give it back to him. I drink it in tiny sips instead. I like the dry and bitter after taste it leaves on my tongue. It's smoother and fruitier than the clear, eye-watering moonshine we have at home. It warms my belly going down but it doesn't burn the way I'm used to. I like that.

It doesn't take Finnick long to realise he's lost it, and after a couple minutes of looking at me with a 'what do you think you're doing' expression on his face, he seems to decide something and relax. He repositions himself on the bed beside me and takes to drinking direct from the bottle. I don't know why, but this makes me feel more comfortable.

We watch as the children are called in as tributes in the other districts- these are harder to watch than the reapings from one and two. It's the same every time – there's the calling of the name, and the sad fool who belongs to it trudging forward in disbelief, and then that disbelief turns to terror as volunteers are called and none step forward.

I feel bad for myself before I even realise it's me I'm looking at. It's surreal when I see myself look out from my place on the stage and catch the moment of recognition in my eyes when I finally find myself. As I expected, they don't show a jot of the drama that unfolds on the boys side of the crowd. Finnick and Mags don't appear as though they ever leave their chairs. Everything goes smoothly without a hitch.

"They have good editors" Finnick says, nudging me in my side "it's a good sign though, if they made a point of showing your brother and that boy of yours, it'd mean only bad things for them."

"Boy of mine?" I ask.

"Loverboy, you know" he teases "Laz I think?"

"He's not mine " I answer defensively. I don't know why but the idea of Laz being mine, or perceived as mine, makes the wine in my belly turn on me a little. I hadn't had time to think about the consequences of this afternoon, and now it's part of a different life entirely, one I hope isn't, but quietly know is, over. My cheeks flush "He's just, well he's just Laz."

."Right, Just your Laz. Got it" Finnick teases, with a real grin this time and I see a softness behind his eyes I don't expect. It reminds me of something I can't quite put my finger on- the thought comes with the taste of sea brine and wet rope on the back of my tongue. It reminds me of my father.

I roll my eyes at him and watch the last few seconds of the feed from District four. Aiden and I are side by side on the platform with Mayor Epsom. I'm taken aback by the sight of myself; positively bloodstained, looking almost defiantly into the cameras. I look almost happy to be there. It's a satisfying contrast to how I looked when I was reaped- like the small waif that had stepped onto the stage had since been reborn into something resembling a competitor.

"They're not going to know what to make of you" Finnick ruminates. I think the wine is starting to get to his head because his cheeks are beginning to flush. "you almost look like you're smiling in that last bit"

"I don't know what I was thinking. It'll make a target out of me for sure" I answer

"I know what you were thinking." Finnick says, in a teasing, caramel tenor that makes my hair stand at attention. I turn my head toward him to find he's intoxicatingly close, just inches away "You were thinking of your Laz" he grins, cocking an eyebrow. Without even thinking, I punch him in his arm as hard as I can.

We both laugh.

"Ow" Finnick feigns injury, rubbing his arm for the sake of my ego "Seriously though, Your composure makes you look good as a potential ally for the other Careers. I don't think you've painted a target on your head just yet."

"I don't think I want to ally with the Careers" I tell him. And I don't. I've no stomach for savagery.

Finnick just shrugs and re-fills my glass "we'll cross that bridge when we get to it"

"And when do we get to it?" I ask

"After the opening ceremonies, is when. When you get to the training center you'll get a real feel for who you think you can trust and who you need to strategize to get rid of."

I roll the thought around in my head. I don't think I like it at all. Especially not while I'm watching the reapings "that sounds wrong to me, Finnick"

"I'm sorry" Finnick asks gently with a note of sarcasm "but what part of the hunger games is supposed to leave you feeling warm fuzzies, Annie?"

I stare at him a moment. I know he's right, that he's just pointing out the most obvious problem with what I'd said, but I can really tell the depth of Finnicks resentment for his job when he says it. But then, I think, it isn't a job is it? It's his whole life. His own personal prison sentence as a victor is to mentor people who are going to die and to smile for the cameras while he does it.

The capitol makes him out to be a serial playboy and inflated celebrity ego, and its easy to believe it's that black and white when you see him waltzing out of the victors village into town to spend his piles of money. But in truth, he couldn't be any different than the rest of us- only with a lot more experience in the currency of cruelty in which the Capitol trades.

"This must all really suck for you Finnick" I say, without giving myself permission to "I'd never given any thought to how much it must suck to be a Mentor. I'm sorry"

"don't worry about me Chick" Finnick looks at me like I've lost my mind "you worry about getting yourself back home to your brother and your boyfriend, okay? That's what I'm worried about"

I don't like that he has said this. It connects lines I'm not ready to connect.

I'm pretty sure Finnick can tell he's upset me from the way I sit up straight before getting up from my spot at the side of the bed. I start leafing through the drawers absently, as if looking for something, but I'm not sure what I'm looking for. My mind just seems to work better while I move.

"what are you doing Annie?" Finnick asks

"im thinking" I say. I've found a canary yellow silk nightie in the second drawer that I put to the side for later. I should enjoy nice things while I can.

"does opening and closing doors arbitrarily help with this process?" he asks

"yes." I answer " as a matter-of-fact it does. It helps a great deal". I'm quickly running out of drawers so I start again. This time I start fixing the pieces I messed up during my first pass.

"Why don't you think out loud?"

"I don't like that Finnick" I tell him, turning on him. I think I might have stamped my foot when iw as doing it.

Finnick looks like he's about to bowl over laughing "what don't you like?"

"'boyfriend'" I mimick him " and 'my Laz' its silliness! It's imaginary. We both know im not going to make it through this thing. Ill try. I promised to, but if I win it's not for him"

This wasn't the response he expected. "Annie-"

"Don't 'Annie' Me mister." I cut him off. I'm not yelling, in fact my voice is entirely even, still unaffected. And though all of this truth is dawning on me, the drugs still keep the heavy emotion at bay. I'm appealing to reason, not emotion. I think this catches Finnick off guard more than anything else. "You think he'll still want me even if I do win? You think I'll want him when I'm all messed up from the Games? You think, if I do live, it'll be me that walks out of there?"

Finnick just stares at me wide eyed, without words, and with all the humor in his face drained away. He knows exactly what I mean, and he knows im right but he didn't expect me to catch on so soon.

"I don't know what you know about today." I sit down on the bed, but further away this time. "I know what you think about Laz and I. But before the reaping I never entertained thoughts of him. When he came to visit me I submitted to everything I know I would have had if the reaping didn't happen. That doesn't mean I harbour any illusions about going back to it. That life is already dead to me."

A girl named Dinah just stepped out in front of the justice building. Finnick and I watch her walk across the stage to the district Escort. "I'm going to do everything I can to get you out of there" finnick says, looking at the screen.

"Me too." I answer "That doesn't mean anything will ever be the same if I do"

"That's true" Finnick answers

"I'm going to go change" I declare, grabbing the pj's I'd put aside

"Annie, you've got to watch the reapings with me" he says, trying to be stern and failing at it.

"I won't be a minute." I shrug "Besides ill see them all tomorrow"