I wake to the sound of birds. The windows show no projection, just the harsh blue of the Capitol sky. And there's a thrush outside my window.

I sit up. Its chest vibrates as it gurgles its song. Its brown beak bobs, and then, it flutters away, swooping down beyond where I can see it.

It's peaceful. I am no longer tired. I am almost content.

I make my way eventually to the living area. Past ten o' clock, and yet Finnick is nowhere to be seen. I thought we would have started training by now. Clyde and Shona come in through the door, sweaty from their morning training.

'Morning,' I say out of habit, and Clyde nods. Why hasn't Finnick woken me up if I've overslept so?

I finally find Finnick in the dining room, sat in front of an elaborate spread of brunch.

'Morning,' he says, 'Sleep well?'

I nod. 'Do you mind if I have some more of them?'

'For tonight?' says Finnick, 'I'm sorry Annie. They tend to affect motor response; that's why I didn't mention them before. It wouldn't be good to have them tonight.' He takes a huge bite from a croissant stuffed with cheese, bacon, an egg, and slightly incongruously, jam. Well, this is the Capitol.

I'm starving. 'Aren't we training this morning?' I ask, filling a plate with everything in reach.

'If you want,' says Finnick, 'But I thought we could do something different too.'

Riley trots in, grabs an apple, and keeps running, barely acknowledging us as she taps on her data pad. She comes to a stop in front of Finnick, scrolls twice with her finger and then says, 'Not Central Park. Dapper Groenberg is out jogging and the paps are on it. Lawton and Presidential are too busy, your safest bet is Justice.'

'Great,' says Finnick, and grins up at her. 'We were only going to go to Justice anyway, but it's nice to have your grand ideas confirmed.'

Riley raises an eyebrow.

'We should do something fun today,' says Finnick so me, 'Forget training. We deserve it.'

'Fun,' I say, mildly suspicious, because I'm not exactly sure what Finnick does for fun.

'I wanted to show you a place in the Capitol,' he says, 'A park. It's pretty neat. We could take food. And if you like, I could show you around. The zoo is awesome.'

'I've never been to a zoo,' I say.

'Annie,' his face breaks into a grin, 'Wait until you see the lemurs.' He turns to Riley, grins languidly and says 'I'm sure the paparazzi are all dying to visit the zoo as well.'

Riley purses her lips. Finnick gives her a gaze that can only be described as smouldering. 'Please?'

Riley huffs out a long suffering sigh, and taps something else into her pad. 'Looks like two separate tip offs just confirmed sightings of you on the other side of town to the zoo. And stop with that ridiculous face. I'm doing this for Annie.'

But we don't go to Justice. Instead we jump out of the car at an intersection, and Darius pulls smoothly away as though nothing has happened. Finnick takes my hand, pulls me through twists and turns in the crowds on the streets. Stark white buildings of glass and metal tower high above us, leaning forwards in the sky, and everywhere I see the eagle of Panem. We dash up clear steps and into the carriage of a maglev train that runs through the city, and stand on opposite sides of the carriage wearing sunglasses, pretending that we don't know each other. Finnick frowns at a datapad and I stare out the window. I have to resist the urge to laugh. But nobody bothers us.

And that's how an hour later we're strolling through the sunshine in the most secluded area of the Capitol I've seen so far. The landscape of the park rolls in a way which could almost be natural. Foliage grows thick and free alongside twisting paths, down into little groves where benches sit by a brook. We don't talk as we wander, but Finnick occasionally glances at me, and when a sparrow darting across our path makes me smile, he does too.

We break out onto a meadow, green grass backed by trees, and behind that, if I squint, the thin heights of distant skyscrapers. The park is far enough from down town that I can almost forget we're in the Capitol. There are only a few others around, and they are perhaps less flamboyant in their dress as most I've seen in this city. There's a family too, the first children I've seen since I came here.

'Fitzroy,' says Finnick, 'This place is called Fitzroy. This area used to be part of a city even older than the Capitol. It's where I come when I need to get out.'

If it's a distraction – of course it's a distraction – but I don't mind. Because it works.

We don't talk much, but that's alright too. The silence is warm, and this way, it's easier to pretend. We're just two friends. A boy and a girl. Maybe it couldn't ever have become something more, but here, now, as we lie on the grass and gaze up at the sky, I can almost pretend that in another life it might have been a possibility.

True to his word, Finnick did bring along food, and I did too – anything that looked nice from this morning's buffet, and I empty my small rucksack on the grass. For two hours we do nothing but lie and eat, and our bodies grow gloriously sluggish in the sunshine. Two birds chase each other, whirling across the sky, and down here, we're alone too.

'Why don't more people come here?' I ask.

Finnick gives a half shrug. 'Too busy maybe. Or they just don't care.'

The grass tickles between my fingers, crushing against my limbs and I stretch out, pressing myself into the earth.

I turn my head to face Finnick, whose eyes are closed. His chest rises and falls slowly, closed eyelashes long against his bronzed cheeks. I drink him in, the rise of his cheekbones, the small freckle below his eye, the warm copper of his hair, falling back from his forehead in soft single loops. His lips are slightly parted as he breathes.

I stay this way for a long time. This is what I want to remember; this is what I want to carry with me. This feeling of utter peace. I have no fear looking at him anymore, because he knows all there is to know of me now.

My eyes are drawn to the woven strips of leather around his neck. He never takes it off, and I've seen boys in the District wear similar jewelry before.

'Who gave you that?' I ask, and reach out gently, to touch it.

'Mags,' he murmurs, 'Just before my Games.'

I smile. 'A lucky charm.'

'No. It's a strangle cord.'

I feel foolish, but at the same time I burst out a laugh.

Finnick turns his face to mine, eyes open, and edge of his mouth edging upwards into a smile. His eyes are so very green. My laughter trails off. Those eyes are deep enough to swallow me whole, and though today they are peaceful, I can sense the blue of storms deep within them.

I can't look away. But he doesn't seem to want to, either. Instead between his eyebrows a small crease of a frown, his mouth open again as though he wants to ask something.

Every part of me aches to reach out and touch him, and yet I know I can't. I will never be able to. Even with Finnick beside me, a bulwark that holds back the full extent of emptiness, I can still feel the edges of the void pressing in against my mind.

I sit up, his eyes following me. 'Let's go explore,' I say. I want to stay distracted.

He gazes at me a moment longer. 'Course,' he says, standing up, and brushing grass from his pants. I look away as he stretches out his arms out over his head with a satisfied growl. My cheeks are already warm, and need as little encouragement as possible.

We stroll over the grass and back into the trees, where we come to a low bridge. Instead of crossing it, in unspoken agreement we wander down to the edge of the water. Then Finnick picks up a pebble and skims it across the stream. I grin in delight. This is a skill I've never been able to learn, because you can't skim stones on the sea. In exaggerated slow motion he repeats the action, giving me his sideways smile as I copy him. Our pebbles fly into the water, mine disappearing with a plop as Finnick's bounces four, five times.

'Show off,' I say. Finnick laughs, bright and clear, and then with a whoop, leaps forward, and barrels us both into the water. I grab hold of his arms, just managing to stay upright, although my shoes and socks are entirely soaked. He pulls away, chuckling, and then smacks his hand through the water, cold droplets spattering my face and sticking my shirt to my skin.

'I'll get you for that, Finnick Odair,' I say darkly, and then clap a hand to my mouth. I'm so stupid.

Finnick lowers his sunglasses. 'I would like to know who this fellow Finnick Odair is,' he says in Capitol accent, 'His name sounds absolutely ridiculous. How dare you mistake him for me? You know full well it is… Clyde… von Barrington.'

I laugh, pulling off my shoes with one hand and placing them back on the shore. 'Mr von Barrington, you're going to pay for that.'

'Aha,' says Finnick, tossing his sunglasses onto the shore and backing away as I wade through the water towards him, 'You've forgotten that water is my element.' While the bank is pebbles, the center of the stream is soft sand. I guess that's the plus side of manufactured landscapes.

'How unfortunate,' I say, 'It's mine too.' I bend forward and cut my elbow through the water so a wave curves up and over him – or at least the lower half of him.

'Oh god, it's like I've pissed myself,' Finnick groans. He grins at me, brilliant teeth, eyes narrowed. 'That's it.'

He dashes towards me and I back away, then turn, running, splashing and giggling wildly. His hand snatches my shoulder and I spin sideways, but before he drags me down he yelps as he trips and tumbles forward, his entire body crashing into the water and absolutely drenching me. I cannot stop laughing as he pulls himself up, spitting out water which drips from the tips of his hair and runs in rivulets down his body, shirt clinging to his chest.

In this moment I see how far he is from Finnick of the Hunger Games, Finnick who burst from the water with murder in his eyes. Those eyes are laughing now. The two Finnicks have never been the same thing at all. They are both real, but one of them doesn't matter. I must have paused a second too long, because then his arms are around me and my cry is cut off as I go tumbling backwards.

My head bursts back up above the water, and I roll free, turning to continue splashing him, coughing and spluttering. 'I told you, if I'm going down, you're going down with me,' he says.

A mother with a small child smiles indulgently at us as she walks over the bridge, and then does a small double take, leaving only exceptionally slowly, with repeated glances back at Finnick.

I gaze at him, distressed. He reads me instantly. 'Annie, this is one day. What we're doing this one day can't hurt me.'

'But –'

'I spent a long time yesterday thinking about this, Annie,' His jaw is set, but he looks up at me through his eyelashes – almost shy. 'And I'm choosing this.'

I can't completely erase my fear for him, but the final cramps of the tension I've imagined between us since the interview blossom outwards into relief. I bite my lip. 'Thank you.'

'Yeah, well,' Finnick holds out a hand to me. After a moment, I take it. 'It means a lot to me t – whoa, piranhas!'

It was a trap, of course, because suddenly I'm spluttering on water again, and both of us are drenched and laughing.

When we finally collapse, exhausted onto the bank, the sun is already hanging halfway down the sky. I wring out the skirt of my dress, and we follow the stream, wandering back through the park, down to where it deposits itself in a reedy lake populated by ducks. We walk around the edge, barefoot, shoes slung around our necks. The warm air tickles as it lifts the sodden strands of my hair, and I relish the caress of the breeze cooling my skin.

Coming to the edge of the park, one of our stomachs gives an ominous growl. We glance at each other. 'Oops,' says Finnick, and pats his stomach 'We already ate all the food.'

'I have some left,' I begin to slip off my rucksack.

'No you don't!' Finnick. 'There's no food. None. We're going to have to go to a restaurant or something. Oh, but wait!' He slips his sunglasses back down over his eyes, entirely straight faced. 'I know one just a block away.'

My lips tug into a smile. 'Did you happen to reserve a table there as well?'

'Stop it. You're embarrassing me.'

We walk side by side onto the pavement of the quiet street backing the park. The houses here are so old that they are made of red brick, with elegant white window frames, and thick trees casting dappled shadows onto the sidewalk. It's refreshing not to care about how we appear to the few people who pass by, although we are both still damp. The top layer of my hair is drying into frizzy waves, and Finnick's is mussed up in all directions, which I love. As we walk side by side our arms brush, and I think maybe I could take his hand. But I couldn't do that to him.

Turning the corner, we come to a small café. Finnick enters, shoes squelching onto the threshold. At least they're on his feet, I suppose. A waiter catches his eye, then immediately disappears through a staff door. I hang back, unsure.

'Come in, Annie,' Finnick gestures at me, 'It's fine. Max is a friend.'

I have friends, but that doesn't mean I'd drip on their carpet. Finnick tucks his sunglasses into the front of his shirt. There aren't many people in here and the few who glance up at us seem unconcerned, or, after a momentary gawk, do their best to pretend they haven't noticed. A lanky young man with flour in his hair appears from the staff door and comes over to shakes our hands warmly.

'Don't bother about the carpet,' he says, 'It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Cresta. Finnick stops by here sometimes, but he's never brought a guest.'

'If you could get us the table upstairs, that'd be great,' says Finnick.

'It's already ready.' Max leads us up a winding, wooden staircase at the back; this building is very old indeed. 'We're dripping wet, and people are too polite to pretend they've noticed,' I hiss at him.

'You see why I like this place?' Finnick murmurs back.

We come out to a balcony with a single table overlooking the park. The lake peeks silver in the sunshine where I can catch it through the trees, and the Capitol's spires glint in the distance.

Max sends a waitress up with blankets in case we get cold, and a towel to dry our hair, which I gratefully accept. When Finnick is done with it he looks like someone has given him an electric shock. A stupidly sexy electric shock.

I gaze out over the view for a minute, Finnick poring over the menu. 'All of the stuff here is great,' he offers.

'I don't…' I shift slightly, 'Have any money.'

Finnick raises an eyebrow, but it's only teasing. 'It's on me. Obviously.'

But that just makes it seem like –

His cheeks turn an ever so slightly rosier shade of bronze as he looks back down at his menu, and I feel my stomach sink softly.

Finnick Odair has taken me on a date. An old fashioned date. To make my last day the best day he can, with no way to give me my family, my hope, or my freedom, he is indulging instead in my most foolish of fantasies. I stand suddenly from my chair, and lean over the balcony. I would rather leave right now than have him pretend.

The sun is on my face, and below cutlery chinks softly. Finnick is beside me a moment later. He looks at me, but doesn't press with a question.

'I don't want you to pity me,' I say. Trees sway gently towards the balcony in the breeze. 'And I don't want you to be dishonest out of pity.'

Finnick seems puzzled. A breeze tousles a lock of his hair across his forehead.

I swallow, 'Finnick, you don't have to pretend for me.'

His puzzlement deepens into a frown. 'Annie.' He swallows. 'I have never pretended with you. And – there's not a lot of people I can say that to.'

Now I'm the one who's confused. 'This, Finnick. I don't want this.'

His jaw clenches. 'I know you don't … want me. But this is not supposed to be a –' He turns to face out over the balcony, and although his voice is light his fists are clenched tight on the railing. 'I didn't think you thought yourself too good to even eat with me.'

My mind goes blank. 'Of course I – how can you think –'

Finnick shakes his head. 'It's not like I can blame you.' He laughs. 'I should be congratulating you Annie. I've been teaching you to survive, Annie, and my god you're going to survive. When you played Flickerman you pulled the biggest card in the deck.'

'Played?' I breathe.

He turns to face me. 'They love you, Annie,' he says, and his eyes are deep sea again, and I'm gazing overboard into their depths. 'They really love you now. That was the greatest lie you could have told.'

He reaches out one hand, as though to stroke my cheek, but thinks better of it. 'I thought I'd forgotten how to hurt.' His voice cuts, but it's not cutting me. 'Which is why I didn't stick around to congratulate you, after.' He reaches out, utterly focused, and runs his fingers into my hair, cups the side of my face in his hand.

His voice is soft and sad. 'We taught you too well, Annie Cresta.'

And in that moment, I understand.

'Finnick,' I raise my hand, press it over his. 'I wasn't playing anybody.'

He frowns, just a little.

'I thought… you didn't stick around because you were angry. Because I'd put you in danger. I'm terrible at lying, Finnick,' My voice cracks slightly. 'Surely you've figured that out by now. Everything I told him – it's the truth.'

His thumb against my cheek, the breeze languidly lifting one lock of my hair. Finnick's eyes are dark, a darker, stormier sea than I've ever seen them. His lips are parted. And then he leans in, and presses those lips to mine.

The kiss is warm, strong, and as my mouth opens against his my heart rushes, swelling upwards as the bottom drops off of my world. My hands find his waist, and I pull him closer, hold him to me, and our lips move together.

I will never let him go. I will never lose this sensation, of Finnick Odair kissing me.

Our lips part, and foreheads rest together in the lengthening light, Finnick's fingers entwined through mine, his eyelashes burnished with fire. His breath is warm on my face.

'You have this strength, Annie,' he murmurs, and it's like our kiss has uncorked a dam. 'You're whole. I knew it from the moment I met you. I saw it once before, but it wasn't so clear. I never understood it. I could never grasp it. But when I'm with you –'

Then there is noise beside us, and I remember where we are. Who we are. A waitress stands frozen on the stairs, eyes carefully averted. But I do not care what she has seen, as we move apart, take our places once again at the table, my body trembling.

Nothing they can do has the power to take this moment from me.


'It took me a while to work it all out,' Finnick says quietly, 'But if you want to… I've found a way to contact your family. To talk to them.'

Something inside me lurches. Finnick pulls his datapad out from his rucksack.

'Not for long. Only while we're on the move. But you can, if you want.'

It's entirely illegal. 'Of course I want.' My voice cracks.

Darius drives us home in the back of the limousine, evening casting its blood red light over the spires of the city.

'You have access to netspace at home, don't you?' I nod. Quite a lot of families do. Our holoscreen is old and doesn't do much other than stream Capitol transmissions, but it does connect to the District 4 news net. My fingers tremble as I take the datapad from Finnick's hands. The screen is covered in a network of tiny lights.

'This is lurking in the local monitoring hub right now,' Finnick says, 'And it should register all the connected datatech. If you can find yours, you just have to click on it.'

So the District has always had the power to observe everyone in their own homes. As I scroll in, the clustered groups of lights become designated identification tags, and within each tag, the first four letters of a name. I see it almost straight away.

#329ODEST

I press the tag, and the screen winks out. And then opens up again, becomes a window into another world, directly into my own living room and the kitchen behind. The gingham curtain is ruffled by the evening breeze coming through the seaward window. The hibiscus on the sill has fully opened since I've been gone. I swallow back tears.

And then my mother walks across the screen, lays a tray upon the table.

'Mom,' I say.

She glances up for a moment, face white. Then shakes her head, and turns away.

'Mom.' My voice trembles. 'Mom, I'm on the screen.'

My mother's eyes when they lock onto mine are filled with so much pain, so much love, that I can't hold back my own tears. She rushes forward, around the sofa, reaches out as though to touch the screen.

'Oh god, Annie,' she whispers. 'I thought I was never going to see you again. Baby. How…'

'I love you, mom. I don't have much time.'

'Marcus,' she calls, voice strained. 'Come quickly. Bring your brother. Now. Oh Annie, I love you so much. Are you alright? Are they treating you well? I'm so sorry my baby, Annie, I'm so, so sorry.'

'It's okay, mom.' We're both crying. 'I'm good. I'm fine. I wanted to say goodbye. I love you.'

My brothers' feet patter on the tiles. Finn is round the corner first, and his chubby face opens up with joy. 'Annie!'

My mother sweeps him into her arms, and he laughs at me over the screen. Marcus approaches more slowly, a look on his face that is almost wary. 'Is that really her?'

'Of course it's me,' I sob, 'Oh, I miss you all so much. I love you all.'

'Your father will be home any minute, Annie. How are they treating you? Is Finnick training you?'

'It's been good,' I nod, 'Finnick has been great. He's taught me so much.' Not enough.

Mom's eyes widen. 'Is he there with you? Is he doing this?'

'Mom –'

'He can give you weapons training, Annie,' says Marcus, 'You can be tough – fight them! People do it all the time. You will. I know you will.' Finn is quiet, frightened by our tears. There's the sound of a door closing, heavy boot steps, and then my Dad enters the kitchen.

'Donack,' my mother says, and he turns. 'My god.' He rushes forward, and there are dark shadows under his eyes, new traces of grey in his trim beard. 'How are you doing this, Annie? No. Don't tell me. God bless that boy. We thought we were never going to see you again,' his voice cracks, half a twisted smile. 'Our precious girl.'

'I love you,' I say, 'I love all of you so much, and I need you all to remember that. I still have Shelleysticks, Finny,' I force brightness into my voice, 'She's been keeping me company.'

'Are you coming back soon?' he whispers.

'Annie,' Dad's is crumpled, desperate, 'Do you – do you have a chance? Is there a chance for you?' At this my mother clamps her hand over her mouth, holding back another sob.

'I don't know, Dad,' the tears are coming thick and fast now. 'I don't know. Maybe. Don't – don't hope for me –'

'Annie, no!' cries Marcus. 'You're going to be Victor – the champions of District 4, you and Finnick!'

'Dad, Mom, please don't worry about me, I don't want you to be unhappy.'

'How can we not, Annie? You're our child. You're our world.' Dad's knuckles are white, squeezing Marcus' shoulders, 'All of you are our world.'

'Twenty seconds,' Finnick murmurs. My stomach lurches.

'Marcus, you know I'm so proud of you, right? Keep stealing the pilchards from Hager Crux, you're right, he sucks. And you, Finny, my gorgeous boy. I'm always going to be with both of you, because you're my baby brothers. Mom, Dad, I love you so much.'

'We love you too,' my Mom whispers, 'More than you can possibly imagine. We'll be with you till – the end – whatever end. Come back to us.'

The screen winks out, and I cry silently, resting against Finnick's chest.


It is dark by the time we return, and the apartment sits in silence. We reach the junction where our corridors part. My throat swells, unsure of what to say. If there is anything to say.

In a bare few hours, with coming of the next dawn, this will all be over, and I will be dying.

Finnick turns to me, jaw clenched, eyes darting back and forth as though he is searching for words. Instead he pulls me into him and we embrace, my head slotting beneath his chin where he rests his face against my hair. 'Goodnight, Annie Cresta,' he says. I bury my face in his chest at the collarbone, breathe in the scent of his skin, warmth and musk and the edge of sea which never quite left him, no matter we're so far from home.

I pull apart and gaze up at him, hoping to assuage the pain in his eyes with sincerity. 'Thank you,' I say, and I mean it from the depths of my soul.

He says nothing, but clasps my hand once more, briefly, pressing another sleeping pill into my palm. I cannot take the look in those green eyes of his, and our fingers break apart, drifting into empty air as I turn away. And then he tugs me to him, and I spin, my heart spinning, and Finnick Odair locks me in his arms for a moment to lean down, briefly, gently, to press his lips against mine.

And then he walks away, leaving me breathless in the low lights of the landing.

It is a moment before I find the power to walk back to my room. I dress in the fitted nightgown laid out on my bed, smooth down the material with my hands, and gaze out over the night beyond my windows for what may be the last time. I climb into bed, fold myself under the covers.

My fingers tremble as I put the sleeping pill to my mouth, but my hand stays. My lips can still feel where he kissed me, I can still hear the blood pounding in my veins. And I do not want to sleep tonight. Not yet.

And so I walk back through the darkened corridors, my fingers trailing against the walls, smooth across the paint. My feet sink into the carpet, soft fibers brushing between my toes.

Last night on earth.

Well, perhaps it is.

I reach the darkened rectangle of his doorway, a soft glow still coming from underneath. 'Finnick,' I say softly.

It opens slightly, and Finnick's eyes flicker for a moment in surprise. 'Hey,' he says, and the edge of his mouth curves up, in that smile. The Finnick smile.

Gently, I push the door open where his hand rests it ajar, and enter his room.

'Annie,' his voice is concerned, 'Are you alright?'

I turn to him, smile gently. I unfold my hand. In it sits the sleeping pill, and I let it fall to the ground.

Finnick Odair. My Finnick. He wears a t-shirt and loose pyjama bottoms, copper hair mussed from the pillow. The glow of the lamp illuminates the planes of his face, glances off his lashes, his tired eyes. Those burning, burning eyes.

My spirit is burning for him, too.

I move past him and look out at the open night behind, through the door ajar on his balcony. My reflection in the window panes is pale, ethereal. I am something more this night, and yet still fully myself, with a gravity and clarity I never knew I possessed.

Slowly, I shrug my shoulders out of the material of my night gown, and the satin is cool as it ripples over my legs to the floor.

I turn to face Finnick, bearing to him both my body and soul as I never have to another person. My pulse thuds deep inside me in both exhilaration and fear. But at the same time I am still, and my breathing comes smooth, because as a soft breeze lifts the tresses of my hair I know nothing has ever felt so right. I crave this boy, my whole body aching with the need for him.

'Annie,' he says softly, and it is not quite a question.

I take a step towards him.

'Tonight is my last night,' I say simply.

For a moment Finnick says nothing, but blinks, jaw clenched and gaze locked onto mine.

'And I want to spend my last night with you.'

Finnick never looks away. 'You shouldn't.' His voice is hoarse. 'Not with me. When you know that I've –'

'That doesn't matter,' I say, 'None of that matters to me.'

He gazes at me, lips parted. His eyes stray downwards once, then back to my eyes. I do not break his gaze, but step in close, so close that I can feel his breath on my upturned face, and the heat that radiates from inside of him.

'I'm here,' I say, 'I'm here because I choose this. I choose you.'

His gaze sinks down over my unclothed body, then slowly back up to meet mine once more.

My words are soft. 'Do you choose me too?'

For a moment, Finnick's eyes are molten, an ocean on fire roiling within his gaze. Then he closes his eyes, and lets out a shuddering breath.

'Of course I choose you, Annie Cresta' he says.

'Then I'll stay,' I whisper, and his eyes flicker open, long lashes grazing shadows over his cheek bones. I lean in, reach up, bow his head gently down to mine, to touch his lips to mine.

Momentarily, he doesn't respond, but then his mouth opens against mine and we kiss, slowly, softly, his tongue just grazing my lip. And then, delicately, he places a hand on my shoulder, fingers trembling as though he's afraid to touch. My hands find his waist, and then he's leaning into me.

His hands are infinitely gentle as they trail across my waist, my back, and encircle me. I am shivering with the need to touch him, craving the silk of his skin. My hands smooth their way under his shirt, up over his abdomen, and trace circles against his body. He presses his lips to the tender skin of my neck below the ear, and leaves a trail of kisses down to my collarbone.

I pull up the material of his shirt, until softly, we break apart and he turns slightly, the bronzed muscles of his shoulders moving as he raises his arms to pull it off over his head. His back bears the faint, pale traces of a long, jagged scar, between his shoulder blades, and I trace its path with my fingers.

As we face each other once more I take one of his hands in mine and raise it, slowly, to where it cups my breast. His fingers stroke my nipple and I gasp, wrapping my arm in his hair and pulling his mouth down to meet mine once more.

I only have one night. I intend to live it.

Our kisses deepen. When we pull apart this time, my breathing comes heavier, and in the soft lighting the sea-green of his eyes is stormy with lust. We lock together once more and I clutch at his back, tangle my fingers through his hair, kiss him hungrily, desperately, dragging him down into me, drowning in the ache of my need, as his hands rove down over my back, my buttocks. His teeth nick at my throat as his hand moves down through the soft hair between my legs, fingers searching, gentle and my breath comes out in a short gasp.

His other arm wraps around my back and he hitches me upwards so I can swing my legs around his waist. He walks forward and gently, he lowers me onto the bed, my head sinking into the soft pillow. His eyes search mine as he moves forward to lean over me, I can see flickers of gold in their depths, and my body flushes under the heat in his gaze.

I taste the salt on his skin, kiss him, all of him, until I know his body like a handprint of my own. Our fingers interlock against the sheets. When he enters inside of me I breathe out a sigh, and we move gently, slowly together, my breath hitching with every thrust. My head thrown back, a tight kernel of heat builds within my abdomen, swelling gently through my limbs.

I push against his chest, roll us over till I am straddling him, and sink my hips forward, wrapping my hands through his hair.

His eyes are wide, starry. 'Say my name,' he gasps, 'Say it.'

'Finnick,' I say, and it comes out as a moan. 'Finnick.'

His breathing builds in time with my rhythm, and our bodies are slick against each other, moving faster. The feeling inside of me bursts, trickling down through my limbs in a river of warmth, and Finnick gasps. The night air is cool against my skin.

After, we lie, limbs entwined, my body heavy with peace. Finnick's chest rises and falls against my back. I am cradled in his arms.

'They tell me secrets,' Finnick murmurs into my hair, 'The others, I mean.' I had thought he was sleeping. 'I make them pay dearly for what they get from me.'

I turn to face him, run my hand across his cheek. His eyes are too deep. 'I'm so sorry, Finnick.' My voice aches with what I want him to understand.

'The reason I keep Darius,' he continues, 'Is because it's my fault. What happened to him, I mean.' He swallows. 'And I can never let him go. I give him as much freedom as is possible. It's the only thing I can do to – to make it up to him.' He swallows, and his eyes flutter closed. 'To make up for it all.'

I lean in slowly, because I know now what he needs to hear. What he has always needed to hear.

'I forgive you,' I whisper against his lips. 'There is nothing to forgive. But I forgive you.'


I awake to the warm wash of sunlight against my face, bursting colored sparks behind my eyelids. I do not open my eyes, because I feel safe. Cocooned. On the edge of my hearing, I can almost imagine the sough of surf. I lie curled in Finnick's arms, one arm up beneath my head, which lies against his neck and shoulder, my other curved around his waist.

I shift slowly, moving my head so I can see his face. He rolls onto his back, arm rolling to splay out on the bed beside him, murmuring in his sleep. The tension in his jaw, care lines across his forehead are smoothed out, more peaceful than I have ever seen him. His hair is rumpled against the pillow.

After a while, his eyes flutter open, and he turns to the side. Gaze mottled green and gold.

'You're beautiful.' His voice is utterly without guile, and I stare at him, dazed. Yet for a moment, here and now, I can believe it. Then I laugh softly.

I am Annie Cresta. Weak Annie, small Annie, Annie-can't-kill. But I am also not those things. I am so much more. And last night I took the most desired boy in Panem to bed. Finnick Odair, Victor, killer, the boy they stole from the shore of the southern sea.

'Finnick,' I ask, 'Do you ever visit us? At home?'

'I always come back,' he says. 'Whenever I can, I come back.'

I frown. 'But we never see you. No-one in the town ever sees you.'

He looks away. 'The Finnick they want is not the one I can give them.'

I brush the edge of his face with the back of my hand. 'What about… your family?'

Finnick says nothing, but his lips narrow, and he is staring at something far, far away that I cannot see. The realization begins somewhere inside of me, unfurls its cold tentacles through my chest.

Today begins the 70th Hunger Games.

I pull myself upright, sit on the edge of the bed, sickness churning in my stomach. A light flashes on the side of the holoscreen on the wall. 'Finnick,' comes Riley's voice over the intercom, 'Annie isn't responding to our calls.' There's an unspoken question.

Finnick presses a button. 'She's awake. We're on our way.' He turns to me and holds out a hand. 'Come.'

The Games don't begin until mid-morning. Perhaps dying now would be better than living with this dread beating at the core of my numb, numb body. Finnick holds the shower head over me, and warm rivulets rush through my hair, over my breasts. His lips meet mine, once, his taste mingled with the clear water.

No one remarks as we arrive to breakfast with his hand clasped over mine, leading me on.

This is the last time. The food that passes my lips is tasteless. I shake hands with Aenon, Riley. Clyde. Shona. And Finnick. 'I'll be waiting here,' he says, as my prep team lead me away one last time.

I am showered again, shampooed, moisturized, and Maggie takes a small, painful device to my eyebrows as Ganymede towels my hair dry. 'No proper makeup in the Arena, of course' she says in a small voice, 'But your eyebrows will be the most perfect the Games have ever seen.'

Ambrosia weeps silently as she braids my hair, and then twists it into a chignon at the nape of my neck, pinned securely to my head. 'They can shake you up and down or make you run for miles, and still this won't come out,' she whispers fiercely.

'Practical,' says Maggie, smoothing her hands down my navy blue, skin tight jumpsuit. 'But still stylish.' Then she gives a great hiccupping sob. The tributes' uniform. It arrived today, nameless, packaged.

'There. Done.' Ganymede says, presenting me with the matching pair of soft, knee high boots, soles firm and thick. I pull them on, and they stand back, looking at me. 'You're the best tribute we've ever had,' he says simply.

I pull him into a hug. 'Thank you. Thank you, all of you.' My voice breaks I swap over to Maggie, whose makeup is still immaculate although she has tears everywhere. Finally, I turn to Ambrosia.

'Oh, honeyplum,' she says, and squeezes me so hard my ribs ache. I cling to her. 'It's been an absolute honor. Now go out, be fierce, be fabulous, and if you come back I'll be the happiest woman in all of Panem.' When we finally part, she looks me up and down, before wiping at her eyes with a sniff. 'I have never been so proud.'

Ophelia is standing behind. 'Annie.' Slowly, she folds me into her arms. 'You should know,' her voice is a murmur, 'That Ambrosia pawned her best hair piece to try and secure you a sponsorship. Don't mention it; she's mortified.' My affection for my prep team – my friends – swells greater and spills out as a sob. Ophelia continues, even softer. 'You should also know that if you make it out, there are those of us who might like to see this all ended.'

My heart skips a beat. 'You're with Senator D'Archour.'

But before I can ask more, Ophelia pulls away. 'Back straight,' she says, 'Remember your training.'

'Strong, calm and poised,' I say automatically.

'Exactly,' Ophelia nods. 'Sponsors matter in the Arena, more than ever. And Annie – good luck.'


A plane lowers down to a landing circle on the roof, engines roaring wind through my ears and shifting the collar of Aenon's suit. And then a gangway lowers, and peacekeepers take us in and buckle us into hard plastic seats, Shona and Clyde opposite. The penthouse drops away, and the last thing I see is a small group of figures, black against the grey roof, in the slimming rectangle before the hatch shuts. Then Capitol is gone. Tributes and mentors, sitting in a cabin with no windows, rushing through the sky to god knows where. To the Arena. The light is harsh and metallic, and even could we speak above the roar of engines, I would not dare with the blank helmeted peacekeepers standing by.

It's coming. Shelleysticks cuts into the skin of my crushing fingers.

When we land and the door lowers, I barely have time to take in the vast hangar before we are marched down a series of ever narrowing corridors. We lose Clyde, and two of the peacekeepers, and then two more as doors swish shut behind us. I'm facing a small circular platform.

I have one minute.

I turn to Finnick. 'You know what this is, Annie.' His fingers brush my arm. There's a horrible spark of hope in his eyes. 'Annie, this is wetsuit material. We were right. There's going to be water –'

'Shh,' I say, and press my lips to his. 'I know.'

'Promise me,' he says, when we pull apart. 'Promise me that you won't end it. That you'll keep fighting.'

I look up at him, my eyes wet. 'Finnick, I –'

'Don't give up,' he snarls, 'Don't you dare ever give up. Not until there's breath left in you.'

'And if I'm cornered?' my voice is breaking, 'If there's no other way?' I swallow. 'No, Finnick. I can't promise that. When I die – if I die – it's going to be on my own terms.'

Finnick closes his eyes, there's a track of a tear glistening down his cheek.

'But I do promise that I'll keep fighting,' I say, and I mean it. 'I'll keep fighting until I have no other choice.'

Finnick leans forward to press his lips against my forehead.

Tributes. A smooth automated, female voice. Step into your capsules.

He leans down to rest our foreheads together, our hands clutched between us. Finnick's eyes closed, breathing slowly. But my eyes are open, because I want to remember this face, every inch of it scarred deep into my memory so that whatever happens over the next few hours I will never forget the dapple of freckles across the bridge of his nose, the lines drawn at the edges of the curled bow of his lips, the pale whorl of the teardrop spangled in his eyelashes.

Ascent commencing in ten.

For a brief, insane moment, I consider disobeying. Bursting past Finnick and running back into the corridors. But I know if I did so the peacekeepers would end my life in a moment. God knows what will happen to my family.

There is no option but to play by the rules. None of us have any option but to play by the rules.

But not quite.

I grasp him towards me, and against his ear, I whisper.

'Finnick. I spoke to Desirée D'Archour. She says that on the third day of the Games, at midday, you should go to the café opposite the old parliament house on Victory Avenue. She said you'd know them by their coat.'

'What?'

'She's with us. You. Johanna. I don't know, but there's hope Finnick.' My voice breaks. 'You will find a way to change people's minds someday. Politicians. Maybe even the President. And then no one else will have to die. Take this,' I say softly, and press Shelleysticks into his hand. 'Give it back to Finny. And tell him I'll always be watching over him.'

And I cling to these burning thoughts with my teeth and the edges of my fingernails. It's this thought that allows me to step backwards, to pull away, and to stand onto the platform of the capsule.

Finnick exhales, head lowered, and he opens his eyes. They're a deep, aching ocean green. 'When I saw you – at the choosing ceremony - I thought there was nothing any of us could do for you. That you were a lost cause. But I was wrong. You are braver than me, Annie.'

Five.

His hand clasps round Shelleysticks, lacing our fingers together, and he presses a kiss against my knuckles. 'Annie,' Finnick's voice is rough. His throat works to say something, and I think he is about to quip, to make one of those Finnick jokes. And then he stops. When he speaks it comes out lightly, delicately.

Three.

He presses my brother's doll back into my hands. 'Come back to me, Annie.'

Two.

Glass sheathes closed in front of my face, and everything becomes oddly silent. My heart beats a harsh staccato, and a sickness stirs cold in my stomach. I press my hands to the glass, and he places his against mine on the other side, fingers longer than mine, almost nut brown from two decades of the District 4 sun, tips still callused from years of tying twine, casting nets into the ocean. Hands that have been washed in blood, hands that have held me. And I love the whole of them.

One.

The panel beneath my feet begins to move, Finnick tilts his head upwards, for a moment his eyes flash, like sunlight glancing off the surface of the ocean, and then he is gone.

And my capsule rushes upwards towards the Arena.


Yes, I've left you on a huge cliff hanger again. Am I evil? Possibly *bwa hahaha* BUT THEY FINALLY GOT TOGETHER ZOMG...so I could rip them apart again, heh heh. Don't worry, the delish angst is nowhere near finished but I also promise more fluff in the future too. Meanwhile it's about to get a whole lot worse for Annie. o.O I'll update soooooon! Please smash that review button if you enjoyed this. It means the world to me.

Maddy x