And so, the next morning, here we stand before the tall, wrought iron gates of the Victor's quarter. I hold a carpet bag of clothes in one hand, and my mother's hand in the other. A guard recognizes us, slowly, the elegant fretwork creaks open. In front of us stands a wide, tree-lined avenue. Set well back from the road are vast, three story mansions. 'The Victor's houses,' says Aenon, but they're too big to possibly be called houses.

Finnick leads us down the street, under oaks dripping with spanish moss. We walk past empty plots with gardens untended, overgrown with hollyhocks and vigorous bees. White slats, gabled roofs, pale green shutters. It is almost utterly silent. It is also, strangely beautiful.

There are enough houses here for District 4 to win the Games for a hundred years to come.

A man working over a flower bed with a trowel straightens up as we pass, and fixes me with a dark eyed stare.

'Conway,' Finnick says.

'Odair,' he replies, 'Miss Cresta.' He grins with too many teeth, and I force my lips into a polite smile. 'Delighted to see you again. Can't say I expected to.'

Finnick gives him a curt nod. 'Please excuse us.'

'Shona and I would love to have you over for dinner sometime, Annie,' Conway calls after us. He gives a bark of laughter. 'You can tell us all about it!'

I squeeze Mom's hand harder. A village of only Victors, and I can barely cope with one.

We turn a corner, down an identical street, and then Finnick turns up a path, walking backwards. 'Welcome,' he says, 'Home sweet home.'

To all practical ends the house is identical to the others we have passed. But unlike the others, it is lived in. The shutters are flung wide. The bronze knocker shines on a recently repainted door. Flower boxes thick with marigolds hang below the window frames.

'It's… beautiful.' I say.

'Yeah. Well.' Finnick ducks his head. 'The houses next door are empty, so they can assign one to you if you like. Or – you can go anywhere else, of course.' He points across the road. 'That's Mags' house, but she's lived with me since I got here.'

'What am I going to do with a whole house?' I say. 'They're all enormous. Once I'd finished cleaning everything I'd have to start from the top all over again.' Mom and I share a small smile.

Finnick pushes open the door. We step through an airy corridor, past a staircase on the left, and into a living room. The high walls are painted white, and bay windows gaze out over banks of flowerbeds in the back garden, day lilies in their last summer bloom. I walk forward to the glass. Beyond the garden, the blue back of the sea is just visible, peeking over the trees and rooftops of the town below.

'The view is why I chose this one,' says Finnick. 'It isn't the warmest room, but it is my favorite.'

On the mantelpiece, an old gilt clock ticks softly. My parents stare around at the rich furnishings, doing their best to hide their amazement.

A door creaks open, and the wizened old face of Mags Cohen peers into the room.

'Mr and Mrs Cresta, this is Mags.' Finnick bounds forward to take her by the hand, leading her in. 'And of course you've already met Annie.'

She walks forward and squeezes my parents' shoulders, her eyes beaming. Then she draws me into a hug. Pulling back she turns to us all, pats her stomach and makes a gesture at her lips, cocking her head in question.

'Oh,' I say. I guess Mags doesn't talk.

'We'd love to eat, thank you,' says Finnick. His gaze is tender. I wonder why his mother never came to live here.

We follow Mags back towards the front of the house.

At lunch, the six of us sit around an oak table in the kitchen, which has windows facing out over the front lawn. We eat thick slices of crusty bread, salad and creamy bacon quiche, still piping hot. In this warm kitchen, people I love around me, I can eat. Aenon pokes at a piece of lettuce. I feel Finnick watching me, but I focus on my food.

'Thank you, Mags,' Dad says, 'This is delicious.'

Mags raises her eyebrows and points at Finnick. Dad turns to him in surprise. 'You can cook?' he says, through a mouthful of quiche.

'Yes sir.' Finnick meets my Dad's eyes briefly before returning to studiously butter a slice of bread. I smile.

'So how long have you two shared a home?' Mom looks between Mags and Finnick. 'Can I…'

'Don't worry, Mags signs to me and I translate,' says Finnick, 'She moved in… pretty much straight after I arrived. Whenever I was allowed back from the Capitol she was already here.' He reaches out and touches her hand. 'I'm not sure I would have made it without her.' There's a pause, and returns to buttering another slice. 'For one thing, I had noidea how to cook back then.' He gives my parents a stellar Finnick smile. 'Burnt the quiche every time.'

Mom and Dad glance at each other, and Dad clears his throat. 'Mr Ballantine. Would it be possible for Annie to live here… with Finnick?'

My breath hitches. Finnick stares.

Aenon frowns. 'She has already been assigned a house. But there's no reason that Annie can't live in here if she chooses… unless I am instructed otherwise.'

'An excellent idea,' says Mom brusquely. 'If Finnick and Mags would allow it. It wouldn't be right to leave a senior lady to care for this place alone when my girl could be here to help her. '

'And,' says Dad seriously, 'If Mags could keep Annie company, and call us if – anything happens… it would be a weight off our minds.'

Mags nods seriously, and then beams.

'I would like that,' I say shyly. 'If that's okay with you, Finnick.'

Finnick stares between me and my parents, and his face breaks into a bright, gorgeous grin. 'I would be honored. Mags would too.' Our eyes meet, and my cheeks warm. He knows what I tried to do two days ago. How can he still look at me?

Still, relief unfurls within me. The thought of being entirely alone in one of these vast houses, in this ghost village, had left me dull with dread. Finnick trusts Mags, and so I trust her too.

After lunch has been cleared away, and Aenon rushes off to an appointment, Finnick leads us upstairs. 'I actually cleaned up a room – just in case – anyway, I think you'll like it. I mean I hope you will. I mean… you can choose any other room…' He swings himself around the last banister and comes to a door on the very top floor of the house.

'It's not very big,' he says as he pushes it open, 'But it's cosier than the master bedrooms, and there's the view out the back…' He trails off as we enter.

The room may be small in this mansion, but it is as large as our kitchen at home. To one side is a wood framed bed with a lavender counterpane, and on the other, a vanity table and a closet. In between, the roof tilts down either side of a gable window with a deep window seat, banked up by cushions. It faces out over the garden and to the sparkle of ocean in the distance. A lazy summer breeze fills the room.

I walk forward, run my fingers over the knitted bedspread, the stack of paper books on a little table beside the door.

'I thought those might be ones you'd like,' Finnick folds and unfolds his arms, 'There's more books downstairs – I don't know, I like the old kind with pages.'

'It's beautiful,' I say, staring out at the distant line of blue. I mean it. 'Thank you, Finnick.'

Finnick ducks out to join Mags downstairs. Mom insists that I sit in the window seat as she arranges my little bag of things, my four dresses hanging in one side of the wardrobe, the smart red shoes I got for my sixteenth birthday below. Dad sits beside me, and holds my hand as I watch the gently swaying plants of the garden below.

'I'm sorry,' I whisper. 'I'm so sorry.'

Mom sits on my other side.

'You have nothing to be sorry for,' she says fiercely. 'Nothing.'

'We love you,' says Dad. 'We want you to be well. We want you to be – to be happy. We can't really imagine what you've gone through. I know you don't want to talk about it,' Mom shoots him a warning glance, 'But we were with you every single minute, Annie. You were so brave. And you didn't do anything – anything – to be ashamed of. You did what anyone would have done.'

'I told you,' my voice cracks, 'I didn't want to. It was an accident.'

Dad sighs. 'If it weren't for that accident, we would have lost you.'

The dark place in the back of my mind beckons, and the nauseating panic that I have avoided so far today creeps over me. Because of that accident they have lost me. The trembling begins again.

'It will take time,' says the psychiatrist slowly. I sit on a sofa in Finnick's front room, my parents either side. This man questioned me for most of two hours and it has wrung me utterly dry. The horror gripped me so hard as he spoke, as I cried, that for several minutes I blacked out. When I came to I was curled in a corner. There was a smashed vase where I had thrown it at his head, and also, I had been sick. After all of that, I can't feel anything anymore. My eyes track over the pale flower pattern of the wall paper, zoning in and out of his words.

'It appears that for Annie post-traumatic stress is manifesting largely in the form of physical and mental flashbacks, panic attacks, depressive thoughts, and the like. In addition, some suicidal ideation. All very typical.'

There's a beetle walking up towards the ceiling behind the doctor.

'Some doctors offer therapy, but I personally recommend neurosurgical and neuro-replacement treatment. They're new techniques, recently developed for mental disorders in the Capitol, and there have been some wonderful success stories.'

'Neuro-replacement?' Dad is saying. 'Even with the Victor's bounty… if that's the cost of your services…'

How does the beetle stay hanging on when he's upside down?

'Surely time and love – talking about these things – or medication,' Mom leans forward, 'We have a neighbor who took pills she got from another doctor and she says they helped .'

'I wouldn't be so hasty to risk your daughter's wellbeing further,' the psychiatrist raises an eyebrow. 'Medication is so unpredictable outside of the Capitol. There are many people who never fully recover. Who are never themselves again. Best to replace the broken and start over, don't you think?'

My mother stays over that night, and we share the bed. When I wake up screaming she holds me, and brushes back sweaty hair from my forehead. When she leaves soon after daybreak, I stand at the garden gate and watch the corner at the end of the street where she disappeared. A bird warbles above me in the morning light.

Maybe what the doctor said would be good for me. Replace my whole mind. Maybe the new Annie wouldn't even remember.

'Annie,' says Finnick quietly, from the doorstep. 'You've been out here for a while. Would you like any breakfast?'

I turn and walk past him back inside. His eyes follow me, anxious. 'No thank you,' I say lightly, and head back upstairs, my hand trailing along the banister.

'I'm down here. If you need anything,' Finnick says from the landing. 'Anything at all.'

I carry on up the second flight.

I spend the morning in the window seat, watching Mags pottering in the garden, sun warm on my face.

There's a knock, and Mags smiles round the door.

'Come in,' I say shyly. In her hand she holds a vase of red stella lilies, which she sets on a dresser.

'They're gorgeous,' I say, 'You have a wonderful garden.'

Mags smiles. I falter, unsure of the best way to communicate. 'Offering for me to come share this house with you and Finnick…I can't thank you enough. You've both been so good to me.' I duck my head, tears coming to my eyes. Why even bother to help me now?

Mags steps forward and places her hand against the side of my face. Her skin has aged like ripples of sand upon the sea shore, but something deep within her eyes is still youthful, utterly free of worry or judgement. I lean into her hand and blink back tears. When I open my eyes she raises her eyebrows and taps her stomach.

I don't know if I am hungry, but I can't say no to Mags.

The warm, comforting smell of cooking spices greets us as we enter the kitchen. Finnick stirs a pot on the stove top.

'I asked your mom what your favorite was,' he says, answering an unspoken question. 'I know it's not exactly summer food but I figured, with how hard you're probably finding it to eat right now… Anything I can do to make it easier. '

My cheeks warm. He has cooked for me – again – and I turned down breakfast from my hosts. If Mom was still here she would be mortified. Finnick has gone out of his way far too much already. I clamp my hands in my lap as I sit so that the others can't notice them trembling.

We eat the meal in silence. To my relief, Finnick doesn't try to talk. If I focus very hard on the sounds of cutlery clinking, on the kitchen curtain gently lifting in the midday breeze, the taste of the stew as I swallow it, my mind wanders back to my childhood. To a light place where thoughts come to me softly, and the own edges of my mind wait to rise up and swallow me whole.

Afterwards, Finnick beckons me out into the garden. He takes me on a little tour, pointing out Mags' herb garden, the corner she let run wild with budleia because it brings in the butterflies, the beds where she tried to teach him how to grow vegetables. He adds that he mainly ended up killing them off, which when he was fifteen he thought was ironic and hilarious.

We sit down on a swing seat which faces down to the ocean. We don't touch. A gull wheels through the distant sky, mewing mournfully.

'Triton Berenzen stepped down last night,' Finnick says eventually. 'They're trying to make it seem like he chose to retire, but President Snow apparently ah… didn't like some of his directorial choices in the Arena. Not enough excitement at the cornucopia.' He uses air quotes. 'Losing a tribute before Games even began. The unorthodox ending.'

I look at Finnick, frowning.

'Triton Berenzen,' he says. 'Triton has fallen out of favor in the Capitol. Which means so has his immediate family.' His lips curve into a bitter smile. 'Tanaquila won't be making any more demands of me.'

'She's gone,' I say simply, and my heart spools open in my chest. 'You're free.'

'For the moment.' He tilts his head back, closes his eyes. 'I'm free for the moment.'

Do I laugh with relief? Or do I cry knowing that this is only respite, not manumission? I simply meet his gaze, and put into it all the empathy I have. But I have to look away, because it's too much, and I can already feel myself drowning in those eyes.

'Annie,' Finnick says after several minutes. 'You know you can stay here as long as you want, right? I'm going to be here as long as I possibly can. And if you ever want to move out, just say the word and I can help take your things over to your house. Whichever house you want.'

The breeze ruffles his hair, turning the ends bright gold. He twists a blade of grass between his tanned fingers.

'Whatever you want,' he continues, 'Whatever you need me to be. Cook more food, talk about our fucking feelings, the works. Screw that doctor, I have a shit ton of money for medication if you want it. If you want me to fuck off back to the Capitol I can do that.' He shakes his head, 'If you just want me to shut up, I can probably do that to.'

It takes me a while to realize he needs a response, and another to drag up the words from the haze inside of me. 'You don't have to shut up,' I say quietly.

He spins plucks another piece of grass, bites his lower lip. 'When I got back from the Arena I couldn't shut up for months. I just talked about nothing. Everything. The other tributes. How I killed them. A lot of it was gibberish. I ranted and raved and Mags just… listened.' He smiles thinly, and begins tearing the grass into shreds. 'I fucked everyone who was stupid enough to fall for me, and I left all of them because it helped me feel like I was in control. But when I was home Mags never made me explain. She never made me feel like I had to explain. She was just…there. Even when I screamed at her, she was there. I don't know how she did it, but she was. And that's what I want to do. I want to be there. As much as Snow will let me, I want to be there for you.'

He takes a deep breath, brushes the grass from his lap.

'I got through it Annie. Everything you're feeling, I felt that and I'm still alive.'

'And you're Finnick Odair.' My cheeks are wet. 'Finnick, you're so much stronger than I am.'

'No,' Finnick sounds desperate, 'No, I'm not. Annie, you are so full of compassion that you didn't even want to kill a fucking bird when I tried to order you. In the Arena people see that as a weakness. But it's not.'

I realize that I'm crying when the tears trickle over my lips. 'You've done so much for me, Finnick. I would be dead if it wasn't for you. But I don't think I can do this. I can't keep you here because you're my mentor, or because you have a debt to repay.'

'You think I want you to live here because – ' Finnick brushes a hand over his face. 'Jesus, Annie.'

We stare out at the sea again in silence, my feet trailing on the ground with the slow rocking of the swing seat. I don't know what to say. Because I just don't know, and because I wasn't entirely truthful either.

I can't bear to live with Finnick because I am terrified that if he touches me, my body will give me away. That being around him I won't be able to stop from wanting more. I am terrified that I will fall for him utterly, and then he'll leave me too.

The latest in a long line of stupid, stupid people.

The next night when I wake up screaming, it's Mags who hums to me and holds me close in the dark. In the morning when I wake again, she's still there in her armchair beside me, head dozing against her chest and her hand holding mine on the pillow.

I spend as much of my time as possible in the garden, soaking up the last of summer. Mom and Dad keep to their word, and at least one of them visits me every day. On the third day, Mom arrives in the mid-afternoon, bringing both boys with her. Finn drags on Mom's hand, thumb in his mouth and fear still lingering in his eyes. I could be sick with the shame. But I force myself to walk towards them, and crouch on the garden path. 'Finny,' I choke out, 'I know I broke Mollysticks and shouted. I was scary and mean, and I'm so sorry.' I take a deep breath. 'A lot of scary things happened to me in the Hunger Games, Finny, and because of that I sometimes get scared and do scary things too. I'm hoping that I will get better.' I hold out a little doll. 'I made Mollysticks all better again, and she'd like to go home with you if you like.'

Finn reaches out and snatches the doll, then tucks himself back round behind Mom.

I stand, and give Mom a shaky smile. It's a start.

'Mr Finnick Odair, Ms Mags Cohen' says Marcus, shaking their hands and standing ram-rod straight. 'I am honoured to be a guest in your house.'

'It is an honor to have you here, Mr Marcus Cresta' Finnick says seriously. 'Ms Cohen doesn't like to speak, but she'd like you to call her Mags.'

By the third time he visits, Marcus careers up the garden path and collides with Finnick's legs. 'Finnick!' he yells, grinning face upturned, and then flings his arms around Finnick's waist. For a moment Finnick is aghast, and then his face splits into a massive smile. 'Hey there, buddy.'

Finnick and I play hide and seek with Mags and the boys in the garden whilst my parents sit on the swing seat. Marcus directs us about, and starts off the counting.

Finnick pulls himself up into a tree at the back of the garden. I gently lead Finny by the hand to the flowerbed. As a pair, we are fairly obvious ducked next to the marigolds. Mags, however, moves so slowly that she is still within sight when Marcus finishes counting. At this point she steps behind a hedge and refuses to come out no matter how many times Marcus yells that he's seen her. Finnick promptly gives himself away by laughing.

'You're not hiding properly,' Marcus huffs. 'Everyone go in the house this time. And you have to pick good places to hide.' He claps his hands over his eyes. 'Fifty! Forty nine…'

'Come on,' I whisper to Finny, and we trot through the back door. Finnick disappears down the hall, my brother points to the stairs and I hold his hand as he takes them one by one, planting both feet firmly on each step.

'Not in there, darling,' I say, as we pass Finnick's bedroom. The door is partially ajar, and I flush at the sight of rumpled bedclothes. 'Why don't we pick another room?'

'Ready or not, here I come!' I hear Marcus' call.

'Come on Annie, come on,' Finny giggles, tugging me into the spare bedroom and towards a wardrobe reminiscent of the one our parents own, only larger. 'Look!'

Nervously I open the doors and Finny clambers inside. I hear Finnick fake roar, Marcus squeal and laugh. 'I found you, I found you!'

'Quick Annie, hide,' Finny says, and holds out his chubby arms to me. 'Annie, hide with me. Please, Annie!'

I swallow, and crouch in beside him, turning to pull the doors almost to. Finny snuggles against me in the darkness. Feet creak on the landing. 'How did Mags even win the Hunger Games?' Marcus' voice. 'She's older than Old Bab was, and I don't even think she can hear. You check that room.'

My breathing comes faster. It's a big wardrobe, I tell myself. They'll find us any moment, and I can get out. I screw my eyes shut.

Then suddenly I am back in the underground chamber with Fannia. There's water pooling about my feet. The air is thick, acidic, and the water is starting to hiss. I can still remember the way she screamed –

I burst out of the wardrobe, gasping, sobbing. Straight into someone's chest. I rebound, and Finnick grasps my arms, which are flailing wildly in front of my face, holding me upright as my knees collapse. 'Annie. Annie. It's okay.' His face swims into focus. 'I'm here. You're here. In my house, remember? You're safe.'

Finnick holds me close to his chest, my fists scrunched together beside my face. I focus on the warmth of his arms around my shoulders, his shirt against my cheek, my own heart pounding. I am here. I'm safe. It's over. I don't have the energy to speak, I'm trying to control my frantic breathing, pushing back the darkness around the edges of my vision.

'Annie?' Finny's voice quavers from the closet.

'What's going on?' says Marcus. 'I checked the other room…Annie?'

'Why don't you take your little brother down,' says Finnick, 'Annie and I will come in a minute, okay?'

'Okay,' says Marcus dubiously, but doesn't leave.

'I think she had a flashback,' says Finnick gently. 'That sort of thing can be very overwhelming.'

Their footsteps retreat. After a while I can feel Finnick's heartbeat through his shirt, the calm, slow rise and fall of his chest. There are hot tears, watery snot on my cheeks. I rub at my face with one hand, give a little laugh.

'Hey,' Finnick says, and we open out from the embrace. He looks so different with his eyes this warm, deep green, no trademark smirk upon his face. 'Let's go get you washed up a little.' I nod, and reach up to place my hands over Finnick's where they sit on my shoulders. I give them a gentle squeeze. Thank you.

He opens his mouth as though he wants to say something, but instead moves an arm down to my back, begins to walk us towards the main bathroom. This house has three – it's ludicrous. He waits outside as I splash water on my face. The girl who stares back at me in the mirror has cheeks blotched red from crying and golden brown from the freckles that have come out in force after my week under the harsh, false sun of the Arena. Her bangs stick to her forehead in clumps, and her eyes are wide, wild. Hunted.

But she is alive.

I leave the bathroom, Finnick pushes away from the wall. 'If you need to rest, I can ask your parents…'

'No,' I say, 'I feel better now.' I take his hand, just briefly. 'Thank you.'

'Whatever you need,' Finnick says simply, catching my eyes for a long moment. I swallow.

We head back out into the sunlight, and I come to sit in between my parents on the bench, lightly trembling.

'Annie, are you okay?' Marcus calls. I give a little wave.

'Let's go play over here, huh?' says Finnick, grin back on his face, trotting down the lawn towards the back of the garden. 'Come on, buddy.' The two of them run after a ball that Mags has produced from somewhere.

'Do you need to go take a break?' Mom says, taking my hand again. 'Marcus said you were crying.'

'It's okay,' I give my parents a smile, 'I'm okay now. I'm just happy to be here with you.'

Dad raises his eyebrows at me. Mom gives a sigh, and settles back into the bench.

'So help me god,' she says, 'But that boy seems to be doing you good, Annie.' She shakes her head. 'Finnick Odair. Who'd have thought.'

Across the lawn, Finnick tosses Finny up in to the air, and my baby brother squeals with delight.

'He understands what it was like in there,' I say.

'Yes,' Mom says seriously, 'And that's a very powerful bond to draw two young people together.'

'Mom,' I stutter, 'It's not…we're not…'

'None of that, Annie,' Dad waves his hand, 'Your parents may be old, but we're not as foolish as you think. I don't want to insult the way you feel about each other – I can see that he's been very kind.' He clears his throat. 'But at the end of the day, he is who he is. He has a life in the Capitol, with everything that comes with it. And the last thing you need is a broken heart.'

'I know, Dad,' and the tears threaten to return. 'I know.'

'We just worry that with everything you're going through your emotions are quite vulnerable right now,' says Mom gently.

'Mom – stop,' I say. 'Please stop. Even if I did – I wouldn't be that silly. I'm his mentee. He's just worried about me like you are. We're friends, but he's never…he doesn't see me that way.'

How could he? Broken little Annie Cresta, wrecked like a skiff after a storm. Before, I was ashamed of what my weakness meant. But even that was better than being disgusted by my whole self.

Dad clears his throat. 'Whatever you say, Annie.'

The voices don't stop their cackling, taunting, their pernicious whispers in my ears. But sometimes, there's new voices too. Louder voices, softer voices, voices that wrest back control as my mind slides back into the blood and salt and sunburn of the Arena, voices that drown out my panic and make it fade back into the edges of my perception. Sometimes it's Finnick's voice.

But mostly, it is my own.

One day, after a week or so has gone by, I am sitting in the garden when Mags comes to tap me on the shoulder. She beckons me to the front of the house, and I follow her out the door. A slim figure carrying a basket makes her way through the dappled light under the oak trees towards us.

Julie.

As she notices me her cheeks flush, and she gives a furious little wave. She comes to a stop at the open garden gate.

'Annie,' she says, 'I know I didn't call ahead but – I wanted to see you.' She shifts from foot to foot, hands clasped on the basket in front of her. 'We all do. I cried for the whole day when you won and… I mean, if now's not a good time…'

I'm already running forward to fling my arms around her, my oldest friend, and then we're both laughing and crying at once. Eventually we turn to walk arm in arm up the path, where Finnick stands in the doorway, an unreadable look on his face.

'Mr Odair,' Julie bobs her head, and blushes. 'Sorry for turning up uninvited. I'm Julie Tran, we were a couple of years below you at school.'

'Don't apologize,' Finnick stands back, pulling the door wider, 'You're a friend of Annie's. You're welcome any time. And call me Finnick – I'll be upstairs, but Annie knows where everything is.'

A few minutes later we sit together on the swing seat, the fresh cookies she brought cooling on a plate beside. 'On the last day everyone went completely wild,' Julie tells me, my hands clasped in hers. 'Mr Yokange came down to the big screen and started yelling that he'd bet both his trawlers on you winning.' She shakes her head. 'But then everyone had him on their shoulders, passing him around and cheering… the peacekeepers sent him home because he was interrupting the transmission,' she signs quotation marks with her fingers, and grins.

I try to return her smile. I can't believe that even crazy Mr Yokange could think I was going to win the Hunger Games.

'When you were kind to that girl… tried to save Clyde,' Julie shakes her head. 'You didn't have to do any of that, Annie. You were amazing. Flickerman was saying all sorts of ridiculous things about your strategy, but nobody cared, because we all knew it was just you being you. Being Annie.'

Again my eyes fill with tears, but Julie frowns, misinterpreting.

'God, what a stupid, selfish idiot I am. I won't talk about the Games anymore.' She raises our clasped hands to her lips and kisses them. 'Tell me about something else, anything else at all. About living in this place. Or the Capitol. Or tell me about Finnick. What's he really like?'

I take a deep breath. Clyde's face, blood fizzing, flesh pooling away. No. I focus on Finnick. The look on his face the first day we met, when he asked me how badly I wanted to survive. The sunlight playing with his hair as he lay on the grass beside me during that last day together. His breath tickling my ear, whispering my name when he was inside of me.

'He's… kind,' I say. 'Kinder than he looks.'

Julie tilts her head. 'And how does he look?'

The question takes me by surprise. 'Everything in the Capitol was so overwhelming… Even the people. Especially the people. The other Victors… It was hard to know how to take him at first.'

'I see,' Julie says, 'He seemed pretty genuine in the hall just now. Apart from being shockingly gorgeous, I mean. But not like… flashy. Seductive. The Capitol's most eligible bachelor, or whatever. Like… you can actually believe he grew up here.'

'He is genuine,' I say, 'He acts it up, the seduction thing.'

'Has he tried it on you?' Julie gives me a gentle nudge. 'The seduction thing.'

'I don't think so,' I stammer, and Julie frowns. 'I mean…'

'I don't know if you saw any of the news while you were gone,' Julie says slowly, 'But they… made quite a big deal out of you two. Are you…?'

'No,' I say, 'Not like that. Definitely not.' My cheeks are hot.

'Annie,' she says, 'You're kind of living in his house.'

I shake my head. 'Mom and Dad don't have enough time to help look after me, and I didn't want to be in the Victor's village alone, and because Mags is already here Finnick offered...' I trail off and sigh. 'I understand why people think that.'

A bee buzzes lazily past us towards the flowerbeds. I bite my lip. There's a low nag of worry that's been building in my mind for days.

'Did something happen between you guys?' Then her eyes widen. 'Annie, are you okay? Did he hurt you?'

'No,' I say, shocked. 'Definitely no, never.' I lower my voice. 'But I need you to get me something. I can't go into town right now because – it's too much. Please don't tell anyone.'

'Anything I can do,' she says fiercely. 'Whatever it is, I would never tell.'

What Julie gets me is a small packet of pills. It says you only need to take one, and that you should ideally take them within the first week. I gulp down two in front of the bathroom mirror before bed, and wait for the cramps to start.

It's funny how now I'm alive, I have to worry about mundane, living things. Like the possibility of a child. Something that I wept for when I thought I was going to die. Now the thought fills me with horror.

The rest of the pills I tuck inside one of my red shoes, pushed to the back of the closet. Too much of a coward to speak to Finnick about this. Too afraid to confirm that he'd forgotten, he didn't worry, he didn't care.

I have another visitor this week, from a little farther afield.

'You've got a holocall from Ambrosia,' Finnick says, 'She's just getting off the train in town; I'm going to go and collect her.'

I gape at him and he grins. 'She's bribed three officials with free haircuts for life to get unauthorized District entry.' Finnick's lips quirk. 'She also made me promise not to tell you until she was sure she could make it.'

I watch in amazement as Ambrosia totters up the street in her Capitol heels, lights in her hair twinkling sluggishly in the southern sun. She is laden down with bags, and drops all of them to pull me into an enormous hug, her face white.

We sit around the table at lunch, and Ambrosia says next to nothing the entire time, but simply holds my hand, tears streaming down her face. Afterwards we sit together. I lean my head into her shoulder, and breathe in her perfume.

'I would never have survived the Capitol without you,' I tell her.

'Oh, shush,' she says, 'I'm just a … a stylist.' She immediately bursts into sobs and crushes me into a hug. I squeeze back, gratitude pouring through my limbs.

Before she leaves that evening, she bends to press a kiss to my forehead. 'Honeyplum,' she whispers. 'Annie. You are so brave.'

She leaves all the bags behind. Finnick and I open them one by one, unwrapping dresses, blouses, loose pants. There is a pair of thickly soled boots, finely crafted from soft brown leather with blue stitching around the rim, and a broad brimmed hat with a green satin ribbon. None of the pieces are covered in glitter or pearls or electric bulbs, and the fabrics won't tear or snag or be ruined by stains. The colors are gorgeous, but not so garish that anyone would look twice at me down in the town. I have no idea how I'll find time to wear them all, but everything fits perfectly. They are the loveliest gifts Ambrosia could possibly have given me.

The next day, Finnick takes me to the sea. We walk down a path that by-passes the town, over the top of low cliffs and then becomes a thin, sandy track which zig zags its way down through banks of ferns. Warblers twitter from the shrubs lining the path, and then the track opens into a long, shallow bay. There's no-one here but us, and a couple of white boats back beyond the headland, a few kilometers west.

I stand with my bare toes scrunched in the sand so the wash runs over them, sucking at my ankles, pulling the grains down into little wet hollows around my feet. It's the first time I've been on the shore since that night.

I am still afraid. I still wake up in a cold sweat in the night, and sometimes it comes upon me in the day, paralyzing me with terror, and with self-loathing.

But I know now, with fierce certainty, that I want to live. I want to live for my family who welcomed me back with open arms. I want to live for Fannia, for Quiver, for poor little Thorborn. Even for Kayn, for Cashmere, for Jordan. I want to live for all of them. I want to live for every child who's ever had their life stolen by that Arena.

I want to live for myself.

Finnick slings his rucksack down onto the sand, and steps out to join me in the water.

'What did you want to be, Annie?' Finnick says. 'When you were little, I mean.'

'I… I wanted a family. To live by the sea. Perhaps be a nurse; earn enough to look after Mom and Dad well when they're old.' I blush. My dreams seem so small and simple. 'I guess I could probably afford to pay for training now.' Off to our left, a family of plovers run out into the backwash, fluttering away as the waves return in their endless rhythm. 'What about you?'

'I wanted to fish. Work out on the boats with the other men. Then I wanted to learn to fight like a Career, because I was young and stupid. You know what I want now?' His eyes burn. 'I want to end all of this, Annie. To stop them from ever hurting people like you ever again.'

'People like us, Finnick,' I say. 'People like Darius and the other Avoxes. People in the Districts where they barely have enough to eat.'

I wade forward a little, till the breakers lap around my shins. The breeze tugs at the ribbon on Ambrosia's hat and teases the hem of my skirt, cool upon my bare legs. The days are getting shorter.

'I was good at fishing,' Finnick says, 'But I'm better at other things. Persuading people to tell me things.' His lips twist. 'Killing them if I have to.'

'It won't come to that, Finnick,' I say, staring at him. 'There are people who want change – people with power. We already know about Senator D'Archour. Ophelia. Johanna. When there are enough of us President Snow will listen. He has to listen.'

The idea of more death terrifies me. The idea of Finnick being part of that terrifies me. Trident in his hand, blood staining his bronze hair dark, blood mixed with seawater and running red rivulets down his neck. I can't let that happen again. I can't let that ever, ever happen again.

Finnick purses his lips, stares out at the ocean. 'I wish I had your optimism, Annie.'

'Finnick,' I ask, 'What did the Senator tell you? During the Games – the message I passed on?'

Finnick swallows. 'I met someone else. Another Victor, an older guy – I've seen him before at a couple of galas. He told me to wait for someone to get in touch. A woman. He told me she's interested in recruiting Victors like me.' He turns to me, the same thin smile on his face. The Finnick Odair smile. 'And not because I know how to swim or can man a fishing boat.'

'Finnick,' I say, my voice breaking. Instinctively I reach out, to touch him. To brush away the lines of worry between his eyes.

His fingers close around my wrist in a vice, and I jump. 'Don't,' he whispers. 'I can't.'

'I'm sorry,' I stumble over my words. 'I thought – I wasn't thinking –'

Finnick abruptly lets go of my wrist, runs his hands over his face. 'You're the first person in five years I never wanted to be afraid of me,' he says, and his lips pull into a grimace. 'And somehow I still keep managing it.'

He strides forward through the water, and dives beneath the waves.

'Finnick,' I call. My heart sinks, full to the brim but heavier than a stone. 'Finnick!'

He surfaces a few moments later further out, in almost up to his waist and shirt soaked to his skin. 'Who am I, Annie?' he calls back to me. 'What am I?'

'Finnick,' I take off my hat, and fling it back to shore like a frisbee. Then I wade out towards him, throat tightening with a touch of fear. 'Finnick, what do you mean?'

'No – don't come out here,' he says, 'You'll get soaked.' He begins to splash back towards me. 'I'm an idiot, Annie. A melodramatic idiot.' He shakes out his hair, gold beads of water flicking about him. I want to reply, but the words are frozen in my throat.

'It's driving me mad,' he says. He sloshes towards me, the water he churns up sticking the thin fabric of my dress to my thighs. 'I can't stop thinking about that night, Annie. Can't stop thinking that to you I was just – how I am to all of them. A pretty boy you wanted to get in to bed and then throw away once you'd done. But I can't get you out of my head.' The sea and the sunlight make his green eyes bright, reflecting back shades of blue and gold. 'I don't want to get you out of my head, Annie,' he says, 'And that scares the shit out of me.'

My head spins with what he's saying, I can't keep up. 'I'm not afraid of you, Finnick. I knew you would never hurt me. I knew that as soon as I met you.'

'Of course I wouldn't fucking hurt you,' he says. 'I'm a killer, not a monster. I'm human. I'm just a man.'

'Then believe it,' I say. 'Believe, it Finnick. Because I always have.'

He's breathing hard, wet hair sticking every which way across his forehead. 'What am I to you, Annie?' The look in his eyes is anguished. 'What happened between us? Tell me, am I going mad?'

'I'm the one who's going mad, not you, remember,' I say. 'You're Finnick. You're you.' My voice breaks. 'How could I ever want to throw you away?'

He kisses me. His lips taste like salt and sunlight, crushed against mine. His fingers tremble as they run up my neck, through my hair, and I clutch at his wet shirt, press my body forward so it curves into his, a lightning bolt of desire running through my chest and into the pit of my stomach. He locks an arm around my waist to pull me against him, and his body is warm and solid through my thin dress. He kisses me fiercely, desperately, and we stumble through a breaker.

'You don't have to say anything,' he says, pulling back and his breath warm on my face. His eyes are dark, pupils dilated. He is absolutely devastating. 'Please don't say anything. But I'm a little bit in love with you, Annie Cresta.'

My stomach swoops. I run my hands up through his hair, tacky from the salt water, and pull his face against mine once more. Finnick. I'm smiling against his lips, and so is he. Then he's laughing, great bright peals of laughter, his hands against my waist and spinning me around and around so my legs kick up spray that sparkles in the sunlight.

He wades back to shore, still kissing me, half carrying me in front of him. Out on to the warm sand, he gives me a grin that makes my breath hitch, and tugs me up the beach back towards the start of the rise, where the ground becomes a soft tussle of ferns. I lean backwards into the spiraled leaves, tugging him down by the hand, and his eyes burn me up as he clambers over me and leans down to kiss me again under the thin dapples of shade.

After a moment I grab the sides of his shirt, tugging it upwards until he gets the idea and throws it off over his head. I run my hand down the muscles of his chest, along the fine trail of golden hair that darkens into bronze down his abdomen, and his eyelids flutter closed.

He leans back down and presses a kiss against the side of my jaw. I tilt back my head and shudder as his lips graze my neck. My dress has hitched up and he places a hand on my exposed thigh. He pulls back from the kiss, our foreheads touching as his fingers trace gently, slowly, higher. His eyes ask a question. I want this. I am aching to be touched. His thumb brushes over the front of my panties, and I give a little gasp. Then his fingers slide under the fabric, begin to move against me, and I moan.

'That's the sound I couldn't forget,' he says, as I rock into his touch. 'It's been keeping me awake at night.'

'Finnick,' I gasp, and he grins down at me, and pulls his hand away. My whole body is burning up, and I laugh at how desperate I am for him to continue. He undoes the buttons down the front of my dress, one by one, kissing over my chest bone, down my stomach. I shimmy out of the fabric, and kick it beside him. He gently tugs the fabric of my panties lower, and then his fingers are against me again, pressure against the hot slick lips of my body, and I sigh in pleasure.

He smiles, and kisses me softly, as the heat between my legs builds steadily. His fingers move more quickly, and I moan again, my back arching involuntarily. His breaths as he kisses me are shallower, ragged, and I can feel his erection pressing against me. Then he pulls his fingers away again, and I stare at him in amazement. Is he trying to torture me? Finnick laughs against my mouth, and tugs my bottom lip with his teeth, his other hand smoothly lifting up one leg so that it slides out of my underwear.

Once more he kisses his way down my neck, over my breasts and abdomen, this time his eyes locked onto mine. My heart skips as he hitches one of my legs up and runs his lips down the inside of my thigh. Then he kisses between my legs. His tongue moves inside of me and my whole body shudders. I throw my head back in bliss, gasping. A sweet pressure is building through the lower part of my body that locks my pelvis in place, and I gasp up at the blue, blue sky, hands grasping at the stems of ferns around me, because I need something to ground me against the shock of how good it is. Finnick runs his hands up my stomach as he licks deeper inside of me, and then I gasp as a wave of exquisite pleasure sweeps up through my whole body, leaving my legs trembling, my mind melting downwards into the ferns and being washed away.

Finnick climbs back up beside me, propping himself up on one elbow. He grins at me and presses a kiss to the side of my mouth. It's funny to taste myself on his lips.

We lie there for hours, listening to the rustle of fern branches, to the call of the sea beyond. I trace my fingers down Finnick's chest, drink in every inch of his body. The breeze plays with his hair, lifting it in gentle waves.

We wander back up over the cliffs, hand in hand. The warm golden light of the afternoon pours through my whole being, and for the first day since I returned from the Arena, the dark prickling has fled from the back corners of my mind. At least for the moment.

As we come down the avenue under the grizzled branches draped in soft moss, I notice Mags come out of the front door to wait by the gate. The warmth of the ocean sunlight fades abruptly from my skin. I look at Finnick and his jaw is clenched tight.

We come to a stop by the gate, and if Mags notices our clasped hands, she doesn't feel the need to acknowledge it. She gives us both a soft smile, and turns to Finnick with a gaze which speaks of an ageless sadness, and signs something with her fingers.

'What's happened?' I say. With a rising dread I already know the answer.

'I've been called back to Capitol,' Finnick says. 'Tonight. Where I'm sure there are lots of friends waiting for me.'