Finnick had never known fear like this before. The uncertainty of what occurred in the arena while he was occupied scared him beyond repair. He just needed to see her, and see that she was okay.

When he returned from his nightly excursion, he quickly entered the Victors Lounge, where he was met by a drunk Haymitch.

"He... Hello, Finnick." He said, wobbling in his stance, burping in between his greeting. "You don't look so good, buddy. Have you slept?"

"Of course I haven't. You don't smell so good, drunk. Have you showered?" Finnick blurted this out without thinking, but felt no remorse. He knew Haymitch could handle it.

He laughed, leaning his head back as he did. "Of course I haven't. The drunker I am, and the grosser I am, the less people want to talk to me."

After he said that, Haymitch leaned in closer to Finnick, then spoke barely above a whisper. "You didn't hear this from me, and if you did, I didn't hear this from Plutarch... When there's only five left, the arena is flooding. By accident. Annie can swim, right?"

Finnick bit his lip, nodding slowly. He felt a sense of relief flood over him. How many were left now, though?

He knew he didn't have to ask, and he didn't even have to answer Haymitch's question. Finnick just took the glass of whiskey from the drunk's hand, and raised it up as he walked away, to the monitors.

"You better be buying me a new glass, Finnick. That's my fancy one." Haymitch called out, before turning to leave the lounge.

Finnick took a spot next to Mags, who looked like she needed sleep, too. A mother's love never gets tired, she claimed, even though she never had any kids.

"There's only nine left, Gerald and Annie are still alive." Mags started, grabbing the whisky out of Finnick's hand, taking the only sip of it.

Finnick laughed at her, moving his arm to be around her shoulders. "Is it the cold that's taking them out? Or is it a tribute?"

Mags sighed, laying her head on her boy's shoulder, "It's the girl from three and the boy from five. They got the weapons from the careers stash in the cornucopia."

"Ah... That's alarming." Finnick said, turning his attention back to the screen. He focused in on Annie, and noticed the blank expression on her face. Gerald was talking to her, but she wasn't responding. A couple minutes of this passed, before Finnick spoke. "Mags... Is Annie okay?"

Just as he asked the question, he watched as a knife flew right past Annie. Gerald jumped up from his spot, telling her to retrieve the knife.

Annie, move! Finnick demanded, leaning forward in his seat. What the hell is wrong with you?

Gerald quickly grabbed his axe, running towards the direction where the knife came from. Finnick changed his view to follow him.

He came across the girl from three, Terri. She was no match for him, and you could see it in her face.

Finnick refused to watch the slaughter, and returned to look at Annie, who was still stuck. Was she asleep? He had never seen her sleep so deeply, or with open eyes. Was she... dead?

There was the cannon. The one for Terri, he assumed.

No. Her screen was still on.

In a flash, Gerald was back with Annie, gripping her arm and pulling her behind him. She looked so small in comparison, her head sitting between his shoulder blades.

Finnick stood, now, watching intently. He caught a glimpse of the boy from five's camera, and learned that his name was Cedric.

Cedric was running towards the pair, and it looked as though Gerald knew it.

"What's going on?" Annie asked, pulling on Gerald's shoulder, begging him to look at her.

Gerald grunted, turning his face to hers. "What's going on is that you were nearly killed. Grab that knife, beside the tree. Please."

He watched as she grabbed it, holding it in her shaking hand.

"Now, turn around, and—" Gerald began, but something stopped him.

——————

Annie had just turned back to Gerald, still convinced she was dreaming. Everything felt so... fluid. As though she was swimming. Am I swimming? Am I home?

"Now, turn around, and—" Gerald had began spewing an order at her, when a sword made a sweep from above her, slicing through his neck.

I'm dreaming. She reminded herself.

This isn't real. She said this in her head as she felt the warm blood hit her face.

It's just a nightmare. She cried out, trying to drown out the noise of the cannon.

Cedric smiles at her, the sword brought down to his side. He watched as she looked down at Gerald in horror, looking at his head, separate from his body.

"It's your turn, Princess." He said, walking closer to her.

The look in his face wasn't anything she had seen before. Not in Saphira, not in Casifer. It was pleasure. He was enjoying this.

Annie still wasn't sure what was going on, but as he took one step towards her, she took one step back. Until she reached the tree she was formerly sitting at.

Sitting. With Gerald. With Al. He's holding my head in his lap. He's telling me about his family. I'm dreaming.

"You look so... scared." Cedric said, bringing himself centimeters away from her. She felt his warm breath on her face. Nightmare. "Does that mean I should do this quickly? Or... should I take my sweet, sweet time?"

Cedric brought the tip of his sword to the side of her neck, making a small puncture. She felt a stream of blood fall from the area. Nightmare, Annie. It's a nightmare.

Annie will swear she has no memory of this. She'll deny doing it, but will recount the moment vividly for the rest of her life.

She took the knife in her right hand, and stabbed Cedric in the side of his neck, looking in his eyes as she did so.

Annie pulled the knife around to the front of his neck, and left it there, kicking him to the ground. She stood there, staring, waiting for a cannon.

Or waiting for herself to wake up.

Neither happened.