Chapter 21: 75th Annual Hunger Games

At times, it had killed him to keep secrets from her. He'd spent so much of his life in perpetual solitude, so many of his secrets trapped inside where they were safe. He'd given thought to telling her, had almost let things slip on occasion just to solidify her trust in him – to let her in.

Now, Finnick is so glad he bore the full burden. Annie had nothing to tell Snow concerning the conspiracy, and she suffered less for it. Of course, there's no measure of the mental distress she was made to endure… but physically, aside from a few scratches, bruises and dehydration, she is all right.

He sits with her through all the examinations, holds tightly to her hand and keeps his eyes patiently focused on her. Once the chaos of the returned prisoners has died down in the hospital and everyone has either been released or quarantined to recover, the hospital staff suggests to Finnick that he retire to his own compartment.

He staunchly refuses. The sky can burst open and rain can pour down, but he'll never leave Annie's side. It's something he feels so strongly about that he's prepared to fight if they send in men to drag him away.

"There are no spare beds in this wing, Mr. Odair," a nurse tells him, her patience running thin.

"I'll sleep in the chair," he says with a slight shake of his head. If this is the strongest argument they have, then they know nothing about what he and Annie have endured.

"It's after midnight. Today's been an exception, but normally we don't allow visitors past five…" she trails off.

Finnick stands and moves to draw the curtain across Annie's bed; her only privacy. Giving the nurse a curt nod, he says quietly, "I'm not leaving."

From behind him, Annie echoes his sentiment. "I need him to stay."

Finnick sits beside her and holds her hand for a long while, certain that someone else will pop in to interfere. A doctor drops by to take Annie's temperature and perform a few other simple tests, and after he jots a few things on his clipboard, he's gone. No one bothers them after that – either they've realized the matter is too trivial to bother with, or they can sense how fervently the young couple needs each other.

"Come here," Annie pleads, and Finnick drags his chair closer to the bed. She furrows her brow. "No. Lie with me."

He hesitates. "It's a small bed…"

"Please," she breathes.

Even in the dark, silent hours of the night, his mind is whirling with questions and anxious curiosity. But if Annie's in no hurry, then he must concede to be patient. He's waited this long.

Carefully, he climbs onto the narrow mattress beside her and lies on his side, gazing at her lovingly as he strokes her hair.

"I want to hear your voice," she says. She places a hand on his chest, furling the material of his shirt in her fingers.

"What do you want me to say?"

"Anything."

So, with a voice husky and deep, he murmurs into her ear, "I love you."

Annie's eyes close, and she sighs into his neck. "Again."

"I love you, Annie Cresta."

They lay entwined for a long time – so long that Finnick is convinced she's fallen asleep. He's content to lie awake with his love until morning, but she stirs, nuzzling her nose in his neck as she does.

"Peeta was right," she says, her voice muffled in his collar.

He frowns. Peeta?

"About what?"

"He said if you were dead, they would have just killed me," she says, her tone distant and removed. "They wouldn't have left me sitting in a cell; they would have gotten it over with. But as long as you were breathing, they'd keep me. My life depended on yours. Peeta said that every day I woke up was another day you woke up, too."

He feels a surge of gratitude for the blond-haired baker's son, who is certainly in worse condition than Annie but kept her hopes up regardless. A surge of gratitude, and a surge of guilt for not saving him like he deserved to be saved.

"I tried to believe him, but some days it felt like you were truly gone and unreachable." Annie slides her palm flat across his chest, resting it on his rapidly-beating heart. "You're alive," she whispers. "Real or not real?"

He nods ardently, choked with emotion. "Real, Annie."

"That was the hardest part," she admits. "Not the dark or the cold or the loneliness… but not knowing if you were okay. The hardest part was believing that somewhere, you still existed. If I hadn't clung to that hope, I don't know what might have become of me."

He sucks in a shaky breath, and Annie raises her hand to his cheek and frowns, noting that it's wet.

"Why are you crying?" she asks, fraught with concern.

"Because," he gasps, holding her hand to his cheek, "I wished you were dead. I didn't want you to suffer, not because of me. I… it hurt more to think of you alive and in Snow's hands than dead and free."

Annie nods, a heartbreaking sadness to her thoughtful expression as her thumb traces his jaw line.

"I lost hope," he confesses, his eyes blurred with tears. "I never thought I'd see you again. My fingers are raw from tying knots… they've barely let me out of the hospital. They knock me out to keep me from thinking. Annie, I don't work without you. They wanted me to do so much more, but I couldn't because I… I…"

"Shh," she whispers, planting a kiss on his jaw.

He holds her tighter, clinging desperately and burying his head in her hair. "I'm sorry," he says through tears. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

He'd wanted to be there for her; had vowed never to leave her side again. But it's Annie who holds Finnick through the night, cradling his head and caressing his hair and whispering to him for comfort.

It's odd, he thinks as he dozes in her embrace, how they perceive him to be the strong one. He is weakened by the tender touch and gaze of who they think is a mad girl, and he surrenders all control.

"Is it draining?" his brother had once asked him. "Always having to be strong for her?"

"No," he'd answered on instinct. "If I didn't have Annie, I'd have nothing to be strong for at all."

But he had been wrong, and he knows it now as sure as he knows he is finally hers, utterly and wholly. He is rendered to her in the sweetest of ways, and it's she who holds his heart in her hands – steady, strong, and with a gentle kindness he's never known from anyone else.

His eyes have been so heavy these past weeks, and he sleeps so soundly next to her. He's never done well sleeping alone – the sound of another's breathing has always been calming. A reminder that there is still life.

But he's so deeply unconscious that he doesn't catch her nightmare until it's full-blown, and when he wakes, he jolted by her scream.

"Don't hurt him!" she is yelling. "I'll go, just please, don't hurt him!"

"Annie!" he cries, blinking repeatedly and grabbing her shoulder. He shakes her lightly, repeating her name – but by the time she's awake, the nurses have rushed in.

"Out!" they order, shocked that he has dared climb into bed with her. "Away – this is a private room!"

They yank him out of bed and, bleary-eyed, he is shooed out of the room. Annie is still trembling, and as the nurses converge on her, she calls out.

"No – please! I don't know anything!"

The door is shut behind him before he can register what has happened. Suddenly, he turns, banging his fist on the metal.

"Let me in!" he demands, pounding on the window. Inside, he sees Annie thrashing, hears the sound of her scream.

It's the Capitol. It's the Capitol all over again. For her, it's her prison cell – for him, it's watching her suffer from behind a closed door.

He doesn't stop his histrionics until after they've sedated her and two men have been summoned to drag him away. And then, as he's placed into his unfriendly compartment and told to let her sleep off the drugs and wake up calmer, he vows to get them out of there. Out of District 13, out of confinement and into the light.

Because, goddamnit, there has to be light somewhere.

Annie spends the rest of the day heavy-lidded and panics at the slightest sound. It's not until the hospital quiets again at night that Finnick can call her back.

It's not the time to bring it up in her fragile state, but he must say what's on his mind before she dozes again. "Annie, don't think about me," he pleads. "Don't dream of me if you can help it."

She blinks, slipping her hand into his. "Why would you say that?"

Her bed is so small, but so inviting, and he knows he will climb in later if she asks. For now, he sits beside her, angled toward her head, having just fetched her another blanket. The air pumped through the vents is chilling and musty and smells of dust.

"You speak in your sleep," he says. "We all do. Last night, I heard your dreams, and I… I just want you to know that I was safe. I'm safe. It's you who was in trouble, so there's no need to worry about me."

"Last night?" she asks blankly.

He nods.

She ponders until acknowledgement registers on her face. "But I wasn't dreaming about you."

It's what he'd asked for, but somehow there is a lump in his throat; a rock in his belly. His lips part in bewilderment.

"It was Fletcher in my dream," she adds, and the rock turns to a jackhammer that pounds every organ without mercy.

He gulps, though his mouth is dry and there is nothing there. He casts down his eyes, a deep, rickety breath echoing in his chest. The name is all he can manage to breathe: "Fletcher?"

Annie gives a slow nod, a pained crease in between her brow.

"What happened?" he asks, but he's not sure he can bear to know.

She sits forward, taking his hand in both of hers. "The night it ended," she begins, referring to the last night in the Arena, "the screen went black. Nobody knew what had happened or if any of the tributes were still alive. I stepped out the back door, wondering if I could feel you in the wind. After a few minutes, all there was to light your way home was stars. They cut the power in District 4. And even from our house, I could hear them shouting in the town…"

With a shake of her head, Annie shrinks into herself. Finnick licks his lips in terrified anticipation, cursing himself for asking, "Then what?"

"He found me."

On the edge of his seat, Finnick tenses with rage. "Who? Snow?"

Annie's face pales. "It was you running through the door. Grabbing me and rushing me inside. Yelling that we had to go, we had to get out."

Dread consumes him as he worries that he's lost her again. She's in another world.

"I thought I was dreaming," she says, "and then I thought I was dead, too, just like you. But when we stepped outside and he walked in the light of the moon, I saw it wasn't you, but someone who looked just the same. Except there was a hardness in his eyes when he looked at me. That was how I knew."

"Fletcher?" Finnick asks, just to be sure. Perhaps she's not dazed after all. "He came for you?"

Annie nods. "And I didn't know… I wasn't sure. I lost us time. He knew they would come for me."

Finnick can only nod in return, encouraging her to go on.

"We didn't get far. Maybe they'd been waiting all along. All of a sudden there were peacekeepers. At least four of them. They found us in the dark. Fletcher tried to hide me, but it was too late – they knew I was there. What happened next is fuzzy… all I remember is the screaming. And I remember his head against the tree trunk. His hands behind his back. And one of the peacekeepers took a baton out of his belt. A long, black stick…"

Finnick shakes his head. "No," he breathes.

Annie suppresses a sob at the memory. "And he kept refusing. We'd lost by then, but he kept struggling. Kept saying he wouldn't let them take me, even as his blood spilled onto the ground."

Before he knows it, he's staring at the ground, his head hanging limply. Guilt overrides him, breaking a dam and rushing through.

"It wasn't his fault," Annie continues, no longer able to contain the sob that escapes. "I begged him to let me go. To let them take me."

"Why?" Finnick asks, his voice no more than a whisper.

"Because if you were still alive, they would hurt you if I didn't." His eyes fill with tears, and he brings Annie's hand to his cheek as he shuts his eyes. "He didn't want to. He said he promised you… but he knew it, too. We couldn't stand to think of what they'd do to you."

A tear slips down his cheek and onto Annie's hand. Fletcher, beaten and bloodied, committed to the promise he'd made to Finnick: to keep her safe. Did he rob a family of a life? Little Bellamy and Ivy, must they grow up without a father? The thought of their names alone cause him to sniffle, and he knows his reckless emotions are about to overflow.

Raising his head, he asks without expectation, "Did he live?"

Annie loses it at the question. She gasps, and then her face dissolves in apology and fear and grief. "I don't know," she cries, releasing her hand from his to run it through his hair. Then she covers her mouth, squeezing her eyes shut in an attempt to contain herself. But her shoulders shake violently, and his heart bleeds so openly that he moves forward and onto the bed, cradling her in his arms as they weep together.

"It's not your fault," he says in one breath, racked by another sob. The fabric on his chest is damp as she cries into his shirt. He repeats, more steadily this time, "It's not your fault."

But the thought of his brother lying next to his father makes him nauseous and grief-ridden, and with a sorrowful sob, he wonders if he is repeating the words more to himself than to Annie.

The storm is aggressive, but it passes by, and soon they are left breathing shakily and clinging onto one another.

"It might be better, like you said," Annie suggests feebly. "If Fletcher were gone, there would be no more pain."

Finnick knows, then, that he was wrong about death, because pain fills him so completely that he can feel nothing else. Pain. Pain. Fletcher's lifeless body. His defenceless family.

And somewhere, Snow's laughing eyes.

Days later, he masters the masking of his pain for Annie's sake and is strong enough to prevent himself from thinking of anything but the present.

"Oh, yeah. I forgot about you," Haymitch says as Finnick wanders into the Special Defence Unit. Katniss and Gale, who have both been speaking quietly with him, look over their shoulders.

He offers a smile. "Forget? About me?" he jokes, feeling lighter than he's felt in months. "Haymitch, I'm appalled."

The pot-bellied mentor shrugs. "Can't deny you've been nonexistent since the others were brought back."

His smile fades, though he keeps his tone friendly. "They're keeping Annie in the hospital. Hey – can you talk to someone about that? They don't listen to me, but she'd be better off out of there. All the tubes and the beeping make her nervous."

"'Fraid not," Haymitch replies, though he doesn't seem sorry at all. "In case you haven't heard, we're off to District 2."

Finnick has heard whispers of a mission to 2, the only district remaining with ties to the Capitol.

"Today?" he asks.

Gale and Haymitch nod.

He shifts his gaze to Katniss. "What about Peeta?"

She's taken aback by his question, but regains her composure quickly. "He's not exactly fit for a mission just yet."

"Or ever," Gale adds under his breath. The flicker of annoyance in Katniss' eyes proves that she heard him, but she says nothing.

"Who will stay with him?" Finnick asks innocently. Leaving Annie would be impossible for him.

"His nurses. Delly Cartwright," Katniss says. Finnick has no idea who Delly Cartwright is, but he doesn't press further. The girl with the braid adds quietly, "He wouldn't want me."

"I doubt we could get you on the mission if we asked for doctoral permission," Haymitch says, changing the subject, "but if we went straight to Coin, we might have a chance."

Finnick shakes his head slowly, a frown building. "No – I can't go. Annie's here now."

Haymitch appears surprised – of course, he's only ever known the flirtatious side of Finnick – but says nothing. With a curt nod, he pats Finnick on the shoulder and walks away. Gale is soon to follow, murmuring to Finnick that he hopes they meet again.

Finnick didn't think of it that way, but Gale is right – this could be the last time. Every time there's a mission, it could be the last time.

He's left with Katniss, staring thoughtfully at her and wondering why she's so willing to participate in the mission when, a few weeks ago, the last thing she wanted was to be the mockingjay.

"They brainwashed him," she mutters, referring to Peeta. "He tried to kill me. He thinks I'm evil. I don't know."

Of course. It makes sense. Instead of killing him, they did something worse: turning him against her.

"They did that to Annie after her Games," Finnick tells her, which is something he only ever spoke of with Mags. "She thought I'd tried to kill her in there. That I never wanted her to get out alive."

Katniss' grey eyes flash to meet his. "How did you get her to trust you again?"

He shrugs, swallowing. "I stayed with her."

The girl sighs, gripping the golden bow in her hand. "The world is on fire. I can't stay with Peeta and watch it burn around us." She swats her braid over her shoulder and turns to follow Haymitch. Glancing over her shoulder, she adds, "Beetee designed you the trident for a reason."

Hands in his pockets, he's left watching her go.

When they are alone and untouched by chaos or distress, pieces of his Annie come back, and somehow, so do pieces of himself that didn't exist without her. To find he cares again – deeply – about the needs of another and the outcome of the rebellion is a surprise to no one more than him. He won't dare allow himself to hope too fiercely, but in the back of his mind he senses an inlaid yearning to make a life with Annie, to leave everything behind but her in a world that is safe and free.

But it's only in the quiet that he can listen to himself. And it's only in the unknown that Annie reacts fearfully, squeezing shut her eyes, blocking her ears, laughing nervously and mentally dropping out altogether. Time and time again, Finnick explains to the doctors and nurses that if they would just let her go, if they would just leave them in peace, Annie would be fine. There's no doubt in his mind that he can care for her better than they can. Hours of therapy and tests and data won't fix her – only he can, and she him.

No one is entirely convinced, but he doesn't stop arguing for Annie's release. Even if they don't believe she's sane and fit for the warped civilization of 13, he's sure they'll have to let her go at some point, if only because he refuses to leave her side. Visiting hours be damned. On the fifth day, once he's moved a few of his clothes and hauled the table from his compartment over to Annie's room so that they can play cards and other games, the hospital staff get permission from Coin to allow Finnick to take her out.

Annie hasn't seen anything of 13, so Finnick takes her on a tour. With hands interlaced, he shows her the common rooms, the Collective, the cafeteria, and though they aren't allowed very far into the Special Defence Unit, Beetee ventures out to say a brief hello. Annie is most entranced by the interesting elevators that zip this way and that through the underground.

"Everything is very… compact," she remarks as they wander through the halls. "And very white."

Finnick nods. "After a while, you begin to forget that colour exists."

Annie furrows her brow in distaste. "I don't like that."

He sighs. "I hate it here," he mutters. "I hate living underground like moles. I hate that everything is so cramped and nobody has any space to breathe. I hate the stale smell of the air and I hate that when I look up all I see is the ceiling closing in on me." He squeezes her hand in frustration, running a hand through his hair. "After all this, all I want to give you is open sky and stars."

"Hmm," Annie hums to herself, gazing distantly at the blank, lifeless walls and tile on the floor. "I don't really need that. I just need you."

He glances at her, innocently raising his eyebrows at her simple statement.

"I always pictured our lives in District 4, but we're not in a place to choose these days," she continues. With a small shrug, she adds, "We could make a home here."

"Not much of one."

"Enough of one."

"We would have no garden."

"You said Katniss has a cat. Maybe we could get one."

He scrunches his nose in distaste, but nonetheless, her optimism astounds him, so much so that he can't help but stop in the middle of the hallway to embrace her. Anything, he must agree, would be better than being without Annie.

"And this," he says a while later, once they stop in front of a door numbered 426C, "is your compartment."

They gave him the number and the key to hold onto when they had released Annie from the hospital in the morning. It's not much to present her with, but it's symbolic: a little bit of freedom. Finally.

Annie frowns.

"You don't like it?" he asks, confused. They haven't even gone inside yet!

"You said your compartment," she says. "Not our compartment. Where is yours?"

"Two floors up. 253B."

"Oh," Annie says, unable to mask her crestfallen expression. "I wanted… I thought we would stay together."

He sighs again, leaning on the doorway. "I tried." Cursing under his breath, he continues, "That's another thing I hate about this place. The strict rules… the tradition. Everybody has to be under control and in their place all the time. I told them we'd been staying together since before I was twenty, but when I asked Coin, she said… she said we couldn't share a compartment unless we were married."

Annie drops her gaze, biting her lip in contemplation. When she raises her eyes again, Finnick sees a strength and determination rarely displayed in his quiet girl. "Then why don't we?"

He pauses. "Why don't we what?"

"Why don't we get married?"

Her boldness takes him aback, though he quickly remembers it's one of the reasons he loves her – she has always been brazen and unashamed, humbly so.

His mouth opens, but no words escape.

"We could do it here," she continues, eyeing him strangely as if testing the waters. "And soon."

A cautious smile registers on his face. "You still want to marry me?"

It's his turn to catch her by surprise. "Yes." She blinks. "Do you still want to marry me?"

"Oh, Annie," he grins, pulling her in for a kiss. "So much it hurts."

She rests her forehead against his and sighs happily, eyes closed. "I could wait forever to go back to District 4 and see the ocean, but I've waited long enough for you."

Though her eyes are shut, he can't contain his smile, for her words sound like a prayer and he is praying alongside her. "Amen."

They confirm it with Plutarch Heavensbee that very day. Shortly after the others return from their mission to District 2, there's to be a wedding. Though Heavensbee's eyes grow wide with excitement, Finnick himself doesn't care about the size or the spectacle. Snow doesn't own him anymore, and never will again. He's free to give everything to Annie – heart, soul, and body – and he discovers that perhaps there is more to freedom in District 13 than he had originally thought.

He's heard that she doesn't want visitors, but Johanna has frequently crossed his mind. He wants to see her if only for the reassurance that she is alive. Still breathing. There is also guilt behind his visit – guilt because it took him so long. Johanna would never admit to having a friend, but he's certain he was as close to her as anyone ever got.

Annie accompanies him, holding tight to his hand. "She got the worst of it," she says faintly as they approach the door to Johanna's room in the hospital. "I know her scream better than anyone's…"

Finnick squeezes her hand, briefly shutting his eyes at the horrifying thought. Johanna, tortured by Capitol guards, and Annie, locked in a cold cell with Johanna's screams a dark lullaby.

The hospital room is stark white and unfriendly. Johanna, her face still badly bruised and her now-bald head covered in scabs, is hooked to a number of intriguing machines with several IVs in her arms. As soon as his eyes fall on her, Finnick has the overwhelming urge to drop to his knees and beg for her forgiveness. That it had to be her when it could have so easily been him.

"Johanna?" he asks, approaching the bed. Her eyes are open and she is awake, but whether or not she registers his words is unknown. He pulls up chairs – one for himself and one for Annie – and they sit in silence, hesitant and on edge. Annie bites her lip and struggles to keep her breathing regulated, for Johanna's state brings back traumatizing memories of the Capitol.

Finally, Finnick reaches out and touches her hand. The beaten girl gulps and, with a subtle movement of her head, lays her eyes to rest on his.

"Hi," he says gently. "Jo, it's me. Finnick."

She appears to roll her eyes, though the effort is too much for her. "I know who you are," she says, and her voice still has that edge. She looks away, adding, "I didn't think you'd come."

A slight frown registers on his features. "You thought your 'no visitors' policy would stop me?"

"No," she grumbles, casting a sideways glance at Annie. Finnick follows her gaze, and Annie sits there, apprehensive and innocent.

"Annie wanted to see you, too," he says. "And I wanted to introduce you properly. Annie, this is Johanna. Johanna, this is my… this is Annie."

Neither makes any move toward the other. Johanna scoffs. "Bit late for formalities. We got to know each other real well. Right, Annie?"

Annie stiffens beside him, wincing in pain.

"In fact, she was almost in view of their torture chamber, and definitely within earshot. Probably knows things about me that nobody else knows." Johanna's eyes drift dully to Annie's, asking without emotion, "Did you tell him, Annie? Does he know my screams, too?"

Finnick is caught in a hard place. When Annie's eyes fill with tears, he has no other impulse than to scorn Johanna and demand her apology. But one look at her tiny, broken figure is all he needs to remind him that she could be so much worse, given what she's been through. And then all he feels is pity.

Eyes watering, Annie shakes her head fervently. Finnick frowns, wondering if she is answering Johanna's question or merely attempting to escape from the present.

Johanna considers it a response. With a laugh that doesn't quite reach her eyes, she remarks, "You were a good little prisoner. Innocent and quiet… but now with so many secrets. You two have that in common."

Annie is still shaking her head, and Finnick knows she is desperate to remove herself from this situation. With a gentle hand on her shoulder, he asks her to wait outside for him. He'll just be a minute.

"Why did you come?" Johanna asks in a faint voice as soon as Annie's out of earshot.

"I wanted to see you," he answers, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

She's quick to bite. "If that were true, you would have found me five days ago."

"It is true," he insists. Softly, he adds, "I was just afraid."

The bald rebel scoffs. "Afraid of what? My hideousness?"

He ignores her, staring at his hands. "Afraid of seeing you… knowing it could have so easily been me."

She swallows with effort, rolling her eyes. "Well, I'm not consoling you, because let's face it: I've been dealt the worse hand here. It was never going to be you, Pretty Boy. They were always going to take you over me."

"I could have found you instead of running after Enobaria," he says, shaking his head. "I could have saved you."

"That wasn't your job," she snaps. "You were supposed to protect the Girl on Fire, and you did. We made no such promises to one another."

He raises his head, pain in his shining eyes. "If this went ahead like a real Games, I wouldn't have killed you," he admits, because he knows there is no way he ever could.

Johanna is not so soft. "I might have killed you," she confesses, her tone eerily tender, "if I couldn't get someone else to do it for me."

A shaky sigh ripples through him. He's gotten nowhere and feels worse than before.

"Annie and I…" he begins as he stands, "we're getting married next week."

Johanna raises her eyebrows, impassive but alert. "That's… sudden."

He shrugs. "I guess. I asked her to marry me a long time ago."

"She can keep secrets, then," Johanna murmurs to herself. "All those long, silent days we spent in the cells, and she never said a thing."

Finnick doesn't rise to the bait to tell her she's being unfair. Instead, he sucks in a breath and says, "We'd really like you to be there. I don't really know where 'there' is, yet, but Plutarch has all kinds of crazy ideas." He chuckles awkwardly. "He and Coin are fighting tooth and nail. She wants a short, clipped ceremony; he wants the grandest party this district has ever seen. Should be interesting to see how it plays out."

Johanna doesn't have the energy to feign amusement. "She was quieter than I thought she'd be in there," she says. "Whenever she was questioned, we waited for her screams… but they never came. She would just stop existing inside herself, and no matter what they did to her, she wouldn't turn back on. They say she's mad… they all do. Even Plutarch."

He stares at her for a lengthy period of time. Then, without another word, he walks to the door.

Glancing wistfully over his shoulder before he steps out, he says, "I hope you can make it, Jo."

I have a feeling that I am back on track with this story, which is completely related to the fact that I quit my job and my last day was yesterday. So, while I apologize profusely for my lack of attention to Knotted in the past couple of months, I should be finishing this up soon!

Thank you as always for your patience, and happy Canada Day!