"Nightlock, nightlock, nightlock," I whispered. The holo shuttered in my hands as if rebutting against my request. Still I soldiered on. Dropping the holo down into the darkness, I turned away. Listening to the screams, I tried to ignore them as my mind drew up a mental image behind my eyelids. I didn't have to hear his screams to know his pains. I clearly saw the trident he swung so proficiently. I could also conjure images of the half lizard, half human mutts that surged in staggering numbers. No amount of talent could have saved him then. It was already far too late.
I took no comfort as the holo exploded in a burst of flame. How fitting for the Girl on Fire. But Finnick never had ties to that claim of fame. If anything, he was the exact opposite. The boy from District Four, the pride and joy of the Capitol. Born to yield a trident and navigate waters vast and deep. But even he wasn't a match for the relentless fire from the Capitol, and even he was consumed by the flames in the end.
I didn't turn and run. I didn't follow the others. Instead, I turned back. Collapsed to my knees, hands clinging to the lip of the opening. "Finnick!" I screamed, as if somehow he could have survived. As if I hadn't just killed him. "Finnick!" I screamed again, the name tearing through my throat and ripping it apart.
He didn't respond. Of course he didn't. He was gone. No amount of remorse or regret or guilt could change that, no matter how hard I wished to exchange places with him. I would have given myself up in a minute for him. For all the times I had misunderstood and misjudged him. For all the times I had thought less of him for the evils the Capitol had cast upon him. He had a wife to get back to, a wife that needed him. I needed to protect him.
But there was nothing left. The mutts, what was left of them in pieces, swarmed whatever remained of the wreckage. Peeta caught me by the shoulders, then his arms wrapped around my waist and pulled me against him. Turned me slowly to face him, attempting to draw my attention away from the horror below but failing miserably.
"Katniss," Peeta murmured, his voice as soft as his hands. I waited for his hands to wrap around my throat again, to shove me down the hole and leave me where I landed. To join Finnick in his unnatural fate. Instead, his hands remained soft on my face, "It's just a dream. Just a dream," he repeated, over and over as the world shifted and blurred around me, his words creating confusion.
The tunnels lost their putrid smell. The screams and feral noises of the mutts turned to silence, save for the soft breeze of the wind. Fact weaved in and out with fiction, until my brain couldn't process what was real and what was fake. Is this what Peeta felt like, under Snow's captivity? It was a feeling I wouldn't wish on my darkest enemy, except perhaps Snow himself.
Then full realization slammed into me, like a bucket of frozen water dumped over my head. It was a dream, just as Peeta said. And it wasn't the Peeta that struggled for control of not only his mind but his body. It was Peeta, my Peeta, who knew who he was more often than not, and fought to remain himself every moment of every day.
"I'm fine," I managed to sputter out, though I felt anything but. It was two different nightmares, two nights in a row now, and I took no relief in awaking. The only relief I felt was as I shifted around in bed, leaning back against Peeta. It took him a while to drift back off as he waited to make sure I was indeed fine; I was getting better at faking it. As he fell back asleep, he pulled me solidly against him, my back sculpting perfectly into his chest, and I eased into him willingly.
The only thing that calmed my racing heart was the security of his touch and, eventually, his even breathing. Though sleep alluded me due to my own fear of relapsing back into nightmares, I settled into an odd sense of calm.
When I finally drifted back off in the wee hours of the morning as the first rays of light peaked over the horizon, my prediction came true. Dreams of Finnick's death were replaced by memories of my first Games. Of the Girl on Fire truly on fire as the gamemakers pushed to corral me with the rest of the tributes. And as I woke screaming in the comfort of Peeta's arms once more, I wondered if I would ever break free of the nickname I'd been gifted, and if I'd one day survive the memories of what being the Girl on Fire meant.