𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗧𝗟𝗘 𝗦𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 ᐅ 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙠 𝙤𝙙𝙖𝙞𝙧

𝙏𝙃𝙍𝙀𝙀

It was hardly a question — I already had my answer. And I knew the choice I was about to make I would loathe with every fibre of my being, yet I would not regret it. Nothing could convince me to sacrifice my family to save my own skin. No, I would find a way around this. I would not be Snow's little puppet, no matter how much he pulled the strings.

But right now, all I could do was comply.

"I'll cooperate."

"Wonderful, my dear. You are of so much help to me," he said warmly, tucking his bloodied handkerchief into his pocket. Nausea consumed me. What had I just been forced into? And Finnick had already been spoken to a few days ago — even though I did not know him, I felt a wave of pity for him. He didn't deserve this.

"Am I free to leave?" I said coldly.

"Yes, you are."

The moment I escaped the snake's clutches, I breathed in clean air, as though I'd just been choking, gasping for breath as I'd been drowned. I was drowned in guilt; guilt for judging Finnick so harshly and guilt that I had almost cost my family their lives. The sight of them so distressed, in such danger made my hands shake as I paced through the intrepidly decorated hallways, rage blinding my vision.

"Oh, piss off," I snapped at the two Peacekeepers who attempted to escort me down the stairs.

I wanted to run.

At the bottom of the stairs, waited a face I didn't want to see. His usual chirpy disposition was replaced with a blank expression, so uncharacteristically unlike him. His hair had lost its volume, almost as if he'd been running his hands through it continuously, but what threw me were his eyes. Since I was fourteen years old and watching him and his victory on screen, I'd never once seen him without a grin on his face, or with his brow creased in unease. Finnick stared up at me with his bleak, desolate eyes, and I halted to a stop. I wasn't going to talk to him of all people about this.

Brushing past him hastily, Jameson's eyebrows creased in concern.

"Lynx?"

"We need to leave," I whispered.

"I'd love nothing more but we can't, if the victor leaves this early it will be suspicious when the whole celebration is for you and you alone," he uttered in just as a hushed tone, aware that anyone could be listening.

Yvette, who'd been standing next to Finnick, spoke brightly, "Why don't we find a quiet place to chat, maybe outside where there's less chance of being talked over? I have a feeling we're all listening too intently in here. I can never think when there's so much background noise!"

Nobody suspected us thanks to Yvette and her quick thinking, and we weaved through the crowd of absurd guests, making a beeline for the door at the end of the room. The music was overbearing. I almost slipped over in my haste, but Yvette reached for me instantly, allowing me to hold her arm. I drew an unexpected comfort from the gesture. My head spun — the dance floor gleamed in a nebulous haze as I replayed the sight of Snow's cunning eyes, the sickening curl of his smile.

I didn't want to do this.

Outside was quiet, the booming melody almost silent through the soft trickling of the fountain... it faded through the rainbow of colours, and I allowed myself to focus on the gradual flow of soft reds and sea blues, using it as my anchor. I took a deep breath and my lungs filled with the cool air of the night, diffusing the bile that had risen in my chest. I could feel three pairs of eyes on me, could feel the confusion and pity, but I didn't want any of it. I just wanted to be away from this dreadful place.

"What happened?"

I wish I knew.

Jameson sighed. "I think we already know, Ettie. He does this with the attractive victors 'cause it keeps the Capitol engaged, apparently. They tried the same with other victors, but they had no family they could threaten, so they stayed untouched. You have a family, you have something he can threaten. You are not invincible — you're the perfect person to target."