𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗧𝗟𝗘 𝗦𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 ᐅ 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙠 𝙤𝙙𝙖𝙞𝙧

𝙎𝙀𝙑𝙀𝙉

"Morning, Sparky," a melodic voice taunted from the carriage next to the entrance way, and so I mentally prepared myself for the irritation that would no doubt arise in me.

After that night, I was unsure what to make of Finnick — and it almost startled me as I walked into the carriage that he seemed completely well, not at all as troubled as the night before. His eyebrow was tweaked in that all-familiar cocky expression he wore as though it were an item of clothing rather than a human emotion, and his left ankle rested on his other knee as he leant back into the sofa.

The carriage was lovely, of course, I was the victor. I had to have the best — the best gold accents, navy walls, expensive wood and plush rugs. I could no longer feel my dread, and for what reason that was, I'd never know. It was as though it were a balloon, terror building and building and stepping into this carriage was the sharp stick that popped it.

"Fish-breath," I greeted as I sank into the sofa opposite him.

He chuckled. "That's a new one."

"It's the most accurate."

"Well, now that's just straight lies."

"I'm an honest woman."

Finnick leaned forward, and the sunlight hit his hair at such an angle that it appeared to be glowing. His eyes seemed more green today, and as he studied me carefully with that familiar playful glint in his eye, I couldn't help but feel completely exposed under his gaze.

"I haven't seen you tell me one truth."

One truth. I remembered last night as though it were happening right now... I'd just slammed the phone against the holder and walked into the room as though nothing had happened. As if I hadn't potentially risked anything. Finnick only watched me, the same way he was doing now, except last night, his expression was dark. It wasn't anything at all like the joker Panem had come to know. He'd asked me what happened with a hint of concern. What happened? He'd said. I replied with nothing.

"You're a superficial preener," I said.

"See?" he laughed. "Lynx, I'm very disappointed in you, have the Games turned you into a compulsive liar?"

My eyes narrowed at his mention of the Games. They'd turned me into many things — irredeemable, heartless, cold, and a liar. Lying had become an instinct, as simple as walking and as natural as breathing.

"You're a pain in the ass."

"I'm nice to look at, though."

"Who told you that?"

"I did."

"Why am I not surprised? You are extremely egotistical."

"And you're a literal toad."

I laughed — he really didn't know how to give insults, did he? "A toad?"

"A toad. You're like a frog's moody distant cousin."

Surprisingly, my laugh wasn't cynical as it usually was, and it shocked even me at its lightness. "You come out with the weirdest insults ever."