𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗧𝗟𝗘 𝗦𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 ᐅ 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙠 𝙤𝙙𝙖𝙞𝙧

𝙎𝙀𝙑𝙀𝙉𝙏𝙀𝙀𝙉

⌌⊱⇱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊷⊶⊰⌍
You're a bad liar.
⌎⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊷⊶⇲⊰⌏

"Our wedding planning will have to be paused."

My head snapped up to the sound of Yvette's voice. Wedding? Did she mean her and Dawn's?

My two mentors were talking in hushed tones in the Justice Building of District Two — much grander than that of One, if that were possible. The purple feathers adoring the golden flowerpots that crawled across the eerily perfect walls towered over me, reminding me of my place. I seemed so small compared to their elegant refinery, so delicately structured, their purpose to make guests marvel. Making people marvel seemed like something we had in common. I didn't belong here. I didn't think I belonged anywhere now that I was a Victor. Neither did I deserve to be.

Jameson sighed, dragging calloused hands down his face. "You think that's a good idea? You know Snow wants the wedding as soon as possible."

My brow arched. Since when was Snow involved in their wedding?

"I know that," Yvette snapped, "but we're in the Career District's, if you haven't cared to notice."

"I did care to notice, Ettie."

"You clearly didn't."

"I'm just saying that you shouldn't put your joy on hold because of Lynx," he reasoned.

My eyes shot to the floor, tracing the swirl of marble with the tip of my golden shoe. They must've not realised I could hear them — my face stayed impassive and blank. To anyone else, I would have seemed a lost Victor troubled by their thoughts, perhaps by the nightmares that plagued me. But that wasn't the reason my nails were digging into my palms.

What possible reason could Snow have involving himself in their wedding? I wasn't naive; the president was a busy man, what with the recent success of Finnick and I's ruse along with the organisation of the Tour, surely he had no business with Yvette and Dawn. And was Yvette putting her joy on hold for me? Was she putting love on hold for me?

I really shouldn't have zoned back into their conversation.

"Right, okay, bad wording there but you know what I meant!" Jameson defended as Yvette's nostrils flared.

"My first priority at the moment is Lynx. Dawn completely understands, in fact, she encourages it. It would be stupid of you to not see her that way, too. Lynx should be your first priority too, not an event that can be easily rescheduled," she said, making me feel a surge of gratefulness for her, the guilt dissipating like smoke in a dying fire, although ashes of regret still lingered.

"She's been my first priority since she and Helia were reaped," Jameson snapped. "Even then I knew she was a Victor. I told you that but you wouldn't hear of it."

"Because you can't afford to be biased!"

He scoffed. "So you're saying that you blame me for Helia's death? I did so much for that boy! So much! I loved him Yvette; do you realise how much it killed me that he died? To see Lynx's face?"

Even his name still stings. His tousled ebony hair, the dimple of his left cheek when he smiled...

"I blame Snow."

"Not the damn murderer who killed the kid?"

I bit the inside of my cheek.

"The both of us are murderers," Yvette hissed. "Lynx is a murderer—"

"What—"

"—Finnick is a murderer. And they're also children! Have you not lost sight of that? They were thrown into those games and told to kill or be killed, and so they did, and so did everyone else who was reaped into that fucking shit show—"

"The Careers are different!"

Anger blinding my vision, I stormed over to the two of my mentors, my voice louder than I intended it to be. I'm not sure why I felt so strongly for the Career children. Maybe it was Finnick. Maybe it was just because they were children, like us, children who'd been told to fight and that it was triumphant and that not to was a great shame upon the family.

My voice never wavered, not once. "Because they've grown up in an environment where they were told it was honourable. To us, they're barbaric, but they know no different. They have a warped sense of good and evil and that's not their fault, its Snow's."

Calm washed over Jameson's eyes. It was a sea of many emotions, each colour of the waves infused with some sort of emotion, be it sadness, anger or confusion. Jameson felt it all. As did I.

"You can't seriously stand there and tell me that you wouldn't behave the same way if you were brought up as one of them, Jameson."

"I would know better."

I didn't think I'd ever be as disappointed in anyone was I was in that moment.

"I forgive them," I whispered.

"What?"

"I forgive the Careers about Helia," his name tasted foreign and sorrowful on my lips. "I forgive the Careers about Caspian. I forgive Beryl for trying to kill me and just standing there while Cas died. I forgive them all because its not their fault."

Nothing changed on his face. Not even a flicker of regret.

"You're forgetting that Finnick was a Career."

Jameson rolled his eyes. "He's not like them."

"Yes, but he was," Yvette countered.

"Then he saw reason."

"Only when he had the chance," I snapped. "The other Careers were dead before they got that."

I must've taken it too far. Way too far. Because with one furious glance in my direction, he barged past Yvette, leaving the two of us glaring at his retreating figure. My chest rose and fell faster than my respect for him had plummeted.

"Jameson," Yvette called, before cursing when he powered on. She hurried after him. "Honestly, that man. Jameson!"

Yet again, I was alone. The only shred of familiarity I had was the fleeing Yvette, her heels clicking rhythmically on the cold floor. I wrung my hands together, desperate to stop them from shaking.

A month ago I might have agreed with Jameson. I had so much rage, so much fury built up for Career tributes that I never paused to think for a moment about how they felt. How they were brought up. And meeting Finnick had given me that chance to think about that. I'd had too much time to think recently.

I'd judged him too harshly in the beginning, I knew I had. He was exceedingly arrogant, there was no doubt about that but he was also exceedingly selfless, so kind in his intentions it would almost be impossible to be hurt by him. But even the sweetest of things can bite.

I knew he was in the room next door, and no doubt he heard our argument, and I didn't know which one I would prefer.

"You didn't have to do that," his voice rang from the brass door to my left.

At the sound of his voice, a part of me relaxed. Without so much of a glance at his expression, I began to walk down the corridor and towards the doors guarded by six peacekeepers. Finnick slid next to me, matching my paces even though I knew he walked much faster than me.

"I did, though. It's what I thought, so I said it. I didn't do it for you, Finnick."

"I know," he said with a disbelieving laugh. "I respect you even more for that."

With a sigh, I turned to look at him. It was almost impossible to be plagued while staring into his eyes. They were the sort of brilliant blue I would happily fall into, be consumed by the glimmers of gold and dance among the greenery. His hair was perfect, of course it was. He always looked perfect.

He smirked. Arrogant bastard.

"You disappeared again."

He grinned. "I'm good at that."

"Yeah," I said with an eye roll. "You are."

The tension in the room seemed to lighten at that, and I was far too glad for the two of us to fall back into our bright banter, the kind that brought a smile to my face and a frown at the very same time. I couldn't even roll my eyes without my lips quirking up at the corners ever so slightly. Even now, he still irritated me.

"I was speaking to Mags," he explained.

"Oh? How is she?"

"She's great, I think. Parties aren't exactly her thing."

"I don't blame her."

"I didn't think you would."

They were always crawling with Peacekeepers. Those were the only sort of people I could never have any sympathy for. It was hypocritical of me, I know, but just knowing that they could inflict so much damage, much more then twenty three people left my insides churning. But then my stomach turned in another way, the way that felt like a thousand butterflies swarming in my chest. His dancing. Our faces so close we may as well be kissing. His hands at my waist, on my back, on my cheek.

"I could avoid them I would," I said as a blush rose to my cheeks. They burned.

"And miss my dancing?" he winked. "You'd never."

"Actually, I think your dancing is the exact reason why I 'd miss a party in the first place."

"You're a bad liar."

I laughed. "It's my only flaw."

Finnick laced our hands together, holding my left securely in his right. A small smile lifted my lips before I realised exactly why he'd held my hand. We were moving past the rows of Peacekeepers lined up, each ones heads slowly swivelling, tracing us as we walked by. It was as though they were pushing into us, although I knew their feet stayed planted firmly on the over polished floor. How wrong it seemed people who'd shed so much blood could stand on a floor as neat as this.

"I can come with you, you know," he whispered into my ear, thumb circling across my hand.

I squeezed his hand. "No. It's my problem to deal with."

His hand tightened around mine in response. "It shouldn't have to be."

"No."

He leaned away from me, although I couldn't bring myself to let go of his hand. "Okay."

The double doors in front of me loomed. How could a block of gold adorned marble seem anything other than beautiful? But when I knew there was a city of angry, bitter people behind it, it wasn't so much about the door anymore, but what it might lead to. What horrors it might reveal.

"How do you do it?" I said suddenly.

"Do what?"

"Look into the faces of your victims families without wanting to be sick," I whispered.

He could've ignored the question if he'd so wished. It would have been so easy, too. But he didn't. He didn't even try to be anything but completely honesty with me.

"I wouldn't know. I didn't feel any sickness four years ago."

Oh.

"Finn—"

I couldn't even console his downcast face, hold both of his hands and tell him that it wasn't his fault, not really. I knew he was responsible for his own actions, but it was Snow that made him think that that was okay. How could he have known better if he was never taught?

"Miss Miller," the nearest Peacekeeper ordered in his low drawl. "It's time."

"Go," Finnick whispered, but not without giving my hand one more squeeze. "We'll talk later."

Those few moments when his hand left mine felt all too quick. How I wished I could savour that moment. But my eyes were filled with light, my ears with screams of my thoughts and body with too many sensations I couldn't quite place them all.

As the door opened, a white flooded all around me, and I was pushed forward by Peacekeepers, their cold touches repulsing me as I caught my bearings. District Two. Mace and Olive. Mace and Olive. Mace and Olive.

I was in the arena.

"Watch," Mace ordered.

It was over so quickly. The flash of metal. The smell of blood. Caspian calling out to me. His arm dropping lifelessly to the ground.

A canon.

Thick, hot tears fell down my face.

"It was a good show, no?" Mace asked innocently, smiling down at me. I couldn't think. Anger raged inside of me at the sight of Caspian's limp body, bubbling all the way from my toes to my head. Adrenaline sparked inside of me, and I gave in to the temptation.

The dagger Caspian's mentor gave me was still tucked into my belt.

I wrenched free from their grasp and sunk it straight into Mace's side, my only thought being just how much I wanted them all dead. He fell to the floor, and I set my sights on Griffin, who'd started running at me, his scream deafening. My dagger flew out of my free hand so fast I had no clue where it was flying until it landed cleanly in Griffins chest. He stared blankly at me as he sunk to his knees.

"Your reigning Victor, Lynx Miller!"

I blinked. I was stood in the centre of the platform, the careful eyes of District Two pinned to me, as though if they all might stare hard enough I would burst into flames at any moment. There were no words to describe how attractive running away seemed at that moment. And with hundreds of blank faces, each one devoid of emotion in one way or the other, how could I not?

Speaking was a chore, standing there a deep burden etched into my very soul. These people, I'd killed personally. Mace and Olive. Mace and Olive. Mace and Olive.

"I killed both your tributes," I projected. My voice echoed around the square. Just like the announcer during the Games. It was eerie how my tone mirrored his exactly — I was morphing into one me them.

"And for that, I know there are no words of mine that can possible hope to repay the damage I've caused you. Your tributes were extremely skilled. Smart. Cunning. They had all of the assets to win, and they should have won, quite honestly."

Not an angry face to be seen. I honed in on one woman, her deep eyes vacant, blonde hair thrown into pigtails and an almost determined look in her stance, arms folded. Ready to fight.

Another boy, the tallest I could see with dark brown eyes and raised brows. He stood with his arms around a smaller boy, perhaps a brother. A small grin curved at his lips as he looked up at me.

"And I'm looking at all of your faces and wondering why you're not screaming me offstage, or throwing things, but I've realised it's because you're used to this."

Fuck. I needed to save this.

"You're used to this because you're all extremely valiant, and strong, and have trained since you were children. And I respect you all for that."

I couldn't respect Snow. Snow who was sitting in his office grinning at my almost slip up. The moment when he could take advantage of Finnick and I. It was Snow who was the puppeteer, and Panem with iron strings nailed to their hands, the blood cascading down its arms as Snow danced with us. It was Snow who's to blame for this. Snow who was a snake. Snow who I wanted to kill.

"You're by far the most deserving of Victors."

And as I left, my hands didn't shake. Instead I walked out, eyes narrowed, lips pressed together, the only thought in my mind the sound of his gasping sobs while I choked the air from his bloodstained mouth.