DREA WAS SOMEHOW NOT SURPRISED to see that Katniss Everdeen scored a perfect twelve in her individual assessment, even though a perfect score had never been given in Hunger Games history. She was, however, stunned to note that Peeta Mellark scored the exact same.
This didn't fair well with Finnick, and Drea imagined it didn't fair well with Haymitch, either. If they were going to be hard to protect before, it was going to be near impossible to keep them from getting killed now.
Drea was lucky. She scored a ten; the stunt she'd pulled must have been nothing compared to whatever Peeta and Katniss did. Finnick was still angry at her for it— she could tell from the way he scowled at her bandaged hand all throughout watching the program— but he still made sure to rewrap it that night before they went to bed.
The eve of the Hunger Games was usually spent coaching tributes on how to speak and act in front of the cameras in order to prepare them for the interviews that night, but considering Finnick had been living in the spotlight for a decade now, and Drea nearly as long, they were free to live their last day outside the arena just like that— free.
Drea spent most of her morning writing a letter to Annie, which Mags swore she would deliver as soon as she arrived home after the Games— whatever should happen during them. It hurt, saying goodbye, knowing she might never see Annie again, and although she was dotting the page with her tears and smudging the ink at the end, as soon as she signed her name, she felt better. It was a weight off her chest. One less thing to worry about before tomorrow. At least this way, Annie will have something to remember her by.
She thought about asking Finnick to write her one, too, knowing how much he also meant to her... But when he asks her if she'd like to go for a walk just before they're to begin prep for the interviews that night, she can't say no.
Drea knew the Capitol like the back of her hand at this point, but she pretended not to know where Finnick was leading her, as they strolled through the building, to the elevator, and up to the roof. The sun was barely higher than the line of the horizon, but it gave the world just enough glow for them to see their way to the edge, leaning on the railing and looking down at the city below.
The faint imprint of the moon was still stamped in the clouds, and a wave of sadness crept upon her again. She thought about how this could be one of the last skies she'll ever see, one of the last moons she'll ever know. Her eyes flicker to Finnick next to her— Finnick, and his glorious silhouette against the pale blue sky. She gets the sudden urge to ask him every question she's ever wanted to ask him before, now, when they have the chance— now before they would be watched by all of Panem until they most likely died in the arena—
"You talked to Peeta today?" Finnick asked, before she could come up with anything else to say.
Drea looked up at the sky again. "Not today, no. Last training session, I did," she answered. "Haymitch was right. He'll be an easier ally than Katniss."
"That's good," Finnick agreed. "He's smart. They're good fighters." His hand found hers and squeezed. "We'll be fine, Dre."
Her throat tightened. She closed her eyes, feeling tears well in them, and focused instead on the cool morning breeze. This high in the air, she felt like flying. "You can't promise that," came her soft, weak voice. She'd never felt so weak than standing next to Finnick. She never allowed herself to feel weak standing next to anyone else. "You can't promise that—"
"I told you I'd get you out of this," he said fervently, turning to face her head on. She wouldn't look at him. He squeezed her hand again, imploring, "And I meant it. I won't lose you."
"If it comes down to me or Katniss, you won't have a choice—"
"I can't— I won't lose you, Drea." His voice was tight, as if he too were struggling to swallow the lump in his throat. "Do you get it? I can't lose you. It would destroy me, wholly, completely, body and soul." His eyes were alight with an intense emotion, one Drea hadn't seen on him in years— one she'd convinced herself she'd imagined. "I need you to know that now, because I won't be able to say it when we're in the arena," he said. "Not when everyone's watching."
She knew he was right. If anyone were to figure out the extent of their feelings for each other, Snow would kill them. Finnick knew that it might get her killed if he told her how much he loved her in the arena, if anyone else in the world knew how much he loved her. But she had to know. She had to know, before it was too late for him to tell her.
"You're it for me, Drea," he said, voice hoarse and jagged with intense emotion. "There's no one else. I won't lose you."
Drea shook her head, as the tears began to roll down her cheeks. Why now? Why did he wait six years to tell her this? Why would he tell her now, now when they're probably going to die tomorrow? He couldn't do this. He couldn't get away with this— he couldn't drop this on her moments before she could lose him forever. "No, Finnick— don't— don't do this now—"
Sometimes, she swore he could read her mind. He knew she was thinking of those six years, in which he'd iced her out, pushed her away, kept her at arms length. "I never wanted to," he pleaded. "I never wanted to push you away—"
"Then why did you?" Her heart raced so quickly in her chest she could hear it in her skull. "Why would you do it, because I'm ruined? Is that it?"
Finnick's expression went gaunt. She dropped his hand and took a step back, all her insecurities bubbling to the surface, every bad thought she'd ever had about herself over the last six years suddenly bursting forth—
"I'm know, I'm sorry— it's not fair to ask you that, not after all this time," she rambled, voice shaky. Finnick shook his head, but couldn't force words from his mouth, so she continued. "And I understand it, Finnick. I understand why you stopped wanting me. If it makes a difference, I wish it never happened, too. I wish they'd never looked my way— o-or that I'd been mutilated somehow in the Games, in some way that made them think I'm undesirable, so they couldn't barter for my body—"
"Drea—"
"And I wish I didn't feel their hands on me for hours after they've gone, Finnick— I wish it had never torn us apart, but it did and I'm so terribly sorry that you let it ruin us—"
Finnick tried to take her hands in his again, but she wouldn't stop flailing them about, as she went on and on in her panicked monologue, barely holding on to the string of dignity she had left. "That's not it, Drea," he tried, shaking his head again and again. He could see her slipping deeper, deeper into the memories— into all the times she'd needed him and he wasn't there. "Please, just listen to me—"
"I wish they'd never ruined us, Finnick— I wish I'd never made it out of that first arena—"
"Stop—"
"— because once they'd all had their way with me, I was rotten. Used. Ruined—"
"Stop it." The force in his voice was the only thing that made her pause— that and the lack of oxygen in her lungs. He stared at her for a long moment, eyes flicking back and forth between her own, before he turned to face the skyline again, leaning against the railing and putting his face in his hands. "That's not why I pushed you away," he told her. "Not in the slightest."
Drea laughed, that signature, pathetic, breathy, humorless laugh. Her tears clouded her vision. "Why else, Finnick? I loved you, more than anything, a-and you... You just left me in the dust, without so much as an explanation to why. What else was I supposed to think? I loved you."
"You shouldn't have," he said back, his voice a hoarse whisper. He couldn't look at her now, but she could see the tears gathering along his lashline when he looked up at the sky once more. "You know why. Don't you? Tell me you know why." It came out as begging, a plead for Drea to understand. A plead for her to tell him she knew why he'd done what he'd done, to tell him that she understood, that she knew that he would never abandon her without reason.
But she stared at him, with confusion swirling in her big brown eyes. "I-I don't know, Finnick," she answered, and his heart sank deep into his chest. "I don't know."
It was Finnick who was slipping into memory, this time. Back into that day, just a few weeks before he and Drea were to accompany Annie on her Victory Tour, just before it all changed.
"It's all my fault," he admitted. "I knew how they would see you once you became a victor. And I should have protected you from it..."
FIVE YEARS AGO
AFTER THE 70TH HUNGER GAMES
To Finnick, the best part about getting off the train from the Capitol into District 4 was that Drea was always there waiting for him. When he was stuck at the Capitol, being paraded around as Snow's prettiest pet, he missed the sea breeze, the salty air, the warm sun, his friends, of course— but he missed her the most. Always her.
Things had been different in District 4 lately, different with Drea. This year's Hunger Games had come and gone, and Drea's first year as a mentor alongside him had gone as well as it could have. Their tribute won. But their tribute also happened to be Drea's best friend, sweet, fragile Annie Cresta, who had been ten times the wreck Drea was since her arrival home. And of course, Drea, still so shaken from the loss of her brother only a year prior, poured all she had into support for Annie, going so far as to move into her home at Annie's request.
Finnick liked Annie; he'd known her almost as long as Drea had, and they were friends growing up. He didn't mind that Drea spent a lot of time with her— in fact, he admired it, how fiercely protective she was towards her friends, how much she wanted to love and be there for Annie. He loved that about her. He loved a lot about her. At that point, he loved almost everything about her.
Ever since their night on the beach, over a month ago now, Finnick and Drea had been closer than ever. Many of Drea's nights not spent with Annie were spent in Finnick's house, in his arms, in his bed. They were careful, of course, knowing what Snow might do to them otherwise. The Capitol's darling, Finnick Odair, in a commited, loving relationship? Oh, Snow would have his head immediately.
As far as details went, Drea didn't know what Snow made him do during his visits to the Capitol. She never asked, but Finnick assumed she probably figured. In fact, he was sure she knew, because no matter how many scandalous rumors about him she heard, or the numerous photos of him leaving the estate rooms of Capitol officials she surely saw, she never questioned his loyalty when he always came home to her. Always her.
Finnick spotted her from the window of the train before it ever came to a stop, waiting in her usual place— but the fourth support beam, the toes of her sandals stopped just before the safety line. Before he knew it, he was slinging his bag over his shoulder and stepping off the train, his eyes locking with her dark brown gaze. He smiled at the way the sea breeze tousled her braids gently, as if her hair was waving at him, too.
"Finnick," she beamed, meeting him as he stepped off the train towards her. They immediately collided, her arms winding around his middle, his hands cupping her face instantly and brushing her hair back, smiling widely. He'd only been gone for a few weeks, but it felt like a lifetime. A lifetime felt like long enough to have not kissed her, and so he did, even though they weren't the only ones on the train platform. He kissed her hard, trying desperately to forget the feeling of all the lips and hands that had been on him these last few weeks and just feel her. It worked, of course; it never took long for Finnick to get swept up in the feeling of her.
When they parted, Drea looked starry-eyed and slightly dazed. Finnick smiled, steadied her on her feet, and pulled her hand into his before starting off through the train station. "You look beautiful, Dre."
Blinking herself back to life, Drea smiled softly and quickened her step to catch up with him, tightening her grip on his hand. "Really?" she said. "Annie saw this program about Capitol fall fashion or something, and she insisted on putting makeup on me this morning. I thought I looked a little ridiculous."
Finnick wrinkled his nose at the thought of Drea done up like one of the women Snow rewarded with his presence. "You don't look anything like them," he told her. "And that's the highest compliment I could give you."
Drea laughed, shaking her head. Finnick let her go ahead of him down the steps, refusing to let go of her hand and holding it over her shoulder as she went down. When they reached the bottom of the stairs and began down the path towards Victors Village, she looked up at him. "I saw you on television last night."
Staring at their swinging hands between them, Finnick didn't look at her. His heart clenched a little in his chest, afraid that this was it, this was the moment she was going to tell him she couldn't be with him anymore, the moment she decided she couldn't be with someone like him— but she just raised her eyebrows in question. "Next to me. Flickerman was going on about our Victory Tour last year, and the one we'll go on with Annie in a few weeks."
Finnick eased. Drea always referred to her tour of the districts as their Victory Tour. He figured it was easier for her that way, to process all she'd been through in the games. Facing them thinking she was going to die, doing all she could to protect her brother, killing other tributes to save him, then losing him in the end anyway... He supposed saying "our" was her way of feeling less alone in the whole deal, and that was something he could relate to.
"And how is Annie?" he asked, grounding himself by running his thumb over the back of her hand.
Drea's smile faded a bit. "She's... better. Finding herself again." Her other hand came up and held his elbow, anchoring her to his side. "It takes time, that's all."
Finnick fought a smile. He'd once said the same thing to her, a year before, when she believed she'd never be the same again. In ways, winning the Hunger Games meant you never would be yourself, never, ever again. But with time... pieces of you returned. You learned to feel again, to love again, to trust again. Finnick had re-learned all those things in the last year and a half, with her. He was living, walking proof.
Their conversation was kept light from that point onward, all the way to Annie's home in Victor's Village. Finnick walked Drea to the door, helping her up the steps as he always did— and she let him, as she always did. She turned to face him before going inside the house, however, her dark eyes finding his light ones where he stood a few steps beneath her. "You don't have plans for tomorrow night, right?"
"And miss one of the rare instances Drea Moreno cooks a decent meal? Of course not," he teased.
Drea rolled her pretty brown eyes and leaned down to kiss him goodbye— a small, sweet peck on the lips that left him reeling nonetheless. Her braids fell over her shoulder when she did so, and Finnick's fingers found one. He twirled it between his thumb and forefinger a moment after she pulled away, then let her go.
Finnick had never quite known what it meant to be happy until he loved Drea Moreno. Love had been a previously uncharted territory for him; he'd had loving parents, good friends, but after the games... All that faded. After he emerged as the youngest victor to ever exist, it got hard to find any feeling, much less love and happiness.
Every Sunday night Finnick was home, Drea invited him over for dinner at Annie's house. They ate together and laughed together, like a true family. And ever Sunday night, Drea would kiss him in the foyer, just after Annie went to bed and just before he would head out into the cool night to return to his own home, where Finnick would sleep in his bed alone and have good dreams for once.
But on this particular night, the air in Victors Village was hot— thick, muggy, swathed with humidity, despite the sun's early retirement— and the door to his house was unlocked. Finnick thought nothing much of either of these things, as his thoughts were still swirling with the feeling of Drea's lips on his, her soft, sweet hands threaded through his, the way she had to push onto her tiptoes to kiss him properly—
The television was on in Finnick's house. This made his heart jolt and his feet stop at the edge of the kitchen, because he never watched any of the shit programming the Capitol put on, not unless it was mandatory. The video on the screen was nothing the Capitol would ever dare send out to the Districts, however.
Finnick recognized the scene playing on the screen quicker than he'd admit. To be fair, it had been one of those nights he would never forget, one he'd never wish to forget. On the television, the picture was dim, but he knew it was the beach— the beach just outside his window right now— the beach, swathed in blue moonlight, exactly how it had been that night. The night Drea first kissed him. The night they'd kissed and kissed on the beach, slowly working up the courage to take things furhter. The night she'd shown him what sex could really mean, the night she'd proved to him he was worthy of feeling good, worthy of being held and loved.
In the images on the screen, he could make out Drea's lean figure beneath his on the sand, her eyes closed, one hand running over the muscles in his back, the other weaved through his hair, her lips dropped open, creating the soft, almost inaudible moans that now played through the silent room. It felt like an out of body experience for him now, though he remembered every moment of that night. He remembered kissing every inch of her body, of burying his face in her shoulder as he moved over her, feeling her soft breath whispering in his ear, his name over and over... chasing a release and relishing in this type of pleasure he'd never felt before, a pleasure he'd never felt with any of the people Snow forced upon him, one he'd never felt with anyone in his life besides Drea.
Now, Finnick's mouth went dry, seeing it play out there— such an intimate moment between the two of them. A moment when they'd thought they were alone, a moment between him and the girl he loves, just the two of them together. But the sanctimony of it all was gone, whisked away into the pale light the recording cast over the room. Someone was watching them on the beach. They hadn't been alone that night— and Finnick was beginning to wonder if they'd ever been truly alone in their lives.
"She's a very pretty young woman, isn't she, Mr. Odair?"
A normal person would have jumped at the sound of someone in their house they hadn't let inside— but Finnick knew Snow couldn't have been far from all this. He'd want to see his reaction, and he'd want to make sure Finnick got the message.
Finnick turned to see Snow had wandered into the kitchen, two Peacekeepers at his side. Of course the coward would go nowhere without a personal security detail; he knew better than to come into Finnick Odair's house alone, the youngest victor of the Hunger Games in its long history, who kept a trident by the back door.
"Very beautiful," Snow continued, hands stuffed into the pockets of his velvet suit. "You won't believe how many times I hear how beautiful she is in one day..."
Finnick's jaw clenched, his chest burning. "Why are you here?"
Snow sighed. "Because you have not been careful, Mr. Odair." He waltzed around to the other side of Finnick's kitchen table, putting more space between them. Coward. "This little scene on the beach, then the one in the train station every time you return home..." He shook his head. "Having the Capitol darling in love is not a good image."
"And? What'll you do about it?"
"Nothing. In fact, I am delighted that you have finally found someone of your own, Mr. Odair," Snow claimed. His words were polite, decent, but his voice took on a darkness Finnick could only describe as venomous. "It would be such a shame, though. If something were to happen to her..." Finnick's chest tightened. "Someone so young, so lucky to have survived..."
"You won't kill her," Finnick said. It was bold, giving the President such orders. But he knew President Snow— his secrets, exactly the kind of man he'd become and how he'd become it. "You wouldn't risk the bad press." Snow chuckled, and a flash of anger went over Finnick. "The people love her," he said. "They'd riot. You'd have more rebels on your hands than ever before."
Snow flinched at the word, but his recovery was smooth. You wouldn't be able to notice his change in demeanor if you hadn't been studying him for years, as Finnick had, collecting all his worst secrets and learning to weaponize them.
Riots concerned President Snow, but even worse was the idea of a rebel.
Snow just hummed, however, acting as if nothing Finnick said worried him in the slightest. "No," he said lightly. "I won't kill her... But you, of all people, should know there are punishments much worse than death."
It felt as if Snow had dropped a bomb on the kitchen table, and Finnick's ears were still ringing from the blast. He knew what Snow was insinuating. He knew why he'd come here with that video in the first place, why he'd made the offhand comment about Drea's beauty. The people loved Drea— they wanted her, desired her, just as they desired Finnick. And Snow had no problem giving them what they wanted when it came to using the tributes. He knew that very well.
But Snow wanted to make it clear to him, by telling him all this in person, that this would be on him. Drea would be used and abused by Capitol officials, just like he had been since he turned sixteen— because being in love was treason in Snow's eyes, and he would do everything he could to ruin that, too.
Panic had seized in his chest at the thought of losing Drea to the Capitol, of having to watch her be passed around against her will like he had. He couldn't be the reason she got traded around like a piece of meat. He couldn't let that happen to her. No matter what he had to do to keep her safe from them, he would do it. Even if it meant breaking her heart.
Snow smiled his slick, snake-like smile, when he saw Finnick's fear written out on his face. He achieved exactly what he came here to do. "You will be embarking on Miss Cresta's Victory Tour in a few weeks..." Snow continued, walking towards the door with his Peacekeepers in tow. "I expect your presence in the Capitol until then."
Finnick couldn't feel the tips of his fingers. He'd just gotten home a few days ago, and here was Snow, already dragging him back.
"And when the time comes that you see Miss Moreno again..." Snow paused, just before crossing the threshhold of the house. "I hope that you will be prepared to keep your relationship strictly professional." The door slammed shut behind his last bodyguard.
Finnick waited until he heard the Peacekeepers trucks pull away before he grabbed his trident from where it stood next to the door and stabbed it through his kitchen table. It splintered in the middle but didn't collapse, simply rattling with the force it took to jam the prongs of the trident through its surface. Blind with rage, he didn't stop there; next went the television, then the sofa cushions, then the ugly decorative vase Mags had only given him because she deemed it too ugly for her own home, and the seashell lined framed picture of the Capitol building that came free with every house in Victor's village.
He should have seen this coming. He should have known winning the Hunger Games didn't mean a damn thing. He should have known that keeping Drea alive in that arena would only buy her a lifetime of pain. He should have known coming out of that arena himself was the biggest mistake he could have ever made.
When he was done smashing his entire kitchen to pieces, his pent up frustration was gone, but the grief was suffocating. He couldn't breathe, thinking about what Snow threatened to do to the woman he loved, making her like him, a Capitol toy. He couldn't breathe in that house, knowing that the Capitol was all around him, even in his own home. He tore through the front door, slamming it shut behind him, and made it halfway down the beach before he could breathe again. There, he sat, with his knees pulled to his chest, all night long— until Drea found him at dawn.
"Finnick?" she called, concern sweetening her tone. She had likely spotted him from the window when she first woke up, because when called to him down the beach, she wore only a silk night gown that came down mid-thigh. When he didn't answer, staring out at the sunrise over the water in silence, she asked again. "Finnick, are you all right?"
With all she'd been through— with her parents, her brother, with Annie— and she was still worrying about him.
It was enough to make Finnick crumble, like wet sand in her hands. Hot tears fell from his eyes, and his shoulders began to shake with quiet sobs. Drea quickly fell to her knees in the sand next to him, not hesitating to wrap her arms around his shoulders and running a hand over his hair. Finnick's tears soaked the collar of her silk shirt, but she held him anway, whispering intently, "It's okay— it's okay, it's okay... What happened?"
He couldn't answer. He couldn't tell her the truth. His chest felt like it was going to burst. "I have to go back to the Capitol. Tomorrow."
Drea looked down at him, stunned, then her expression resigned to sadness. "So soon?"
He couldn't look at her. "Yes. I'm sorry, Dre."
She ran her hand along his face again, cupping his jaw gently, holding him fondly. She tried to put on a smile for his sake, but he could tell she was disappointed still. "Well, that's okay. I'll..." She searched for a solution, eyes falling to his lips. "Maybe I could come with you—"
"No. No, you can't," he quickly said, shaking his head. "We can't be..." But he stopped himself, looking up behind them, towards the houses, where he imagined Snow's camera were. Embarrassment swept over him again— the kind of shame that you only felt when someone intruded on a private moment you thought you were alone in— the kind of shame he felt when he first saw the footage of him and Drea on the beach plastered on his television for anyone to see.
He looked back at Drea, his eyes finally finding the courage to meet her own. "Drea, do you know why I go to the Capitol so often?"
He could tell she was uncomfortable with the subject. She knew it was a delicate conversation— it was why she never asked any questions, or held anything against him when he was gone longer than he planned to be. "You..." She searched for the right words. "You have Capitol business to attend to. Snow has you working, a-and you have people who... Who like to see you—"
"No." Finnick kept his gaze locked intently on her, even though she wouldn't meet his eyes anymore. Snow just said he had to break things off with her; he never said his methods of controlling Finnick had to be kept from her too. And Finnick was tired of not talking about it for what is was. "Call them what they are, Drea. Buyers." Drea turned a shade paler in the early morning light. "They buy me, for a night, for a week, for a month. And Snow is the one to hand me off. You know that, don't you?"
"Finnick, I—"
"You do. You're smarter than them, Drea, than the ones who gossip and make rumors about engagements and scandals, the ones who think I actually care about any of those people I'm forced to be with." His tongue moved quicker than his brain, as he spilled everything he'd been dying to tell her from the moment they first bonded, from the moment he realized he loved her. "In all of Panem, you are the only one I care about. You know that?"
Drea opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, but all that came out was a sigh. She sat back on her heels in the sand and ran her fingers through the curls at the base of his neck once more. "Of course I know that. And of course I know what Snow makes you do, because I... I care about you, too. And as horrible as it is, as much as I hate how they treat you, it doesn't make a difference to me." She shook her head, eyes imploring, pleading for him to believe her. "It doesn't affect how much I want to be with you—"
"It should." His voice was bitter, but his thoughts were poison. She didn't know about the video, or about Snow's threats. And these things he didn't want her to know. He didn't want her to feel as horrible as he does about a night that they shouldn't feel anything about but love. He didn't want her to know that Snow was going to hurt her, because of him. "It should."
Drea gave a tiny shake of her head, eyes sparkly with emotion, as she smoothed her thumb over his cheek. "It doesn't."
Finnick was the one to look away first, knocking her hand from his face. He looked at his lap, speaking his worst fears aloud. "We'll never be happy, Dre. We can never get married. We can never have kids, a family. I can't do that to you—"
"You're not doing anything to me," she cried. "A-and we don't have to do any of that to be happy— no one's saying we have to get married or have children. We don't have to be that kind of couple. This could just be for us, Finnick. No one else should have a say."
She was right, as always. No one else should have a say in how they get to live, how they get to be together— but that wasn't the reality. He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her because she didn't understand. She didn't understand what it meant to be a Victor just yet. She was too new to the world of the Capitol, too new to the reality of winning the Hunger Games, the reality that is that no one ever really wins and no one ever really escapes. He would never be able to love her, not like she deserves.
PRESENT
Drea stared at Finnick, her mind swirling. "Your fault?" How could he possibly think it was his fault, all that Snow had done to her?
He shook his head and peered over the railing at the world below. "Snow came to me, just before Annie's Victory Tour. He warned me to stop things with you. He threatened to— to—" Emotion squeezed in his throat, and he couldn't get the sentence out. He swallowed thickly. "But I was selfish. I knew I could never have a family, not when i'd become something sold and bartered with by the Capitol, but I wanted one. With you." Tear glimmered along the line of his lashes. "I wanted you so badly it blinded me. And Snow got you too. And it's all my fault."
Drea softened, her heart melting. She hated that it took them this long— nearly six years— to have this conversation. She hated that all these years, he'd believed it was his fault, what Snow had forced her in to. "No, Finnick, I..." She sighed. "I was too arrogant. After Annie's games, I started speaking out, against the games, the Capitol, Snow... He threatened me, with you and Annie. He said he'd kill her if I didn't do what he said, if I didn't accept my punishment." She leaned against the railing next to him, looking down at the city below. She shook her head. "That's no one's fault but my own."
"No." Finnick stood up straighter. "It's Snow's. He's the one to blame." His hand found hers, and she intertwined their fingers. "And this is our chance to make him pay."