Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

this book will contain lots of dark content.

YOU are responsible for the media you consume, so read at your own risk.

this book will contain lots of gory violence (this is a hunger games fanfic for crying out loud)

it will mention forced prostitution (fucked up capitol shenanigans)

death (again, this is the hunger games)

miscarriage (again, fucked up capitol shenanigans)

strong language (don’t know what else to say here, there’s a lot of cursing)

creepy capitol elites (these assholes literally bought minors against their will, what else did you expect?)

covering topics of mental health issues (ptsd, depression, suicide, anxiety, etc.)

covers the subject of abusive/deadbeat parents

most of finnick’s backstory is my own personal headcanons as not much is known about his past other than being sold by president snow

i am basing finnick’s victory off of the fan film on youtube, everything else is either entirely made up by me or is canon

both malia’s and jake’s game arenas (the 66th and the 61st) are completely made up entirely by me

annie is completely ooc for the sake of the story (disclaimer: i do not hate her whatsoever)

the last names of characters whose last names weren’t revealed in the book or the movies were either made-up by me or were taken from a hunger games wiki page

i am also a HUGE career apologist so don’t be mad if i make them look misunderstood– it’s because they are– they’re deeply misunderstood and that’s the hill i will gladly die on (side note:: i have two moods, i will either make them deeply misunderstood or very psychotic there is no in between with me)

and last but not least, there is not a single character in this story that isn’t deeply traumatized either by the capitol or their games

again, YOU are responsible for the media you consume so if any of these topics are triggering for you– i advise you to please find another book that won’t cause you to feel triggered.

Chapter Text

Malia Wells , KATHERINE MCNAMARA

❝ I have been nothing but loyal to this alliance
since the day I was reaped. I was loyal to the careers when
I was fifteen, I am loyal to them now. Sure, I might be
friends with Finnick. But I know where my loyalties lie
and I have no problem with cutting up another bitch.
Ally or not. ❞

Finnick O'Dair , SAM CLAFLIN

❝ Well, your mentor should know
that no one’s on your side
more than me. ❞

Jake Griffin , DYLAN O'BRIEN

❝ You were just a boy, like I was,
looking for some peace in this fucked
up world and Malia was your peace,
just like she was mine. ❞

Katniss Everdeen , JENNIFER LAWRENCE

❝ Look at them. They’re in love.
You and I both know what that feels like.
Even if the Gamemakers do decide to have the two
victors rule again, they’re screwed either way. They don’t
originate from the same district. They’d do anything to make sure
the other gets out alive. They’re just like you and me. I saw how
devastated Cato was when he found Clove’s body last year--
I don’t want to be the one that puts them through the same thing 
all because I shot first ❞

Peeta Mellark , JOSH HUTCHERSON

❝ Because he’s in love with her,
Haymitch said that Malia was one
of his weaknesses, now we know why.
That confession was about her. ❞

Celeste Skygrove , CHRISTINE BARANSKI

 ❝ My point is, the Capitol loves a good love
story. Rumors even say that you and Finnick could
be the new it couple. Might even beat Katniss and Peeta
at being the greatest love story to exist. ❞

Emery Goldstein , HARRY SHUM JR.

❝ I have been your stylist since you were fifteen, 
I’ve watched you grow into the remarkable young
woman you are today. If anyone is capable of winning again,
it’s you. And because of that you are not allowed to die on me. ❞

O T H E R  C A S T:

Young Malia Wells , SADIE SINK

Young Finnick O'Dair , MAXWELL JENKINS

Cal Dynam , DYLAN ARNOLD

Lucius Mills , JAMIE CAMPBELL BOWER

Cleo Santos , EMMA ROBERTS

Giselle Bodwell , ZOEY DEUTCH

Chivonne Ashford , EMILY ALYN LIND

Amber Nelson , JANEL PARRISH

Astrid Luca , SYDNEY SWEENEY

Lotus Miller , NICK ROBINSON

Kacey Covestand , MADISON BAILEY

Alexander Maxwell , WILL POULTER

Anderson Westin , MILES TELLER

Harvey Zea , CALUM WORTHY

Jade Griffin , MAIA MITCHELL

Charles Griffin , LINDEN ASHBY

Lori Griffin , MELISSA PONZIO

Augustus Braun , MILO MANHEIM

Clarity Lovell , PEYTON LIST

Royce Olsen , ASHER ANGEL

Harmonie Barnette , ZENDAYA COLEMAN

Flint Hendricks , ERIC DANE

Cassiopeia Hendricks/Silverheart , KAYLEE BRYANT

Ophelia Silverheart , CHLOE GRACE MORETZ

Mr. O'Dair , WILLEM DAFOE

Mr. Wells , JOHN WESLEY SHIPP

Gloss Nicholo , ALAN RITCHSON

Cashmere Nicholo , STEPHANIE LEIGH SCHLUND

Enobaria Golding , META GOLDING

Brutus Gunn , BRUNO GUNN

Effie Trinket , ELIZABETH BANKS

Haymitch Abernathy , WOODY HARRELSON

Johanna Mason , JENA MALONE

Blight Jordan , BOBBY JORDAN

Caesar Flickerman , STANLEY TUCCI

Claudius Templesmith , TOBY JONES

President Snow , DONALD SUTHERLAND

Beetee Latier , JEFFREY WRIGHT

Wiress Plummer , AMANDA PLUMMER

Mags Flanagan , LYNN COHEN

Chaff Mitchell , E. ROGER MITCHELL

Annie Cresta , STEF DAWSON

Plutarch Heavensbee , PHILIP SEYMOUR HOFFMAN

Gale Hawthorne , LIAM HEMSWORTH

Primrose Everdeen , WILLOW SHIELDS

Mrs. Everdeen , PAULA MALCOMSON

Alma Coin , JULIANNE MOORE

Cressida Dormouse , NATALIE DORMER

Castor Chatham , WES CHATHAM

Pollux Chatham , ELDEN HENSON

Mesalla Ross , EVAN ROSS

Homes Tahin , OMID ABTAHI

Mist Leeg , MISTY ORMISTON

Kim Leeg , KIM ORMISTON

Joseph Boggs , MAHERSHALA ALI

Lieutenant Jackson Forbes , MICHELLE FORBES

Mitchell Chrest , JOE CHREST

Commander Paylor , PATINA MILLER

Commander Lyme Rabe , GWENDOLINE CHRISTIE

Tigris Snow , EUGENIE BONDURANT

Maggie O'Dair , MCKENNA GRACE

Finley O'Dair , COLIN FORD

Clove Kentwell , ISABELLE FUHRMAN (mentioned)

Cato Hadley , ALEXANDER LUDWIG (mentioned)

Marvel Sanford , JACK QUAID (mentioned)

Glimmer Belcourt , LEVEN RAMBIN (mentioned)

Rue Barnette , AMANDLA STENBERG (mentioned)

Thresh Morrowson , DAYO OKENIYI (mentioned)

Finch "Foxface" Crossly , JACQUELINE EMERSON (mentioned)

Magnus Overshire , KI HONG LEE

Avia Bellbreeze , ROSA SALAZAR

Trent Seacreek , THOMAS BRODIE-SANGSTER

Isla Riverstone, ALEXANDRA DADDARIO

Thatch Gallogaze , DEXTER DARDEN

Fauna Fairbrook , NATHALIE EMMANUEL

Harley Grant , OLIVIA HOLT

Godrick Briggs , JACE NORMAN

Misty Sinclair , SUKI WATERHOUSE

Adrian Howard , LOGAN LERMAN

Jasper Thompson , ROSS LYNCH

Jewel Thompson , MADELYN CLINE

Hudson Jonas , JACOB ELORDI

Chapter Text

“You must be Malia,” A guy says, crouching down in front of her on the train ride to the Capitol.

Malia doesn’t say anything, she just simply nods.

“Do you know who I am?” The guy asks.

Malia doesn’t say anything again, she just shakes her head.

“Well, my name is Jake Griffin,” He introduces. “And I’m going to be your mentor.”

“Cal..” Malia says, finally speaking up.

“What?” Jake asks.

“What about Cal?” Malia responds.

“Right.. Your district partner and..?”

“Boyfriend.”

“Right,” Jake sighs, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Cal is in good hands, I promise. Gloss is his mentor.”

Malia nods her head.

“You trained for these Games, mind telling me what your weapon of choice is?” Jake asks.

“Sais,” Malia replies. “And throwing knives.”

“That’s great,” Jake responds. “And what was your ranking at the Career Academy?”

“I was first,” Malia replied.

“That’s great,” Jake replies. “We can work with that. But first I need you to get a hold of yourself, you’re a Career so you have to show how proud you are to be one.”

“I can’t do it,” Malia says, her voice shaky. “I can’t kill Cal..”

“You won’t have to,” Jake tells her. “Cal volunteered and I have no doubt it was because he wanted to protect you.”

“Look,” Jake says. “These next few days aren’t about Cal, they’re about you. You have the potential to win these Games if you focus.”

“I wasn’t supposed to be here until I turned 16,” Malia states. “That was my plan from the very beginning. Sure, I’m number one at the Career Academy but I was going to volunteer when I turned 16, I’m only 15.”

“The Capitol doesn’t care about that,” Jake tells her. “You’re here, you were reaped, you can’t do anything about that. Now Gloss is mentoring Cal which means he’s going to make sure Cal is super focused on winning these Games and I need you to do the same for me. Can you do that?” 

Malia nods.

“Fantastic,” Jake says. “Once we arrive at the Capitol, Emery’s team will swoop you away to get you prepped and ready for the Tribute Parade. Make sure to make allies there, especially district two and district four.”

Malia nods again.

“Emery is awesome,” Jake tells her. “You’re going to love him. He’s been district one’s stylist for years . And the Triple X team is fantastic.”

“Triple X?” Malia asks.

“You’ll see,” Jake tells her.

The moment the train reaches the Capitol, Malia is whisked away by Emery’s prep team to be waxed and cleaned up. 

Emery entered the room with an effortless grace that seemed to accompany him wherever he went. He moved with the confidence of someone who knew the world of fashion inside and out. His presence, though subtle, demanded attention.

His sleek, jet-black hair was artfully styled, falling just above his shoulders in a perfect cascade of waves. Strands of silver were strategically woven into his locks, catching the light and adding a touch of mystique to his appearance.

Emery’s almond-shaped eyes were a mesmerizing shade of hazel, their depths revealing a blend of wisdom and creativity. He wore subtle, smokey eyeshadow that accentuated their magnetic allure. His well-defined cheekbones and chiseled jawline gave him an air of sophistication, and his skin seemed to glow with a natural warmth.

Dressed in a tailored, charcoal-gray suit, Emery exuded an aura of refined elegance. The suit hugged his lean frame, accentuating his impeccable sense of style. The jacket was left unbuttoned, revealing a crisp, white shirt underneath. A black silk pocket square peeked out from the breast pocket, adding a subtle touch of glamor.

Emery’s slender fingers were adorned with an assortment of rings, each one a work of art in itself. His nails were meticulously manicured, and a subtle fragrance of expensive cologne hung in the air as he moved closer to Malia.

As he approached, a confident yet warm smile graced his lips, revealing a glimpse of the charm that had earned him a reputation as one of the most sought-after stylists in the industry.

“You must be Malia,” Emery says, clasping his hands together.

“That’s me,” Malia replies.

“This is my prep team,” Emery says, gesturing around the room. “Xanthe, Xenon, and Xelda. But I call them the Triple X.”

Malia chuckles slightly.

“Jake has informed me that you’re the top of the Career Academy, yeah?” Emery asks. 

“That’s correct,” Malia replies. “Top of my class, I specialize in sais and throwing knives.”

“That’s great,” Emery says. 

He snaps his fingers and his assistants rush to his side and he writes something down on one of the clipboards in their hands and they rush off. 

Emery walks over to Malia and he helps her off the bed and she stands in front of him and he inspects her.

“Yes, okay,” Emery says. “You’re district one, which means you come from a place of riches and luxury. So what I’m thinking is that for the Tribute Parade we portray you as sweet and innocent, the entirety of Panem saw you during the Reaping. It’s only a matter of time before they find out your connection to your district partner.”

“District one knows I’m the top of the Academy,” Malia states. “Sweet and innocent isn’t going to work.”

“District one knows,” Emery says. “The other districts don’t. The only person in that arena that would know you’re a threat will be your district partner. You showed a moment of weakness at the Reaping when Cal volunteered and the Capitol will try to exploit that weakness in every way possible. But if we roll with it, then the Capitol will genuinely think you’re not a threat until you get in that arena.”

Malia nods.

“So, we’re going to go with pink and-”

“Pink?” Malia asked, disgusted.

“It’s just for a few hours,” Emery tells her. “Enough to get you sponsors and to make a great first impression and then you won’t have to wear it again.”

“And what about Cal?” Malia asks.

“Cal has his own stylist, but his stylist and I try to coordinate our outfits,” Emery replies.

“Pink won’t cut it for him,” Malia states.

“Yes, which is why he won’t be wearing it,” Emery says.

He snaps his fingers and Xelda rushes over with two clipboards in hand. 

“This is your outfit,” Emery says, handing Malia the clipboard with a rough sketch of a dress design. “Sweet and innocent. Just like we hope to portray you as. Whereas, Cal…”

The second clipboard is laid on top of the current clipboard in Malia’s hands. 

“So he gets to be portrayed as the deadly one?” Malia asks.

“It’s the aura he gave off at the Reaping,” Emery replies. “Ready to slaughter the moment he jumped up on that stage.” 

“So the strong and deadly tribute and the sweet and innocent tribute,” Malia states. “Except it’s all a facade to get sponsors.”

“Correct,” Emery responds. “District two does the same first impression every year. I’m deadly at this, I’ll slaughter you because you said that. It gets tiring. Panem wants something new. You are going to be such a plot twist, Malia Wells, they won’t even see you coming.”

Malia stood in front of the Triple X team as they added some finishing touches to her Tribute Parade look. 

Xanthe puts her makeup brushes down and motions for everyone to step back as Malia steps up onto a small platform to look at herself in the mirror. 

Her hair was parted in a way where half of it cascaded down her back and the other side cascaded down the front of her body. 

There was a leather gown painted on her body like the light pink of the sky at sunrise, paired with a shoe just as delicate aside from the jagged edges of the heels that portrayed deadly fangs that alluded to the darker intentions hiding beneath the innocence. 

Her hands were given leather gloves of the same material as her gown that helped give a certain aura to her appearance. 

“Absolutely astonishing,” Emery says, walking in and clapping his hands.

“Astonishing indeed,” Jake replies, walking in behind him. “Definitely bound to get sponsors.”

“I feel like it’s missing something,” Emery says, rubbing his chin slightly in thought.

Xenon whispers into Emery’s ear and he nods along before smiling. 

“Right, thanks Xenon,” Emery tells him. “It completely slipped my mind.”

Malia watches as Emery excuses himself and steps outside the room. 

“Nervous?” Jake asks, helping Malia step off the platform.

“A little bit,” Malia replies. “This is meant to be my first proper introduction to Panem, I just don’t want to mess it up.”

“You won’t,” Jake tells her. “You got me rooting for you from the sidelines and Cal’s going to be by your side the entire time.”

“Thanks,” Malia smiles slightly. “I just.. I don’t think I can go back home once this is all over and face his family, you know? I mean, it’s either he dies and I win, or I die and he wins. They’ll be devastated either way, they were like family to me.”

“Do you not have a family of your own?” Jake asks. 

“My mother died in childbirth,” Malia explains. “And my father spent 15 years reminding me how I basically killed her because I decided to exist.”

“Well damn,” Jake responds.

“It’s whatever though,” Malia says. “He’s out of my life no matter what happens these next few days.”

“Alright!” Emery calls out, walking back into the room with a wooden box in his hands. “I figured out what’s missing to complete the outfit.”

Emery sets the wooden box down on the table and opens it up before pulling out a pink necklace with a giant diamond pendant. 

Jake takes a step back as his fists clench and unclench multiple times. 

“Is this some kind of joke?” Jake asks.

“No?” Emery responds. 

“You’ve got to be shitting me, right now,” Jake chuckles angrily, running his hands through his hair. “Whose brilliant idea was it? Huh?” 

“I don’t know what you’re referring to,” Emery replies, setting the necklace back down in the box. 

Jake grabs ahold of Emery and slams him up against the wall. 

“Don’t be fucking with me!” Jake exclaims. “Did Haymitch put you up to this?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Emery retorts.

“That’s Jade’s necklace,” Jake seethes. “ Why the fuck do you have it?”

“President Snow said he wanted Miss Wells to wear it,” Emery explains. “I had no idea it was Jade’s, I swear.”

“Why would President Snow want a random girl to wear Jade’s necklace?” Jake asks. 

“He didn’t say,” Emery replies. “I just do as I’m told.”

“I won’t wear the necklace,” Malia says. “Put him down, Jake.”

Jake sighs angrily before lowering Emery. 

“Miss Wells,” Emery says, clasping his hands together. “I know this is your first time here at the Capitol but you’ve got to understand something.”

“And what’s that?” Malia asks.

“What President Snow says, is what goes,” Emery replies. “If he wants you to wear the necklace. You have to wear the necklace.”

“No,” Malia responds. “It’s Jade’s necklace. I don’t know who she is but judging by Jake’s reaction she clearly means a lot to him.”

“Wear the necklace, Malia,” Jake sighs.

“What? No,” Malia tells him.

“This is all just a ploy to stir me up,” Jake says. “Throw me off my game so President Snow can have some pre-game entertainment from me.”

“Why would he-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jake says, cutting her off. “Just wear the necklace.”

“I’ll make sure to take good care of it,” Malia tells him and he just simply nods. 

“Right,” Emery says, clearing his throat. 

He takes the necklace back out of the box and places it around Malia’s neck before stepping back to admire his work. 

“There we go,” Emery smiles. “Now you’re ready to go.”

“Cal’s waiting for you outside,” Jake says, clearing his throat. “He’ll show you the way to the meet-up spot for all the tributes. Make sure to find some allies.”

Jake runs a hand through his hair before heading towards the door.

“Wait, where are you going?” Malia asks.

“To get some fresh air,” Jake replies. “I’ll be back to get you after the Tribute Parade is over.” 

Jake leaves the room and the door closes behind him.

“You’ll have to excuse him,” Emery says. “He’s still pretty traumatized from his Games.”

“I can tell..” Malia replies. “He’ll be okay, right?”

“Oh yeah,” Emery nods. “He’s Jake Griffin. The Last Titan. He’ll be fine once he does whatever it is he does to calm down.”

“This.. Jade person,” Malia begins. “Who was she?”

“I think it’s best you hear that from him,” Emery tells her. “You should get a move on, your tribute partner is waiting.”

Malia nods and makes her way out the door and surely enough, Cal was waiting for her. 

“Well don’t you just look–” Cal began.

“Stupid? Awkward? Uncomfortable?” Malia asks, cutting him off.

“I was going to say, beautiful,” Cal replies.

“It’s pink,” Malia scoffs. “I hate pink.”

“Well you do look sweet and innocent,” Cal replies. 

Cal’s outfit was a lot darker compared to hers.

“Where’s your mentor?” Cal asks, peeking around Malia to look.

“He had to step out,” Malia replies. “He had an outburst and needed to calm down.”

“Right, well,” Cal says, holding out his arm for her to take. 

Malia smiles and hooks her arm through his as he leads the way towards the elevators. 

“Jake says I have to make some allies,” Malia speaks up. “Did anybody catch your eye?”

“We’re Careers,” Cal states. “No doubt about it, district two will be taking charge of leadership.”

“And district two is?” Malia asks.

“Gloss gave me a brief introduction,” Cal replies. “You know, the basics. The male tribute is Lucius Mills, he’s eighteen.”

“Fun,” Malia responds, sarcastically.

“His district partner is Cleo Santos,” Cal adds. “She’s seventeen.”

“Great so that makes me the youngest,” Malia sighs.

“You might be the youngest of the Careers but you’re also the deadliest,” Cal tells her. 

“The four of us won’t be enough,” Malia states. “We should add at least two more people to the alliance.”

“District four?” Cal asks as the elevator doors open. 

“Maybe,” Malia replies, stepping out. “Let’s just scope out the competition before the parade starts and then discuss allies at training tomorrow.”

Cal nods in agreement before heading towards the chariots.

“So you’re district one, eh?” A voice asks. 

“That’s us,” Cal replies. “You must be Cleo, yeah?”

“So you heard about me,” Cleo chuckles. “Cool.”

“Don’t get too much of an ego, Cleo,” A voice says. “Their mentors must have shown them the taping of the Reaping in each of the districts.”

“Lucius, I presume?” Malia asks.

“In the flesh,” Lucius replies. “Where are your mentors, by the way. They’re supposed to be here.”

“Gloss is around here somewhere,” Cal responds, gesturing towards the crowd. “Malia’s mentor had to step out for a quick second.”

“He’ll be back though,” Malia quickly adds. “What about you, where’s yours?”

“Enobaria and Brutus,” Cleo says, pointing to a corner where their mentors stood. “Enobaria was hoping to speak to your mentors about the plan for sponsors.”

“Let’s just cut the bullshit,” Lucius cuts in. “I’m in charge.”

“Why are you in charge?” Cleo asks, whining. 

“Because frankly, I’m leader material,” Lucius replies. “I’m clearly the oldest and I have the skillset to lead this alliance.”

“Right, well,” Cal begins. “Malia and I were just talking about possible alliances. The four of us can get by but not for long. Strength in numbers.”

“Well we’re not adding district four,” Lucius chuckles, pointing at the two tributes. “Just look at them. They’re pathetic.”

Malia follows Lucius’s finger and watches as the male tribute and the female tribute get into a slight argument. 

“Maybe they’re just nervous,” Malia says.

“Are you joking right now?” Cleo laughs. “They’re a trainwreck. It’s a shame that last year’s victor is stuck mentoring them.”

“Last year? You mean-”

“Finnick O’Dair,” Cleo says, nodding.

“Holy shit,” Malia smiles.

“What?” Cleo asks. “Do you know him?”

“Malia is a huge fan of his Games,” Cal replies. 

“Who isn’t?” Cleo retorts. 

“He’s a Capitol favorite,” Malia states. “Allying with his tributes could mean lots of sponsors.”

“Will it though?” Cleo asks, scrunching her nose in disgust.

“Malia has a point,” Cal replies. “They probably already have so many sponsors for just having Finnick O’Dair as their mentor.”

“Maybe they’re not so bad,” Cleo shrugs. “Looks can be deceiving.”

“Well I’m not talking to them,” Lucius says.

“I will,” Malia tells him. “We have until the second day of training to fully confirm our alliance. If you don’t want them in the alliance by then, that’s fine. But you have to at least give them a shot.”

“I’ll sleep on it,” Lucius says before walking away and Cleo follows close behind.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Cal whispers slightly.

“Thanks for having my back,” Malia tells him, leading the way towards the district four tributes.

“Always,” Cal responds, following after. 

“Why is district one coming this way?” Kacey asks, looking over at Finnick with panic in her eyes. “What do we do?” 

“Act natural,” Finnick tells her before greeting Cal and Malia with a smile. “Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

Malia blushes slightly and fiddles with the top of her glove. 

“Cal Dynam,” Cal introduces, stretching out his hand towards the victor.

“Finnick O’Dair,” He replies, reaching out to shake it. “But you already knew that.”

“Did you need something or did you two just come to gawk over our mentor?” Alexander asks. 

“Alexander,” Finnick says, a scolding tone in his voice. “I’m sure Cal and.. I’m sorry I didn’t quite catch your name.”

“Malia,” Malia replies. “Malia Wells.”

“Malia,” Finnick repeats, her name rolling off his tongue with such elegance. 

“We were just discussing with Lucius and Cleo about possible allies,” Cal says, stepping in. “We were hoping district four might be interested?” 

“You want us?” Kacey asks. “Why?”

“Well, it’s not really official yet,” Cal replies. “Lucius and Cleo are still debating. But Malia and I do.”

Finnick’s sea-green eyes followed Malia’s every movement as she nodded in agreement, tracing the lines of her slender figure as if committing them to memory. He had seen many beautiful faces, but none had ever stirred such an overwhelming sense of admiration within him. She was not just beautiful; she was a masterpiece, a work of art that had been carefully crafted by the Capitol’s finest hands.

What intrigued Finnick even more was the contradiction within her. She hailed from a Career district, where ruthlessness and cunning were expected traits. Yet, as he watched her, there was a certain softness about her that set her apart from the other tributes. It was as if she carried a hidden innocence within, a glimmer of purity in the midst of darkness.

Finnick couldn’t help but let a small, almost imperceptible sparkle of admiration flicker in his eyes. He had been in the arena long enough to recognize strength and resilience when he saw it, and he sensed that Malia held a strength that went far beyond her innocent facade and a newfound curiosity stirred within him. There was something about her, something he couldn’t quite put into words, that had captured his heart.

“We’ll think about it,” Alexander responds.

Malia nods before excusing herself and walking away from the group.

Finnick watches as she approaches Jake who had just entered the room. 

“Kacey, Alexander, will you excuse us for just a moment?” Cal asks and the two shrug slightly before heading off to talk to more tributes.

“Your district partner–” Finnick begins.

“She’s my girlfriend,” Cal cuts him off.

“No, I know that,” Finnick says. “I wasn’t trying to hit on her or anything.”

“You wouldn’t be the first guy to do so,” Cal tells him. 

“I’m really sorry,” Finnick responds.

“No, it’s okay,” Cal says. “I’m not mad.”

“You’re not?” Finnick asks.

“Malia’s a wonderful girl,” Cal replies. “Sometimes I wonder how she ended up wanting to date me out of everyone in district one.”

“She’s gorgeous,” Finnick says.

“I know,” Cal responds. “She likes to paint when she’s in distress, and she’s always been a fan of the color red and I know she has the potential to win these Games.”

“So why’d you’d volunteer?” Finnick asks.

“Because I wanted to make sure she’s the one who goes home,” Cal replies. “I can’t protect her from the comfort of my home. Apollo– the guy I volunteered for– he would’ve killed her the first chance he got. With me by her side she’ll always have someone she can trust and can at least make it to the final two. I’ll do anything to protect her– sacrifice myself if I have to. Which is why I was hoping to make you a deal.”

“What kind of deal?” Finnick asks.

“If it comes down to that– me sacrificing myself to save her– promise me you’ll do whatever it takes to make sure she wins,” Cal replies. 

“I’m not her mentor,” Finnick responds. 

“No, but other districts can send sponsor gifts,” Cal replies. “Not to sound like an asshole but your tributes won’t stand a chance against Lucius. Malia does.”

“Why are you asking me this?” Finnick asks. “We barely know each other.”

“Because you see how special she is,” Cal replies. “Like I do.”

Finnick looks over at Malia and a small smile appears on his face. He looks back over at Cal who was gazing at Malia longingly. 

“It’s hard not to,” Cal says, his eyes not once leaving Malia. “And I’m not an idiot. I know only one person is getting out of that arena alive. I’ve only been dating her for three months, but I’d do literally anything for her. I saw the spark in your eyes when talking to her, I haven’t seen that spark in a long time. Except in my own eyes.”

“She’ll be heartbroken,” Finnick tells him.

“Yes,” Cal says. “But she’ll move on. Eventually. And she’ll find happiness again. Even if it isn’t with me and I’m okay with that. Cause if I die in that arena, then I’ll at least have the comfort that there are people like you and Jake who will make sure she survives.”

“You don’t know the type of person I am,” Finnick tells him.

“I watched you in your Games,” Cal says. “Malia’s a huge fan of them. But let’s be honest here, a lot of people are pretending to be things they are not. Take Jake for example, he acts all tough in public but he kinda has to. He’s known in the Capitol as The Last Titan– but it doesn’t hide the fact how truly lonely he is behind closed doors. It’s all a facade.”

“So what’s my facade?” Finnick asks.

“You’re the Capitol’s golden boy,” Cal replies. “Their prince. But you just want to find some peace in this world. A family.”

“And you got all that based on a single spark in my eyes?” Finnick asks.

“I’m very great at reading people,” Cal responds.

“So what’s your facade?” Finnick asks.

“My stylist thought it would be best to portray me as the usual Career type,” Cal replies. “Brutal. Vicious. Deadly.”

“And you’re not any of those things?” Finnick asks.

“Oh, I am,” Cal says. “I just think my love for Malia overshadows all that. Sure, I’m deadly with a sword. But there’s nothing more deadly than a guy who’s in love. The things I’d do to make sure Malia lives a long and happy life wasn’t something my mentor thought should be showcased for all of Panem to see. He thinks emotions overcloud judgment and that President Snow would find ways to exploit it for entertainment.”

“Cal, let’s go!” Malia calls out. “It’s about to start!”

“Promise me you’ll help do whatever it takes to get her out alive,” Cal says, grabbing Finnick’s arm. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” Finnick tells him.

Cal walks away and Malia quickly approaches Finnick.

“It was wonderful meeting you,” She tells him and Finnick smiles. 

“You as well, Malia,” Finnick says, his eyes lingering far too long as if he were taking in a piece of art at a gallery.

She goes to turn away and heads to her chariot when Finnick calls out her name.

“Yeah?” She asks, turning back to look at him.

“Don’t underestimate anyone.”

“Alright, Emery will be here soon to escort you to the hovercraft,” Jake says, watching as Malia looks around her quarters one last time. 

“I don’t normally do this,” Jake continues. “But, I will answer one question you have about anything. Just to ease your nerves.”

“Who’s Jade?” Malia asks almost immediately.

“Oh wow,” Jake chuckles. “Diving head first into my trauma, let’s go!”

“Sorry,” Malia responds.

“No, it’s okay,” Jake tells her. “Jade.. uh.. she was.. she was my twin.”

“Was?”

“She died,” Jake responds. “Four years ago. She and I were reaped together.”

“Shit,” Malia mutters.

“My parents died a week later,” Jake adds.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry,” Malia frowns.

“Don’t be,” Jake tells her. “You didn’t kill them.”

“So why do they call you ‘The Last Titan?’” Malia asks.

“Jade and I were the leaders of the Career pack,” Jake explains. “The Capitol called us: ‘The Twin Titans.’” Then she died and I was the last titan.”

“I’m so sorry, Jake,” Malia replies, giving him a hug.

Jake hesitates but eventually gives in.

“I can’t imagine what it’s like losing a twin,” Malia says, pulling away.

“It’s like losing a part of you,” Jake replies.

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road!” Emery calls out clapping his hands together. 

“Thank you for everything, Jake,” Malia says and Jake nods slightly, watching her follow after Emery.

Malia zipped up her jacket before securing the head wrap around her head.

“Do you not have a tribute token?” Emery asks, securing Malia’s hair into a high ponytail.

“Nope,” Malia sighs. “It’s not like I have anything back home worth remembering anyways. Besides, I didn’t really have much time to grab a tribute token if I did have one.”

“If you did have the time,” Emery says, stepping back to admire Malia. “What would you have grabbed?”

“I don’t know,” Malia replies.

“Doesn’t really matter though, does it?” Emery asks. 

“Not really,” Malia smiles slightly. “Thank you. For everything.”

“Just go out there and win,” Emery tells her. “Because when you return, I’ll have the perfect dress for your victory interview.”

Malia smiles before giving him a hug. 

“You’re going to kick ass, Malia Wells,” Emery tells her, hugging her back.

“Thirty seconds until launch,” a voice speaks.

Malia pulls away from Emery before stepping onto the platform and a glass tubing closes around her.

“Ten seconds until launch.”

Emery gives Malia two thumbs up before her platform slowly begins to rise. 

Malia covers her eyes as the sun shines brightly and she takes in her surroundings. Snow was covering every square inch from the pedestals to where the Cornucopia stood.

A big timer appeared on the Cornucopia, counting down and Malia made eye contact with every single one of her allies. 

Lucius and Cleo from district two.

Giselle and Anderson from district seven.

And lastly, Cal.

Alexander and Kacey declined the Career Alliance after one training session with Lucius. Malia wasn’t sure what he said to them exactly, but they said they’d rather go at it alone. 

Malia looks back at the Cornucopia with twenty seconds left on the timer and Malia had to squint to see what was inside. Right next to a sword was a pair of sais and on a crate next to them was a pack of throwing knives. Perfect.

10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5… 4… 3… 2… 1…

A gong sounds and Malia takes off running towards the Cornucopia. Chivonne Ashford– the female tribute from district ten– was the first tribute to reach the Cornucopia. She wasted no time running inside it to grab what she needed for herself and her allies before running away. 

Anderson reached the Cornucopia next– followed by Malia. She ran inside, grabbing the pair of sais off the wall and tossing a pack of throwing knives to Giselle. Cleo enters the Cornucopia and grabs her shaolin hook swords off the wall and runs back out. Malia rummages through the Cornucopia to look for another pack of throwing knives when she hears a tribute scream.

She spares a glance over her shoulder to see that Lucius had thrown his axe into the district three female’s back. Malia finds a pack of throwing knives and hooks it around her waist seeing a tribute approach the Cornucopia but Cal emerges from somewhere inside and stands next to her, sword in hand. 

Giselle stands on the other side of Malia and throws a knife at the tribute, hitting them in the shoulder.

“Where’s Cleo?” Cal asks, seeing Anderson retreat to the Cornucopia with a blood-stained spear. They see a flash of blonde hair and finally see that Cleo had slit the district three’s female tribute’s throat. 

In one swift motion, Anderson spins around and stabs Cal in the arm with his spear and Cal lets out a grunt. 

Malia’s eyes widened in shock before throwing her sais into the snow as Anderson ran off. 

“Giselle cover me,” Malia says, inspecting the knives in her pack.

Malia takes out a knife before glancing over at Cal. “You good?” 

Cal had removed the spear from his arm and nodded. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Malia looks at Anderson’s retreating figure and steps forward into the snow, readying her knife. She throws it and it hits him in the leg and he faceplants into the snow. Malia chuckles slightly and picks up her sais from the snow before looking at Giselle. 

“If he moves, you throw a knife,” She tells her.

Giselle nods and gets a knife ready as Malia approaches Anderson in the snow, a sai in each hand. Anderson reaches up and pulls the knife out of his leg and scrambles to his feet. He takes off towards the forest.

Malia clips her sais to her belt before pulling out another knife and throwing it at Anderson, hitting him in the arm.

Anderson falls to the ground and he looks behind him to see Malia approaching.

“Malia!” Anderson exclaims, raising a hand up as he scrambles to his feet.

Malia throws another knife and it grazes Anderson’s cheek and she kicks him onto his back. 

“You couldn’t have just ran away?” Malia asks. “You had to stab Cal?”

“You said it yourself, there can only be one winner,” Anderson replies. “So why does it matter?”

“He’s my boyfriend,” Malia states.

“And I’m your ally!” Anderson pleads.

“Were,” Malia corrects. “You were my ally. That ended the moment you stabbed Cal.”

“Can’t we just talk about this?” Anderson asks.

“Pick up your damn spear,” Malia tells him.

“What?”

“Pick up your damn spear and go down fighting like a Career instead of a fucking traitor.”

“You could just let me go,” Anderson tells her.

“No,” Malia responds. “I made it very clear from day one what would happen if anyone betrayed the alliance.”

“This ends when one of us stops breathing,” Malia added before swinging her sais at Anderson. 

Cal looks down at the person he just bumped into. He was looking amongst the bloodbath for any signs of Malia but he had no idea where she ran off to. 

The male tribute from district five begins to blindly stab at Cal, knowing he couldn’t be one of his allies. 

Cal sighs and dodges the boy’s eccentric stabbing motions, sustaining a few shallow wounds.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Cal says, rolling his eyes as he dodges another stab from the smaller boy. He pushes him off and unsheathes his sword before slashing widely across the boy’s body. The boy falls down and blood stains the snow beneath him. 

Cal, assuming he was dead, walks back to Giselle, who was currently raiding the Cornucopia for supplies. He looks around once more, trying to find the slightest glance of his ginger-haired girlfriend. 

He watches as Cleo follows a path of blood left in the snow by another tribute, but he doesn’t see Malia. Panic begins to set in. 

“Giselle, where’s Malia?” Cal asks.

Giselle looks up from the pack she was raiding and shrugs. 

“She’s still with Anderson, I think,” She replies before grabbing her knives and running after a group of allies who were preoccupied. She scurries back a few seconds later cradling her hand covered in blood. Her blood.

“What the hell happened to you?” Lucius asks.

“Stupid bladed yo-yo,” Giselle scoffs. 

“Where’s Malia and Cleo?” Lucius asks.

“I’m right here,” Cleo says. 

“Malia chased after Anderson,” Giselle explains.

“Let’s wait until she gets back before we head anywhere else.”

Malia brings one of her sais into Anderson’s leg and he screams. She walks towards him and he throws his spear at her.

She lets out a scream as it lodges into her arm and she stumbles back, dropping her sais. Malia looks over at Anderson as he picks up one of her knives.

“This ends when one of us stops breathing, remember?” Anderson taunts. 

Malia grabs ahold of the spear and tries to pull it out but it’s too lodged into her shoulder to be moved.

“Then do it,” Malia spat. “Cal will come for you.”

“By then, I’ll be long gone,” Anderson states. “It’s a shame he’ll never get to say goodbye.”

Anderson begins to throw the knife but it drops to the ground as a knife lodges itself into his hand. He hunches over in pain and Malia kicks him back and grabs the knife. In one swift motion, she slits his throat. 

“You alright?” Cal asks, running up to her. 

Malia nods before wrapping her hands around the spear in her shoulder. “A little help?”

“Ah shit, yeah,” Cal says before kicking Anderson’s body to the side. “Hang on.”

He grabbed a hold of the spear before looking at Malia. “On the count of 3, ready? 1… 2… 3…”

Cal pulls out the spear and Malia lets out a hiss of pain. 

“There,” Cal says, dropping the spear to the ground. 

“Thanks,” Malia smiles. 

“You know, for someone who talks about sticking together you sure didn’t hesitate to run after Anderson after he stabbed me,” Cal chuckles.

“Oh, my bad,” Malia says, picking up the spear. “Next time my boyfriend gets stabbed, I’ll make sure the person responsible gets away.”

She pushes him over into the snow and chuckles slightly when he gives her a slight pout. She hands him Anderson’s spear before picking up her knives and sais. 

“We should return to the others,” Malia says.

“Or we could just run off on our own,” Cal tells her, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Very funny,” Malia chuckles, rolling her eyes as she wipes the blood off her knives with Anderson’s jacket. “Because having Lucius and Cleo– who scored tens by the way– chasing us is guaranteed to get us killed.”

“You just killed someone who scored a nine,” Cal says, standing up before poking Anderson’s body with the spear. “Sorry, I thought I saw him move.”

“We can go off on our own after Lucius and Cleo have been dealt with,” Malia tells him. “Until then the alliance is our best chance at survival.”

The two retreated back to the Cornucopia where the rest of the alliance was waiting. 

“There you two are!” Cleo exclaims. “Lucius was beginning to think you two dipped and ran off.”

“Oh please,” Malia scoffs, clipping her sais to her belt. “I literally just killed someone for trying to leave this alliance.”

“Damn,” Lucius sighs. “I actually liked Anderson.”

“Well he’s dead now,” Malia tells him, taking a pack from Giselle. 

“Where are we headed?” Cal asks, flinching slightly when five cannons go off.

“Let’s move north,” Lucius replies. “There’s no use waiting around dead bodies all day when we raided all the good stuff.”

Lucius leads the way and the rest of the alliance follows behind. They trudge through the snow and Lucius stops seeing two buildings in the distance.

“Well, what will it be?” Cleo asks. “Santa’s Workshop? Or the stables?” 

“Is this arena meant to be based off the North Pole?” Giselle snickers. “Is there a Candy Forest too?”

“Probably,” Cleo replies. “Well?”

“Santa’s Workshop is most likely rigged with traps,” Lucius states, leading the alliance towards the smaller building before stopping.

“What now?” Cleo hisses under her breath.

“There’s another alliance inside,” Lucius says. “I can hear them.”

Lucius opens the doors to the stables before rushing into an empty stall and the alliance quickly follows behind. 

“So why aren’t we fighting them?” Cleo asks.

“Don’t be a dumbass,” Lucius replies. “We don’t know how many people are in that alliance. Let’s just wait here.”

“He’s right,” Giselle says. “If we don’t pick a fight with them, they won’t pick a fight with us.”

“Yeah, in any other situation,” Cal retorts. “This is the Hunger Games. Let’s just set up shifts just in case.”

Lucius glares slightly at Cal before setting his pack down and plopping down on the floor. 

“What are we going to do to pass time?” Giselle asks, sitting across from Malia and Cal. 

“Hey, if we all check our packs maybe if we’re lucky enough the Gamemakers decided to pack us a board game,” Cal says causing Malia to laugh. 

“Right, because the Gamemakers packed board games because the Career alliance was bored,” Cleo scoffs, rolling her eyes before sitting down next to Lucius.

Cal opened his arms and Malia snuggled closer to him and he draped his arm around her, securing her to his chest in an attempt to keep her warm.

“So you two are dating,” Giselle says, looking at Cal and Malia. “Why did you volunteer?”

Lucius perks up, interested in what the younger boy had to say.

“I mean, Malia was reaped,” Giselle explains. “If she won, she could have come back and you two could have moved into the Victor’s Village together. Volunteering when only one comes out alive kind of puts a strain on your relationship, don’t you think?”

“Volunteering has always been my plan,” Cal says. “Malia being reaped just.. makes winning seem less likely.”

“And why’s that?” Lucius asks. 

“Because hopefully I go down before I’m even faced with the possibility of her and I being in the finale,” Cal replies.

“You’re that confident in her?” Cleo asks. 

“She scored a ten, didn’t she?” Cal replies.

“Guys,” Malia speaks up. “I’m right here.”

“With Anderson dead, our alliance is uneven,” Giselle says. “What are our shifts supposed to look like?”

“Malia and I can take the first shift,” Cal states.

“Cleo and I can take the second,” Lucius adds.

“I guess I’ll join one of you on your shifts while the other two sleep,” Giselle suggests.

“You can join us,” Malia says.

Giselle nods.

“Right well, first shift starts now,” Lucius tells them, curling into a ball on the floor.

“No funny business,” Cleo warns.

“When you say funny business, what does that pertain to?” Cal asks.

Giselle kicks Cal’s foot as her and Malia snicker slightly.

Cal smirks slightly as he takes a drink from the canteen in his hand.

“Choke and die,” Cleo tells him, glaring slightly as she curls up to go to sleep.

“Well that’s not very nice,” Cal frowns.

“When she stabs you, I’ll let her,” Malia chuckles.

“Oh the betrayal,” Cal says, feigning hurt as he throws his palm on his head and throws his head back.

After a couple of hours, Malia hears some rustling from the loft above and she pulls herself out of Cal’s arms.

He had accidently fallen asleep at some point and Malia didn’t want to wake him up so she just let him sleep, preferring to listen to his heartbeat close to her ear as he slept.

She picks up a knife before peeking out of the stall, the knife gripped tightly in her hand. She quickly rushes to the next empty stall right across from the other alliance and she watches as Astrid Luca and Lotus Miller– both from district nine– move around quietly. They moved the weapons away from their sleeping allies and Malia’s eyes widened in shock as Astrid stabbed a sleeping Kacey. 

A cannon sounds immediately, and Amber Nelson– district eight– who had the wherewithal to sleep with one of her knives secured in her hand, springs up immediately. She sees Astrid standing over Kacey’s dead body and Lotus standing over her own, scythe in hand.

Without missing a beat, Amber rolls out from underneath him and brings her knife into his neck. A cannon sounds and she grabs her pack she grabbed from the Cornucopia and runs out of the stables. Astrid was frustrated that her and Lotus’s plan failed. She quickly gathers up her sword and pitchfork and slings the remaining pack onto her back, running out into the cold night in the opposite direction of Amber. 

Cal jolted awake at the sound of the first cannon and he immediately looked around the stall at his allies. 

Lucius? Check.

Cleo? Check.

Giselle? Check. 

Malia? Where was Malia?

The second cannon goes off and Cal scrambles to his feet.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck,” Cal curses. 

He grabs his sword and steps out of the stall to see two figures running in opposite directions outside the stables. He unsheathes his sword and starts heading towards one of the figures when a pair of hands grab his arm and yanks him inside a stall.

Cal spins around and shoves the person against the wall of the stall, his sword pressed against their throat.

“Woah woah woah,” Malia cries out, raising her hands in the air. “It’s just me!” 

Her breath hitches in her throat as she looks up at Cal, fear inevitably in her eyes. Cal quickly puts his sword away and he pulls Malia into a tight hug. 

“What the fuck happened?” Cal asks, pulling away to look at Malia.

“The alliance that was in the loft? Yeah, that was Kacey, Amber, Lotus and Astrid,” Malia replies. “Well, it was. Lotus and Astrid had this plan to betray the alliance. Astrid killed Kacey in her sleep but before Lotus could kill Amber, she killed him.”

“Shit,” Cal mutters. 

“We should hurry up and get back,” Malia says, grabbing his hand and rushing back to the stall where their alliance was. 

The two walked in and Lucius was staring right at them.

“Where did you two go?” Lucius asks, raising a brow.

“The other alliance broke off,” Malia replies. “I watched the whole thing unfold.”

“Right,” Lucius says, stretching. “Your shift is over, Cleo and I will take over.”

Malia nods slightly and sits back down next to Cal. He lays down and Malia curls up next to him and he drapes his arm around her. 

Lucius watches as they slowly drift off to sleep, his spear in hand as he leans his head back on the wall.

“We don’t stand a chance, you know that right?” Cleo whispered, her breath barely audible. “Not with those two always hovering around each other. We don’t know for sure if they were actually watching the other alliance fall apart. They could’ve been plotting.”

Lucius spared a quick glance at Cal and Malia, wrapped up in each other’s embrace. “Then explain the two cannons.”

“Coincidence?” Cleo suggested.

Lucius gestured towards Giselle, who was sleeping nearby.

“What about Giselle? Is she in on it too, then?”

“Not sure,” Cleo replied. “Haven’t really figured her out yet. I mean, Anderson was her district partner, and he left the alliance during the bloodbath. Who’s to say she was in on that but backed out once Malia went after him.”

Lucius tilted his head, casting a scrutinizing gaze towards Giselle’s peaceful slumber.

“Cal and Malia don’t trust anyone in this alliance besides each other,” Cleo said firmly. “They’re going to sneak off eventually. Then what?”

“We kill them,” Lucius declared.

“Astrid and Lotus literally just tried that with their alliance,” Cleo retorted, rolling her eyes.

“Yes, and it failed,” Lucius said, a cold determination in his voice. “We’re better than them. We won’t fail.”

Cleo watched as Lucius stood up, and he helped her to her feet. He handed her the shaolin hook swords, and she gripped them tightly.

“What about Giselle?” Cleo asked, raising a brow as she took the weapons.

Lucius flashed a sinister grin. “The cannons will wake her, so she’ll scurry away. But nothing a quick chase won’t fix.”

Malia’s eyes remained half-open, her fingers subtly brushed against the hidden knife concealed within her sleeve. She fucking knew it.

When they approached her and Cal, thinking they were asleep, Malia sprang into action.

With a lightning-fast movement, she withdrew the concealed knife from her sleeve and slit Cleo’s throat. A sharp gasp escaped Cleo’s lips, but the sound was swiftly silenced as a cannon shot through the night, signaling her demise.

Lucius barely had time to react before Malia released a second knife from her other sleeve, jabbing it into his leg. He cried out in pain, jolting Giselle and Cal awake.

Malia tackled Lucius to the ground, her strength and determination overpowering him momentarily. Their fierce struggle ensued, but Malia managed to get the upper hand. However, just as she was about to deliver a final blow, Lucius broke free and staggered to his feet. He gave her a furious glare and then turned and fled into the darkness, leaving a trail of blood behind him.

Giselle and Cal scrambled to their feet, wide-eyed and terrified, as the alliance crumbled in a flurry of betrayal and violence. Malia stood panting, her heart pounding.

“Holy shit, Malia,” Giselle gasps, looking at the pool of blood that began to appear due to Cleo.

“We need to move,” Malia says, gathering up her things.

“And go where?” Cal asks. “There’s nowhere else to go this late at night.”

“We can’t stay here,” Malia replies, frantically. “He’ll come back!”

“Malia, breathe,” Cal tells her.

Malia shakes her head frantically as she begins to hyperventilate. “We need to get her body outside, so the hovercraft can pick it up.”

“I’ll do it,” Giselle says, grabbing a hold of Cleo’s legs and dragging her outside. 

Cal pulls Malia close to his chest and she clings to him, trying to catch her breath.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Malia sits in the loft of the stables and runs a hand through her hair. After Lucius and Cleo’s betrayal– Malia, Cal, and Giselle moved out of the empty stall and moved to one of the many lofts inside the stables. It granted them the ability to see everything from below while being concealed behind stacks of hay. 

Malia peeks below the loft, checking to make sure the loud banging noise that was causing such a commotion was coming from the reindeers.

It wasn’t.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Giselle and Cal wake up startled by the constant banging.

“What is that awful banging?” Giselle whines, rubbing her eyes as she sits up.

Cal stretches before he looks around.

“I’m not sure,” Malia answers. “It just started.”

Malia stands up as tall as she can in the loft, Cal and Giselle stand too, dusting off the hay from their clothes.

The three of them gather at the window of the loft, trying to catch a glimpse outside. 

“Can any of you see anything,” Malia asks, slightly frustrated as she stands on her tiptoes. 

“Kind of, it’s big and brown and has horns, I think,” Giselle answers, squinting.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Cal chuckles. He moves Giselle out of the way and sticks his head out the window to get a closer look.

“Watch him get stuck,” Giselle snickers and Malia laughs.

Cal sticks his head back inside and shoots a playful glare at Malia and Giselle.

“It’s a moose. Rabid too.”

“Well it’s upsetting the reindeer,” Giselle says.

“That’s not the point,” Malia tells her, earning a look from Cal. “If that rabid animal gets in here, it’ll infect the reindeer, or worse, us.”

“Okay, how about this,” Giselle begins, putting down her knives. “We drop a hay bale on it, and if either of us are lucky, we can kill it with a knife.”

“If either of us are lucky,” Cal snorts slightly, clasping a hand on Malia’s shoulder. “Malia never misses a target.”

“Good for her,” Giselle says.

“It’s a better plan than anything I would’ve come up with,” Malia says, grabbing a set of knives. “Come on, Giselle.”

Malia climbs down the ladder with Giselle following behind and they leave the stables. Cal picks up a hay bale before dropping it down on the moose below. 

The moose makes a startled noise and backs up before looking around confused. It lets out a screech as a knife lodges itself into its body. It grew angrier and angrier with every new knife that sunk into its body. 

Malia waits for the perfect angle before and then throws her last knife, hitting the moose in the head. It drops to the floor, twitching, its blood staining the snow. 

Cal appears behind the two girls.

“Nice aim!” Cal exclaims, proudly. “Now I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

“What?” Giselle asks.

Cal lays their packs down in front of him. 

“We’re out of food and water,” He sighs, placing his hands on his hips.

Malia sighed before walking over to the dead moose and retrieving her knives. 

“We can come back here later,” Malia says, cleaning off the blood on her jacket sleeve. “For now, let’s head south.”

The three of them trudged through the snow, hoping to find some place in the arena that would solve their current situation. The Workshop would have been their best bet but with the alliance inside, it would have been considered trespassing and they most likely were outnumbered.

“Wait, what’s that?” Giselle asks, stopping in her tracks and looking around.

“What’s what?” Malia responds, hearing the distant sound of a whistle.

Three parachutes land in the snow next to them and Giselle goes to retrieve them.

“Malia,” Giselle announces, reading off the name on the first parachute.

Malia takes the parachute from Giselle and opens the box attached to it and a note slips out.

the show must go on!

-j

Healing balm was lying inside the box and Malia reached inside and took it out. The wound she had received from Anderson the previous day had put a strain on her shoulder so she was grateful to Jake for sending her something to help.

She sits down on a rock and unzips her jacket, taking it off. She pulls down her sleeve so the wound from Anderson’s spear is visible and she wrinkles her nose at the sight of it. She quickly applies the healing balm before putting her jacket back on and glancing around at her allies.

Cal was applying his own healing balm to the stab wounds he had received during the Cornucopia Bloodbath and Giselle was wrapping a new set of bandages around her injured fingers. 

Malia makes eye contact with Cal for a split second before looking away and clearing her throat. 

“We should keep moving,” Malia declares.

Without a single disagreement, the trio continues walking south when they suddenly hear ragged breathing heading towards them. Standing on guard, they are ready to attack when Amber appears in front of them. She’s been running away from the Cornucopia, so worried about who was behind her that she didn’t bother to look ahead.

Amber stops short when she sees Cal, Malia, and Giselle. Her knife is still in her hand and acting purely out of fear, without thinking, she throws the knife. It lands in Giselle’s stomach and she drops to the ground, bleeding profusely.

Shocked, Malia and Cal spring into action.

They pounce, Cal with his sword and Malia with her knives.

Amber tries to reach into her pack and grab another knife, but unfortunately, she isn’t fast enough. Cal sinks the blade of his sword into her gut, all the way to the hilt and the tip of his blade protrudes from Amber’s back.

A cannon sounds.

Cal removes the blade and Amber falls to the ground, her eyes still open wide with fear.

Cal and Malia turn their attention to Giselle, then. She’s still lying in the snow, bleeding from her middle, and her eyes have glossed over. Her breathing is shallow and blood trickles from the corner of her mouth.

“One strip of gauze isn’t going to fix a wound like that,” Malia says, sadly. She and Cal stay by Giselle’s side until her cannon sounds. Malia drops to her knees and closes Giselle’s eyes.

Malia picks up Giselle’s pack of knives before standing up.

“Really?” Cal asks.

“What?” Malia shrugs. “She’s dead. It’s not like she’ll be needing them.”

Cal shakes his head and chuckles slightly when Malia heads over to Amber’s dead body and takes her pack as well.

“Should we head back?” Cal asks. “Or trudge forward into the great unknown?”

Malia adds the knives to her pack and sighs, looking back and forth between Amber’s dead body and Giselle’s dead body.

“Let’s just head back,” Malia says, leading the way back towards the stables. She didn’t want to continue forward and have her or Cal suffer the same fate as Giselle.

She climbs back into the loft and sits down behind a hay bale, staring at one of Giselle’s knives in her hand. 

“You okay?” Cal asked, climbing into the loft next to her.

“I used to think these Games were the best thing ever created,” Malia sighs, not once lifting her gaze from the knife in her hand. 

“And now?” Cal asks.

“Now, I’m not so sure,” Malia replies. “I thought killing Anderson would make me feel better about his betrayal. But I don’t feel better. I feel worse. Same with Cleo.”

“You going out of your way to kill Anderson, protected this alliance,” Cal tells her. “Who knows what would have happened if you didn’t.”

“Giselle still died,” Malia states.

“Accidents happen,” Cal tells her. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Cleo’s dead too,” Malia reminds him. “That was entirely my fault and Lucius got away.”

“But you saved me,” Cal points out. “Doesn’t that count for something?”

“I’m only delaying the inevitable,” Malia counters.

“Don’t think about that,” Cal tells her. “Think about–”

“Think about what?” Malia asks, cutting him off mid sentence. “Family? Cal, my mother died in childbirth. My father spent fifteen fucking years letting me know that it was my fault. I don’t have a family. I don’t have anyone.”

“You have me,” Cal tells her.

“Yeah, but for how long?” Malia counters. “ How long until another tribute comes along and decides to take you too? What then?”

“Then I die,” Cal replies. “Everyone’s got to go at some point, Malia. You and I both know that if either one of us has a chance of getting out of this arena alive, it’s you.”

“See, that’s the point,” Malia sighs. “You might think it’s worth it to die, but it’s not. Losing Giselle is one thing. But if I ever lost you, I’d lose my damn mind. I don’t want to win these Games if it means killing you or watching you die. What am I to gain from winning? Going back home? Whereas you can go back to your family, meet someone new and start a family of your own.”

“I’ve already met the one I want,” Cal tells her.

Malia shakes her head. “Cal, don’t.”

“You see this?” Cal asks, reaching beneath his shirt and pulling out the necklace that had been hiding beneath it. It was a plain string but it had a golden key with a red pendant attached to it. “It’s my tribute token.”

“What’s so special about it?” Malia asks. “I’ve never seen it before.”

“I had it specially made back home,” Cal replies.

“What for?” Malia asks.

“It opens my box of secrets,” Cal tells her, putting it back underneath his shirt.

“You have a box of secrets?” Malia asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Doesn’t everyone?” Cal asks.

“No,” Malia replies, turning to look out the window. 

Cal and Malia take turns keeping watch from the window of the hay loft. They’re growing restless, not wanting to stay put but also not wanting to go out and pick fights with alliances that could easily outnumber them. It’s nearly midday when two parachutes fly in through the hay loft window. 

They have a small feast as they wait another hour or so before a small single figure appears among the white snow.

Astrid.

“Malia, look,” Cal says, pointing her out.

She’s alone. 

The perfect target.

“What do you think she’s doing out there?” Malia wonders aloud. “It’s pretty dumb since she has no allies.”

“Maybe that’s what she’s looking for,” Cal suggests. “But she murdered her last allies. Normally I would say there’s strength in numbers, but not for her.”

“She’s not going to just go away,” Malia tells him. “Let’s go.”

Malia grabs her sais and hands Cal his sword followed by a couple of knives before climbing down the ladder and descending into the main section of the stables, lying in wait for Astrid.

Astrid opens the big wooden door of the stables and walks into the warmth. She’s cautious, moving as slowly and quietly as she can but unfortunately, Malia and Cal already know she’s there. 

“Nice of you to join us,” Malia says, appearing from behind the stall door. Cal emerges from an adjacent stall and Astrid freezes, tensing up.

What has she just walked into?

The two Careers close the door to the stables and turn to face Astrid. 

Cal circles around and feeds a handful of hay to one of the reindeer and it grunts in appreciation. He pets its head, his other hand securely wrapped around the hilt of one of his swords. Astrid decides to go out on a limb, she is looking for allies, after all. 

“Glad to be here,” She replies, nonchalantly. “Actually, I have a proposition for you both.”

She puts her sword down to show that she’s non-threatening and puts both hands up in the air. “Allies?” 

She reaches out her right hand to shake with Malia, who happens to be the closest to her. 

Malia scoffs and Cal laughs. They share a knowing look. 

“Allies?” Malia looks at Astrid like she’s crazy. “After what you did to poor little Kacey?” 

Astrid looks shocked that someone knows of her betrayal but then puts two and two together– it must have been Cal and Malia who entered the stables that night. 

“We were here,” Cal says, advancing towards Astrid as well, confirming her suspicions. “We heard everything. That’s pretty low, especially coming from an outlier like you. So thanks, but no thanks.”

Astrid feels her mouth go dry. 

“Well, pick up your sword. Or your pitchfork, whichever,” Malia taunts her. “We don’t like to kill someone without giving them a fighting chance.” 

Astrid is shocked. She reaches back and pulls her pitchfork from her pack, preferring the feel of the wooden handle of the familiar tool in her hands over the cold metal of the sword. Once she’s stood back up again, Malia strikes at her, her sais in both hands. 

Astrid is able to deflect the first couple of blows from Malia with the handle of her pitchfork but once Cal joins the fight, she knows she’s only biding her time. 

A few more stabs from Malia and a swipe from Cal and Astrid is on the ground in the hay. Malia is closing in, her sais welded menacingly, and in a last-ditch effort, Astrid throws her pitchfork towards the girl. She moves out of the way easily but the pitchfork still grazes her shoulder. It doesn’t seem to phase her though, and Malia laughs. 

“Is that all?” Malia asks, using her foot to pin down Astrid and the smaller girl struggles beneath her. “You know, your former ally, the one you betrayed? She killed Giselle. And we don’t take too kindly to that.”

“Can you hurry up? I want to eat dinner,” Cal yawns, watching as Malia uses her knife to carve into Astrid’s skin. Astrid screams herself hoarse and the reindeer begin grunting in agitation at the disruptive noises. After nearly half an hour, Astrid’s cannon sounds. 

“We need to put traps on that door,” Malia says, pocketing her knife. “We can’t keep having people wandering in.”

Cal walks over to Malia and takes her hands into his own.

“What are you doing?” Malia asks.

“Living in the moment,” Cal replies, pulling her close to him and he sways the both of them back and forth as he hums a tune. Cal spins her around and Malia can’t help but laugh.

“Don’t you think this is a bit ridiculous?” Malia asks.

“What? Dancing?”

“Dancing with no music.”

“Well it’s not like we can get a radio in here from a sponsor.”

“True.”

“We should get some sleep,” Cal murmurs. “I’ll take the first watch.”

“Cal, no,” Malia protests. “You did a double shift last night, let me take the first watch.”

“Fine,” Cal reluctantly agrees. “But do not take a double shift.”

“No promises,” Malia tells him.

“I mean it,” Cal says, sitting down. 

“Okay, okay,” Malia groans.

“Say I, Malia Wells, will not do a double shift, otherwise the handsome Cal Dynam will wake up very angry,” Cal tells her.

“I am not saying that,” Malia says, kicking him slightly.

“Please? For me?” Cal asks.

“No,” Malia replies, whacking his arm. “Go to sleep.”

Cal salutes before laying down, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he slowly drifts to sleep. “I love you, Malia.”

Malia’s breath hitches in her throat and she turns her head away from him and watches the stable doors. Her and Cal couldn’t stay in the stables forever, someone was bound to make sure of it. They were lucky tributes made the mistake of stumbling into the stables, otherwise the Gamemakers would have killed her and Cal for sure.

They hadn’t been putting on a good show ever since Lucius’s betrayal and despite all that she’s done, Cal loved her. They had been dating for three months and neither of them had even the slightest courage to say the word. But Cal just did and it plagued her mind. 

Chivonne sat huddled up inside the Cornucopia with Harvey Zea from district twelve– who was barely hanging onto life and was half asleep.

Chivonne had not slept at all since the death of her ally the previous night. The death of her fallen ally doing nothing but replaying over and over in her mind. She looks over at Harvey who begins to mumble words.

Careers. North. Snowbanks.

Chivonne wasn’t exactly sure how Harvey knew where the Careers resided but she was desperate for any information she could get. She had seen Anderson and Cleo’s face in the sky the first night, followed by Giselle’s the following night. There were three Careers out there and with Cleo dead– she was going to take a hypothetical guess that Lucius ran off.

“They went north of the Cornucopia?” Chivonne asks Harvey. 

“Yeah, there’s two buildings up there,” Harvey replies. “I think they’re in the smaller one.”

“You know,” Chivonne says. “I don’t know how to break Malia. But Cal on the other hand, he’s breakable.”

“How so?” Harvey asks, sitting up. 

“He’s strong but he has two fears,” Chivonne states. “Losing Malia.”

“Obviously,” Harvey scoffs.

“And fire,” Chivonne adds.

“Fire?”

“I saw him visibly shaking while holding a match during training. Must be some unresolved trauma there.”

“I still don’t get what you’re trying to say,” Harvey sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“We need sponsors,” Chivonne tells him. “What better way to do that than by killing a Career and traumatizing another? Or if we’re lucky, we’d kill both.”

“Chivonne, there’s no way we’ll be able to defeat Cal,” Harvey says, panic setting in. “Have you seen him!?”

“Look, we set the building on fire, if we’re lucky, it’ll draw them out and we can kill them,” Chivonne explains. 

“This is a suicide mission,” Harvey states.

“That’s why Malia is our target,” Chivonne counters.

“Cal will squash us like a bug,” Harvey tells her.

“Listen,” Chivonne continues, agitated. “We kill Malia, he’s left vulnerable.”

“ Or he’s going to want to avenge her and kill us both,” Harvey retorts. 

“Fine,” Chivonne sighs. “If it’ll make you feel any better, you can take care of Malia and I’ll take care of Cal.”

“Fine,” Harvey says and the two start to strategize a plan.

Malia hears two parachutes land in the snow outside the loft window and she leans over to shake Cal awake. 

“Hey, wake up, come on,” Malia tells him.

The two climb down and trudge through the snow to get their gifts and Malia crouches down to retrieve hers. 

More food.

She looks over at Cal who was sitting in the snow and opening his sponsor gift like a kid at Christmas. She sighed.

She didn’t like not having a plan.

“So, we’re just going to keep ignoring what’s at stake here?” Malia asks.

Cal looks up at Malia, an eyebrow raised in confusion.

“Look around, Cal,” Malia exclaims. “Hunger Games. One winner.”

“Can we not talk about this right now?” Cal says, standing up.

“You and I both know how this is supposed to go,” Malia tells him. “Either I kill you or you kill me, and goddammit Cal, I don’t want to kill you!”

“Well neither do I!” Cal argues back.

“I’m not fucking worth it, just give up!”

“Bullshit!”

Cal watches as Malia pulls out one of her knives and he rushes forward and smacks it out of her hand. 

“Stop!” Cal pleads.

Malia pushes him off but Cal doesn’t budge. He grabs ahold of her arms and pushes her up against the wall of the stables. He holds her there as she continues to thrash against him. “Just kill me!”

“Malia, stop!” Cal pleads again. “Please.”

His face hovers above hers and he leans in, pressing his lips against hers but Malia turns her head away and Cal steps back, heartbroken.

“Do you even realize what you’re asking me to do?” Cal asks her, his voice cracking. “You’re asking me to kill you, Malia!”

“Because I’m not–” Malia began.

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” Cal cuts her off, cupping her face in his hands. “Listen to me. You are worth it. You might not think so. But you are. You’re worth everything and I know there’s a part of you that wants to win. But you can’t ask me to kill you. Not when I can save you.”

“I’m sorry,” Malia tells him, he shakes his head and presses a kiss to her forehead. He was angry with her and he had every right to be. 

Cal begins to work on setting traps on the stable doors and Malia joins him but not a single word is spoken until they are relaxing in the loft again.

“I said I was sorry,” Malia tells him, cutting the tension between the two.

“Sorry doesn’t make up for you trying to kill yourself, Malia,” Cal replies bitterly, looking out the window.

“If we weren’t dating this would be a whole different situation,” Malia sighs.

“Maybe for you,” Cal tells her. “Dating or not, I still wouldn’t have killed you.”

“What happens when we’re the last two left?” Malia asks for the umpteenth time. “One of us has to go.”

“Well it damn sure isn’t going to be you,” Cal grunts.

“So that’s how it’s going to be?” Malia scoffs. “You dying for me?”

“That’s been my plan since The Reaping,” Cal confesses. “It’s a better option than watching you die.”

“Are you even hearing yourself?”

“I volunteered for these Games to make sure you had someone to trust,” Cal told her. “I’ve made peace with dying so you can live.”

“And what about me?” Malia asks.

“I just said–”

“Did anything I tell you the other night even mean anything to you?” Malia continues. “I will lose my mind, if you die. I’m not ready.”

“Ready for what?” Cal asks.

“To say goodbye,” Malia says. “I said goodbye to my mother. I said goodbye to Giselle. I won’t say goodbye to you too.”

“Then don’t,” Cal tells her. “Say you love me.”

“Cal–”

“Say you love me, Malia.”

Voices outside the stables pull their attention and Malia quickly grabs her weapons. 

“Relax, the traps will get them,” Cal tells her. 

As if on cue, the traps went off. But something wasn’t right.

Malia climbs down from the loft and walks towards the stable doors, opening them. 

“Malia, no!” Cal calls out and yanks her away from the door, wrapping his arms around her protectively just as a piece of wood is thrown inside, landing where she previously stood.

Malia’s breath hitched in her throat.

“You okay?” Cal asks and Malia nods. 

Cal moved one of his hands to his sword and let go of Malia, stepping out of the shadows, he pulled his sword out of the sheathe and threw it at the two tributes outside in pure anger.

He hears the sound of his sword hitting flesh and bone and a cannon sounds. He hears Chivonne scream out Harvey’s name but quickly runs out. Cal is about to head after her when Malia grabs his arm. 

“We got to go!” Malia tells him, watching as the stables began to light up in flames. She scrambles up the ladder and starts tossing their things out the window as Cal starts unlatching the stall doors, freeing the reindeers inside.

“Malia, let’s go!” Cal calls out to her from below and she scrambles down the ladder and Cal takes her hand, rushing outside the stables.

He walks over to Harvey’s dead body and yanks his sword out.

“Hey, Malia,” Cal calls. “Wasn’t this dude allied with the girl from district ten?” 

“Yeah,” Malia replies. “Chivonne, I think was her name.”

“Well I know who I’m killing next.”

“It’s only us two and Lucius,” Malia says, the music from ‘The Fallen’ fading out.

“We need to split up,” Cal tells her and Malia stares at him in disbelief. 

“What? No. Cal, that’s crazy,” Malia responds.

“Malia, think about it,” Cal says. “Let’s say we do end up killing Lucius together. The Capitol still needs one tribute to crown as the Victor.”

“You survived this long,” Cal continues. “You are stronger than you think you are. No amount of training scores can ever describe that.”

“I killed Cleo because she wanted to kill us in our sleep,” Malia tells him. “Lucius wants to kill me just for ending Cleo’s life.”

“So? You carved up Astrid,” Cal replies. “That just goes to prove how badass you are.”

Cal brings a hand to Malia’s cheek before caressing it with his thumb and Malia sighs. 

“Why’d you have to volunteer?” Malia frowns. “If it was anyone back home here instead of you, this would be a whole lot easier.”

“You were reaped, Malia,” Cal reminds her. “I only volunteered because Apollo wouldn’t have hesitated to kill you the moment the alliance was proven useless.”

“I’m sure your reasoning was very thoughtful,” Malia says. “But it was stupid.”

“Which is why we should split up,” Cal replies and Malia shakes her head.

“Lucius will have a harder time finding us,” Cal continues. “He can’t chase both of us.”

“It also leaves us vulnerable,” Malia replies. “The only reason we’ve survived this long is because we stuck together. We always had each other’s backs.”

“This isn’t any different than that,” Cal responds. 

“It is definitely different than that,” Malia counters, reaching into her pack for more bandages. “Shit, I think the other pack we stored away in the loft of the stables was still there when it burned down.”

“I’ll go find some,” Cal sighs, standing up. 

“No,” Malia says, standing up and pushing Cal down on a chair. “Stay here. I’ll get it.”

She glares at him slightly before heading to a random door in the Workshop. She looks around the room, rummaging through things until she finds a clean pack of bandages. 

She closes the door behind her and smiles as she turns around but her smile instantly fades when the chair she had left Cal in was empty. 

“Cal?” Malia calls out. 

Nothing. 

“Cal!?” Malia calls out again, slightly louder. 

She could hear the sound of metal clashing against metal followed by a few thuds down what sounded like a flight of stairs and she immediately dropped the pack to the floor. Malia quickly runs over to the giant workshop table and picks up her knife pack, clipping it around her waist, before picking up her sais. 

“Cal! Cal, answer me!” Malia cries out as she frantically searches the room. Her heart races as she spots a broken figure at the bottom of the stairs. 

“Cal..?” Malia calls out once more.

“Malia..” Cal wheezes, his voice barely audible. 

Malia rushes down the stairs and gasps in horror at the sight before her. Cal’s body is twisted and battered, blood pooling around him.  A knife had been lodged into his chest, most likely piercing Cal’s heart.

“Oh, Cal…” Malia sobs as she cradles his head. “You asshole, why didn’t you run?”

Cal lifts his hand, his fingers wrapping around the handle of the blade piercing his heart. He manages to give Malia a weak smile before he yanks it out. 

“What are you doing!?” Malia exclaims, her hands coming up to stop the bleeding in his chest but his eyes flutter closed and Malia feels her heart shatter. 

“Please..” She pleads, as her tears fall on his face. “Don’t leave me.”

The sound of the cannon echoes through the room and Malia screams in agony as she clings to Cal’s lifeless body.

“NO! This can’t be happening!” She wails, her grief overwhelming her. 

As she weeps uncontrollably, she hears the sound of footsteps approaching. Her head snaps up to see Lucius standing at the top of the stairs, a wicked smirk on his face.

“Such a shame, isn’t it?” He asks, tauntingly.  “If it’ll ease your pain, he went down fighting.”

“You did this…” Malia hisses through her tears. “You killed him..”

“Oh come on, that’s not fair,” Lucius replies. “You killed Cleo. I killed Cal. I was only returning the favor. Now I’ll kill you and bring another victory to district two, sound good?”

“I have an alternative,” Malia tells him, seething. 

“And what’s that?” Lucius asks. 

“Go to hell,” Malia replies, picking up the bloody knife Cal just removed from his chest and throwing it into Lucius’s arm, causing him to stumble back. 

Lucius removes the knife in his arm and goes to throw it back only to realize that Malia had already vanished. “Bitch!”

Malia takes cover inside the Cornucopia, she wasn’t supposed to be the one here. Cal was. She knew better than to leave Cal alone to go retrieve the pack— but they had gotten so far she didn’t expect for Cal to die right before her eyes.

A part of her wanted to believe that he knew Lucius was nearby and made sure she was far away before sacrificing himself in order to at least injure Lucius enough for her to get the upper hand. She had been chased down by Lucius across the entire arena before she was forced to take shelter inside the Cornucopia— away from Lucius and the Capitol’s prying eyes. Lucius was district two and while she was district one— he was far more experienced and stronger than her.

“Maliaaaa,” Lucius taunted her, the sound of Cal’s sword scraping against the cold metal of the Cornucopia. 

He was trying to lure her out by taunting her in every way he possibly could but she wasn’t going to grant him the satisfaction of seeing her break. Not when they were the final two.

“I hope you know that Cal’s dead because of you,” Lucius calls out. “If you hadn’t gone to the next room, I don’t think I ever would have had the guts to cut him up like the little bitch he was. See, I heard what you did to Astrid. I was impressed. At first I was like, nah. Sweet and innocent Malia carved up someone? But you were never really sweet and innocent, were you? Doesn’t matter, I wasn’t going to take the chance to have my face be the next one you carved up so I was waiting until you left before I attacked. It’s quite ironic, don’t you think? The sword that spent the entirety of these Games protecting you is what will be the thing that kills you.”

Malia removed her last knife from her vest before waiting until he stopped in front of the entrance to the Cornucopia before throwing it at him.

“You missed,” Lucius tsked, peering at her from the entrance. 

“I never miss,” Malia told him before a pile of snow fell on his head from the branch she managed to cut with her knife. Without wasting another moment, Malia sprinted towards him, holding a sai in her hand. She thrusted it through his stomach, catching him off guard.

Lucius was quick to retaliate, driving his sword through Malia’s leg, causing a sharp scream to escape her throat. Malia gritted her teeth and glared at him, using her remaining strength to push the sai further into his stomach. She wanted to ensure he would never forget who had the upper hand.

“Get a good look at my face, asshole,” Malia grunts, glaring at him. “Because it’s the last one you’ll see.”

As Lucius writhed in pain, he yanked his sword out of Malia’s leg, causing her to let out another scream. He fell to his knees, blood staining the snow beneath him. Malia leaned against a nearby tree, trying to support herself as she felt the lightheadedness set in. 

The sound of a parachute brings Malia back to her senses and she finally realizes that a cannon never sounded. 

Lucius wasn’t dead, but he was very close to it. Malia knew she had won the battle, but the wounds she had sustained were severe. She struggled to catch her breath, trying to stabilize herself as she watched Lucius struggling to stay alive in the snow. 

She gathered her bearings as much as she could and stumbled towards the parachute a few feet away.

hang in there,
someone from district four
sent you this
i think you have a secret admirer
- j

Malia opens the parachute casing and inside were bandages and a knife.

She quickly wraps her leg in the bandage before picking up the knife. 

District four? Who would sponsor her in district four?

She could hear the snow moving behind her and she remained still, straining her ears, trying her best to listen for any sound other than her own breathing. The arena had gone eerily quiet, the only interruption being the sound of snow crunching under someone’s feet. She clutched her sponsor gift tightly, her finger running over the edges of the fateful knife that was about to take its first life and a sense of trepidation gripped her– Lucius was somewhere close.

As the footsteps grew louder, Malia crouched down low, attempting to hide from her foe. She peered around the corner of a large craggy rock, spying a figure in the distance. 

She couldn’t see his face, but she knew it was Lucius. She knew he wasn’t dead; no cannon had gone off, and it was foolish to think he had succumbed to his wounds.

She watched in silence as he trudged towards her, gliding through the snow like a shadow. Malia remained immobile, monitoring his movements with eagle eyes. Her heart raced as adrenaline coursed through her veins. She needed to finish him off once and for all.

Finally, Lucius came within striking distance and suddenly Malia leapt out from her hiding spot and made a beeline for him. In a split second, she rotated her body and brought the knife down upon his neck. Blood spurted out everywhere as Lucius fell to the ground, gurgling his last breath. Malia remained unmoving, staring down at him, grateful and triumphant. 

“That was for Cal, you asshole,” Malia tells him and watches as he slumps to the ground and a cannon echoes throughout the arena. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen! May I present the Victor of the 66th Hunger Games, Malia Wells from District One!”

Malia sat in the hovercraft, a giant blanket draped over her shoulders as she approached the Capitol. 

The Victory interview is what concluded the Hunger Games and so she was to immediately be rushed back to the Capitol to get her wounds treated and to be put in a pretty gown so President Snow could put a crown on her head. 

It wasn’t until she was standing in front of a giant mirror backstage, waiting for Caesar Flickerman to call her out, that she realized that her worst nightmares were officially almost over. 

A knock on the door causes her to jump and she smooths out her dress before announcing that the person could enter. 

Emery had outdone himself with Malia’s victory dress. It was a slight grey that had silver jewels sparkling all over the top and it slowly turned into ruffles coming from the bottom. 

Silver. Like her winning weapon.

She was expecting Jake, or Emery, or even Celeste, the district one escort but it was neither. Instead, Finnick O’Dair walked in. 

“Damn, I really am royalty now if the Prince of Panem has come to see me,” Malia says. 

“Just wanted to say congratulations,” Finnick responds. 

“I’m sorry about Alexander and Kacey,” Malia tells him. 

“Wasn’t your fault,” Finnick responds. “They never really stood a chance anyways.”

“District four,” Malia says, eyeing him up and down. “I take it you were the one that sent me the sponsor gift that saved my life?”

“Guilty,” Finnick bows. “You killed Astrid– district four thanks you for making sure she didn’t win after she killed Kacey in her sleep.”

“Your advice to not underestimate anyone, helped me a lot,” Malia says as she plops down on the armrest of one of the chairs and looks over at the boy. “I thought killing Cleo would make me feel better about her betrayal to the Careers– but it didn’t. Then Kacey died and I thought killing Astrid would make me feel better about killing Cleo– considering they had both betrayed their alliances but.. the more I killed, the more I felt worse. I felt like a monster.”

“Malia Wells,” Finnick says. “You are many things, but a monster isn’t one of them. You did what you had to do to survive.”

“Cal still died,” Malia replies. 

“And I’m very sorry for your loss,” Finnick responds. “He wanted to make sure you won, Malia. That was his plan from the beginning.”

“His plan was bullshit,” Malia scoffs. “He left me.”

“Sometimes you can’t stop fate from happening,” Finnick tells her. “We all die eventually.”

“He was supposed to be different,” Malia responds. “Everyone leaves me eventually.”

“On the bright side,” Finnick says, stepping closer to her and gently taking her hand in his. “You won’t have to go through that again. You won the Games, it’s over. Now you’re a mentor, which means you and I are going to be spending a lot of time these next few years and I already won the Games, so I’m not going to die anytime soon.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Malia tells him. “This is Panem, death in Panem is always lurking around the corner.”

“Okay fine,” Finnick chuckles. “But let me tell you one thing.”

“And what’s that?” Malia asks. 

“We’re going to spend a lot of time together and I know it’s going to be really tempting to fall in love with me,” Finnick replies. “But you’re going to have to try your best not to.”

“Oh trust me,” Malia tells him. “That won’t be an issue.”

“Ladies and Gentlemen!” Caesar’s voice called out. 

“You should go,” Finnick tells her and Malia nods.

She knew she should go to the stage to talk about the recap of the Games, but a part of her wanted to stay there. 

With Finnick. 

Because for some unexplained reason, she felt safe around him. 

Chapter Text

Malia stood in front of the giant screen inside the Capitol building. It was the third day in the arena and her male tribute, Augustus Braun, was still alive. Her female tribute wasn’t so lucky– she was killed in the bloodbath by the male tribute of district seven.

It was her first year as a mentor, and she had been trying her best to give her mentees advice that aligned with advice that Jake had given her last year. Sponsors were the most challenging part as her job of being a mentor– it was her duty to make Augustus look like the next victor and she had been finding it harder to do so lately with her health. 

She didn’t know what came over her– she was perfectly fine the day before– but all day she had the nauseous feeling of needing to throw up. She thought the feeling would eventually go away as the day went by but her condition only worsened. 

“Mal!” a voice called out and Malia quickly looked over at the other mentor approaching. 

“Finnick,” Malia greeted before turning her attention back to the screen in front of her. “Sorry about your mentees.”

“I see Augustus is still alive,” Finnick says, nodding at her in acknowledgement. “Guess he could use these.”

All the remaining sponsor money that was given to Finnick’s now deceased mentees were transferred over to Malia and she smiled before nodding slightly at him as a thank you.

Finnick watched as Malia tapped away at the screen in front of her– adding the sponsor money she was just given to the money Augustus already had. His brows furrow when he watches as Malia hunches over, her arm wrapped around her stomach. 

“Hey,” Finnick says, stepping closer and placing his hand gently on her back. “Are you okay?”

“Have Jake take over, I can’t– I can’t do this right now,” Malia says before brushing Finnick’s hand away and rushing out the room. 

“Malia!” Finnick called after her but she didn’t even look back at him. 

All the remaining mentors that had been in the sponsor room seemed to have drifted their attention towards them and Finnick gave a slight smile. “Carry on! Don’t mind me.”

All the mentors shook their heads before turning back to their own individual screens. 

Finnick left the room before finding Jake amongst all the other Capitol citizens watching the Games. 

“Malia needs you to take over for a bit,” Finnick tells him, grabbing his arm. 

Jake doesn’t even question– he simply just nods and watches as Finnick runs off in a certain direction.

Finnick found Malia hunched over a trash can in the Capitol building, her long red hair hanging in her face. He didn’t say anything, but he could tell from the way she was retching that she was sick. He approached her slowly, not wanting to startle her, and placed a gentle hand on her back.

Malia didn’t say anything, but she leaned into his touch, grateful for the comfort he was offering. Finnick held back her hair with one hand and rubbed circles on her back with the other, soothing her as she continued to vomit.

The sound of her retching was loud in the empty hallway, but Finnick didn’t seem to mind. He was focused on Malia, on helping her through this moment of weakness. They didn’t need to say anything to each other - the unspoken understanding between them was enough.

Finally, Malia stopped vomiting and leaned back against the wall, exhausted. Finnick stayed by her side, still holding her hair and rubbing her back. 

“You shouldn’t be here right now,” Malia tells him, using the back of her sleeve to wipe her mouth. “I don’t need you seeing me like this.”

“Seeing you like what? Sick?” Finnick asks. “Mal, I’ve seen you in worse conditions before. Nothing you say or do will make me leave. I told you after you won your Games that I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to be by your side in sickness and in health.”

“Careful with your words, O’Dair,” Malia chuckled, laying her head on his shoulder. “That’s a wedding vow. You and I shouldn’t have people getting the wrong idea and assume we’re married.”

“Cause we’re young?” Finnick asks. 

“No, because it’ll give President Snow more leverage over our lives than he already has,” Malia responded. “It’s already bad he’s selling us.”

“Malia,” Jake calls out as he approaches. “Augustus needs you to send a sponsor gift. I held down the fort for as long as I could but I’m not his mentor, I can’t send him anything.”

Malia lifted her head off of Finnick’s shoulder and nodded at Jake before slowly standing up and heading back into the sponsor room. 

“Is she alright?” Jake asks, stretching out his hand towards Finnick to help him up. 

Finnick takes his hand and is helped to his feet. “She’s sick,” Finnick replies, fixing the cuffs of his sleeves. 

“She seemed fine yesterday. I think she’s-...” Finnick drifts off as he shakes his head. 

No, he shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Not when he has nothing to prove his claim.

“She’s what?” Jake asked, crossing his arms. 

“Nothing,” Finnick responded. “Nevermind.”

Finnick goes to leave but Jake grabs ahold of his arm.

“What’s the deal with you and Malia?” Jake asks. 

“What are you talking about?” Finnick responds. 

“You two are really close,” Jake says. “Too   close. Close enough you sent her a sponsor gift last year that made her win the Games.”

“Is that a problem?” Finnick asked. 

“No, but it’s got me thinking.”

“About what?”

“What would the Capitol’s golden boy possibly want with a mad girl like Malia? I mean, you willingly gave a victory to district one.”

“I’m not going to break her heart if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Malia has been through a lot. I’m just looking out for her. First, with Cal’s death. And now she’s being sold—” 

“— I know,” Finnick cuts him off. “And I want you to know that I would never do anything to cause Malia pain. I care about her.”

“Oh I see now,” Jake replies. “You could have any girl you want. All of Panem, if you really wanted. You’re sixteen, you’re young, you have so many suitors and suitresses practically begging to sleep with you. But the one person you truly want is the girl who swore off love.”

“No,” Finnick shakes his head. “No, it isn’t like that. Never with her. I have no intention of harming her or taking advantage of her. She’s my best friend, Jake. Nothing more.”

“Even if what you’re saying is true,” Jake says. “You might be the Prince of Panem, but I am the Last Titan. If Malia is harmed in any way, not even the Capitol will be able to save you from me.”

Malia stands outside the tall Capitol building, paper crumpled in her hand as she takes shelter from the rain. She didn’t want to intrude on the Capitol elite’s personal life so she made sure to steer clear of his home address. 

“State your name and the person you’re here to see,” the voice through the buzzer announced. 

Malia cleared her throat. “Malia Wells. I’m here to see Mr. Flint Hendricks.”

“Mr. Hendricks is tied up at the moment, if you could leave a message that–”

“No, ” Malia stated sternly. “It’s an emergency and I need to speak to him in person . Tell him it’s Malia, he knows me.”

“Hang on.”

Malia sighs before crossing her arms as she waits for the buzzer to buzz her into the building. She didn’t know why she was here or why she felt like she owed this Hendricks guy– she just did. 

“He’ll see you now,” the voice says and the intercom switches off and a loud buzz could be heard. 

Malia opens the door before quickly ascending the staircase until she reaches the floor that Hendricks worked. 

The door to his office was already open and Malia didn’t even bother knocking before she walked in. 

Flint Hendricks sat in his desk chair, the files he had been analyzing were sprawled all over his desk. 

“Miss Wells,” Hendricks greeted. “To what do I owe the pleasure? I was positive we weren’t supposed to see each other until Wednesday.”

“Right– well,” Malia began. “I’ve been busy and needed to see you.”

“So soon?” Hendricks asked. “I’m delighted. I’m certain you have the time now?”

Hendricks gestures towards the chair in front of his desk. “Come. Sit.”

“No, that won’t be necessary,” Malia replies. “I just needed to tell you something and then I’ll be on my way.”

“Why the rush?” Hendricks asked. “Do you have somewhere else to be?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Malia replied. “I’m risking a lot being here right now instead of in the sponsor room sending Augustus sponsor gifts.”

“I bet a lot of money on that boy,” Hendricks states.

“So you see why it’s important that although Jake is holding down the fort, Augustus can’t get a sponsor gift unless I’m there,” Malia tells him. “He’s survived this long which is why I must get back as soon as possible.”

Hendricks turns on the television broadcast in his office and gestures for Malia to watch. Malia turns around to look at it and she sees Augustus fast asleep in one of the trees, his hand grasping the hilt of his sword as tightly as possible.

Malia tenses up as she feels Hendricks’ hands on her shoulders. A chuckle leaves his lips as he looks at the broadcasting. “Augustus doesn’t seem to be needing any sponsor gifts any time soon.”

Hendricks’ hands slowly run down Malia’s arms and she pulls away from him.

She begins to remember just how bad an idea this was.

“I am not here to please you,” Malia tells him. “So it would be appreciated if you’d stop being such a sick bastard for two seconds and let me say what I needed to say.”

“What did you just say to me?”

Malia gulped with widening eyes, knowing that she just made him mad. She couldn’t help it, sometimes her attitude got the best of her when she couldn’t say what she needed to say– no matter who she was speaking to. Sure, she was a victor but Hendricks was a Capitol elite. 

“I said, what did you just say to me?” 

Hendricks was taking slow steps towards Malia’s suddenly nervous figure.

Malia looked down, not able to look into his eyes, too scared what his eyes would basically tell her now.

“Don’t ignore me, c’mon, you thought you were so bold a few minutes ago when you were calling me a sick bastard.” 

Hendricks looked down at the top of Malia’s head as he slowly raised his hand and lifted her chin with his two fingers so that she would finally look at him.

And fucking hell, Malia never saw someone’s eyes so dark.

With her back pressed against the white wall and a very tense feeling in her abdomen, she looked down at her feet again. 

Hendricks quickly put his hand around Malia’s throat and pressed her back roughly against the wall, still looking at the ground. 

“Fucking look at me when I’m talking to you, you disrespectful bitch!”

He quickly slapped both of her cheeks, making her look up at him with teary eyes.

“Crying isn’t going to help you,” Hendricks laughed, still holding her throat tightly in his hand, his other hand was placed against the wall next to her head.

Malia held her head high the best she could as she finally made eye contact with the man who frequently bought her. “I’m pregnant.”

Hendricks quickly removed his hand from Malia’s throat and punched the wall hard next to her head causing Malia to flinch. He took a step back to have a proper look at Malia’s facial expression. 

Tears were welding up in her eyes as she tried to regain her composure. 

Hendricks fists were clenching at his side, eyes slowly closing and opening up again to see if all of this is maybe just an imagination.

But it obviously wasn’t.

“How did–”

“You fucking bought a sixteen year old girl frequently and you’re wondering how the fuck she got pregnant? Really? ”

Hendricks cups his hand over his mouth as he paces back and forth, trying to grasp the concept of the situation.

“Who else knows?” Hendricks asks.

“Excuse me?” 

“Who else knows you’re pregnant?”

“No one,” Malia replies. “It’s not something you just announce to the world.”

“Good,” Hendricks responds. “Keep it that way. I have a family–”

“And you think I don’t?” Malia cuts him off. 

“I know you don’t,” Hendricks replies. “The entirety of Panem knows your father’s a deadbeat and that your mother died in childbirth. And the only guy you’re ever seen around is Finnick O’Dair and everybody knows that he’s quite the ladies man.”

“Finnick O’Dair would never go for a girl like me,” Malia says, watching as Hendricks walks over to his desk and opens a drawer. “What are you doing?”

“I have a wife and kids,” Hendricks says, standing up and walking back over to Malia. “I can’t have this getting out. Get rid of it.”

A stack of cash is shoved into Malia’s hands and Malia scoffs. 

“I don’t want your fucking money,” Malia tells him, shoving the money into his chest. “You want me to kill it before it’s even born?”

“It’s no different than all those people you killed in the Games,” Hendricks states. 

“I was forced to kill those people in order to survive,” Malia tells him.

“No one forced you to carve up Astrid,” Hendricks responded.

“You don’t know what it’s like in those Games,” Malia tells him. “They turn you into a different person. And the things you see, they torture you. And it follows you everywhere. You can’t escape the horrors that come crawling back every time you close your eyes. But it probably wouldn’t change you much though, you’d have to actually have a heart.”

“And there’s the fucking attitude again,” Hendricks says. “I don’t think you understand what’s at stake here! I have a wife and kids! A reputation to protect!”

“Then maybe you should have thought of that before you decided to buy and fuck a minor!” Malia snaps back. 

“How are you even so sure that this baby is even mine?” Hendricks asks. “It could be anyone’s. You’re practically one of the most popular buys that President Snow offers.”

“You’re the one who bought me the most!” Malia exclaims, heading towards the door. 

“Where the fuck are you going?” Hendricks asks. “We’re not done talking here!”

“Well I am!” Malia exclaims, turning back around to face him. “You have a reputation to protect? So be it. So do I! I did not win the fucking Hunger Games at fifteen just to end up pregnant a year later by some guy who I don’t even love! I’m not ready to be a mother, which is why when this baby is born it’s going up for adoption.”

“You’re going to take my child away from me!?” Hendricks asked, furiously.

“You mean the same child you just tried to pay me to abort!?” Malia responded. “You’re a real fucking piece of work, you know that?”

“Who knows you’re here?” Hendricks asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Does anyone know you came to see me?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything but other than the receptionist up front? Yeah, I told Finnick I was stopping by here before meeting up with him for dinner.”

“ Liar,” Hendricks spat. “My daughter finds O’Dair attractive and since it’s her birthday today I figured why not go for a father of the year award.”

“You fucking bought Finnick for your daughter?” Malia asks.

“Yeah, he’s meeting her for dinner today. She just turned sixteen, he’s sixteen, it’s not that big of a problem,” Hendricks replied. 

Why didn’t Finnick tell her?

“Yet you don’t find it an issue that you knocked up a girl the same age as your daughter?” Malia asks. “You’re a sick fuck.”

“I’m a sick fuck?” Hendricks counters, slamming the door to his office shut causing Malia to flinch once more. 

The moment she hears the lock click, she knew she was fucked. 

Finnick looked at his watch, the minute hand barely reaching the number seven.

It was 7:35. Where was she?

The seat across from him pulls out and a girl with dark hair sits down. 

“I am so sorry I’m late!” the girl exclaims. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

“You’re fine,” Finnick tells her, smiling slightly. “Cassiopeia, right?” 

“That’s me,” Cassiopeia smiles before chuckling nervously. “I’m sorry if this is weird for you, I had no idea my dad had even planned this.”

“And your dad is?” Finnick asks, waving over one of the waiters in the restaurant who handed the two of them menus. 

“Flint Hendricks. He’s a Capitol citizen,” Cassiopeia replies. “He’s working towards becoming a Gamemaker and then eventually Head Gamemaker.”

“And you’re okay with this?” Finnick asks, gesturing between them. 

“I don’t know,” Cassiopeia responds. “I find you attractive but I’d rather this be under normal circumstances. You know? I didn’t want my dad to literally buy you.”

“I’m sure you’re a great person,” Finnick tells her. “But I didn’t really have a say in the matter.”

“If you’re referring to the system the Capitol has about selling desirable victors, trust me, I know all about it,” Cassiopeia states. “I find it just as fucked as you do.”

“The Capitol could kill you just for knowing about it,” Finnick warns her.

“Then maybe my dad should have covered up the fact he bought victors better,” Cassiopeia tells him. “He thinks he’s being sly but he’s not. It won’t be long before my mom finds out and he’ll lose his fucking shit when she leaves his ass.”

“How long have you known?” Finnick asks. 

“Since I was twelve,” Cassiopeia replies. “You’d be surprised at how much I know about my dad and his history with female victors that he tends to buy.”

“I don’t want to pry,” Finnick tells her. “But what exactly do you mean? What history?”

“He buys underage victors,” Cassiopeia responds. “Mostly female. He’s got this sick fetish where he gets maybe three or four pregnant and then pays them a huge sum of money for abortions. It’s only a matter of time before his current purchase ends up pregnant.”

“And that is?” Finnick asks, handing the menu back to the waiter when he circles back around to write down their order. 

Cassiopeia gives up her menu and thanks the waiter before turning back to look at Finnick. “This is meant to be a date, not an interrogation.”

“It’s not an interrogation since you’ve been giving me this information willingly,” Finnick tells her. 

“Touché,” Cassiopeia replies. “I only spoke to her once at my dad’s office. She said the Capitol basically forced her to do whatever my dad wanted or they’d kill her best friend. She said she only knew him for like a year but she’d do anything to keep him safe. She won last year I believe..? God, what was her name? Wells?”

“Malia,” Finnick mutters.

“That was it!” Cassiopeia exclaims. “Malia Wells.”

Everything was starting to make sense.

Finnick’s fists clenched the tablecloth tightly as his jaw clenched in anger. 

“You okay?” Cassiopeia asks, noticing his reaction. “Does she mean something to you?”

“Something like that,” Finnick replies, clearing his throat. 

Cassiopeia reaches over to grasp Finnick’s hand but he doesn’t even seem phased as he stares at a random spot on the tablecloth, jaw still clenched and speechless. 

“Oh,” Cassiopeia says, realization dawning on her. “ You’re the best friend.”

Still nothing.

“Finnick,” Cassiopeia calls out, snapping her fingers in front of his face to bring him back to reality. 

“Sorry,” Finnick sighs, his face being washed over with sadness as he releases the tablecloth from his grip. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Cassiopeia says. “Can I give you some advice?”

Finnick shrugs slightly.

“Tell her,” Cassiopeia tells him. 

“Tell who?”

“Malia.”

“Tell her what?”

“That you’re in love with her.”

“I’m not in love with Malia.”

“ Bullshit. You’ve had so many potential suitresses– ones that didn’t buy you– and you’ve turned them all down.”

“They weren’t interesting.”

“They weren’t Malia,” Cassiopeia states. “No offense, Finnick, you’re attractive but I’m not interested in a guy who clearly has feelings for his best friend.”

“It’s not that easy,” Finnick tells her. “Even if I did– which I don’t– I value my friendship with Malia. If we got together and we broke up, I’d lose the last person in my life who’s special to me.”

“Yet you’re here with me, but you clearly wish I was her.”

“I’d appreciate it if you’d stop trying to project what you think I should feel onto me.”

“I’m not projecting. It’s painted all over your face at every mention of her name.”

“It is not.”

“Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt.”

“Is this entire date an entire campaign to entrap me?” Finnick asks, sitting back in his chair as he looks over at Cassiopeia. “I don’t love her. I’m insulted that you won’t even believe me no matter how many times I say it! Everywhere I go people seem to already have their mind made up about me.”

“You have your mind made up but you’re insistent on suppressing it for whatever reason.”

“There’s nothing to suppress,” Finnick states. “Malia’s my best friend, why is that so hard to understand?”

Cassiopeia leaned back in her chair, her gaze fixed on Finnick, her expression softening. She sighed, realizing the depth of Finnick’s feelings.

“I apologize, Finnick,” Cassiopeia said, her voice gentle. “Perhaps I’ve been too quick to judge. It’s clear that your friendship with Malia means the world to you, and I can see now how much it pains you to think of losing her. I can’t pretend to understand your bond, but I can respect it.”

Finnick met her gaze, a mix of gratitude and confusion flickering in his eyes. He had long wrestled with his emotions, trying to convince himself that his feelings for Malia were purely platonic. But as Cassiopeia’s words resonated with him, a realization began to dawn.

“I… I think you may be right,” Finnick admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe there’s something more to what I feel for Malia. Something deeper.”

Cassiopeia reached out and placed a comforting hand on Finnick’s arm.

“Sometimes, the strongest friendships can evolve into something even more meaningful,” She says softly. “If your heart is pulling you towards Malia, perhaps it’s time you explore those emotions. Life is too short to deny what truly makes us happy.”

Finnick nodded, a mix of determination and vulnerability evident in his expression. He stood up from the table, the chair scraping against the floor.

“You’re right, Cassiopeia. I need to find Malia and have an honest conversation with her. I can’t keep hiding from my own feelings.”

Cassiopeia smiled warmly, offering her support. 

“Go, Finnick. Chase after what truly matters to you. If Malia is that person, then don’t waste another moment. And remember, I’ll be here as a friend if you ever need someone to talk to.”

“I’m sorry,” Finnick apologizes. “I’m sure you’re a wonderful girl.”

“Just go,” Cassiopeia chuckles. “Before I take back everything I said and keep you here.”

Finnick smiles before making his way out of the restaurant. 

The rain poured down relentlessly as Finnick hurried through the streets, his heart pounding with anticipation. But as fate would have it, just a few blocks away from the restaurant, he stumbled upon a familiar face in the downpour – his long-lost father.

“Finnick!” his father called out, his voice filled with a mix of surprise and delight. He stepped closer, a hopeful glimmer in his eyes.

Finnick halted in his tracks, his heart sinking. He hadn’t seen his father in years, and the sudden appearance was unexpected, to say the least. The emotions welled up within him– anger, resentment, and a deep-seated longing for the father figure he never had. 

“What do you want?” Finnick’s voice quivered with a combination of vulnerability and restraint. He tried to maintain his composure, despite the flood of conflicting emotions.

His father took a step forward, attempting to reach out and touch Finnick’s arm. “Son, it’s been so long. I’ve heard about your success in the Games, about your newfound wealth. I’ve always regretted not being there for you, but I want to make amends now. I want to be a part of your life.”

Finnick’s eyes narrowed, his voice tinged with bitterness. “Where were you when I needed you? When I was struggling? When I felt alone? You were nowhere to be found. And now that I have money and fame, you suddenly want to be a part of my life?”

His father recoiled slightly, hurt crossing his face. “I made mistakes, Finnick. I admit that. But I want to make things right now. I want to be there for you, to support you.”

Finnick’s voice grew stronger, laced with determination. “You’re just like them, you know that? You always want something from me. And once I’ve given everything I could, once I’ve been hurt and assaulted and sold and left traumatized… I’m old news. I deserve better than that. You think money and material possessions can replace the love and guidance of a father? I’ve learned to navigate this world on my own. I’ve found strength within myself and with the people who truly care about me. I don’t need you now and I never needed you then.”

The rain continued to pour, mirroring the storm of emotions inside Finnick. He stood tall, his gaze unwavering. “You had your chance and you walked away. I’ve built a life without you, and I’m stronger for it. I don’t need your guilt trips or hollow promises. I’m perfectly fine without you.”

His father’s face fell, a mixture of regret and sorrow etched upon it, but then it’s like a switch flipped inside his father’s mind and his father chuckled slightly. “Deserve better? What more could you possibly want? You’re the Prince of Panem and you think you deserve better? You can’t even provide for your father in a time of need. You think you deserve better because some girl has been filling your head up with lies that you can have more in life than you already have? The same girl who you don’t want to be vulnerable around so you tell her your parents are dead?”

Finnick knew it was only a matter of time before the truth came spilling out. Ever since Mags took him in, he always told people it was because his parents died. It was easier to swallow the fact his parents were dead than the undeniable truth that they both abandoned him. And after a while, he started to believe his own lie. But when you believe a lie for too long, the truth doesn’t set you free. It tears you apart. 

“I don’t have to hide my vulnerability from Malia. She loves me, the real me. Not this Capitol royalty bullshit I have to keep pretending to be,” Finnick tells him. 

“So you think you’re a man now, is that it? Winning the Hunger Games doesn’t make you a man,” his father responds.

Finnick’s gaze hardened, his voice laced with a mix of defiance and pain. “And who are you to tell me what it means to be a man? You were never there. You have no right to judge me.”

“I may not have been there physically, but I watched you from a distance. I saw the young boy I left behind become a weapon, a pawn in a sick and twisted game. And where’s my credit? I toughened you up as a child, forged you to handle even the worst kinds of pain. You would’ve died in that arena if it wasn’t for me. You were a nobody until you won, at least give me some credit for making you the man you are today.”

Finnick’s fists clenched, his jaw set. “You think I wanted any of this? You think I asked for the Games? For the bloodshed and the manipulation? I fought to survive, to protect the people I cared about. And in doing so, I found strength within myself.”

“But at what cost, Finnick? At what cost? You lost your innocence. You lost the chance to experience a normal childhood. Winning those Games doesn’t make up for the pieces of your soul that were shattered along the way.”

Finnick’s voice wavered, a mixture of anger and desperation. “You think I don’t know that? You think I’m not haunted by the memories, by the lives lost? Every day, I carry the weight of those Games on my shoulders. But I refuse to let it define me. I refuse to let it break me. You think the Games took away my innocence? My innocence was taken from me the moment you gave me my first black eye.”

Tears mingled with the rain on his face, his voice now a desperate plea. “I’ve fought tooth and nail to forge my own path, to find happiness and love in a world that tried to rob me of it. So don’t you dare stand there and tell me that winning those Games doesn’t mean anything. It means everything. It means survival, resilience, and the strength to rise above the darkness. You didn’t influence my victory. You didn’t toughen me up. I went out there and I trained my ass off . Every. Single. Day. Up until I was reaped. And I went into that arena and I slaughtered several other people who are just like me. All for some crown that just reminds you of all the blood you had to shed just to wear it. To feel important.”

Finnick’s anger began to ebb, replaced by a bittersweet ache. “I’m not saying you didn’t make me the man I am today. I’m saying you have everything to do with making me who I am. In spite of you, I just might have found the girl that I want to spend the rest of my life with. And I won’t leave her like you left your wife. And if we end up having a child, I won’t abuse them like you abused me. The cycle of abuse I’ve endured from you, the neglect I’ve endured from my mother, the abuse that you endured from your own father, it ends with me. I won’t be the same man you are, I’ll be better.”

“I told myself the same thing,” his father told him before turning around and walking away.

As Finnick’s father walked away, his footsteps fading into the distance, Finnick couldn’t help but feel a pang of emptiness. His heart clenched, and a mix of anger and sorrow swirled with him. The rain continued to pour, matching the torrent of emotions that threatened to engulf him.

But then, as if unable to resist the urge, his father turned back, his eyes filled with a burning rage. He took a step closer to Finnick, his voice heavy and teasing. 

“You know, Finnick, I heard about this girl you’re so desperate to find. Malia, was it? Is she really worth it? Or is she just another piece in your little game of survival?”

Finnick froze, his body tensing with a mix of anger and concern. How did his father know Malia? And what did he mean with his insinuation? Thoughts raced through Finnick’s mind, and without a moment’s hesitation, he turned back to face his father.

“What do you know about Malia?” Finnick’s voice trembled with an intensity that sent shivers down his spine. Raindrops mingled with his fury, accentuating his words.

His father smirked, reveling in the power his knowledge seemed to hold. “Let’s just say I have my sources, Finnick. But what does it matter? She’s just another distraction, another fragile soul that you’ll leave shattered in your wake.”

Finnick’s eyes blazed with a fire that matched the intensity of the storm raging around them. His voice shook with a mix of anger and protectiveness. “You dare say that about her? You dare imply that I would harm someone I care about?”

His father shrugged dismissively. “You always were the selfish one, Finnick. You’re just looking out for yourself, using people however you see fit. It’s in your blood, just like it’s in mine.”

Rage consumed Finnick, his fists clenched, rain pouring down on his face as he screamed. “You’re wrong! You know nothing about me or about Malia. You’ve already done enough damage in my life. I won’t let you tarnish her name. If you even remotely lay a hand on her, I’ll fucking kill you myself.”

His father chuckled. “Oh you poor thing. Someone’s already beaten me to it.”

“Where the fuck is she!?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Without another word, Finnick turned and sprinted through the rain-soaked streets, desperate to find Malia, desperate to ensure she was safe. His heart pounded with worry, fueled by a newfound determination to protect her from any harm his father might have inflicted on her. 

“Malia! Where are you?” Finnick’s voice echoed through the empty streets, but there was no response. He moved cautiously, his footsteps faltering as he searched desperately for any sign of her.

He runs his hands through his drenched hair as he spins in a circle absentmindedly. Where was she? What happened to her? Was she dead? 

Finnick walks towards the Capitol square and the scene that greeted him tore through his soul. Malia lay crumpled on the floor, her body battered and broken, her eyes vacant and unresponsive. Tears streaked through the blood stains on her cheeks.  She was in a catatonic state, lost within herself, lost to him.

She was clutching her stomach in one hand, blood coating her hand entirely, and held a bloody knife in the other. 

“Malia!” Finnick’s voice broke, his anguish intertwining with the raindrops falling around them. He dropped to his knees beside her, his trembling hands reaching out to gently cradle her face.

The second he went to reach for her, she let out a scream and slashed at his arm. The knife ripped straight through his shirt and grazed his flesh. He stifled a hiss of pain and instinctively swiveled his arm to grab her wrist in his grip. She was starting to hyperventilate, her eyes were blurred with heavy tears, and she struggled against him.

“Let me go!” She screamed.  Finnick’s heart shattered into a thousand pieces as he realized the extent of her suffering. The sight of her broken body and her current state sent waves of anguish through his entire body. Her voice didn’t sound like her own. 

There was a pain laced in her words that he only heard once before when she was in her own Games. One he wished he’d never have to hear again. “Let go!”

Finnick held firmly to her wrist, afraid if he let go, that she would only hurt herself with the blade. “Let go of the knife and I’ll let you go.”

When she couldn’t get her arm free, she resorted to kicking out at him. Her eyes were wild with alarm and when she looked at him, she wasn’t really seeing him, she was someplace else. 

“Let me go!” She cried out as she threw her body against him, an attempt to get away from him. “Finnick and Jake are going to find me.. they’ll.. they’ll find me and you’ll be sorry.. they.. they..”

His heart was breaking and he cursed himself for not putting everything together sooner. Of course she was terrified. He was pretty certain she just killed a Capitol elite, suffered through god knows what else that bastard put her through, and he shows up out of nowhere and tries to cradle her face. 

He was forced to wrap his free arm around her torso to stop Malia from thrashing and held her tightly against his chest. “It’s me. It’s Finnick.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. “No. No, no no. You’re a liar! Let me go!”

Finnick was forced to pry the knife from her grasp. She had a death grip on the handle and he had to wrestle each individual finger off of it. He quickly tossed it over his shoulder and out of the way. It clattered against the concrete floor of the Capitol square. Once the knife was no longer a threat, he grasped Malia’s face in his hands. 

“Look at me,” he pleaded. “Look.”

She whimpered and kept her eyes tightly closed. “Let go of me.”

He released his hold on her and slid back to give her some room. His chest ached for her. He chose to focus on his empathy and worry rather than the boiling rage he was feeling just under the surface. Flint Hendricks was lucky he was already dead otherwise Finnick would have finished him off himself without hesitation.

“It’s just me. It’s Finnick,” He repeats as he shuffled further back away from her to give her more breathing room. “I’m going to stand up now. I have to get you out of this cold rain and somewhere safe and warm. I need you to try and take some deep breaths for me. It’s going to be okay. I’m here now. No one can hurt you anymore.”

He stood up and went to scoop her up in his arms but she flinched away from him and curled herself back up into a ball.

“Look at me,” He whispered, crouching back down. “See? It’s just me. It’s your Fin. I need you to let me help you. I need to see how hurt you are. It’s safe. I promise you, I’m not going to hurt you. It’s only me.”

Malia’s eyes opened and blinked away tears so she could see more clearly. They shifted across his face and over his shoulder, locking onto something behind him. He glanced back at the bloody knife on the ground and Finnick quickly moved in front of her line of sight. 

“Don’t worry about that,” He turned his attention back to her. “I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care of everything. Nothing is going to happen to you.”

Finally, her eyes settled on his and her bottom lip quivered. It was already starting to swell. Under that blood, he was certain he would find cuts and bruises. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together. She had been beaten. 

“Finnick?” She whispered. “Are you real?”

He gave her a sad smile and nodded. “Yeah. It’s me, look.” He gently took her hands in his and held them up to his face. He made her cup his cheeks with her palms and look into his eyes. “It’s just me. I’m real. I’m here now. You’re okay.”

He listened to her breathing start to slow and her fingers gripped tighter around his face. “There you go honey. Deep breaths. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. You’re safe.”

Slowly, she nodded, the far away, passive look settling back into her eyes and her hands fell down to her sides. 

Finnick swallowed. “I’m going to need to pick you up off the ground though. I need to see how badly you’re hurt. Will you let me move you?” He offered her his hand to take. 

She tenderly slipped her hand into his and he pulled her to her feet. The moment she stood, Finnick did everything he could to keep from gasping in horror for her own sake. It wasn’t his turn to feel things yet. He needed to be fully present for her. He could handle his mortifying guilt and heated outrage later. 

Her entire lower part of her abdomen was drenched in blood. Her blood. Flint Hendricks didn’t just beat her face, he beat her entire body too. There was no way the baby she was carrying that morning would have survived the assault.

Finnick swallowed the heavy lump in his throat and forced a bitter smile onto his face. Though, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop the clench in his jaw or angry tears burning in his eyes. 

“Okay,” He managed to get out. “You’re doing really well. I’m going to pick you up now. Okay? It’s still me.”

Gently, Finnick gathered Malia into his arms, shielding her from the rain that continued to fall. He held her tightly in his arms as she whimpered slightly. 

“It’s gone…”

With every step, Finnick’s arms trembled under the weight of Malia’s battered body. The rain continued to pour, washing away the evidence of their pain. Determination etched across his face, he pressed forward, driven by a primal instinct to protect her at all costs.

As he navigated the slick streets and winding alleys, the weight of his burden seemed to multiply with each passing moment. Bruises and blood marked Malia’s fragile frame, evidence of the horrors she had endured. Yet, in the midst of his exhaustion and fear, Finnick remained resolute.

Finally, they arrived at the Training Center towers where their living quarters were provided to them by the Capitol where they had sought solace. Panting heavily, Finnick carried Malia up the stairs, his arms trembling but his resolve unyielding. And just as he reached his floor, he bumped into Jake.

Jake’s eyes widened in shock as he took in the sight before him, the realization of the pain Malia had suffered evident in his gaze. Without a word, Jake fell into step behind Finnick, following him into the quarters.

“Mags!” Finnick cries out. 

Mags enters from the next room and her face crumpled with concern as she saw Malia’s battered form in Finnick’s arms.

“She’s hurt,” Finnick tells her.

Swiftly, she moves into action, preparing a warm bath to wash away the physical remnants of the torment Malia had endured.

As Jake gently took Malia from Finnick’s arms and followed after Mags, Finnick felt a tidal wave of emotions crash over him. The weight he had carried, both physically and emotionally, suddenly lifted, leaving him breathless and vulnerable. Panic welled up within him, his breathing quickening and tears streaming down his face.

Jake came out of the bathroom and recognized Finnick’s distress. He moved swiftly to his side, his voice firm yet gentle. 

“Finnick, take deep breaths. Inhale... exhale. Now tell me what the fuck happened to Malia?”

Gasping for air, Finnick fought to regain control, his trembling hands gripping the edge of a nearby table. Finnick began to steady himself, slowly bringing his breathing back to a calmer rhythm.

As the panic subsided, Finnick turned to face Jake, his voice filled with exhaustion and determination. “She.. she was pregnant. That’s why she was sick this morning.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jake sighs as he places his hands on his hips.

“She went to his place.. The sick bastard who kept buying her.. And he..” Finnick continued, his voice breaking as he said the next words. “He beat her.”

Jake’s eyes flashed with pure rage as he locked gazes with Finnick. “I’ll fucking kill him! Where’s the fucking bastard now!?”

Finnick raised his hand, an attempt to calm Jake down. “Get her some warm clothes if I’m not back by the time she’s patched up. My room is the first left,” Finnick tells him as he makes his way towards the door.

“Where the fuck are you going?” Jake asks. “Malia needs you right now.”

“Malia might have killed a future Head Gamemaker, if the Capitol finds out it was her. They’ll kill her, Jake,” Finnick tells him. 

Jake looks back at the bathroom door where Mags was tending to Malia before looking back at Finnick. 

“Hurry back,” Jake tells him. “She’s going to need you a lot more than you know.”

Finnick moved with calculated grace through the labyrinth corridors of the Capitol office. His heart pounded in his chest as he approached Flint Hendricks’s office, his mind focused on the urgent mission at hand. Malia’s life depended on what he would find inside the office.

With deft precision, Finnick picked the lock, feeling a surge of anticipation as the door swung open silently. But his excitement turned to shock as he came face to face with Cassiopeia.

In the dimly lit room, Cassiopeia stood motionless, clutching a match in her trembling hands. Her eyes bore into Finnick’s, filled with a mix of grief and desperation.

“Cassiopeia,” Finnick said, his voice barely above a whisper, trying to gauge her intentions. 

“Did he hurt her?”

The question hung heavy in the air, the room filled with an eerie silence. Cassiopeia’s voice trembled as she spoke, her words laced with sorrow.

“Did my father hurt Malia?” she repeated, her voice stronger this time, determination cutting through the pain.

Finnick’s mind raced, considering his response carefully. He knew the truth could shatter Cassiopeia, but he also understood the weight of keeping secrets. Cassiopeia knew her father was a terrible man but the extent of how terrible was still hanging in the air.

Finnick took a deep breath, his voice steady but filled with regret.

“Yes... yes, she’s in pretty bad shape,” Finnick admitted, his words heavy with the burden of truth.

Tears welled up in Cassiopeia’s eyes, reflecting the flickering flames of the match she held. But in an instant, her sorrow transformed into an inferno of anger and resolve.

Flint Hendricks laid at her feet, surrounded by a pool of his own blood. His knuckles were caked in dry blood which nearly set Finnick spiraling. A huge gash leaking with blood resided across Hendricks’s throat. 

Malia.

“Good fucking riddance,” Cassiopeia says.

With those words, Cassiopeia struck the match against the side of the matchbox, a small flame dancing to life. Without hesitation, she dropped it onto the floor, the spark igniting the room in an inferno of justice and retribution. The crackling flames grew rapidly, devouring the secrets and sins concealed within the Capitol building’s walls.

Finnick and Cassiopeia exchanged a knowing glance, their eyes locking in silent agreement. With adrenaline coursing through their veins, they sprinted out of the burning room, the crackling of fire echoing through the halls.

As they fled through the corridors, their footsteps pounded against the marble floor, the chaos of the Capitol growing louder with each passing moment. Smoke billowed behind them, tendrils of destruction snaking through the air.

They burst through the grand doors, emerging into the darkness of the night. The world beyond seemed to hold its breath as they disappeared into the shadows, leaving the raging fire and the horrors of the Capitol building behind.

The building behind them succumbed to the flames, its walls crumbling under the weight of its secrets. And in the distance, sirens wailed, the sound of their pursuit echoing through the night.

The glow of the burning Capitol building cast an eerie light on the desolate alley where Finnick and Cassiopeia sought refuge. Gasping for breath, their hearts still racing, they slowed their hurried pace, finding a momentary respite from the chaos they had left behind. 

Finnick turned to Cassiopeia, his face etched with confusion and concern.

“Why would you do that?” he asked, his voice laden with disbelief.

Cassiopeia looked back at Finnick, her eyes holding a mix of determination, grief, and a newfound understanding.

A faint smile played on her lips as she replied, “Love is a rare thing in this world, Finnick. The way you care for Malia, the love that radiates from you. I know what it’s like to love someone so deeply.”

Finnick’s breath hitched, his eyes widening in surprise as Cassiopeia’s words resonated within him.

“It’s okay, Finnick. I’ve seen the pain in your eyes, the weight you carry. And I’ve also seen the love that shines through. I’m happy for you, truly.”

Finnick’s features softened, his heart swelling with appreciation for Cassiopeia’s perceptive empathy.

“Thank you, Cassiopeia,” he murmured, overcome with gratitude. “I never expected someone like you to understand.”

Cassiopeia’s smile grew wider, tears glistening in her eyes.

“My father... he hurt so many people, caused so much pain,” she confessed, her voice quivering with emotion. “I couldn’t let him continue to harm others. It was time to put an end to his reign of cruelty. I made sure nothing got traced back to Malia. As far as the Capitol knows, Flint Hendricks tripped and knocked over a candle.”

Finnick tightened his grip on Cassiopeia’s hand, silently conveying his support and solidarity.

“You did what you had to do, Cassiopeia,” he said, his voice filled with conviction. “And thank you for making sure nothing gets traced back to Malia.”

“How is she?” Cassiopeia asks.

“Not well,” Finnick replies, the weight of the situation crashing down upon him and he couldn’t hold back his anguish any longer. Tears streamed down his face as he buried his head in his hands, his body trembling uncontrollably. The pain he had been bottling up for so long now erupted, consuming him in its fiery grip. The sheer injustice of it all, the cruelty of fate, overwhelmed him.

Cassiopeia moved closer, her own tears mingling with his, as she tentatively placed a hand on Finnick’s trembling shoulder. She had heard about the love between Finnick and Malia, the unbreakable bond that they shared, and she understood the depth of Finnick’s anguish.

Finnick looked up at Cassiopeia, his eyes filled with pain and vulnerability. In that moment, he saw her as more than just the daughter of his enemy. She had become his friend, someone who is here for him in the darkest of times. He reached out and gripped her hand tightly, finding solace in her presence.

“I know you didn’t, Cassiopeia,” Finnick choked out between sobs. “None of this is your fault. If it wasn’t for you telling me to go and find her I never would’ve known she was hurt. But seeing her like that... it tore me apart.”

“Where is she now?” Cassiopeia asks. 

“In my quarters,” Finnick replies.

“There’s no reason for you to be here then,” Cassiopeia tells him. “Go.”

Finnick thanked Cassiopeia one more time before leaving the alley.

The rain poured relentlessly outside the towering walls of the Training Center. Finnick’s clothes were drenched and clinging to his body as he trudged wearily up the stairs leading to his quarters. Each step felt heavy, as if the weight of the world rested upon his shoulders. The sound of raindrops hitting the windows echoed through the dimly lit hallway, adding to the melancholic atmosphere.

As he reached his floor, Finnick’s heart sank when he saw Mag’s figure lying motionless on the couch. Panic surged through him as he hurried to her side and he watched the soft rise and fall of her chest and he let out a breath of relief he had no idea he was even holding. 

With a gentle touch, Finnick draped a warm blanket over Mags, shielding her from the chill that clung to the air. It was a small act of comfort, but one he hoped would bring her solace. Her eyes slowly opened and followed his every movement, and he saw the hint of gratitude in them. He knew she was concerned for him, but she had something more important to convey.

Mags weakly motioned towards his room, her gesture urging him to go. Her eyes spoke volumes, assuring him that Malia was safe and resting there. Finnick’s heart skipped a beat, his worry for Mags momentarily eclipsed by relief and curiosity.

On the table before him, he noticed a neatly folded set of clothes. A gesture of thoughtfulness, he realized, left by Mags to replace his drenched attire. Grateful for her foresight, he leaned down and placed a tender kiss on her forehead, a silent promise that he would return soon.

With the fresh clothes in his hands, Finnick stepped hesitantly into his room. There, he found Jake sitting on the edge of the bed. Tears streaked Malia’s face, her eyes red and puffy. Finnick’s heart ached at the sight, his concern for her overwhelming.

Unseen, he stood in the doorway, watching as Jake wrapped his arms around Malia, providing her the comfort she desperately needed. He whispered soothing words into her ear, his voice a balm for her wounded soul. Finnick admired the bond they shared and the solace Jake could provide. He felt a mixture of gratitude and longing, aching to be the one to offer his unwavering support.

When Jake finished tucking Malia into bed, he glanced over his shoulder and noticed Finnick’s presence. He smiled knowingly and patted Finnick on the shoulder, silently acknowledging their shared concern for Malia. With a final squeeze of Finnick’s shoulder, Jake quietly slipped out of the room, leaving the two alone.

Malia’s eyes fluttered open, her gaze locking with Finnick’s. He held up the change of clothes he had in his hands before making his way towards the bathroom. Once he was in a change of dry clothes he stepped back into his room before heading towards the door. 

 His hand had barely touched the doorknob and he hesitated for a moment. He knew Malia needed some space to rest and recover from her injuries, but just as he was about to turn the knob, he heard her voice calling out to him from the bed.

“Finnick, wait,” Malia’s soft voice reached his ears. “Stay.”

He turned around, surprised, and looked at her lying in the bed. Her expression was weary, yet determined. Finnick couldn’t help but feel a mixture of concern and relief wash over him. He wanted to respect her boundaries, but he also wanted to be there for her.

“You sure?” he asked, his voice filled with genuine concern.

Malia met his gaze, her eyes expressing a mix of vulnerability and trust. 

“ Stay ,” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.

Taking a deep breath, Finnick climbed into the bed next to her. He made sure to leave as much space as possible, wanting to respect her physical and emotional boundaries. The mattress dipped under his weight as he settled in, his body rigid with cautiousness.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said softly, his eyes searching for any signs of discomfort on her face.

Malia shifted slightly, wincing as she moved closer to him. She laid her head on his chest, her breathing synchronized with his own. Finnick carefully wrapped his arms around her frame, mindful of her injuries, creating a cocoon of warmth and safety.

“I’m not fragile,” she murmured, her voice laced with determination. “You can scoot closer.”

Finnick hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. But with her gentle encouragement, he scooted a little closer, their bodies fitting together like missing puzzle pieces. Malia winced again, but this time it wasn’t from pain—it was from the sensation of getting closer to someone.

“You know,” Finnick began, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve always had trouble sleeping. Nightmares tend to haunt me, making it difficult to find any real rest.”

Malia’s fingers traced idle patterns on his chest as she listened intently. 

“I can relate,” she admitted, her voice tinged with vulnerability. “Sometimes it feels like the weight of the world settles on my shoulders the moment I close my eyes. The nightmares come rushing in, reminding me of everything I’ve been through. The Games.. Cal’s death.. Today.. Sometimes when I close my eyes, I’m back in that arena and it haunts me. ”

Finnick tightened his embrace, offering her a sense of security. 

“I wish I could take away your nightmares, Malia. I wish I could shield you from the pain. From everything. ”

Malia looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with gratitude. 

“You already have, in a way,” she said softly. “Having you here, holding me like this, it’s the first time in a long while that I’ve felt safe. It’s as if the nightmares lose their power when I’m in your arms.”

A bittersweet smile played on Finnick’s lips.

“I’m glad I can offer you some respite, even if it’s just for a little while. But I want you to know, Malia, that you’re not alone in this.”

Malia’s grip on him tightened, as if seeking reassurance. 

“Promise?” she whispered, her voice filled with a mix of hope and uncertainty.

Finnick’s voice carried an unwavering determination.

“I promise, Malia. I’ll be here, holding you tight, every time the nightmares threaten to overwhelm us. We’ll find a way to overcome them, together.”

A moment of silence enveloped them, the weight of their shared experiences hanging in the air. And then, with a spark of playfulness, Finnick broke the stillness.

“You know,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “I’ve been told I have a talent for telling terrible jokes. Would you like to hear one? Perhaps it can distract us from the nightmares for a moment.”

Malia chuckled softly, her laughter like a soothing melody in the dimly lit room. 

“I could use a good distraction,” she admitted. “Go ahead, Finnick. Hit me with your best terrible joke.”

Finnick cleared his throat, ready to unleash his questionable sense of humor. As he told the joke, Malia’s laughter grew louder, filling the room with a rare lightness. In that moment, surrounded by warmth and laughter, their shared burdens felt a little lighter.

As their laughter subsided, Malia looked up at Finnick, her eyes sparkling. She scrunched her nose, a gesture that melted his heart once again.  It was in that moment, with her in his arms and her genuine smile before him, that he realized he wanted to spend the rest of his life holding Malia like this—feeling safe, content, and truly happy.

With a soft, lingering kiss on her forehead, he whispered, “I’ll be here, Malia, for as long as you’ll have me.”

 Slowly, their conversation faded into a comfortable silence. Finnick and Malia found solace in each other’s presence, their bodies growing heavier against the bed.

In that moment, as they both dozed off, they experienced the best sleep of their lives. With the warmth of each other’s embrace, they found peace, comfort, and maybe even love.

Chapter Text

“Clarity Lovell and Royce Olsen,” Malia announces, walking in on the train and looking at the two. “I’m Malia Wells and this is Jake Griffin.”

Jake walks in and stands next to her before giving them both a nod.

“We’re going to be your mentors over the next few days so if either of you want to have even the slightest chance of making it out alive, you must do as we say,” Malia tells them. 

“Our advice isn’t to harm you,” Jake says. “It’s to help you.”

“Your first piece of advice,” Malia states. “Stick with the Careers.”

“There’s strength in numbers,” Jake adds. “The Careers can either make you or break you. There’s no use going into that arena alone.”

“It’s all about survival the moment you step onto that platform,” Malia says. “As long as you have allies, you will get far.”

“Past the Cornucopia Bloodbath at least,” Jake adds. “If you go at it alone you’re going to wind up dead.”

“Any questions?” Malia asks. 

Royce’s hand shoots up in the air. 

“Are we supposed to ally with district four?” Royce asks.

“That’s entirely up to you,” Jake replies.

“Although I do highly recommend it,” Malia says. “If you’re looking for trust and loyalty in this alliance, I guarantee you that the tributes of district four have that.”

“What makes you say that?” Clarity asks.

“I’m great friends with two of the district four mentors,” Malia replies. “For the past three years we have tried to encourage our tributes to ally with each other and so far it’s worked.”

“The two of us are a bit biased but uh.. district two are usually the ones you have to keep an eye out for,” Jake added.

“Wasn’t it a district four tribute that turned on the Careers in your Games?” Royce asked. 

“Yes but Finnick O’Dair wasn’t their mentor,” Jake replied. 

“Wait, Finnick O’Dair?” Clarity asks. “ He’s your friend from district four?”

“Yeah,” Malia replies.

“He only saved her life,” Jake says, sarcastically. 

“Look, I’m not going to pressure you to ally with his tributes if you don’t want to,” Malia says. “But the more that’s in the Career alliance the more likely you are to survive.”

“Okay, so,” Jake states, clasping his hands together. “Once we get to the Capitol, we’re going to have to immediately get to work on how we want you guys to be presented to the Capitol.”

“Yes, so Jake will be taking Royce as his mentee and I will be taking Clarity,” Malia replies. 

Royce leans close to Clarity, a slight smirk on his face. “This’ll be fun.”

“Everything you do from here on out will be presented for all of Panem to see,” Jake explains. “So if it’s not guaranteed to give you sponsors, don’t do it.”

“We’ll be arriving at the Capitol in a few minutes,” Malia announces. “Once there, you both will be swept away by your stylists’ prep teams to prepare you for the Tribute Parade.”

“Would you look at that,” Jake chuckles, peeking out the window. “We’re here.

Clarity stood in front of the vanity decked out in an all black leather pantsuit. Her blonde hair was clipped back and she adorned black heels on her feet. The black leather jacket laid on the back of a chair as Emery placed a black choker around her neck.

“Leather again?” Malia asks, walking into the room.

“What can I say,” Emery says, closing the clasp on the choker. “It’s my specialty.”

“I don’t know how you do it, Emery,” Malia chuckles, taking in Clarity’s outfit. “Leather on me made me look sweet and innocent but on her she looks like such a badass.”

“It’s all about the design,” Emery smiles proudly. 

“I don’t have to be in this long, do I?” Clarity asks.

“It’s hot, I know,” Malia replies. “But it’s only for the Tribute Parade.”

“Is Royce wearing this too?” Clarity asks. “I can’t suffer alone.”

“Royce is wearing leather as well,” Emery replies. “Pants and jacket I believe.”

“Oh goody,” Clarity responds.

Malia throws her braid over her shoulder before helping Clarity down off the platform. 

“I hope you went to the bathroom before Emery put you in this,” Malia tells her.

“I’ll be fine,” Clarity says. “I think…”

“Doesn’t matter, you’ll have to hold it if you didn’t,” Malia chuckles. “Let’s go meet up with Jake and Royce near the elevators.”

Clarity grabs her leather jacket off the chair and throws it on before waving goodbye and following after Malia. 

“There they are!” Jake exclaims. “Girls take too long to get ready, I swear.”

Malia punches him in the arm before pressing the call button on the elevator. 

“Rude,” Jake mutters. 

“The Tribute Parade is your chance to meet the other tributes– make allies,” Malia explains, ignoring Jake. 

“District two and possibly district four,” Royce repeats.

“You’ve been taking notes, good job,” Jake says, patting his shoulder. 

“There are going to be a lot of previous victors as mentors,” Malia states. “So try to keep your cool.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem for Clarity,” Royce smirks. “Malia just so happens to be–” 

Royce is cut off when Clarity slams her heel into his toe and he yelps. The elevator opens with a ding and Jake ushers everyone inside. He presses the button and the doors slide shut. 

“This is the 69th Hunger Games,” Jake explains. “Which means the head Gamemaker is the same as the Gamemaker in Malia’s Games, so it’s best to be on guard the entire time in the arena.”

The elevator doors slide open and everyone walks out before heading towards the chariots. 

“Make allies,” Malia tells them before moving her head to look around the room. 

“What are you going to do?” Clarity asks. 

“We’ll be around,” Jake replies, smirking slightly at Malia. 

“District one,” A voice calls out and they all turn to look at the district two tributes approaching. 

“Harley Grant,” the female tribute introduces, stretching out her hand. 

“Clarity Lovell,” Clarity replies, reaching out and shaking it. “This is my district partner, Royce Olsen.”

Royce bows his head slightly. 

“Nice to meet you,” Harley smiles. “This is Godrick Briggs.”

Godrick doesn’t do anything except grunt slightly at the two tributes.

“No way,” Harley chuckles, looking at Malia. “You’re Malia Wells!” 

“Indeed I am,” Malia replies. 

“Enobaria told me you’d be here but it’s still so mesmerizing seeing you in person,” Harley squeals. “I’m in the presence of The Cutthroat Queen, this is awesome!” 

“Tone it down,” Godrick mumbles. 

“I’m flattered,” Malia tells her. 

“So we’re allies, right?” Royce asks.

“I would hope so,” Harley replies. “We are meant to be Careers after all.”

“I’ll be right back,” Malia says, patting Jake on the back slightly before walking away. 

“Where’s she going?” Harley asks. 

Jake watches as Malia walks towards someone.

“To talk to an old friend,” Jake chuckles slightly.

“Finnick!” Malia calls out, giving him a huge hug. 

“Malia,” Finnick greets, hugging back. “You look great.”

“So do you,” Malia replies. 

“You’re buddies with the district one mentor?” the district four male tribute asks. 

“I’m here on behalf of my tributes,” Malia says, curtsying slightly. 

“This is Adrian Howard,” Finnick introduces.

“Nice to meet you, Adrian,” Malia smiles.

“And this is Misty Sinclair,” Finnick adds. 

“Nice to meet you too, Misty,” Malia replies. 

“Wow, you’re nicer than I’d thought you’d be,” Misty says. 

“Well sometimes Capitol titles can be misleading,” Malia tells her. 

“Why are you here?” Adrian bluntly asks.

“Wow, okay,” Malia chuckles. “My tributes were hoping to ally with you.”

“Us?” Misty asks. “They want us in the Career alliance?”

“Yes,” Malia replies. “Completely optional, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“Will they kill us if we say no?” Adrian asks.

“Most definitely,” Malia replies. 

She watches as both their eyes widen in fear.

“Oh come on!” Malia exclaims. “I was joking!” 

“Funny,” Adrian sarcastically replies.

“Just get to know them,” Malia explains. “You have until the second day of training to decide. Just let Finnick know and he’ll pass on the word to Jake and I.” 

“What about district two?” Misty asks.

“Not sure,” Malia replies. “I’m a bit biased but district two has always been the one I had to look out for when in the arena. But don’t let that stop you from deciding whether to join the alliance. There’s strength in numbers. I actually think you two would get along really well with Clarity and Royce.”

“We’ll go introduce ourselves,” Misty declares, grabbing Adrian’s arm and dragging him along towards where the Careers stood. 

“If I knew any better I’d say that was just your way of getting me alone,” Finnick smirks jokingly.

“Possibly,” Malia replies. “But then again, I probably just used you as an excuse to get away from my mentor responsibilities.”

“Malia Wells, you are pulling at my heartstrings here,” Finnick tells her, taking a step back and placing a hand over his heart causing her to laugh. 

“I haven’t seen you in a year,” Malia tells him. “Congratulations on Ron winning last year.”

“Thank you,” Finnick smiles. “You look like you have some real winners this year.”

“Royce, maybe,” Malia replies. “Clarity is great but she doesn’t think she can take a life, even if it meant for survival.”

“That’s–” Finnick begins.

“Not gonna help her get far, I know,” Malia cuts him off. “I just wish there was something I could do.”

“Your first year as a mentor you helped Augustus win,” Finnick reminds her. 

“Yeah and then you won the next one,” Malia adds. “This is my third year as a mentor, it’s a lot of pressure. I don’t know how Jake does it. Enobaria won the year after he did and then he brought home back to back victors.”

“Right, the Nicholo siblings,” Finnick nods.

“Can we just..” Malia begins.

“Get out of here?” Finnick suggests.

“Just for a bit,” Malia tells him. 

“Yeah, we have like twenty minutes before the Tribute Parade starts,” Finnick says. “After you.”

Malia leads the way, stepping out into the hallway and Finnick follows right behind her. 

“Everything okay?” Finnick asks.

“Yeah,” Malia replies. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Mal, I know you,” Finnick retorts. “I can tell something is wrong.”

“Do you think things would be entirely different if these Games didn’t exist?” Malia asks. “I mean, I get it. It’s a constant reminder that the Capitol is in charge and that rebellion won’t be tolerated. But still.”

“I believe that things happen for a reason,” Finnick tells her. 

“You believe in fate?” Malia asks. 

“Don’t you?” Finnick responds.

“Not sure,” Malia replies. “I’m not one to one hundred percent believe in it. But I’m also not one to tempt it. It’s kind of complicated.”

“Makes perfect sense to me,” Finnick tells her.

“You’re only saying that cause you’re my best friend,” Malia chuckles before turning to look at him and crossing her arms. “Does it ever bore you? Doing the same mentor stuff every year?”

“Sometimes,” Finnick replies. “But it’s worth it.”

“How so?” Malia asks.

“It gets boring but I get to see you,” Finnick tells her.

“Your flattery levels are off the charts,” Malia laughs, walking ahead before stopping at a giant trophy case. “This is new.”

Finnick follows after her and raises an eyebrow as he stands next to her.

“Is this some kind of joke?” Malia asks. 

“Holy shit,” Finnick mumbles. 

“It’s a fucking shrine,” Malia scoffs. “Dedicated to my Games– why the fuck is this here?”

“It was the biggest entertainment the Capitol had gotten in years,” Finnick responds.

“Be serious, everyone knows that was your Games,” Malia retorts. 

“Yes but you broke a Hunger Games record,” Finnick tells her.

“So did you,” Malia retaliates.

“Yes, but not for the longest kill in Hunger Games history,” Finnick explains. “You carved up Astrid for nearly half an hour.”

“She had it coming,” Malia tells him, her eyes looking around the trophy case. Each of the tribute tokens inside the trophy case were labeled and she felt like she was going to be sick.

Giselle’s locket.

Cleo’s hairpin.

Lucius’s medallion.

Cal’s key.

Malia shakes her head. 

“I can’t be here right now,” Malia tells him, turning away from the trophy case. 

“Let’s head back,” Finnick reassuringly tells her, rubbing her back slightly.

Malia nods and Finnick leads her back towards the Tribute Parade. 

“There you two are!” Jake exclaims, walking up to them. “I’ve been looking everywhere– what happened, why’s she crying?”

“I’m not crying,” Malia states, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. 

“Hallway,” Finnick tells Jake, pointing towards the door with his head. “President Snow has a fucked up shrine dedicated to the deceased tributes in the 66th Games.”

“You can’t be fucking serious,” Jake says.

“See for yourself,” Finnick tells him.

“Malia,” Jake says, grabbing ahold of her shoulders. “You have to pull yourself together. This is the exact same thing Snow did to me with Jade’s necklace. He wants some pre-game entertainment.”

“He has Cal’s key…” Malia mutters quietly.

“The Gamemakers must’ve taken it off his body after he died,” Jake tells her.

“I can’t be here right now,” Malia says, looking around at all the tributes heading towards their chariots. “It’s like he’s everywhere.”

“Just head back to your sleeping quarters,” Jake tells her. “I’ll take over for both Clarity and Royce. Just get out of here, clear your head.”

Malia nods before sending an apologetic look towards Finnick.

“It’s okay,” Finnick reassures her. 

Malia bites her lip slightly before leaving.

“She’ll be okay, right?” Finnick asks.

“I certainly hope so,” Jake responds.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, your master of ceremonies, Caesar Flickerman!” 

“Thank you!” Caesar exclaims, waving to the crowd with a huge grin on his face. “Welcome, welcome, welcome to the 69th annual Hunger Games!”

He waves his hand and the crowd cheers louder.

“Dammit,” Malia mutters, sinking down in her chair from backstage as Jake grins proudly next to her ear.

“I told you he’d wear orange this year,” Jake smiles. “Which means I get to choose what’s for dinner.”

“I really hate you,” Malia tells him.

“Nah, you love me,” Jake retorts.

“In about five minutes they will all be out here!” Caesar announces. “All of the tributes that you’ve heard about. Are you excited!? Let me hear it!”

The crowd goes wild and Caesar laughs.

“Do you think I could take his job?” Jake asks. 

“You? The next Caesar Flickerman?” Malia asks in response.

“Yeah, it won’t be too hard,” Jake replies. “Watch this.”

Jake picks up a random hairbrush from a random vanity and speaks into it like a microphone. 

“So, tell me Miss Wells,” Jake begins. 

“Hmm,” Malia hums in response.

“What was it like to have the dashing Jake Griffin as your mentor? Was he everything you hoped for?” Jake asks, pointing the hairbrush towards her.

“Oh please,” Malia laughs.

“You gotta answer, Miss Wells,” Jake tsks. “The crowd is getting restless.”

“Well, I think Jake was the best mentor a girl like me could ever hope for,” Malia replies.

“Nope, can’t do his job,” Jake says, setting the hairbrush down and wiping away fake tears. “I’m too sentimental.”

Malia laughs.

“Hey,” Jake says in a hush tone. “You’re doing great, I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, Jake,” Malia smiles.

“All the way from district one,” Caesar announces.

“We should get to our seats,” Jake says, rushing down the steps with Malia in tow.

“Please give him a warm welcome, Royce!”

“Wooo! That’s my guy!” Jake cheers, clapping and pumping his fist in the air.

Royce makes eye contact with Jake and pumps his fist in the air causing the crowd to go wild. 

Malia chuckles and shakes her head as she sits down in an empty seat in the crowd and Jake sits down next to her.

“I think Royce might be my new favorite mentee,” Jake states. “Are you jealous?”

“Oh, very,” Malia chuckles. “Can’t you see the fury in my eyes?”

“It’s so good to see you, Royce!” Caesar exclaims, sitting down on one of the chairs on stage and Royce sits down in the other.

He wore a white button down shirt with black polka dots and his suit jacket was a grey plaid to match his dress pants. 

“Nice to see you too, Caesar,” Royce smiles.

“How are you liking the Capitol so far?” Caesar asks. “What’s been your favorite part?”

“The Capitol is great,” Royce answers. “It’s literally everything you’d hope it be. The best part about it though is definitely all the fashion. I mean, there are so many stylish people that live here.”

“What do you think of all the other tributes?” Caesar asks. “Surely you’ve made some friends, possibly some enemies?”

“You know how district one is,” Royce answers. “We’re sticking with the Careers.”

“And rightfully so,” Caesar chuckles and the crowd laughs. “What do you miss most about district one?”

“I certainly miss the academy,” Royce replies. “I spent so much time there I’d constantly be told to go home.”

The crowd laughs. 

“I do certainly hope to win this year,” Royce adds. “These Games change people’s lives.”

“Well we certainly will be betting on you,” Caesar smiles before taking Royce’s hand and standing up. “Royce Olsen, everyone!”

The crowd cheers as he walks off stage. 

“Next up from district one,” Caesar announces. “Let’s see if she truly is as intelligible as her name, Clarity Lovell!”

Clarity walks on stage decked out in a short poofy white dress with black polka dots and her hair cascaded down her back in curls. 

The crowd cheers as Clarity waves to them before sitting down. 

“Clarity, that’s a nice name,” Caesar compliments. “You and your district partner both scored ten’s. How does that make you feel?” 

“I’m pretty sure it’s been well known since The Reaping that Royce and I are best friends,” Clarity responds. “I’m not surprised we got matching scores.”

“This decade has been nothing but pure entertainment for us here in the Capitol,” Caesar states. “We’ve had twins, lovers, and now best friends competing against each other.”

“Again, fuck you,” Jake mutters.

“It’s a shame, yes,” Clarity answers.

“Do you believe you have what it takes to become this year’s victor?” Caesar asks.

“My mentor believes in me,” Clarity replies. “That’s all that really matters to me.”

“What about family?” Caesar asks.

“What about it?”

“Does family matter to you?”

“Of course. I love my family.”

“What about your brother?”

Clarity raises an eyebrow, shifting uncomfortably in her seat as she tries to keep the smile on her face.

“How– how did you know I had a brother?” Clarity asks.

“Do you think he’s watching you right now? Cheering you on?” Caesar asks, ignoring her question altogether.

“No,” Clarity answers.

“And why’s that?” Caesar asks.

Clarity shakes her head and goes to stand up and leave.

“Ah ah ah,” Caesar says, motioning for her to sit back down. “The interview isn’t over yet.”

“What kind of game are you playing here?” Clarity asks him, sitting back down.

“It’s just a simple question,” Caesar answers. “Why isn’t your brother watching?” 

“Because he’s dead!” Clarity bursts out. “He’s dead, okay?”

“That’s unfortunate,” Caesar responds, ignoring the slight tear running down Clarity’s cheek.

“We’ve got to get her out of there,” Malia mutters, urging Jake to get up. 

Jake stands and leaves the seats and Malia follows after him. 

“How did he die?” Caesar asks.

Clarity shakes her head as she picks at her nails that are laid in her lap. 

“He was killed in the Hunger Games,” Clarity answers and the crowd gasps.

Malia halts and looks back on stage where Caesar and Clarity sat.

“How long ago?” Caesar asks.

“Three years ago.”

Jake looks back at Malia and watches as she shakes her head as she starts taking steps back. 

Did she possibly kill Clarity’s brother?

“And what was his name?” Caesar asks.

“Cal Dynam.”

The moment Clarity’s revelation hung in the air, a heavy silence descended upon the Capitol audience. They had been captivated by the drama of the Hunger Games, but this unexpected twist touched a chord deep within them. The collective gasp rippled through the crowd as Clarity choked back her tears. Cameras zoomed in on her, capturing every raw emotion etched across her face.

Malia felt a wave of dizziness wash over her, her heart pounding in her chest. She clutched Jake’s arm tightly, the world spinning around her. Her mind was racing, trying to process the shock of Clarity’s revelation.

Cal.

Clarity.

Siblings.

The enormity of it all crashed down upon her like a tidal wave.

Malia’s breath quickened, her vision blurring as the room seemed to close in around her. Panic clawed at her chest, threatening to consume her. She had never felt so disoriented, so trapped. Jake sensed her distress and immediately sprang into action. He gently but firmly guided her away from the cameras that were now trained on her, trying to give her some space.

“Back the fuck off!” Jake scowls, jumping in front of Malia to shield her from the cameras.

“Come on, Malia,” he urged in a hushed voice, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “Let’s get out of here.”

Malia staggered alongside Jake, her thoughts a chaotic whirlwind. Her mind replayed memories of Cal and all of his reassurances. Him by her side the entire time she was in the arena and then later dying in her arms. It was all too much to bear. Clarity’s voice, calling out to her, reached her ears through the haze of her panic.

“Malia, wait!” Clarity cried, reaching out for her as she rushed down the steps to the stage. 

But Jake wasn’t about to let the cameras capture any more of Malia’s distress. He threw open the exit door with a forceful push, and they stumbled out into a quiet corridor. Malia’s sobs came rushing out, overwhelming her as she crumpled against the wall.

Jake knelt beside her, offering his comforting presence. He pulled her into a tight embrace, letting her cry into his shoulder. Malia clung to him desperately, as if he were the only anchor keeping her from being swept away by the storm of emotions inside her.

“I guess that means the interview is over,” Caesar chuckles, cutting the tension in the air. “From district two, Godrick Briggs!” 

The exit door swings open and Jake looks over his shoulder to see Clarity standing there.

“Now’s not the time,” Jake tells her.

“Jake–” Clarity begins.

“Go,” Jake says.

The exit door swings open again and Finnick rushes out in distress and rushes over and pulls Malia into a hug. 

Jake stands up and walks over to Clarity, ushering her away from Finnick and Malia. 

“So he gets to be here, but I can’t?” Clarity asks.

“It’s nothing personal,” Jake tells her. 

“I just want to make sure she’s okay,” Clarity pleads.

“She’ll be fine,” Jake says. “Finnick’s got her.”

“I didn’t mean to upset her,” Clarity explains. “I swear.”

“I know,” Jake responds. “This is all of Caesar’s and Snow’s doing.”

“I want to help,” Clarity tells him.

“You really want to help?” Jake asks. “Go back inside and grab Royce. Then head back and get as much sleep as you can for the Games tomorrow.”

“But Malia–” Clarity says.

“Needs some space right now,” Jake tells her. “It’s been three years since Cal died, you being here is just going to make things worse. She needs space to wrap her head around things.”

Clarity nods before shooting an apologetic look in Malia’s direction before heading back inside. 

Malia sat on the couch, lost in her mind as she stared at a random spot on the carpet. Jake had gone to bed two hours ago and she had tried to sleep but her mind was soaring, she couldn’t find the peace to calm her mind to get even the slightest bit of shuteye. 

“Can we talk?” A voice asks.

Malia looks up and sees Clarity standing in the doorway. 

“Clarity, what are you doing up?” Malia asks. “The Games are tomorrow morning.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Clarity replies, walking further into the room.

“There’s pills for that,” Malia tells her, standing up. Her long silk robe slinks to the floor and Malia wanders to the kitchen, tightening the robe around her pajamas. 

“Then how come you haven’t taken any?” Clarity asks, watching her rummage through the cabinets. “You’ve been up for hours.”

“I went out for a late night dinner with Finnick,” Malia answers, closing a cabinet.

“Are you two like.. a thing?” Clarity asks.

“No,” Malia replies. “It’s a tradition. Every night before the morning of the Games we eat out somewhere in the Capitol and catch up.”

“Is that allowed?” Clarity asks.

“Finnick has connections,” Malia replies, walking over to open the fridge. “We’re not tributes. We’re allowed to do whatever the fuck we want.”

“I don’t think that’s entirely true,” Clarity chuckles, walking over and sitting down at the kitchen counter. 

Malia sets a glass of water down in front of Clarity followed by a bright blue pill. 

“That’ll help you sleep,” Malia tells her. 

“None of us blame you, you know that right?” Clarity asks.

“What?” Malia responds.

“Cal’s death,” Clarity answers. “None of us blame you.”

“Can we not talk about this?” Malia asks, crossing her arms and starts to make a beeline for her room.

“We were sad that he died,” Clarity calls after her. “But he died saving you. He truly loved you and we were all glad it was you who won.”

Malia stops in her tracks and turns to look at her. 

“Why are you telling me this?” Malia asks. 

“You need closure,” Clarity replies and Malia scoffs slightly.

“I don’t need closure,” Malia tells her. “I just want to stop talking about this.”

“When I walked onto the train after I was reaped,” Clarity continues. “I saw you walk in and I was excited. I thought– my brother’s ex-girlfriend could be my mentor. But you didn’t recognize me and I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“You’ve changed a lot in the past three years,” Malia explains.

“That’s what changing your last name and bleaching your hair does,” Clarity responds.

“Why’d you change your name?” Malia asks.

“I loved Cal,” Clarity answers. “I really did. But, everywhere I went it was like I was in a never ending funeral. So many apologies and it got to the point where the academy started rigging things to make me feel better when I missed a target. I wasn’t Clarity Dynam, I was the girl with a dead brother. So I distanced myself. Changed my name, dyed my hair. People started to get the memo.”

Malia nods slightly before walking back towards her and sits down next to her.

“I expected you to come back around,” Clarity tells her. “But you never did. Eventually, three months turned into three years.”

“I couldn’t face you guys,” Malia explains. “I’m the reason Cal’s dead. How was I supposed to face his family knowing his plan was to sacrifice himself for me the entire time?”

“Cal knew he wasn’t coming out of that arena but he wanted you to have an out,” Clarity tells her. “To be able to get out of that house with your father. He abused you long enough, Cal was sick of it.”

Malia bites her lip and lowers her head.

“Also, I know this isn’t the right time,” Clarity continues. “But you were how I figured out I liked girls.”

“Seriously?” Malia asks.

“Yeah, I had this massive crush on you,” Clarity chuckles. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Malia asks. 

“Cause it didn’t matter,” Clarity replies. “You were with my brother and you were happy.”

“I don’t even think I know what being happy is anymore,” Malia states.

“Have you tried telling him?” Clarity asks.

“Telling who?”

“Finnick.”

“Tell him what?”

“Really?” Clarity asks, lifting an eyebrow. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you and you don’t notice it but you’re happy around him. You should tell him how you feel.”

“I can’t,” Malia sighs. “It just doesn’t feel right.”

“Why?” Clarity asks. “Because of Cal? It’s okay for you to move on. You can’t stay hooked on Cal forever. He’s dead and he’d want you to move on and be happy. So whoever it is that managed to capture your heart, go for it.”

Malia shakes her head. 

Clarity sighs and stands up. 

“Where are you going?” Malia asks. 

“To get something, I’ll be back!” Clarity exclaims. 

Clarity disappears in her room and after a few minutes she returns to the kitchen with a fancy box in her hand. She walks over and sets it down in front of Malia. 

The box was resplendent in the deepest shade of passionate red that gleamed like a ruby under the light’s tender caress. Its surface, polished to an otherworldly perfection, beckons to be touched, each touch leaving a trace of warmth behind. The crimson hue, like a stolen kiss, hints at the fervent emotions hidden within. 

Atop the crimson canvas lies an intricate engraving, a solitary “C” that dances gracefully, its form an homage to both art and identity. It is as if the box has captured the essence of a very soul, cradling it within its exquisite walls.

The lock was in the shape of a heart, it is a testament to love’s enduring mystery. Crafted with such precision and delicacy, it is as though a master jeweler breathed life into it, for it shimmers with the luster of a thousand dreams. However, a solitary enigma remains—a missing key, an open invitation to the curious and the daring.

“What is this?” Malia asks.

“Cal gave it to me,” Clarity replies. “Handed it to me when I came to say goodbye to him after he volunteered.”

“It’s gorgeous,” Malia murmurs.

“He had it crafted himself,” Clarity explains. “He wanted me to give it to you the next time I saw you.”

“You held onto this box for three years?” Malia asks.

“It was Cal’s dying wish,” Clarity replies.

“Do you have the key?” Malia asks.

“Unfortunately not,” Clarity replies. “He never gave me one.”

“So how does he expect–” Malia begins but stops mid sentence.

“What?” Clarity asks.

“A box of secrets,” Malia mutters, rushing to her room. 

“It’s a box, yes,” Clarity says, following after her. “Not so sure about the secret part.”

“No,” Malia replies, shaking her head at her as she quickly puts on a pair of boots. “Cal’s tribute token.”

She reaches into her bedside drawer and pulls out a knife and slides it into her boot before tossing her hair up into a high ponytail. 

“He said it was a key to unlock his box of secrets,” Malia continued, slamming the bedside drawer closed.

“Okay, but Cal died with that around his neck,” Clarity states. “You can’t get it even if you wanted to.”

“That’s what you think,” Malia tells her, squeezing herself past her and rushes towards the front door. “Stay here.”

The front door closes behind Malia and Clarity stands in the middle of the room confused. 

Malia rushes down the steps of the tribute center and quickly makes her way towards the main Capitol building where the Tribute Parade had taken place. She quickly pushes herself up against the wall, hearing voices around the corner where she needed to be. 

“My bets are on Godrick,” the first voice says.

“Cause he’s district two?” the second voice asks. “I think Clarity has this in the bag.”

“Just because she’s the sister of a previous tribute doesn’t mean she’s guaranteed to win,” the first voice retaliates. “If anything, she signed her own death certificate.”

Malia waits until the voices are at a distance before she turns the corner and heads towards the trophy case. She keeps her head down as she uses her elbow to smash the glass and she quickly snatches the key from inside before rushing away and back towards her sleeping quarters.

She quietly closes the door and turns back around to see Clarity rushing over towards her.

“Where’d you go?” Clarity asks.

Malia doesn’t say anything, she just holds up the key. 

“No fucking way,” Clarity chuckles. “Where’d you get that?”

“President Snow thought it would be entertaining to put up a whole shrine dedicated to all the tributes that died in my Games,” Malia explains. “Those that had tribute tokens got put into a trophy case and were put on display.”

“Right well,” Clarity says, grabbing the bright blue pill and popping it into her mouth. She drinks the water before giving Malia a slight smile. “I’ll let you have some privacy.”

“Hey, Clarity?” Malia calls out after her.

“Yeah?” Clarity asks.

“Thank you,” Malia tells her. “And I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Clarity asks.

“I asked Jake to switch mentees with me,” Malia tells her. “After I found out you were Cal’s sister, I didn’t want any more of the Dynam family dying under my supervision. Jake and Cal got me out of the arena, maybe Jake can do the same for you.”

Clarity nods before heading back towards her room.

Malia clutches the key in her hand before bringing the crimson box closer towards her. She looks at the key in her hand and looks at the “M” engraved into the red pendant on the key. 

“Moment of truth,” Malia sighs quietly before inserting the key into the heart shaped lock and turning. 

Click.

Malia flips open the box and inside was a single piece of paper, folded up. 

Cal’s box of secrets was nothing more than just a single piece of paper?

Malia pulls the letter out of the box and unfolds it and she has to stop her eyes from tearing up seeing Cal’s handwriting.

My dearest Malia,

I hope this letter finds its way to you in the midst of all this chaos. I just wanted you to know that I volunteered not out of recklessness but out of an unyielding love for you. Every moment without you feels like a lifetime, and the thought of you facing this nightmare alone is unbearable to me.

From the very first moment I laid eyes on you, I was captivated not just by your extraordinary skills but the person you are beneath the surface. Your strength, your determination, and your unwavering spirit has shown through even in the darkest times. I remember watching you train, your dedication evident in every target you cut up, every knife you threw, and I couldn’t help but fall in love with the fire that burns within you.

You’ve never watched the Hunger Games, but I’ve come to realize that the real games were the ones we played with our hearts. I pursued you relentlessly, not just because I wanted to win your heart, but because I wanted to be the one who brought a genuine smile to your face. Your father’s cruelty and the oppressive shadow of District One tried to extinguish your light, but I refused to let it happen. You were my beacon of hope in this dark world.

Though we’ve only been together three short months, you’ve become the reason I wake up everyday. You are the love of my life, Malia Wells, and I would move mountains just to ensure your safety and happiness. My actions in this arena are not going to be about winning: but about protecting the most precious thing I’ve ever known.

I want you to smile and find happiness. If anything were to happen to you in that arena, I’d forever be haunted by the fact that I couldn’t save you. But I promise you this: I will fight with everything I have to get you out of that arena alive. This will be the plan the moment I step onto that train to go to the Capitol and nothing will deter me.

Remember, Malia, that I love you more than words can express. And even though I’ll be gone by the end of the week, I’ll be at peace knowing you’re alive and doing well. 

Stay strong for me.

With all the love in my heart,

Cal x

Malia feels herself tear up and a gasped sob escapes from her lips. She sets the letter back inside the box and closes the lid, she pushes the box backwards on the table but tilts it over seeing a piece of tape. Malia pulls off the envelope taped to the bottom of the box and flips it over to see another letter addressed to her and she slowly opens it with shaky hands.

My dearest Malia,

If you’re reading this letter it means that you’re alive and I’m gone…

Malia, I want you to remind you that every decision I made, every step I took in that arena, has been with you in my heart and mind. I have given up my life willingly because I love you more than words could ever convey. At this moment, as I write these words before I step up onto that platform. I have found a strange sense of peace knowing that I’ve done everything in my power to ensure your survival– to ensure that you’re well taken care of even years after I’m gone.

I want you to live a long and happy life, more than anything else in this world. I’ve come to terms with the fact that it won’t be with me. I won’t be around by the end of the week, but there’s someone else out there who will love you far more deeply than I ever will. You have to let go of me, Malia, not because I want you to forget our time together or the love we shared, but because I want you to find true happiness. And you can’t do that unless you let go of the past and let go of me.

My death will not be your fault because everything I did, every sacrifice I made, was for you. It was entirely my choice the moment your name was picked. From the moment we met, I knew you were a remarkable person. I want you to embrace life, to find joy in the simple things, to laugh, and to love with all your heart. Please, don’t let my sacrifice weigh you down with guilt or sorrow. I would do it all over again, a million times if I could, just to see you safe and happy.

As I face whatever awaits me in this arena, know that I will carry your memory with me, your smile, your laughter, your love. Even in the darkest moments, you will be my light. And I hope, in time, you’ll find the strength to let go of the pain and move forward toward a future that’s brighter than anything we could have had together. 

You deserve nothing less than happiness, Malia, and I believe with all my heart that you will find it. Live for both of us, and know that my love for you will endure beyond the boundaries of this world. 

With all the love I’ve ever known,

Cal x

“You okay?” Jake asks, standing in the doorway, his hair a ruffled mess and his eyes drooping from sleep. 

Malia bites her lips to bite back the cry that she wanted to let out and she wiped her eyes with her sleeve. She turns to look at Jake and nods. 

“I’m actually doing well,” Malia tells him. 

“Well, your name isn’t Malia Wells for nothing,” Jake says before scrunching his nose in disgust. “Sorry, that was terrible. Sleepy me doesn’t make great jokes.”

Malia lets out a laugh before folding up the letter and placing it inside the box with the other letter.

“That’s a pretty box,” Jake says, walking towards her to get a closer look. 

“Cal had it made,” Malia tells him, her voice scratchy.

“What’s inside?” Jake asks, sitting down next to her.

She lets out a sniffle before wiping her eyes with her sleeve once more and chuckles. “Letters from Cal.”

“Should I burn them?” Jake asks.

“No,” Malia laughs. “They were heartfelt. Gave me the closure I didn’t know I needed.”

Jake nods slowly. “Closure’s good.”

“How did you find closure?” Malia asks. “With Jade and you know– your family.”

“I don’t think I ever did,” Jake answers. “It’s hard to find closure when you don’t know exactly what you’re looking for.”

“They’d be proud of you, you know?” Malia tells him. “Ever since you won you’ve brought four victories to district one with your mentoring.”

“It still won’t bring my family back,” Jake says. “I can bring back as many victors back to district one but my family still remains dead.”

“This might seem far-fetched,” Malia begins. “But I’ve never had a brother but in the three years of knowing you, you are the closest thing I have to a brother.”

 “Malia–” Jake begins but Malia places a hand on his arm.

“Let me finish,” Malia tells him. “You’re always there for me whether it’s to make me laugh when I’m sad or fending off the people in the Capitol when they try to rile me up. You always protect me and I’ll forever be grateful for that. You might not think so highly of me but I needed you to know. And– and this isn’t me trying to replace Jade or anything I just.. I wouldn’t know where I’d be without you.”

Jake lays his hand on top of Malia’s arm and gives it a gentle squeeze. 

“Follow me,” Jake tells her, standing up and walking towards the direction of his room. 

Malia tilts her head in slight confusion before following Jake. She stops in his doorway and leans against the doorframe as he coughs slightly before rummaging through his bedside drawer.

“What are you looking for?” Malia asks.

“Give me a minute,” Jake replies. “Shit.. where is it…”

“If you tell me what you’re looking for I can help find it,” Malia chuckles.

“Shush!” Jake exclaims, making a shooing motion with his hand. “Telling you ruins the surprise.”

“Jake, I don’t–” Malia begins, walking further into the room.

“Ah bah bah,” Jake says, shushing her before pulling an item out of the bedside drawer and hiding it behind his back.

Malia tilts her head up at him, playfully glaring at him as he approaches her. 

“Do you remember that night when I panicked because you weren’t in your room?” Jake asks.

“How could I forget?” Malia asks, chuckling. “You never let me forget.”

“Right, well,” Jake continues, clearing his throat. “After I figured out you had gone to Finnick’s, I lie awake nearly every night just wondering if there’s going to be a time I’m going to wake up in the middle of the night and you’re not there for real.”

“Jake, that’s never going to happen,” Malia tells him.

“Yes, I know,” Jake sniffles. “But my brain doesn’t let me think that way. I want you to be able to visit Finnick in the middle of the night when you feel like you want to just get away. But my brain also needs reassurance that you’re not gone. Which is why I wanted to give you this.”

Jake pulls the item out from behind his back and holds it out for Malia to take.

“Jake, I- I can’t take that,” Malia tells him. “That was Jade’s.”

In his hands was a round silver jewelry box with a butterfly decorated on the top.

“And now it’s yours,” Jake tells her. “You see me as a brother, right? Well, I see you as a sister and it took me a while to accept it but maybe Jade brought us together in some way. You’re not her replacement, Malia.”

Malia gives Jake a genuine smile before taking the jewelry box from Jake. 

“It’s gorgeous,” Malia tells him.

“When Jade and I were younger,” Jake begins, sitting down on the edge of his bed. “She’d sneak out of her room and I don’t know if you know this about me but uh, I’m quite the prankster.”

“Really? I haven’t noticed,” Malia tells him, smiling. 

Jake smiles and looks down at the ground. 

“I would sneak into her room,” Jake continues. “And I’d find new funny ways to mess with her, you know? The classical whipped cream on hand and then tickling their face with a feather was always my go to. But one night, I snuck into her room and she wasn’t there. I freaked out. I ran all the way to my parent’s room across the house and nearly broke the door down while sobbing. But there she was, cuddled in between my mom and dad, fast asleep. My dad took me out into the hall and calmed me down, saying Jade was having nightmares and couldn’t sleep. Turns out, some assholes at the academy had started harassing her, lowering her self confidence and undermining her potential. I beat them up the next day. After that, whenever Jade would have nightmares and couldn’t sleep she’d leave the lid of that jewelry box off to let me know that she was safe and sound with our mom and dad.”

Malia looked down at the jewelry box in her hand and clutched it tightly.

“It gave me a sense of peace,” Jake tells her. “Knowing that if the jewelry box lid was off, that she was okay. She was alive. And she was only in my parent’s room. The lid hasn’t been off in eight years.”

“Jake, I’m sorry,” Malia says. “You don’t deserve any of the shit that you went through.”

Jake nods before wiping away the tears that threatened to spill. 

“Just..” Jake begins. “Next time Finnick comes to steal you away in the middle of the night for ‘dinner’, leave the lid on the jewelry box off.”

“I promise,” Malia tells him, pulling him into a hug.

Malia watches intently at the monitor as the cameras in the arena pan to Clarity diving inside an abandoned booth. 

“Everyone, alright!?” Harley calls out. 

“Adrian’s injured!” Misty answers, pulling Adrian inside an abandoned photo booth. 

“That’s unfortunate!” Royce replies.

“Whichever Gamemaker thought clowns would be a great mutt this year is about to get an earful from me,” Harley grunts, peeking over the booth she was hiding behind. 

“We can’t stay here!” Godrick yells. 

“Yeah, no shit!” Clarity exclaims.

“What’s the plan!?” Royce asks, leaning his head back and clutching his two bladed boomerangs to his chest. 

Harley ducks back inside the booth and picks up her spiked whip. 

“We gotta make a run for it!” Harley calls out.

“And where the fuck would we go!?” Godrick spat. 

“There’s a box theater up ahead, maybe there?” Misty suggests.

“You guys go,” Adrian says. “I’ll hold the stupid clowns off.”

“You’re in no condition to fight,” Misty tells him.

“I actually like his idea!” Godrick exclaims.

“Yeah, because it’s not you!” Misty snaps at him. “Adrian, come on.”

“Just go,” Adrian tells her.

He limps out of the abandoned photo booth and chucks his spear at one of the clowns. 

“Hey asshole!” Adrian yells at it. “Come get me!” 

Adrian takes off in a random direction, running as fast as he could and the alliance watches as the clowns follow after him. 

Clarity stumbles out from inside the booth and Royce joins her side. 

“We need to hurry,” Harley says, walking up to them. “Adrian won’t be able to keep them distracted for long.”

“Look at this,” Misty says, brushing off some dust off a bulletin board.

“Is that real?” Clarity asks, walking up to it.

“A map? Really?” Godrick asks, rolling his eyes. “This map could lead us straight into traps.”

“Yes, but at least we’ll know which direction to go,” Misty states. “We’re literally in an abandoned carnival theme arena. Who knows what other ‘fun’ creatures we’ll come across.”

“Okay, so where do you suggest we go?” Godrick asks.

Misty runs her fingers across the texture of the map before stopping at the closest place to their current location.

“The box theater,” Misty replies. 

“Everyone grab your stuff,” Harley tells them. “Box theater it is.”

A cannon sounds and the alliance falls silent.

“Come on,” Godrick says. “No use crying over what’s dead and gone.”

The alliance grabs their things before starting their journey towards the box theater. Malia sighs as she watches Adrian’s face on the monitor appear next to all the other deceased tributes. 

“District four bites the dust again,” Brutus laughs.

“Oh shut the fuck up,” Jake tells him. “Misty is still alive.”

“Yeah, but for how long?” Brutus asks, chuckling.

“I don’t understand why district four even tries allying with us,” Enobaria says. “They’re always the first ones to die.”

“Yeah, by sacrificing themselves,” Malia chimes in. “I’d like to see a district two tribute sacrifice themselves for their alliance.”

“There have been some,” Brutus states.

“Name one,” Jake tells him.

“Guys, it’s fine,” Finnick says.

“No, no,” Jake chuckles. “I’d like to hear the name of one district two tribute who sacrificed themselves for their alliance.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Malia adds. “There isn’t one.”

Jake gives Malia a high five and Enobaria scowls. 

“District two doesn’t need to sacrifice,” Enobaria chimes in. “Why do you think there’s been so many district two victors?”

“Not lately,” Finnick retorts. 

“The 60th Hunger Games was district six, I believe?” Jake says. “61st– that was me.”

Jake smiles proudly and Brutus glares. 

“I won the 62nd,” Enobaria states.

“And then Gloss and Cashmere won the 63rd and 64th,” Jake retorts.

“I won the 65th,” Finnick adds.

“Then I won the 66th,” Malia states.

“Then Malia helped Augustus Braun win the 67th,” Jake explains. 

“Last year was another district four victory,” Malia adds.

“Out of the past decade, you’ve only won once,” Jake chuckles. “So I wouldn’t be talking shit about district four when Finnick’s brought home twice the amount of victors you have.”

Finnick gives Jake a slight smile which Jake returns with a wink and Malia laughs.

“So you’re really Cal Dynam’s sister?” Misty asks. 

Malia bites her lip as she turns her attention back to the screen.

“That’s me,” Clarity replies. 

“That’s cool,” Misty says. “I loved that Malia won but Cal seemed to genuinely care about her, which I thought was pretty cool.”

“So, you’re a hopeless romantic?” Royce asks. 

“No,” Misty replies. “I just find it intriguing, you know? A guy from a Career district, sacrificing his own life to protect someone he loved. You don’t see much of that in Career districts, you know?”

“Can we skip all this lovey dovey talk?” Godrick asks. “It’s making me nauseous.”

“Typical district two,” Royce chuckles.

Godrick turns around and stares down Royce.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Godrick asks. 

“We get it,” Royce replies. “You’re from district two. You’re the big bad alpha. All district two male tributes tend to be.”

“I could crush you right now,” Godrick threatens.

“So could Clarity,” Royce states. “You’re not special.”

“Knock it off you two,” Harley says. “We’ve arrived.”

The alliance heads inside the box theater and they set their supplies down on the stage. Harley rushes down the steps before plopping down on one of the many theater seats. 

“This is cool,” Misty smiles.

“It’s old,” Godrick states. “And dusty.”

“Sorry it’s not in tip top shape for you,” Misty retorts. “I’m sure you can put a complaint in the Gamemakers complaint box.”

“Oh goodie,” Harley says. “I’ll make sure to drop a complaint about these fucking clowns.”

“How many more tributes are left?” Royce asks, sprawling himself out on the stage.

Clarity crouches down next to him, using her double bladed staff as support. 

Misty looks down at her hands, counting off the tributes on her fingers. 

“There’s all of us– that’s five,” Misty answers. “Then there’s district three and district twelve.”

“District twelve is still alive?” Godrick asks, chuckling. “I could’ve sworn I gutted both of them in the Bloodbath.”

Misty shakes her head. 

“Unless they’re allied together then one of them is bound to die from dehydration or some shit,” Harley states.

“My guess is district twelve,” Godrick says.

“We should stay here tonight,” Clarity suggests.

“Yeah,” Royce agrees. “Then tomorrow morning we can go out and track down whichever tribute is left.”

“Clarity, Harley and I can take the first shift,” Godrick suggests. 

“Alright, Royce and I will take the second shift,” Misty says. 

“Everyone cool with that?” Godrick asks and he watches as everyone nods. 

A cannon sounds and Haymitch slams his hands down on the monitor before storming out of the room. 

“Seventh place isn’t so bad,” Jake shrugs. 

He turns his attention back to the monitor before watching Brutus and Enobaria whisper to each other. He shakes his head and turns back to the screen. 

“What’s the point in you having that cool staff if you aren’t even planning on killing anyone with it?” Godrick asks, looking over at Clarity.

“It looks nice,” Clarity replies, sarcastically rolling her eyes. 

“It’s what? Day three?” Godrick asks.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Clarity asks. 

“Your brother had killed five tributes by the third day in his arena,” Godrick replies. “I thought you’d be similar, that’s all.”

“I’m not my brother,” Clarity says. “I do things a lot differently than he does.”

“Clarity’s got a famous brother, big deal,” Harley groans. “She’s tired of living in his shadow, don’t you get it?” 

Clarity nods her head and points at Harley. 

“She gets it,” Clarity says and Harley winks. 

“Whatever,” Godrick says, standing up. “I’m going to go see if I can find us some water.”

They all watch him shuffle down the steps before throwing open a giant door and leaving. 

“What’s the possibility that he actually comes back?” Misty asks.

“Godrick’s a hothead,” Harley exclaims. “He just needs to calm down and then he’ll be fine.” 

“Is it the buzzcut?” Royce asks. “I feel like it’s the buzzcut.”

Misty, Clarity, and Harley all burst out laughing and Royce smiles.

“So bladed boomerangs,” Harley says, gesturing towards Royce’s weapons. “That’s cool, has it always been like.. your signature weapon?”

“Deadly and easy to carry around,” Royce explains. “That’s nothing compared to yours though, I mean come on? A spiked whip? That’s the coolest shit ever!”

Harley chuckles before shrugging. 

“It’s whatever, I guess,” Harley replies. 

“What’s your mentor like?” Royce asks, looking over at Misty.

“Finnick or Mags?” Misty asks. “Because they co-mentor so you’re going to have to be more specific.”

“The hot one, obviously,” Royce replies.

“Finnick was Royce’s first crush,” Clarity states.

“Finnick’s a great guy,” Misty says.

“Really?” Harley asks. “I figured he’d be a dick, you know? Being the whole embodiment of Panem’s sex symbol.”

“So because he’s attractive and everybody wants to sleep with him, he’s supposed to be a dick?” Misty asks.

“All players usually are,” Harley states.

“You don’t know if he’s actually a player,” Clarity says.

“Oh please,” Harley chuckles. “People in the Capitol talk. A guy like that can’t resist ladies fawning over him for so long.”

“So a guy like that doesn’t have what it takes to settle down?” Royce asks.

“If he wanted to settle down, he would’ve found someone by now,” Harley replies.

“Who says he hasn’t?” Clarity asks. “Maybe he’s just.. too shy to pursue his feelings.”

“Finnick O’Dair? Shy?” Harley laughs. “Come on, Clarity. Be serious.”

“I am,” Clarity tells her. “Being a player doesn’t involve revealing deep and emotional feelings, you sleep with them once and make it your life’s goal to never see them again. Romance is different.”

Godrick enters back in the room and sets several canteens down on the stage floor. 

“Godrick,” Harley calls out. “Need your opinion.”

“On what?” Godrick asks, climbing up onto the stage and sitting down near the group.

“Finnick O’Dair.”

“What about him?”

“He’s the embodiment of a sex symbol, correct?”

“That’s what I heard.”

“So could someone like him have the potential to meet someone and settle down?”

“That’s what you want me to settle?” Godrick asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Just answer the question,” Harley tells him. 

“Yes,” Godrick answers.

“Elaborate,” Harley demands.

“Finnick’s fuckboy reputation could simply be just that– a reputation,” Godrick says. “No one’s a fuckboy forever. Once he meets the right person, his reputation will cease to exist.”

“See!” Clarity exclaims. “Reputations don’t mean shit.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” Godrick tells her. “I said his reputation as a fuckboy will cease to exist. He got that reputation for a reason.”

“He’s eighteen,” Misty says. “What he does with his body is his choice.”

“Why are we even talking about him?” Godrick asks.

“Why wouldn’t we talk about him?” Royce counters.

“Right, well,” Godrick says, changing the subject. “A cannon went off earlier which means it’s just us and another tribute.”

“Do we go our separate ways now?” Misty asks.

“No,” Harley answers. “We stick to the plan. Tomorrow we hunt down whichever tribute is left, kill them, and then it’s everybody for themselves.”

“Agreed,” Godrick replies. 

A cannon sounds and the entirety of the alliance jolts awake. 

“Get the fuck back!” Godrick exclaims, pointing Clarity’s double bladed staff at her.

Clarity raises her hands in surrender. 

“Godrick, I didn’t do this,” Clarity pleads.

Royce stands up and his eyes widen in fear at Harley’s dead body lying on the ground of the box theater. 

“Woah woah woah!” Royce exclaims. “Clarity wouldn’t kill Harley.”

“Harley was poisoned,” Godrick counters. “She’s the only one here with poisonous darts.”

“Anybody could’ve stolen the darts,” Misty says, standing up.

“There’s also more than one way to poison someone,” Royce adds.

“Yeah, like what?” Godrick asks.

“Plants,” Misty answers.

“Berries,” Royce continues.

“So if Clarity didn’t poison her, who did?” Godrick asks. “Because if it wasn’t her then you’re implying that it was one of you.”

“We were asleep!” Misty exclaims.

“You were the one who filled up the canteens,” Royce states. “Maybe it was you.”

“Why would I poison my own district partner?” Godrick asks. “You know, maybe it was district three. His face wasn’t in the sky last night.”

“Right, because district three is bold enough to sneak in while Careers are asleep and poison one drink,” Misty says, sarcastically.

“Guys, it doesn’t matter,” Clarity tells them.

“Bullshit,” Royce says. “He killed Harley and he’s trying to frame you.”

“What if it was me?” Clarity asks. “You don’t know if it actually was.”

“See!” Godrick exclaims. “A confession!”

“Clarity, you haven’t killed anyone this entire Games,” Misty states.

“Yeah, and we’re just supposed to believe that out of the blue you poison your ally?” Royce asks. 

“Maybe that’s what Jake and Malia told me to do,” Clarity answers. “Element of surprise.”

“I’m trying to help you out here, what the fuck are you doing?” Royce hisses under his breath. 

“Clarity didn’t kill her,” Misty says, crouching down next to Harley’s dead body. She holds up Harley’s hand and dark berries fall to the floor. “Nightlock killed Harley.”

“Why would she eat Nightlock?” Royce asks.

“Maybe she didn’t know?” Misty counters. 

Godrick drops the bladed staff to the ground and sighs. 

“Nightlock,” He mutters under his breath. 

“We can’t stay here,” Misty says, standing up. “The hovercraft needs to collect the body.”

“Everyone grab your things and let’s move out,” Royce says. 

Clarity picks up her bladed staff before walking over and picking up her bag. 

“Something isn’t right,” Royce says in a hushed tone as he pulls Clarity aside.

“Let it go, Royce,” Clarity tells him.

“No, hear me out,” Royce says. “At training, there was one of us in the alliance who could identify every berry handed to us.”

“Harley,” Clarity mutters.

“She would’ve known that was Nightlock,” Royce explains. 

“So why’d she eat it?” Clarity asks.

“I don’t think she did,” Royce responds.

“So who killed Harley and then covered it up?” Clarity asks, switching between Godrick and Misty.

“Misty was next to me the entire night,” Royce says. “If she got up, I would’ve heard her move. Godrick was on watch with Harley last.”

“So was I,” Clarity tells him. “I only closed my eyes for a few minutes.”

“So are we going with Godrick?” Royce asks.

“I don’t want to assume,” Clarity replies.

“Fine, but we keep a close eye on him,” Royce tells her, picking up his pack. 

Clarity nods.

“Let’s go!” Godrick calls out and everyone follows after him. 

After a few hours, the alliance sought refuge back at the fairgrounds. All signs of the clowns were gone and Royce sighed in relief. 

“If I was district three, where would I hide?” Godrick asks under his breath. 

“Up ahead!” Misty calls out. “Look!”

Their sharp eyes looked up ahead and were locked onto their target, the elusive district three male tribute. He was trapped inside the ominous glass house, a transparent labyrinth that seemed to amplify his vulnerability. With a shared instinct, the Careers took off running towards their final prey, the thundering steps echoing through the eerie silence.

Chaos ensued as they hurtled through the glass maze. The district three male was a master of evasion, darting through winding passages and deceptive reflections. Some of the Careers slammed into glass walls, their own breathless determination blinding them to the maze’s tricks.

But it was Royce who closed in on the district three male first. His bladed boomerang twirled through the air, its deadly edge honed to perfection. With a swift, brutal strike, he slit the district three male’s throat as they sprinted up the narrow, spiraling staircase and a cannon sounded.

Clarity, following closely behind Royce, turned her head just in time to witness a horrifying sight. In the midst of the glass maze, Godrick thrusted Clarity’s double bladed staff straight through Misty’s abdomen, her life extinguished in an instant. A cannon sounds as her limp body laid on the reflective glass, a cruel reminder of the inevitable truth.

Clarity’s heart raced as she rushed up the stairs, the burning desire for vengeance coursing through her veins. Her blow gun was loaded with poisonous darts and she pointed it at Godrick, her eyes burning with accusation.

“So what gave me away? Was it Harley?” Godrick’s voice was calm, disconcertingly so, as he raised his hands in mock surrender.

“We know you killed her,” Clarity spat, her voice laced with fury. “There’s no way she would’ve accidentally eaten nightlock berries.”

“Okay fine,” Godrick laughs. “It was me. I killed Harley.”

“Why?” Clarity asks.

“Believe it or not, the poison was meant for you,” Godrick reveals.

“You’re bluffing,” Royce tells him.

“No, no, think about it,” Godrick says. “Ever since your big reveal during your interview, there has been nothing but talk about how the sister of the late Cal Dynam could possibly have a shot at winning the Hunger Games. Except, she doesn’t kill anyone the moment the gong sounds. She’s always been the weak link in this alliance.”

“Well at least she doesn’t turn on her allies,” Royce counters.

“Grow the fuck up, Royce,” Godrick laughs, scoffing slightly. “The deal was we’d hunt down and kill district three and then it was everybody for themselves. Misty was just the unlucky one to be standing next to me.”

“You won’t win,” Clarity tells him.

“Sweetheart, I already have,” Godrick retorts. “You haven’t killed a single person since you were brought up into this arena, which means even if Royce does manage to kill me, you won’t be able to kill him. So let me do it for you.”

Then, with a sudden, swift movement, Godrick struck first. He jabs the double bladed staff into Royce’s stomach and he falls to his knees.

“NO!” Clarity yells.

Godrick lunged at Clarity, tackling her to the floor as his hands tightened around her throat. She gasped for breath, desperately trying to pry his fingers away.

“The moment your cannon sounds, I’ll go down in history as the greatest victor ever,” Godrick taunts. “Godrick Briggs, the guy who killed the other Dynam sibling. You had a great run, but now it’s time for you to be reunited with your pathetic brother.”

Just as Clarity’s vision began to dim, Royce intervened. With a final, desperate effort, he jabbed his bladed boomerang straight through Godrick’s throat. Blood sprayed in a gruesome arc, and Godrick fell to the ground, choking on his own blood before falling limp and his cannon sounds.

Clarity, gasping for air, stumbled backward, her eyes wide with shock. She watched in horror as Royce, wounded from his own fight, crumpled to the ground beside her, his life slipping away. In a matter of seconds, their alliance had been reduced to blood-soaked memories, leaving only the chilling echoes of their final battle within the abandoned carnival.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Clarity whispered, her voice trembling, pulling Royce into her lap. His once vibrant green eyes were now dimming, their brilliance fading like the twilight sun over the ruined carnival. Blood seeped through the fingers he pressed to the gaping wound in his side, and each shallow breath he took seemed to cost him more than the last.

“Come on, stay with me, yeah?” Clarity pleaded, her hands shaking as she tried to apply pressure to the wound. She could feel the warmth of his blood against her fingers, and the metallic scent of it hung heavily in the air. The pain etched across Royce’s face was unbearable to witness, and her own tears mingled with the sweat on her forehead.

Royce managed a weak, fleeting smile as he looked up at Clarity, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“You... know... I’ll... always…” His words faded as his strength waned, and a violent cough racked his body, crimson droplets splattering onto the broken glass beneath them.

“No, Royce, no,” Clarity sobbed, her grip on him tightening as if she could will the life back into him. She cradled him in her arms, her heart breaking with every passing second. Desperation washed over her, and she pressed her lips to his forehead, as if her kiss could mend what was broken.

But it was too late.

Royce’s eyelids grew heavy, and he gazed at Clarity with a final look. His hand, stained with blood, reached up to tenderly cup her cheek.

“Stay,” he murmured, his voice barely audible, and then, with one last shuddering breath, he exhaled for the final time.

A cannon sounds and Clarity clung to him tighter, her cries of anguish echoing through the silent carnival. The world around her seemed to blur as the head Gamemaker spoke.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, the winner of the 69th annual Hunger Games, Clarity Lovell!” 

Clarity sat in the hovercraft, a blanket had been draped over her and Royce’s bloody handprint still resided on her cheek. She was being taken back to the Capitol to clean her up and prepare her for her victory interview with Caesar Flickerman. She hadn’t spoken a word since Royce’s cannon sounded. She had screamed herself hoarse and the blanket did nothing to stop her from shaking. 

The moment she reaches the Capitol, Emery’s Triple X team rush towards her and drag her away to clean her up. She doesn’t say a word as they scrubbed and washed all the dirt, grime, and blood off of her body. 

“You did it!” Emery exclaims, clapping his hands. “Oh, this feels great. District one bringing home yet again another victory.”

“Cal would be proud,” Jake says, walking in. “And so is Malia.”

“Where is she?” Clarity asks, her voice shaky and hoarse.

“She’s making arrangements for Royce’s body to be sent back to district one for a proper burial,” Jake answers and Clarity nods.

“I’m going to be honest with you,” Jake says, clasping a hand on her shoulder. “I had my doubts but you proved me wrong.”

“Royce should be standing here, not me,” Clarity tells him. “He did all the killing while I just stood back and watched.”

“And there’s times I wish it was Jade with the victory crown on her head instead of me,” Jake tells her. “But she’s gone. Just like Cal and Royce. We’re the ones still standing and it’s best to just own it. The Capitol can’t exploit your grief if they have no idea you have any.”

“What’s my title?” Clarity asks.

“What?” Jake responds.

“My Capitol title,” Clarity replies. “Malia is ‘The Cutthroat Queen.’ Finnick is ‘The Prince of Panem.’ You’re ‘The Last Titan.’ What are people calling me?”

“The Unstained Career,” Jake tells her.

“At least it fits,” Clarity shrugs, staring at her reflection in the mirror.

“You’re the first female victor to win since Malia,” Jake says. “If you want to be a mentor–”

“No,” Clarity says, cutting him off. “I’m done with this life. I won the Games. I’d rather just.. move into my house in the Victor’s Village and just live my life knowing I’ll never have to go back into the Games again.”

“That’s the spirit,” Jake smiles.

Chapter Text

“Welcome!” Caesar Flickerman announces, laughing slightly at all the screaming citizens sitting in the crowd. “It is the eve of the 70th annual Hunger Games, which means starting tomorrow, a new decade of victors begin!”

The crowd cheers and Caesar shushes them with his hands.

“We’ve got three of the Capitol’s most prized victors backstage right now,” Caesar grins. “And I will be interviewing each one of them to catch-up with how their lives have been changed ever since they won the Hunger Games!”

The crowd cheers again and Caesar grins proudly.

“Let’s give a warm welcome to the one and only, Malia Wells!” Caesar announces.

The crowd goes wild as Malia walks onto the stage and shakes Caesar’s hand before sitting down across from him.

“Welcome, Malia,” Caesar smiles. “Victor of the 66th Hunger Games, wow. Upon your victory, how did you celebrate? A big party in your district perhaps? Maybe a holiday in our beautiful Capitol? Or possibly, a quiet stay at home with your family?”

“I did what most victors do,” Malia responds. “I went on my victory tour and paid my respects to each of the districts. I’ve slowly been able to move on from Cal’s death, but seeing his family that day was very heartbreaking. I never had a family, so I was able to move into the Victor’s Village without any issues. I was also able to attend both parties held in my honor in district one and the Capitol. I got to meet a bunch of other victors from various districts and I even danced with a few! It was really fun.”

“Since you’ve been crowned a victor and became a mentor, district one has brought home three victors,” Caesar states. “How does that make you feel? Do you feel a sense of pride towards those you’ve mentored towards victory? Does your experience in the Games help influence the way you guide these tributes?”

“District one has gotten a lot of love ever since I became a mentor,” Malia replies. “And I am proud of the tributes I’ve mentored– both dead and alive. My experience in the Games does influence my mentoring abilities because although the Games change every year, I know what it’s like when you’re down to being the final two. I know what it takes to survive and win.”

“It’s very well known that you’ve come into contact with previous victors throughout events and press tours since your victory,” Caesar states. “Care to shed some light on that?”

“Jake was my mentor in my Games and he’s like a brother to me,” Malia says. “My mother died in childbirth so I never really had siblings. So having Jake there for me like a brother.. it’s.. it’s great. And I’d do anything for him. As for friends, Clarity and Finnick are fantastic. I got back in touch with Clarity last year, I’m happy she’s back in my life. As for Finnick, a lot of victors were amazed by my victory but he was admired. He’s been there for me when I thought I didn’t need anybody. I had gone through something that no one should ever go through and Finnick was there for me through it all. He saved me. He helped me feel like myself again.”

“I’m so glad you brought up last year’s Games,” Caesar chuckles. “Last year the Games produced yet another tribute from your district rising to claim the title of victor. What are your thoughts on that and Clarity? What do you think Cal would say to her if he was here right now?”

“I was originally Clarity’s mentor so even though Jake took over, I was really proud of her for winning and becoming a victor,” Malia answers. “Her arena was a lot more interesting than mine to be honest. I loved the whole abandoned carnival theme– don’t get me wrong, the winter wonderland idea for my arena was great too. But I’m really proud of her for winning and without killing anyone– holy, when has that ever happened in a Career district? But, Cal would be proud and he’d tell her that too.”

“Right,” Caesar nods apologetically. “Finnick broke a Hunger Games record for winning the Games at such a young age. You are also a record holder. In your Games you broke a record for longest kill. How does that make you feel? Prideful? Apathetic? Incensed?”

“I’m sure you’re referring to the fact I carved up a tribute for half an hour,” Malia replies, shifting slightly in her seat and smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress. “I remember feeling very angry, I mean, she betrayed her alliance the night before. Which caused them to go their separate ways and in doing so, Giselle was killed. If she hadn’t betrayed the alliance, Amber would have never been on her own that morning. And I knew that if we had let Astrid into our alliance, it would be a repeat. And I wasn’t going to endanger Cal. I realize now that I could’ve gone easier on her but I wanted to put on a good show and got carried away.”

“The moment the sound signaled the end of the Games and you were standing as the victor, how did it feel?” Caesar asked. “What emotions came to the forefront of your mind? Walk us through the experience. Do you have any regrets whatsoever?”

“I’m pretty sure I already answered this in my victory interview,” Malia counters.

“Yes, which was four years ago,” Caesar says. “This is a new decade of the Hunger Games, give us a refresher!” 

“I felt relieved,” Malia replied, slightly rolling her eyes. “All those days in the cold arena ended the moment Lucius’s cannon sounded. I remember standing in the snow, bloody knife in my hand, knowing that it was over. I won. But it cost everything. My sanity. My innocence. I regret leaving Cal alone to find some bandages. Lucius was afraid of me. The moment I left, Cal was murdered. And it felt like a part of me died. I wasn’t the same after that but I’ve finally been able to heal. I got closure that I didn’t know I needed last year and.. I’m alive thanks to Cal. And I’ll always be grateful for that. I feel human again.”

“And lastly,” Caesar smiles. “The burning question we all want to know. How does it feel to be working alongside venerated Capitol Darling, Finnick O’Dair?”

“Why were the majority of the questions about Finnick?” Malia asks. “He’s backstage, why not go see him?”

“We’re here to talk about you,” Caesar tells her.

“But you haven’t been,” Malia retorts.

“Just answer the question, Miss Wells,” Caesar counters. “It’s the last question.”

“Finnick is amazing,” Malia says. “Is that what you want to hear? Boost his reputation some more, yeah?”

“Miss Wells,” Caesar hisses slightly under his breath, giving her a warning look.

Malia shakes her head and stands up.

“You want to know the type of guy Finnick is?” Malia asks, looking out into the crowd. “Then actually get to fucking know him. Because Finnick is.. he’s everything you’d hope he’d be. He’s caring and genuine and he knows how to make a girl as damaged and broken as me feel special and to feel like I belong to be here. We’ve been friends for four years and I honestly couldn’t ask for a better friend. Working alongside him with mentoring rival tributes has always been interesting. My tributes tend to get along with his– most of the time. And we always know what to say or do to cheer each other up when our tributes die right in front of us. We’re each other’s number one fan and I can see why so many suitors and suitresses are in love with him. But he is not an object of your desires. He’s a human being. And he deserves to be fucking treated like one.”

“Well,” Caesar says, standing up and placing a hand on Malia’s back.

“Get your fucking hand off me,” Malia tells him through gritted teeth. 

“That’s all the time we have for Miss Wells,” Caesar announces, removing his hand from her back. 

The crowd cheers and Malia walks to the other side of the stage and exits towards the backstage area and throws open the door.

She makes eye contact with Finnick and she sees something in his eyes that she had never seen before. 

“Malia–” Finnick begins.

“HOLY SHIT!” Jake exclaims, laughing as he rushes over to Malia. “YOU FUCKING NAILED IT!” 

“Thanks,” Malia says, scrunching her nose slightly. 

“Oh you should’ve seen the look on Caesar salad man’s face,” Jake laughs. “It was priceless!” 

“I wouldn’t be celebrating so soon,” Malia tells him. “You’re next.”

“Oh, I’ve prepared for this shit,” Jake says, wiggling his eyebrows mischievously. 

“Jake, be nice,” Malia tells him.

“Why? Messing with Caesar is so fun,” Jake replies. “Unless he starts asking questions about my trauma then.. oh boy, I won’t be able to humor my way out of that one.”

“Please welcome to the stage, Jake Griffin!” Caesar announces.

Jake gives Malia two thumbs up before hopping up onto the stage and shaking Caesar’s hand.

“Welcome, Jake,” Caesar smiles. “It’s such a pleasure catching up with you on this eve of the 70th Hunger Games.” 

“Yeah, yeah, cut the shit,” Jake says, waving his hands in front of him and sitting down. “What questions do you have for me?”

“Alright,” Caesar says, raising his hands to silence the crowd’s laughter. “I must ask, following the tragic loss of your twin, which we are all quite sad about. Do you still consider yourself a twin?”

“What kind of question is that?” Jake asks, shifting slightly in his seat. “I was born a twin. Of course I still consider myself one. If you have a twin sister, or a sister in general, and she dies, you don’t stop saying you have one. Just because she’s dead, that doesn’t mean she’s no longer your sister. You’re always going to be a twin even when the other half of the equation is gone.”

“I truly can’t imagine what it’s like to lose a twin, severing that bond,” Caesar says. “How does it affect you seeing other people with siblings?”

“Losing a twin is like… losing a part of you,” Jake answers. “This is the person who you spent every day with from the moment you were born. Then one day, in the blink of an eye, they’re dead. And then years fly by and suddenly you’re older than your twin. She died when we were sixteen and I’m twenty-five now. It just… doesn’t feel right. Seeing other people with siblings… it hurts. Because they’re not going to realize what they have until it’s gone.”

“Malia Wells mentioned in her interview that you’re like a brother to her,” Caesar says.

“Oh did she?” Jake asks, smiling proudly. “Hadn’t heard.”

The crowd laughs and Caesar chuckles slightly.

“Would you say she’s like a sister?” Caesar asks. “Has she replaced your twin so to speak?”

“Fuck you,” Jake spat.

“Apologies,” Caesar tells him. “Didn’t mean to hit such a sensitive topic.”

The crowd laughs and Jake clenches his jaw. 

“Jade’s my twin sister, no one’s going to replace her just because she’s fucking dead,” Jake tells him. “The feeling of seeing Malia as my sister is mutual. But she is her own person. She’s not my twin’s replacement. I do see Jade in her sometimes, but she’s not Jade. Which is a good thing. Malia is wonderful and I’m glad she’s in my life and sees me as a brother.”

Caesar nods before smiling big as he leans forward to speak into his microphone.

“How did your family take the news of you winning the Hunger Games at the cost of losing their other child?”

Jake reaches forward and pulls the microphone out of his hand before chucking it into the crowd and storms off stage.

“Jake!” Caesar calls out. “Where are you going? I have so many more questions to ask you!” 

The backstage door is thrown open and Malia stands up from the couch and rushes over to Jake.

“Jake, what are you doing?” Malia asks.

“I’m not going back out there,” Jake tells her.

“Jake,” Malia says, shaking her head and pulls him in for a hug. 

Jake buries his head into her shoulder as he hugs her back tightly. 

“Hey man,” Finnick says, rubbing his back reassuringly. “Would you like me to go out instead?”

“No,” Jake says, pulling away. “No. They’ll just.. No.”

“Hey, we’ll be right here if you need us,” Malia reassuringly tells him.

Jake nods before sighing and walking back onstage. 

“Jake!” Caesar exclaims.

“Shut the fuck up,” Jake tells him, sitting back down. “You don’t just fucking ask someone what their dead family thought about one twin winning while having to watch the other die. It’s insensitive. I lost my best friend in the Games and a week later, my entire family. Why the fuck do you think I’m called: The Last Titan? Because I enjoy being alone? No. It’s because I have no one left. I’m the last of the Griffin family.”

“Okay, moving on then,” Caesar says. “It’s been awhile since you won, nine years to be exact. What was your arena like? Who were your allies?”

“My arena was this post-apocalyptic arena,” Jake answers. “Abandoned buildings, hot weather, the whole ordeal. It was actually interesting to me. The mutts were ugly as hell though. Took me quite awhile to realize one of them was Trent. He died and then came back as one of those… mutts. My allies were the Careers– shocker, I know. But we were considered dangerous but we were a little family up until we were in the final and then… Isla was the first to turn on everyone.”

“How do you honor the memory of the fallen tributes who lost their lives in your own Games?” Caesar asks.

“Jade’s body was never sent back to district one,” Jake tells him. “I guess it’s because it was never recovered after the building collapsed. But her grave in district one is empty and I only assume it’s the same for the other tributes. I mean, Trent was turned into one of the mutts so I’m sure the others were too. I visit Jade’s grave every year on our birthday, it’s empty but it’s the thought that counts. When I go on victory tours with my tributes, I always make sure to visit their families.”

“How has your life transformed in any way since becoming a victor?” Caesar asks. “What role has that victory played in your everyday life until now?”

“I don’t have to worry about going into the Hunger Games anymore, so I’d say that’s something good that comes out of winning,” Jake answers. “I’m not elaborating anymore on how bad my life is because my victory is just a reminder of everything I lost.”

“Is there any juicy information you can tell us about your tributes for this year’s Games?”

“What else is there to spill? Jasper and Jewel are brother and sister and if they win, one of them is going to have to experience the same kind of loss I did. Everyone is rooting for at least one of them to win. Jewel is a Capitol favorite, and Malia knows what she’s doing when she’s mentoring Jewel. Jasper is a close second and I truly believe that district one is more popular than district two this year. Jasper and Jewel have what it takes to win.”

“When mentoring tributes, what is the best advice you give them?”

“Avoid the knife, keep your life. There’s strength in numbers. The Careers can either make you or break you. There’s no use going into that arena alone. It’s all about survival the moment you step onto that platform. As long as you have that one ally you’re going to get far– or at least survive the Cornucopia Bloodbath– if you go at it alone, you’re going to wind up dead. One ally is more than enough, not everyone is so lucky to get whoever they want as allies so it’s better to make good use of it.”

“Alliances form between victors to influence the Games from the outside. This has been the way since the Games nearly began. But what about you? Have you allied with anyone to promote your tributes and give them advantages in the arena?”

“Malia and I work closely with Mags Flanagan and Finnick O’Dair. As well as Brutus Gunn and Enobaria Golding. They’re the mentors for the district four and district two tributes so we make sure to install that the Careers are the key to survival. There are some times when an outlier district will win– but those tend to be rare.”

“Clarity Lovell was your mentee in last year’s Games– which was quite a shock considering it was originally Royce Olsen. What happened there? Malia didn’t feel up to the job of mentoring due to some personal problems?”

“You never disappoint with your questions, Caesar,” Jake says, rolling his eyes. “Yes, Clarity was my mentee last year. Why does that matter? Clarity is an amazing girl and I’m proud of her for overcoming the challenges she faced in last year’s arena. She did what no other Career has ever done– won a Hunger Games without killing. She did lose Royce though and Malia and I plan on doing our best to help her through the grieving process. Royce was her best friend and Malia and I know quite a lot about losing someone who meant a lot to us. She didn’t want to be a mentor and I fully support that, as does Malia. But the reason Malia and I switched mentees is none of your concern. It’s not that she couldn’t do it, it’s because it’s entirely her business and I fully supported that.”

“You and Jade were the leaders of the Career Pack, which was quite shocking to us all considering leaders usually tend to be from district two. But we loved a good mix-up, what was it like?”

“Leaders aren’t about where you’re from. Jade and I were the leaders of the Careers because we were: The Twin Titans. We took charge and made decisions that benefited everyone in the alliance. We did what was best to make sure our alliance lasted. We didn’t lose an ally until the fourth day. There were some slight grudges from Magnus and Avia for not being the leaders– but it’s in the past.”

“Malia wouldn’t give us any insight on her relationship with Finnick O’Dair– other than saying he’s a ‘good friend.’ And we are all dying to know about the Prince of Panem and the Cutthroat Queen. Could you spare some intimate details for all the people in the Capitol?”

“They’re friends. What they do in their own time is not any of my business. If there was something going on between them, you’d know. Just like you know every damn thing about the lives of the victors after they win. If Finnick is in love with Malia, then that’s great. But it’s his love life and it should be respected. Same goes for Malia.”

“Last question. You’re such a good looking man. Is there a special somebody that you’re trying to hide?”

Jake scoffs slightly.

“No, I never really had those feelings, it’s not something I want in life. If other people do, that’s great, I’m happy for them. But it’s not for me. I don’t have that desire. At first I thought that it made me different from the other victors. Some are married, some even have kids. And some are even in a steady relationship with their boyfriends or girlfriends. But that was never something I wanted. I am different, but it’s good. It doesn’t mean I’m any less different of a human being than they are.”

“Jake Griffin, everybody!” Caesar calls out and the crowd cheers. 

Jake rolls his eyes and walks offstage and plops down on the couch.

“Oh, I can’t wait until I can fucking leave this place,” Jake says, rubbing his temples.

“You did amazing, Jake,” Malia tells him.

Jake angles his body so he’s hanging halfway off the couch, upside down.

“Thanks.”

“Remember,” Caesar calls out. “To sponsor Jasper Thompson, make sure to get in touch with Jake Griffin. To sponsor Jewel Thompson, get in touch with Malia Wells. If you want to sponsor Hudson Jonas, find Mags Flanagan. And last but not least, if you want to sponsor Annie Cresta, reach out to Finnick O’Dair.”

The crowd screams at the sound of Finnick’s name and Caesar chuckles.

“Oh right,” Caesar laughs. “We have one more interview for you tonight! I made sure to save the best for last! Finnick O’Dair!” 

“Wish me luck,” Finnick says. 

“Good luck!” Jake exclaims. “It’s brutal out there.”

Malia gives Finnick a slight nod and he steps up onto the stage and the crowd screams once more. 

“Finnick! Finnick! Finnick! Finnick!”

“Alright, settle down,” Caesar tells them.

“Finnick,” Caesar says, turning to face him the moment he sat down. “I must say you’re quite the attractive and charming man. You’re catching the eyes of many eligible suitors and suitresses.”

“I love you!” a girl from the crowd screams out.

“Yes, thank you,” Caesar says, dismissing her before turning back to Finnick. “As such, we all have one burning question that has been plaguing us since your victory. Have you found the one to be the future Mrs. O’Dair?”

The question alone was enough to send the crowd into a frenzy.

“Jumping right into it, I see,” Finnick chuckles slightly before shaking his head. “But no, no I haven’t found the future Mrs. O’Dair. Well… I have my eyes set on someone. She’s a great person and I’ve known her for quite awhile. I knew she was the one for me the moment I met her. But she’s been through a lot and I don’t want to pressure her if she’s not interested or if she’s still healing from everything. I’ve been meaning to tell her when the time is right but… the timing has just never come.”

“It has been nearly five years since we all watched your victory in the Games. In your assessment, what was the worst part of being in the arena?”

“The arenas have certainly changed since I won. But the arena itself wasn’t entirely a problem for me. I allied with the Careers and the entire alliance was stressful. Although there’s strength in numbers, I kept waiting and kept waiting for all of us to turn on each other at any given moment. Either because the alliance was bound to be proven useless or because we’d be the last ones standing. And once it was just the four of us, that’s exactly what happened. All that trust, gone in an instant.”

“For five years now you’ve been a mentor to potential future victors of the Games. You have been preparing these young tributes to play the parts and capture hearts. Would you kindly shed light on how it feels to watch the Games as a mentor on the outside rather than competing as a tribute?”

“I have to give some props to Mags because she’s been a mentor for years and years and I’m still not used to seeing my tributes die. You know, you form a special bond with them and hope they win. And when they don’t, it’s very heartbreaking. When I was a tribute I was only aware of my own surroundings, but as a mentor I’m able to see everything and provide help to my tributes in any way I can.”

“Tomorrow marks the first day that tributes will be in the arena. And some of us, myself included, couldn’t help but sense some tension between you and another tribute– Annie, I believe?”

Jake looks over at Malia, her eyes pinned to the screen backstage. Her hands were fiddling with the hem of her dress and Jake sat up. He rested his elbows onto his knees as he stared intently at Malia.

“What are your thoughts regarding her?” Caesar continues. “Do you feel, as a former tribute yourself, that she has what it takes to win?”

“Annie’s a great girl,” Finnick answers. “She’s very charming and she puts other people’s needs before her own. She isn’t to be underestimated though, she’s sweet but she’ll do whatever it takes to survive.”

Malia makes a beeline for the backdoor and throws it open before leaving. Jake sighs and shakes his head. He felt the urge to follow after her, but he was curious as to how the rest of the interview played out.

“Regarding my relationship with her though,” Finnick says, continuing on.

“Don’t you fuck this up or I will fuck you up,” Jake mutters under his breath.

“Everything is strictly platonic,” Finnick says. 

“Smart move,” Jake smiles.

“She’s beautiful and kind..”

“Bad move,” Jake says, scrunching his nose in disgust.

“But I have my eyes set on someone else.”

“And we’re back to it being a good move!” Jake exclaims, pumping a fist in the air.

“Annie does have what it takes to win though, I know she’ll win.”

“Let’s pretend for a moment that you didn’t win the Games and did not claim the title of victor for your district,” Caesar says. “Who would you have liked to go home in your stead?”

“Adella,” Finnick answers. “We were the last two and I never really knew her before the Games. But I got to know her after the toxic rain separated her and I from the Careers. She had a family and it pains me to this day that I was the one who took her from that. After I killed Tiberius, she apologized and attacked me. I knew it wasn’t personal but I made a promise to Mags. I told her that I would come out of that arena victorious, and that’s exactly what I did. If I hadn’t, I never would’ve met Malia, Jake, or Annie.”

“Out of all the victors in the past– not including yourself, of course. Who would you say has been your favorite victor?”

“It’s no surprise that I’ve always admired Malia Wells. I can’t really explain it but I couldn’t really look away from the screen when she was in her Games. She wasn’t like the other Careers. Most Careers are all about bringing pride to their district. But Malia, she’s as loyal as they come. She values friendship and she isn’t afraid to get her hands dirty if it means protecting the ones she loves. When she carved up Astrid, it felt like she gave my tribute peace after Astrid killed her. I was mesmerized and was honestly surprised she gave me the time of day at her victory party in the Capitol.”

“Malia says you saved her, made her feel like herself again. Which I found really sweet, it certainly has the entirety of Panem just full on begging for answers. You say you’ve always admired her but we’re just dying to know. Could she be the future Mrs. O’Dair?”

“I don’t really know, Caesar. Malia’s my best friend and I love her. But she doesn’t need me in order to feel good about herself. I only gave her advice that opened her eyes on what was there all along. She's a badass and an independent woman who can achieve anything she sets her mind to. She’s attractive, I’ll tell you that. But anyone in Panem would be lucky enough to have her. She should have the right to choose who she loves and not feel pressured. Cause at the end of the day, it’s her life.”

Caesar stands up and pumps his fist in the air.

“FINNICK O’DAIR, EVERYONE!” 

Finnick rushes backstage as the crowd screams, cheers, and cries out his name.

“Where’s Malia?” Finnick asks, looking around and seeing her nowhere in sight.

“She left, buddy,” Jake replies.

“What? When?” Finnick asks.

“The moment you started talking about Annie,” Jake tells him. 

“Shit,” Finnick mutters. “I’m gonna go find her.”

“Not so fast,” Jake says, patting the seat cushion next to him. “I want to have a few words with you O’Dair.”

“Do we have to attend this party?” Malia asks, frowning as she smooths out the wrinkles in her dress. “District one didn’t even win.”

Her long black gown elegantly draped her form and she delicately adjusted the intricate lace detail on her shoulder, her fingers gently tracing the patterns. Jake, in his impeccably tailored suit, meticulously straightened his tie in front of a full-length mirror, ensuring every fold fell perfectly in place.

“Yes, but district four did,” Jake responds. “It would mean a lot to Finnick if we were there.”

“So it’s not enough that Annie won?” Malia asks. “It’s not like we’re obligated to attend.”

Jake paused for a moment, glancing at Malia through the mirror’s reflection. “I don’t know what your problem is this year, but you had no problem in the past attending these victory parties.”

“That was because Finnick wanted me there,” Malia responds. “He doesn’t need me there this year,  he’s already got another red haired, green eyed girl wrapped around his finger.”

“Actually, Annie has blue eyes,” Jake tells her and she glares at him. “What?”

“My point is,” Malia says, walking over to the sofa to put on her heels. “The entire night is going to be about Annie Cresta and her outstanding ability to outswim the other tributes in a flood.”

“Oh my god,” Jake chuckles. “You’re jealous? You? Malia fucking Wells. The Capitol’s Cutthroat Queen. Is actually jealous of another girl. Is the world ending?”

Malia threw one of her heels at Jake and he ducked at the last second.

“That was rude.”

Malia stands up and goes to retrieve her heel before she sat back down and looked over at Jake. 

“You’re missing the point, Jake,” Malia tells him.

“I’m not missing anything ,” Jake responds. “You are jealous because Annie has been spending so much time with your man .”

“He’s not my man,” Malia says, tightening the clip on her heel. “Finnick is a grown man who can give his attention to whoever he pleases.”

Malia throws the hem of her dress down before standing up. 

“He’s the Prince of Panem, ” She continues, walking over to a vanity and rummaging through the drawers. “The entirety of Panem wants him with Annie.”

Jake runs his fingers through his hair before chuckling.

“You’re only saying that because you ran off before he finished his catch-up interview,” Jake responds.

“I went on before him,” Malia says, pulling out a black ribbon. “There was no reason to stay backstage if I wasn’t next.”

“So it was just a coincidence you left when Caesar asked about his relationship with Annie?” Jake asks, raising an eyebrow.

Malia closes the drawer and walks over to Jake before looking up at him. 

“Wipe that fucking smirk off your face,” Malia tells him, holding up the black ribbon. 

Jake takes the ribbon from Malia and motions for her to turn around and Malia complies before continuing.

“What could I possibly have missed from his interview?” Malia asks as Jake ties the ribbon into her hair. “He said Annie was great, charming, and sweet–”

“-- I’m going to stop you right there,” Jake interrupts, tying off the ribbon before spinning her around and grasping her shoulders. “If you had stayed and listened instead of running off the moment Finnick talked about another girl– you would’ve heard him say he didn’t feel any romantic attraction towards Annie. He was just giving her compliments so people would sponsor her, you know how mentoring works.”

“Okay? That doesn’t stop the eyes Annie gives Finnick anytime he’s around her,” Malia says. “She always has these heart eyes. Watch her at the party tonight if you don’t believe me.”

“Now you’re just making shit up,” Jake replies, grabbing his suit jacket and throwing it on. “I don’t think you notice the power you have over these girls when it comes to Finnick.”

“Let me guess,” Malia says, walking over and grabbing her jacket off the back of the vanity chair. “They find me oh so terrifying. They think if they make a move I’ll carve out their eyes or some shit.”

“Exactly,” Jake replies.

“I was joking,” Malia tells him, throwing her jacket on.

“Well I’m not,” Jake responds. 

“We’re going to be late,” Malia replies, changing the subject.

“Yeah, good idea. We’ll talk about this later,” Jake responds, patting her head.

“Actually, I have a proposal for you,” Malia says.

“Malia, I’m flattered,” Jake tells her. “But I’m too old for you and we literally just told the entirety of Panem we were siblings. It would be weird.”

Malia smacks his arm. “Not that kind of proposal!”

“I was joking!” Jake exclaims. 

“We’ve been friends for about four years,” Malia states.

“Have we? Time flies, I hadn’t noticed,” Jake says. 

“My point is,” Malia says, pinching his arm slightly. “I hate living alone by myself in that giant Victor Village house.”

“Are you asking me to move in?” Jake asks.

“Only if you want to,” Malia replies. “You’re constantly over at my house anyways, I just thought, why not make it official?”

“I’ll move in as soon as we’re back home,” Jake smiles, giving her a slight wink. “Now, come on, we’re going to be late!”

The grand hall of the Capitol shimmered with opulence and extravagance as the resounding echoes of laughter and chatter filled the air. It was a night of jubilation and celebration, a victory party held in honor of Annie Cresta, the victor of the 70th Hunger Games. The room was adorned with cascading golden drapes, glittering chandeliers, and an array of lavish delicacies that lined the tables.

In the midst of the festivities, Annie stood beside Finnick. As they conversed, Annie couldn’t help but repeatedly place her hand on Finnick’s arm, seeking comfort and reassurance amidst the overwhelming crowd. Finnick, absorbed in the revelry, took her gestures in stride, paying them little mind.

However, the joyful ambiance took an unexpected turn when the room fell silent. All eyes turned towards the entrance as Jake made his grand arrival. The whispers of admiration quickly shifted, for it wasn’t Jake that had captured everyone’s attention, but the stunning figure that followed him.

Malia, clad in a long black gown that trailed behind her with an elegant grace, stepped into the room like a vision. Her ginger locks cascaded over her shoulders, accentuating her striking features, and her confident stride demanded attention. Finnick found himself caught in a suspended moment, his words to Annie trailing off as he became captivated by Malia’s presence.

Excusing himself with a murmured apology, Finnick slowly withdrew from Annie’s side. His gaze locked onto Malia, who stood in the midst of a whirlwind of whispers and intrigued glances. The room seemed to fade away, leaving only the pulsating anticipation in his chest. With a final glance back at Annie, Finnick made his way across the room, navigating through the crowd as if in a trance.

“Disperse!” Jake calls out to the crowd and the party resumes and Jake smirks at Malia before heading straight to the buffet table.

“I didn’t think you’d show,” Finnick says.

“I almost didn’t,” Malia chuckles. 

“Well you look absolutely stunning,” Finnick smiles.

“You clean up nicely yourself,” Malia tells him. 

“I certainly try,” Finnick chuckles.

“Finnick,” Malia’s voice trembled slightly. “Could you... help me with this chain at the back of my dress? It’s knotted, and I can’t seem to untangle it myself.”

Finnick, caught off guard by her request, stammered for a moment, his mind racing to gather his composure. He nodded, his voice betraying a hint of uncertainty.

“Of course, Malia. I’d be happy to help.”

Leading her away from the vibrant chaos of the celebration, Finnick guided Malia to a secluded hallway, away from prying eyes and curious gazes. The soft glow of a nearby sconce cast gentle shadows, adding an air of intimacy to their surroundings. As they stopped, the silence between them grew thick, laden with unspoken desires.

Finnick’s hands trembled slightly as he reached behind Malia, his fingertips grazing the delicate chain. He focused on the knot, his touch careful yet charged with an electric tension. With each gentle tug and twist, their breaths seemed to synchronize, creating a symphony of anticipation in the air.

Malia couldn’t help but shiver slightly at the touch of his hands on her arms. Her senses were heightened, attuned to the magnetic energy between them. Slowly, she turned around to face him, their eyes locking in a passionate gaze that spoke volumes without words.

In that fleeting moment, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only an intoxicating allure.

“Thanks,” Malia whispered, a phrase that hung in the air, its meaning lost in the swirl of desire and longing. 

“You’re welcome,” Finnick replied, utterly captivated by her beauty, absently playing with a lock of her ginger hair, his touch gentle and intimate.

As their faces drew closer, their lips almost brushing, a sudden interruption shattered the fragile bubble of tension. 

Annie’s voice cut through the air like a sharp blade, breaking their near-kiss.

“There you are!”

Startled, Finnick and Malia quickly pulled away from each other, their hearts racing. 

Jake, entered seconds after. “I tried stopping her, but she’s too fast!”

Annie’s arrival served as a jarring reminder of the world beyond their shared moment. The air crackled with unspoken words as Finnick and Malia exchanged glances, their emotions hanging in the balance. With a wistful smile, Malia adjusted her dress, her eyes lingering on Finnick as he left her side.

Annie’s voice carried a sharp edge as she extended her hand, her smile strained.

“Malia, isn’t it? I believe we haven’t had the pleasure of a proper introduction. Annie Cresta, district four.”

Malia accepted the handshake, her grip firm and composed.

“Indeed, Annie. I’m Malia Wells, hailing from district one. Quite a distance between our homes.”

Annie’s gaze flickered with a mixture of disdain and accusation. 

“Yes, quite a distance indeed. I couldn’t help but remember your tribute, the one responsible for decapitating my district partner. Quite a remarkable mentorship, wouldn’t you say?”

Finnick’s eyes widened, his protective instincts rising to the surface. 

“Annie, that’s not fair. Malia can’t be held accountable for every action of her tribute.”

Before Finnick could say more, Annie cut him off with a dismissive wave of her hand.

“Oh, Finnick, always the defender of the underdog. But the blood on her hands can’t be ignored.”

Jake stepped forward but Malia raised a hand at him as she bit her lip, fighting the wave of emotions that threatened to consume her. She took a step forward, her voice steady yet laced with defiance. 

“Annie, I understand your anger, but you’re wrong to blame me entirely. The Hunger Games is a brutal competition, and we all bear the weight of our tributes’ actions. But I assure you, I did my best to instill values of survival and strategy, not cruelty. What he did was entirely his own decision, not mine.”

Annie’s eyes narrowed, her grip on Finnick’s arm tightening as she stepped closer. “Didn’t you carve up a tribute in your own Games? That didn’t seem like survival and strategy to me.”

“Annie–” Finnick interferes but is caught off guard by the sudden hand placed on his chest. 

“Finnick told me all about it,” Annie replies. “Your tributes must’ve at least picked up a thing or two from you.”

Malia’s resolve wavered momentarily as she caught a glimpse of the intimate connection between them. With a forced smile, Malia extricated herself from the situation.

“Well, I appreciate your perspective, Annie. However, I think it’s best if I excuse myself from this conversation. Enjoy the rest of the evening.”

Ignoring Finnick’s call after her, Malia walked away with Jake following behind, turning back every once in a while to make gestures at Annie. Malia’s heart ached, torn between her growing affection for Finnick and the weight of Annie’s accusations. In that moment, she knew that finding solace in the allure of their almost-kiss was a luxury she couldn’t afford.

Left behind, Finnick stared after Malia, his eyes filled with a mix of longing and frustration. Annie’s words hung heavy in the air, threatening to drive a wedge between them. With a heavy sigh, he pushed Annie’s hand off him and turned to face her, a flicker of defiance in his gaze.

“Annie, I understand your pain, but you can’t lay all the blame on Malia. We’ve all had to make difficult choices in the Games. Malia is no different. She deserves some understanding,” Finnick stated, his voice tinged with earnestness.

Annie’s eyes flashed with a defensive anger, her voice sharpening as she lashed out at Malia once more. 

“Understanding? Why should I understand her? She’s from district one, Finnick. She’s one of the privileged ones, raised to thrive in this sickening Capitol society. She knows nothing of true hardship!”

Finnick’s frustration mounted, his eyes narrowing as he refused to back down. 

“Annie, you know better than anyone that district one isn’t solely defined by privilege. Malia may come from a place of relative comfort, but she’s not responsible for the injustices of the system. She’s an individual with her own struggles and complexities.”

Annie’s voice dripped with disdain as she shot back. 

“But she’s from district one, Finnick. Why are you defending her?”

Finnick hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his eyes.

“Because I lov— because she’s my friend ,” he corrected himself, a mix of longing and determination coloring his words.

The weight of Finnick’s unspoken confession hung in the air, the pause filled with the intensity of their emotions. Annie’s gaze softened, her anger giving way to a flicker of realization.

A mixture of shock and realization flickered across Annie’s face as she registered the depth of Finnick’s emotions. Her defensive stance faltered, her voice losing its edge. 

“Finnick…”

But before she could say more, Finnick shook his head, his resolve firm.

“No, Annie. This isn’t about us. It’s about me standing up for what’s right. And right now, I won’t stand by while you continue to judge and insult someone who doesn’t deserve it.”

Annie’s expression crumbled, hurt radiating from her eyes. She swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. 

“I thought you and I had something going on between us…”

Finnick’s features hardened as he immediately dispelled any notion of romantic involvement. 

“Annie, everything that went on between us has been nothing more than platonic. I care for you deeply, but not in the way you want. I’m sorry if I led you on, but my heart belongs elsewhere.”

Annie’s anger flared, her face flushing crimson with a mix of humiliation and resentment. She took a step back, her voice trembling with raw emotion. 

“How dare you! Leading me on and then tossing me aside like I'm nothing? You’re no different from the rest of them!”

Finnick’s eyes widened, hurt etching deep lines across his face. 

“Annie, that’s not fair. I never meant to hurt you. I thought we had a strong friendship, and I treasure that. But I can’t force myself to feel something I don’t.”

Annie’s voice quivered with a mix of sadness and anger.

“You’re just like all the others, Finnick. You only care about appearances and fleeting moments. You don’t understand what it’s like to love someone with your whole heart.”

Finnick’s voice softened, laced with regret.

“Annie, I understand a lot more than you realize. But my heart has found its own path, and it’s not fair to either of us to pretend otherwise.”

Annie turned away, her shoulders slumping in defeat. 

“Fine, Finnick. If that’s what you truly want, then go after your district one girl. See if she’ll ever understand you like I do.”

Finnick stood there, his heart pounding, the aftermath of Annie’s departure leaving him feeling lost and torn. His hands clenched into fists, and with a frustrated sigh, he ran his fingers through his hair, a mix of confusion and determination clouding his thoughts.

Unable to let the turmoil consume him, Finnick took a deep breath and headed back into the main party room, his eyes immediately drawn to Malia as she danced with Jake, a smile on her face as he twirled her around jokingly.

Summoning all his courage, Finnick approached Jake, his voice steady but filled with an underlying intensity. 

“Jake, do you mind if I take over?”

Jake hesitated, his eyes scanning between Finnick and Malia.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, man.”

Malia interjected, her voice calm yet determined.

“Jake, it’s fine. Let Finnick have this dance.”

Reluctantly, Jake nodded, casting a cautious glance at Finnick before making his way towards the buffet table. As the slow melody filled the air, Finnick extended his hand towards Malia, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. 

“Care to dance?” He asks.

Malia stayed silent for a moment, uncertainty flickering in her gaze. Finally, she sighed softly and placed her hand in his, allowing him to lead her onto the dance floor. They swayed to the rhythm, their movements tentative yet filled with unspoken emotions.

Finnick couldn’t bear the silence any longer.

“I’m sorry about Annie,” he confessed, his voice laced with genuine remorse.

Malia’s eyes softened, a mixture of pain and understanding crossing her face.

“Finnick, don’t.”

“The Games traumatized her,” Finnick continued, his voice tinged with sadness.

“She wasn’t always this terrible.”

Malia’s expression hardened, offense flashing in her eyes. 

“The Games traumatized everyone,” she retorted sharply. “That doesn’t give her an excuse to be a bitch.”

Finnick nodded, acknowledging the truth in her words. “Yeah, I know. It’s just... hard to see someone you cared about change so drastically.”

Malia’s voice held a hint of bitterness of its own.

“Well, lucky for you, Jake confiscated all my knives before we arrived. Otherwise, I probably would’ve snapped, and that wouldn’t have ended well for your girlfriend.”

Finnick’s words came out more forcefully than intended.

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

A flicker of surprise crossed Malia’s face, but she quickly recovered.

“That’s not what it looked like to me.”

Finnick’s gaze held a mix of longing and frustration as he leaned in closer, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, well, looks can be deceiving. My heart belongs to another.”

Malia, still oblivious to the true depth of his feelings, tilted her head slightly, curiosity gleaming in her eyes.

“Tell me about her then. Or him.”

A soft smile played at the corners of Finnick’s lips.

“She’s a badass, Malia. Strong, determined, and fearless. She drives me crazy every time I think about her. Her laughter is like music to my ears, and her smile... it has the power to light up the darkest corners of my soul.”

“She sounds amazing,” Malia whispers.

“She is,” Finnick replies.

“This is your party,” President Snow says, appearing by a glaring Annie’s side. “Why aren’t you out there celebrating?”

Annie pulls her glare away from Finnick and Malia on the dance floor and turns her head slightly to look at Snow.

“Mood was ruined,” Annie replies, downing the rest of the drink in her hand before going back to glaring at the two.

President Snow follows her gaze and his eyes light up at the realization of what was causing her sour mood. 

“Ahh, I see,” President Snow chuckles slightly. “I assume the conversation you had with our beloved Cutthroat Queen didn’t go well?”

“Beloved?” Annie snorts slightly. “That’s a word I would never use to describe her. She’s anything but. She walked into my party as if she owned this place. I’ve been trying to get Finnick to ask me to dance the entire night and then she showed up and all my efforts went out the fucking window.”

“Not a fan, I see,” President Snow says.

“Just because she won the fucking Games?” Annie asks, chuckling. She grabs another drink off a waiter passing by. “Winning the Games doesn’t make her fucking special. So why the fuck is Finnick so infatuated with her?”

“Ah, Annie,” President Snow says with a hint of condescension. “Love is nothing more than a foolish distraction, a weakness that can be exploited. You’d be wise to abandon such frivolous notions.”

He glances over at Finnick and Malia, his expression unimpressed. 

“Mr. O’Dair’s infatuation with Miss Wells is merely a fleeting fascination. It will pass, just like all emotions do,” President Snow tells her. “These alliances formed under the guise of love are ephemeral, doomed to dissolve in the face of ambition and survival.”

He picks up his own glass from a nearby tray before turning to look at Annie.

“In the grand scheme of things, love is a tool that can be used against you,” President Snow tells her. “It clouds judgment, makes you vulnerable, and distracts from the pursuit of power. You must learn to be stronger than such sentiments if you wish to thrive in this world.”

He glances back at Finnick and Malia again, the disdain evident in his gaze.

“Mr. O’Dair is a valuable asset, but his heart will lead him astray,” President Snow says. “As his ally and confidant, you should be focused on leveraging his skills and connections for your benefit, not wasting your time on emotional entanglements.”

President Snow’s voice drops to a low, menacing tone. “Remember, in the Capitol, power is everything . Love is a dangerous illusion, and those who succumb to it often meet a tragic end.”

President Snow goes to walk away but Annie speaks up, stopping him in his tracks.

“I just wish she never won the Games, you know?” Annie says. “She wouldn’t have this allure of power and success that has Finnick being drawn to her.”

“I believe his infatuation is a lot more than that,” President Snow tells her.

“I would love to see the look on her face if she were to be put back into the Games,” Annie chuckles bitterly. “I’d feel like that’d teach her a thing or two.”

With that, President Snow turns away and walks up to his podium and watches as Finnick twirls Malia around, her dress billowing all around her and she laughs.

Malia bumps into Finnick’s chest abruptly and she chuckles slightly as he looks at her with adoration behind his eyes. 

“Sorry about that,” Malia chuckles.

“Don’t worry about it,” Finnick tells her.

As the words left his lips, their faces drew closer, their eyes locked in an unspoken connection. They found themselves on the brink of another kiss, the anticipation electrifying the air around them.

But just as their lips were about to meet, President Snow’s voice boomed through the room from his podium, interrupting their moment. 

Finnick and Malia slowly pulled away, their eyes still locked, the unfulfilled longing hanging between them. With a heavy sigh, Finnick glanced towards Snow, a mix of frustration and resignation clouding his features.

“I guess fate has a way of reminding me that timing is never on my side,” He muttered, his voice tinged with regret.

“Tonight,” President Snow announces. “On the last day of her tour, I want to welcome our Victor.”

The crowd started cheering as Annie steps up on a chair, forcing a smile as she waves to the crowd. 

“Annie Cresta,” President Snow continues. “Who embodies our ideals of strength and valor. And I personally want to congratulate her on her victory in the 70th Hunger Games.”

“He gives the same fucking speech every year,” Malia mutters.

“He has people write his speeches for him,” Jake says, suddenly appearing by her side. “What else do you expect from a man one cough away from actual death?”

“Careful,” Malia warns. “If he hears you–”

“What’s he going to do?” Jake asks. “Kill my family? Oh wait– he already did.”

“Jake-” Malia says. 

“No, no, you’re right,” Jake tells her. “This was a bad idea coming here.”

“Don’t let him win, Jake,” Malia replies. “Even so much as leaving is letting him win. It gives him the idea that he has control over you, some power because he did what he did.”

“When the fuck did you get so wise?” Jake asks. 

“She’s right though,” Finnick replies. “President Snow is just finding ways to remind you that you chose not to give in to his tyranny.”

“Yeah and my family paid the price,” Jake tells him. 

“They would have paid the price either way,” Malia says, taking each of their hands. “My father always kept reminding me that it was my fault my mom died in childbirth and for the longest time, I believed him. I thought that winning the Hunger Games would make him proud of me but instead he was scared of me. We might not have a family, but we’re royals, goddammit.”

“We are our own family,” Malia adds. “A queen, a prince, and a titan, we’re a royal alliance and I think that’s far more better than anything. President Snow can’t take us from each other. We all won the Games which means our worst nightmares are over.”

Malia threw her head back as she laughed at another one of Finnick’s jokes. 

“It’s not that funny!” Finnick chuckles.

“It’s funny to me!” Malia counters, laughing once more.

“I’m beginning to think you’re laughing at me at this point,” Finnick smiles.

“I’m not, I promise,” Malia smiles back. “I genuinely think you’re a funny guy.”

Finnick’s laughter faded into pained gasps, and she looked down to see him bleeding out in her arms. Panic surged through her veins as she desperately tried to stop the bleeding, but it was futile. Finnick’s life slipped away, and he became lifeless in her embrace before fading into nothing.

Malia’s heart raced as she found herself sitting in the midst of a hauntingly familiar yet terrifying arena, the echoes of the Hunger Games haunting her every step. The ghosts of her past emerged from the shadows, their eyes filled with sadness, anger, and accusation. 

Astrid appeared before her, her spectral form oozing with the wounds of the fateful encounter from that night.

“You took everything from me,” Astrid whispered, her voice filled with pain. “Your happiness is a cruel mockery of the lives you stole.”

Lucius followed, his throat slit open just like it had been in the finale. Giselle, the trusted ally she had watched die in front of her, haunted her with reproachful eyes. Cleo, whose betrayal had cost her dearly, stepped forward with a mix of sorrow and anger etched on her spectral face.

Each of the fallen tributes stood before her, their forms translucent, but their emotions cutting through Malia’s heart like knives. She wanted to apologize, to tell them she regretted her actions, but the words choked in her throat.

Amidst the sea of accusing gazes, she heard a familiar voice call her name – Cal.

He materialized before her, his face a mix of sorrow and confusion.

“Why did you forget me?” he asked, his voice trembling with pain. “You were my light in the darkness, and you abandoned me.”

Tears welled up in Malia’s eyes as she reached out to touch Cal, but he began to transform before her eyes. His features shifted, and her heart sank at how heartbroken he looked. 

“You let me die,” the transformed Cal spoke with a voice that resonated like thunder. “Your choices led to my demise, and now you dare to find happiness with someone else?”

Malia fell to her knees, unable to bear the weight of her guilt and regret.

“I never wanted you to die!” she cried, the pain in her heart threatening to consume her.

Suddenly, Cal’s figure shifted again, and her father stood before her, his stern eyes piercing through her soul.

“You are a harbinger of destruction,” her father’s voice was cold and unforgiving as he lifted her chin to meet his eyes. “Everything you touch turns to ash. You don’t deserve happiness.”

Flint Hendricks steps out of the shadows, his throat matching that of Lucius’s.

“I had a family.”

“No,” Malia shakes her head, closing her eyes to try and escape the gazes.

Malia’s mind was torn apart by the barrage of guilt and sorrow. The weight of her actions, both within the Games, after the Games, and her past trauma with her father, crushed her spirit. She wanted to escape, to run away from the haunting voices, but the specters closed in around her, their accusations relentless.

“Murderer!”

“Backstabber!”

“You left me to die!”

“Monster!”

In a desperate attempt to escape the nightmare, she ran, her heart pounding in her chest. The arena seemed endless, mirroring the inescapable cycle of guilt and grief she had been living in the past few years.

Malia’s eyes flew open, drenched in sweat, her screams echoing through the silence of the night. She clutched her chest, gasping for breath, feeling the weight of the nightmare lingering upon her.

Malia tossed her covers aside and hurriedly slipped on a robe. The memories of the accusing ghosts and the weight of her past sins clung to her like chains, leaving her heart heavy and her emotions raw. Her instinct was to seek comfort from someone she trusted, someone who had always been there for her.

Jake seemed like the obvious choice at first. But as she approached his door, she hesitated. Malia didn’t want to burden him with her nightmares, nor did she want to expose the vulnerability that had consumed her in that moment. She had reassured him about his own guilt– why would she burden him with hers?

In a spur of courage, she changed her course and made her way back to her room and removed the lid off of the jewelry box that was on her bedside table before making her way to the district four sleeping quarters. There, she knocked softly on the door, hoping that someone might be awake and willing to offer comfort. The door creaked open, and she was met with the surprise of Finnick standing there, dressed only in a pair of sweatpants. 

He was ready to complain about the late-night disturbance until he saw Malia’s tear-streaked face and puffy eyes. Concern replaced irritation, and without a word, he pulled her into a warm embrace, wrapping his arms around her trembling form.

They entered his room, and he closed the door gently behind them. Without needing to explain, he understood that she needed comfort and support. He carried her to his bed and laid her down. He walked over to his closet and threw on a shirt before crawling into his bed right next to her and pulled her close to him.

“It was just a bad dream, Mal,” Finnick whispered soothingly, his fingers gently tracing circles on her arm. “I’m here, and you’re safe. It’s all over now.”

She didn’t say anything as she found solace in his presence. The safety and warmth of his embrace began to calm the storm raging within her. In the stillness of the moment, as he reassured her, she could feel her heart race for a different reason.

Feeling a sense of comfort and connection she had never experienced before, Malia nuzzled into Finnick’s chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. She finally allowed herself to let go, finding safety and understanding in his arms.

As Finnick believed she had drifted off to sleep, he closed his eyes, preparing to rest himself. But Malia’s hand touched his cheek softly, and her voice, barely above a whisper, spoke words that caught him by surprise.

“What are you doing to me?”

Chapter Text

Malia stood at the food table, downing the drink in her hand as she looked around for Jake. He had disappeared moments before and promised to return but he had yet to do so. Cheering erupted out of nowhere and Malia watched as three figures pushed through the crowd. 

Effie Trinket.

Peeta Mellark.

And Katniss Everdeen.

“Holy shit,” Jake mutters, appearing beside Malia and she smacks his arm for scaring her. 

“Pick your jaw up,” Malia tells him.

“You can’t really blame me,” Jake states. “They are the first tributes from district twelve to win since Haymitch.”

“They cheated the system,” Malia tells him.

“Don’t get mad just because you didn’t think of it first,” Jake replies.

“I would’ve,” Malia counters. “If Cal was still alive by the time I returned.”

“Where’s Finnick?” Jake asks, looking around.

“I was hoping you knew,” Malia responds.

“Why would I know where your loverboy went?” Jake asks. 

“He’s not– Haymitch!” Malia exclaims, greeting the older victor with a smile. “It’s so great to see you.”

“I wish I could say the same,” Haymitch tells her before turning his attention to Jake. “When will it stop?”

“When will what stop?” Jake asks.

“Cut the bullshit, Griffin,” Haymitch retorts. “I know it’s you.”

“I’m not sure I know what you’re referring to,” Jake replies. “I’ve also done a lot of things, so you’re going to have to be more specific if you’re trying to incriminate me.”

“The water balloons,” Haymitch says.

“Water balloons are fun,” Jake smiles. 

“I know you’re throwing them at me every year right before the Tribute Parade starts,” Haymitch tells him.

“Whaaaaaaat?” Jake gasps. “No, you have the wrong guy.”

“Katniss says she saw you,” Haymitch replies.

“Katniss also believed Peeta was out to kill her the entire Games, so, is she really a reliable source?” Jake asks. 

“He has a point,” Malia replies.

“Thank you, Malia,” Jake says, turning towards her and giving her a slight bow. “See, Malia believes me. Why don’t you?”

“Because I know it’s you!” Haymitch exclaims. 

“And I simply cannot believe you’d throw such an accusation,” Jake tells him.

“I know it’s you, Griffin,” Haymitch says. “And I just want you to know that it won’t be easy this year. I’m prepared and I will stop you.”

Haymitch turns and walks away and Jake watches him leave.

“Oh I’m always down for a challenge, Abernathy,” Jake mutters, smirking.

“How long have you been throwing water balloons at Haymitch?” Malia asks. 

“Fourteen years,” Jake replies, smiling proudly.

“And he’s barely finding out it’s you?” Malia asks.

“He’s sobering up,” Jake pouts. “He’s no fun when he’s sober.”

“Why?” Malia asks.

“Because he’s aware and can properly chase after me,” Jake answers.

“No, why do you throw water balloons?” Malia asks. “I never asked before because I thought it was a spur of the moment thing.”

“I actually don’t know,” Jake replies, tilting his head in confusion. “I’m sure there was a reason when I did it the first time but after fourteen years… I genuinely forgot.”

“You like being a menace, don’t you?” Malia asks.

“What can I say?” Jake replies, shrugging. “I’m never bored.”

“Everybody who’s anybody is here,” Effie says, turning to look back at Katniss and Peeta. “And they all want to meet you.”

Jake smiles slightly, handing his food plate to Malia.

“Jake! Jake, no!” Malia exclaims, watching as he glides over to them.

“Jake Griffin,” Jake introduces, jokingly bowing. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Flavius! Octavia!” Effie exclaims, rushing towards the two stylists, leaving Katniss and Peeta arm in arm with Jake.

“You know, I’m a huge fan of the whole we win together or you won’t have a victor thing,” Jake says. “Really sentimental.”

“Thank you..?” Peeta replies. 

Jake smiles before hooking his arm through Peeta’s other arm. 

“You know who is also a huge fan?” Jake asks, walking alongside them.

“All of Panem,” Katniss replies.

“Oh, she has jokes,” Jake laughs. “No, but seriously though. President Snow must haaaaate  you both so much for making him look like a joke in front of the entirety of Panem.”

“I’m sorry, you are?” Peeta asks. 

“I just told you,” Jake replies.

“Yes, but who are you?” Peeta responds.

“Oh, the hurt,” Jake says, unhooking his arm from Peeta’s and dramatically stumbles down the stairs. “Malia!” 

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Malia mutters, setting Jake’s plate down on the table and lifting up the edge of her dress and rushing over. “What happened?”

Jake sprawls out on the floor. 

“They don’t know who I am!” Jake cries out.

“I apologize for him,” Malia says, gesturing towards Jake. “Sometimes if you just ignore him he’ll go back to being normal.”

“Normality is overrated,” Jake calls out, before jumping back up to his feet. “Let’s pretend for a minute that you both know who I am despite you both being little three year olds when I won.”

“Okay,” Peeta says.

“I’m Malia,” Malia says, stretching out her hand. 

Katniss stares at it blankly before Malia retracts it. 

“I just want to say congratulations on winning,” Malia continues. “It’s always intriguing to see an outlier district like twelve win.”

“She’s right,” Jake nods, biting into a churro. 

“Where the fuck did you get a churro?” Malia asks. 

“Never underestimate my ability to find food,” Jake replies. 

Peeta clears his throat. 

“Right, well,” Malia says, turning back to face them. “I hope there’s no hard feelings about what our tributes did, I mean Glimmer and Marvel–”

“Glimmer and Marvel?” Katniss asks, speaking up. “You’re district one?”

“Would you rather us be district two?” Jake snorts. 

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Peeta says, stepping around them with Katniss still attached to his arm. “But we have a party to enjoy.”

Jake bites into his churro and watches as the two victors walk off towards the buffet table. 

“Victors these days,” Jake scoffs. 

“Last time I checked you are one,” A voice says. 

“Finnick! Buddy!” Jake exclaims, pulling him into a hug. “Watch the churro.”

Finnick chuckles as he pulls away from the hug and smiles in Malia’s direction.

“Malia,” Finnick greets. 

“Finnick.”

“So those are the star-crossed lovers,” Finnick states, looking over at Katniss and Peeta dancing on the dance floor. 

“Seems so,” Malia responds.

“Where have you been?” Jake asks. “Malia was looking for you earlier.”

“I got tied up with personal matters,” Finnick answers. 

“What kind?” Malia asks.

“The usual,” Finnick replies.

“Right,” Malia says, not entirely buying it.

“Would you like to dance?” Finnick asks.

“Not tonight,” Malia answers, excusing herself before walking away. 

Finnick watches her leave and he shoves his hands into his pockets. 

“Don’t take it personal,” Jake says, mouth full of churro. “Twelve has her on edge.”

“Because of Cal?” Finnick asks.

“Seneca Crane allowed two lovers to win the Games,” Jake states. “ Star-crossed, might I add. Malia and Cal were the original star-crossed lovers. She’s over Cal, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, you know?”

“Yeah,” Finnick responds.

“She tried congratulating them and they completely blew her off,” Jake says. “They’re lucky I confiscated her knives again.”

“Good call,” Finnick tells him.

“Thank you,” Jake responds, holding out his churro. “Churro?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Finnick says.

Jake scrunches his face in disgust. “I didn’t want to share with you anyways.”

“I’m going to go find Malia,” Finnick says. “Make sure she’s okay.”

“Ooh, I’ll come with,” Jake replies. “Too many people here.”

“Jake–” Finnick says, protesting.

“Oh come on, you haven’t been around her all night,” Jake states. “You can’t just swoop in and take my adult supervision away from me.”

“You’re older than both of us,” Finnick says.

“And?” Jake asks. “President Snow is older than dinosaurs and look what happens when he doesn’t have adult supervision. He throws people into death matches for entertainment.”

“So if Malia and I weren’t watching you, what would happen?” Finnick asks. 

Jake laughs and pats Finnick on the back and walks away.

“Jake!” Finnick calls after him. “I’m serious!”

“Malia!” Jake calls out, rushing up to the ginger sitting down in the library. “You are absolutely no fun this year.”

Finnick stumbles into the library right after Jake. 

“I’m sorry,” Malia says. “I just… it isn’t fair.”

“Oh honey,” Jake chuckles, pulling up a chair and sitting down in front of her as Finnick leans against the doorframe. “ Life isn’t fair.”

“Hey guys,” Finnick says, stepping inside the library. “Snow’s about to give his Presidential welcome speech.”

“It’s the same every year, why bother?” Malia asks, sitting up and leaving the library with the two in tow. She settled at the back of the room and crossed her arms as Finnick and Jake stood behind her.

“Tonight,” President Snow announces, holding up his glass. “On this last day of their tour. I want to welcome our two victors. Two young people who embody our ideals of strength and valor and I personally want to congratulate them on the announcement of their engagement. Your love has inspired us and I know it will go on inspiring us everyday. For as long as you may live.”

The entire room erupts into applause as President Snow raises his glass and takes a drink from it. 

“President Snow congratulating love?” Jake asks. “Is the world coming to an end?”

“Something’s up,” Malia mutters, watching as Katniss looks back over to President Snow. He shakes his head and Katniss frowns slightly.

“Well if it isn’t the royal alliance,” Plutarch smiles, approaching the trio. 

“He’s heard of us,” Jake grins. 

“Plutarch Heavensbee,” Plutarch greets back before turning his attention towards Malia who had been avoiding eye contact. “Miss Wells.”

Malia looks up at him and nods slightly in response. 

“So…” Jake says, rocking back and forth on his heels. “Head Gamemaker, yeah?”

“Successor to Seneca Crane,” Plutarch answers.

“What happened to Seneca Crane?” Malia asks.

“He decided to stop breathing,” Plutarch replies.

“Well, he did change the trajectory of the Games,” Jake states. “For the past 73 years there has always been one victor.”

“Seneca Crane made one mistake,” Plutarch says. “And he paid dearly. This year’s a Quarter Quell, it’s my job to make this year exciting and fun.” 

“How did you even become Head Gamemaker?” Finnick asks.

“I volunteered,” Plutarch replies. “This year was supposed to be Flint Hendrick’s chance at Head Gamemaker but since his untimely death  nine years ago– the Capitol was looking for a successor to take over for Seneca Crane. President Snow is still having Peacekeepers investigating his death, they suspect foul play.”

“Foul play?” Malia asks, her hand shaking slightly.

Finnick looks down and notices before grasping her hand gently and the shaking stops. 

“Someone who had access to the building,” Plutarch replies. 

“Like family?” Malia asks.

“No one in the family had a motive,” Plutarch replies.

“It’s been nine years,” Finnick says. “Why keep investigating?”

“President Snow’s trying to prove a point,” Plutarch answers. 

“What point?” Jake asks.

“You’ll soon see,” Plutarch replies, lowering his head before walking away. 

“I’m fucked,” Malia says, watching Plutarch walk away.

“He doesn’t know it was you,” Finnick tells her. 

“They’ll find out soon,” Malia says, pulling her hand out of Finnick’s before using it to run a hand through her hair.

Finnick frowns slightly before looking at Jake.

“How?” Jake asks. “By checking the body? There is no body.”

“What?” Malia responds. “No, I slashed his throat. Everyone knows I’m the Cutthroat Queen, it’s like I signed my name.”

“The building burned down,” Finnick says.

“The Capitol said it didn’t cause any serious damage though,” Malia counters.

“The fire started in Hendrick’s office,” Jake tells her. “Everything burned. Even his corpse.”

“How the fuck are they investigating if there’s no corpse?” Malia asked.

“I think he was trying to see if any of us would cave,” Finnick said. “Catch us off guard, you know?”

“For what?” Malia asks.

“President Snow’s entertainment,” Jake replies. “Everything is for Snow’s entertainment.”

“Well, I’m done entertaining him tonight,” Malia says. “Let’s go home.”

Malia tied up her hair in a high ponytail before she opened the hallway closet door to grab the spare blankets she kept at the top. 

She closed the door with her foot before walking over to the couch and setting the blankets down on the coffee table in front of it. Jake would be back soon from the market and she wanted to make sure the living room was set up for the annual Hunger Games announcement.

It was an ongoing tradition that they have done for the past nine years and ever since that night Finnick had found her in the rain– beaten up and bloody– things had changed. 

Both Jake and her have mentored tributes together for the past nine years and it was always exciting to watch the reapings and see what new tributes they’d have to mentor. They had possibly two victories since Malia won and for the past nine years they watched as their tributes died one year after the other as the other districts claimed victory.

67th? Augustus Braun from district one.

68th? Ron Stanford from district four.

69th? Clarity Lovell from district one.

Their tributes hadn’t won any more Games after that.

70th? Annie Cresta from district four.

71st? Johanna Mason from district seven.

Johanna broke a Hunger Games record for being the first female from district seven to win the Hunger Games.

72nd? Pliny Arausio from district seven.

73rd? Wade Rankine from district two.

But none of those Games prepared them for the events that went down last Games.

The 74th Hunger Games: Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark from district twelve.

Her heart ached with a raw mix of anger, sadness, and frustration. The memory of her Games was still fresh in her mind, where Cal had fought valiantly but ultimately lost his life. The pain of his absence cut through her like a knife, a constant reminder of the brutality and unfairness of the Games.

The victory of Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark felt like salt being rubbed into her wounds. How could the Capitol allow such an outcome? How could they allow two victors when Cal had fought so fiercely, only to be cruelly snatched away?

Malia’s frustration grew with each passing moment. She had become a symbol of strength, a beacon of hope for her district, but she couldn’t help feeling betrayed by the system she had fought so hard to survive in. The Capitol’s game of manipulation and deception was nothing short of sickening.

Unable to contain her anger any longer, Malia rose from her seat and clenched her fists. With fierce determination, she stormed towards the wall and snatched a knife from the table. As her emotions reached their boiling point, she hurled the knife with all her might, watching it embed itself deeply into the plaster.

The impact of the knife echoed through the room, the sound mingling with her heavy breathing. Malia stood there, her chest heaving, feeling a strange mix of relief and regret. She knew that throwing a knife wouldn’t solve anything, but it offered a fleeting release for her pent-up rage.

Just as she began to regain her composure, a knock resounded through the door. Malia hesitated, unsure of who it could be. But when she heard Jake’s familiar voice on the other side, she knew she couldn’t hide her anger any longer. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

As Jake entered the room, his eyes immediately fell upon the knife lodged in the wall. A wry smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and he shook his head in mock disbelief. 

“Damn girl,” He chuckled, his voice a mixture of amusement and concern.

Malia glanced at Jake, momentarily distracted from her anger. She couldn’t help but appreciate his presence, his understanding of the turbulent emotions that consumed her. With a sigh, she closed the door behind him, the weight of her frustration gradually lessening in the presence of her brother figure and fellow victor.

Jake throws his jacket onto the couch before walking over to the wall and yanking the knife out of the wall. 

“Did the wall get in your way again?” Jake asks and Malia rolls her eyes. 

“I was just thinking about last year’s Games,” Malia replies.

“You’re still mad about the two tributes from twelve both winning?” Jake asks, tossing the knife back on the table.

“It’s unfair, Jake,” Malia retorts. “Just think about how our lives could be different if the head Gamemaker allowed two victors from the same district for our Games.”

“Malia-” Jake says, waving his hands in front of him.

“Cal would still be alive,” Malia tells him. “ Jade would still be alive.”

“But they’re not,” Jake responds.

Malia’s voice trembled with a mix of pain and frustration. She looked directly into Jake’s eyes, her gaze filled with unshed tears.

“But they should be,” Malia whispered, her voice heavy with grief. “They should still be here, Jake. It’s not right that they’re gone.”

Jake’s expression softened, and he took a step closer to Malia, offering her a comforting presence. 

“I know it’s not fair,” Jake told her gently. “Cal was your boyfriend and Jade was my twin. The Games take so much from us, from everyone. But we can’t change what happened, no matter how much we wish we could.”

Jake observed Malia’s agitated state with concern etched on his face. He had become her confidant, someone who understood the depths of her pain. He knew that the wounds of loss were still raw, and the unfairness of it all gnawed at her.

“But why, Jake?” Malia’s voice quivered with a mix of frustration and sorrow. “Why did they win? Why did they get to come out of that arena alive and victorious, while Cal and Jade... while we lost everything ?”

Jake sighed, the weight of the situation heavy upon him. He had grappled with similar questions himself, wrestling with the injustice of their shared fate. He wished he had the answers that could bring solace to Malia’s troubled mind.

“I don’t know, Malia,” He replied, his voice filled with empathy. “I wish I had an explanation. The Capitol plays by its own twisted rules, and sometimes it seems like luck is the deciding factor, not merit or love or anything meaningful.”

Malia’s frustration intensified, her fists clenching at her sides.

“That’s fucking bullshit!” She exclaimed, her voice tinged with bitterness. “Katniss and Peeta, they were playing a game—a game of deception, a fake love story. Cal and I, we had something real, something true. We fought for each other, and we fucking lost.”

Tears welled up in Malia’s eyes, threatening to spill over. She felt the weight of her grief and the injustice of the world pressing down upon her. It felt as if her heart would burst with the burden of her emotions.

Jake approached her slowly and he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, offering a silent gesture of support.

“I know, Malia,” He whispered, his voice filled with compassion. “I know how real your love was, how much it meant to you. I know how much the two of you were willingly to die for each other, I saw it with my own eyes. And no matter what happened in that arena, no one can take that away from you.”

Malia looked into Jake’s eyes, seeing the understanding and shared pain reflected in them. She knew he spoke the truth, that the love she had shared with Cal was a powerful force that transcended the confines of the Games. It was something she would carry with her always.

In that moment, Malia let out a deep breath, releasing some of the pent-up anger and sorrow that had consumed her. She realized that dwelling on the unfairness of the Capitol’s games wouldn’t bring back what she had lost.

Instead, she needed to focus on the things she had gained from the moment she was reaped.

A brother-sister bond with Jake.

A friendship with Finnick.

A house far away from her abusive father. 

She lost Cal, but in doing so, she gained things that most people didn’t get after winning the Games.

“It’s about time for the Capitol to announce this year’s Games,” Jake tells her, an attempt to change the subject. “Let’s watch it just like we planned to. It is tradition.”

Malia nods and Jake takes the remote from the table and turns on the television. 

President Snow stood at his podium, a giant envelope in his hand as he smiled and waved to the crowd before clearing his throat as he spoke into the microphone.

“Ladies and Gentleman!” President Snow calls out. “This is the 75th year of the Hunger Games. And it was written in the charter of the Games that every 25 years, there would be a Quarter Quell to keep fresh for each new generation the memory of those who died in the uprising against the Capitol.”

Malia stood next to Jake, her arms crossed as she watched, wanting the announcement to be done and over with.

“Each Quarter Quell is distinguished by Games of a special significance. And now on this eve of the 75th anniversary of our defeat of the rebellion, we celebrate the 3rd Quarter Quell as a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the Capitol.”

“What the fuck is he talking about?” Jake asks. “The strongest?”

Quarter Quells were different from normal Hunger Games that much was known to them. Each Quarter Quell had a special twist which made it different. The last Quarter Quell’s special twist was that the arena had 48 tributes instead of 24.

Haymitch Abernathy from district twelve won those Games which ended up being a surprise to all of Panem since he used a forcefield to win.

“On this,” President Snow continued. “The 3rd Quarter Quell Games, the male and female tributes are to be reaped from the existing pool of victors in each district. Victors shall present themselves on Reaping Day regardless of age, state of health, or situation.”

The room felt suffocating, the air heavy with despair as Jake and Malia stood in stunned silence, their eyes fixed on the television screen. The announcement had come, a cruel twist of fate that shattered their fragile sense of security—their names would be drawn for the Hunger Games once again.

“MOTHERFUCKER!” Jake screamed as his rage boiled over, a storm of emotions that he couldn’t contain. With a primal scream, he lashed out, his fists colliding with furniture, shattering glass and splintering wood. The room trembled under the force of his fury, mirroring the chaos that consumed his soul.

Malia, her body trembling, crumpled to the floor, her heart pounding with a mix of terror and anguish. Tears streamed down her face, her cries choked and broken. 

“I’m going to die,” She whispered, her voice barely audible. “It was all for nothing. All those years... all that pain... for.. for nothing. ”

Her words echoed in the empty space, a haunting reminder of the injustice they now faced. The realization that their previous victory meant nothing in the face of the Capitol’s unyielding power shattered the remnants of hope within Malia’s heart. The weight of despair threatened to consume her.

Amidst the chaos, Jake’s fury subsided, replaced by a deep ache of sorrow. He rushed to Malia’s side, his hands trembling as he pulled her into his arms, desperate to provide even the slightest comfort. 

“Malia,” He whispered, his voice filled with anguish. “We’re district one, we’ve won so many Games. We might not even be reaped. Some districts aren’t as lucky as we are. Some districts only have one victor.”

But Malia’s anguish persisted, the weight of impending doom pressing down upon her. The thought of going back into the Games ended up shattering every hope that she had left of a normal life, and it was like a dam broke inside her.

She broke free from Jake’s grasp, her movements frantic and erratic. She stumbled into the next room, the anguish within her erupting like a volcano. Her hands grabbed whatever they could find, hurling objects against the walls, shattering mirrors, and sending shards of pain flying in every direction.

Her screams of anguish filled the air, mingling with the sound of breaking glass and splintering wood. Her hands found knives, and she threw them with reckless abandon, the physical release providing only a momentary respite from the overwhelming despair.

Jake, filled with a mixture of fear and determination, rushed into the room, his voice laced with desperation. 

“Malia, stop before you hurt yourself! Please, listen to me!” He pleaded, his words punctuated by the crashing sounds of shattered objects.

In the midst of Malia’s chaos, Jake managed to reach her, his strong arms enveloping her in a tender embrace. He held her tightly, his own tears streaming down his face as she sobbed in his arms. She clung to him, her heartache merging with his, their tears mingling as they held onto each other, desperate to find solace in the midst of their shared nightmare.

“Destroying shit isn’t going to change anything,” Jake tells her. “Two victors from each district have to go back into the Games. We’ve got this.”

“I’m not going to kill you, Jake,” Malia responds, her voice raspy from all the screaming and crying. “I won’t. I refuse.”

“I know,” Jake tells her, rubbing a soothing hand down her back to comfort her. “ I know.”

The thought of the Quarter Quell made Malia’s stomach churn. She had thought she was done with the Hunger Games when she won them nine years ago. But now, she was being forced back into the arena, along with other victors from all the districts.

Malia knew she had to act excited at the reaping. She couldn’t let anyone see how terrified and scared she really was. She had to put on a brave face and pretend she was ready to go back into the Games. 

Because she knew all too well, the Games don’t start the moment you’re in the arena. The Games start the moment Celeste pulls your name.

But the truth was, she wasn’t ready. She didn’t know if she could survive another round. She had seen too much death and destruction the first time around. She didn’t know if she could handle it again. 

She had been trained from the moment she was born– she had lost her humanity ages ago and in doing so, carved up a tribute nine years ago out of pure anger. She had taken the nine years after winning to try and self heal from the trauma she endured. But President Snow clearly had other plans. 

She had grown closer to Finnick and Jake over the years, the three of them having to experience the same things as the others. And then it finally dawned on her. 

Finnick O’Dair was the victor of the 65th Hunger Games.

As if the possibility of having to fight against Jake wasn’t enough.

Malia’s heart sank as she realized that she would possibly have to fight against Finnick, the person who had been her rock through all her struggles. 

Jake pulled away from the hug and excused himself to go to the kitchen to get them both a glass of water– or even a beer– to try and calm their nerves even slightly.

Tears streamed down Malia’s face as she watched him leave and about the thought about what was to come. She had always known that the Hunger Games were brutal, that’s why her district practically praised them, but she had never imagined that she would have to fight against her only friends.

Malia took a deep breath and tried to compose herself. She knew that she had to be strong for what was to come. She had to fight, not just for herself but for Finnick and Jake as well.

She closed her eyes and pictured Finnick’s face, his bright smile and his sparkling green eyes. She knew that he would be fighting for her too, even if it meant that they had to face each other in the arena. 

Malia wiped away her tears and took a deep breath. She was ready to face whatever lay ahead, as long as she had Finnick and Jake by her side, no matter what the outcome may be. She had to be strong. She couldn’t let the Capitol see her weakness.

She wiped the palms of her hands on her jeans and walked over to the mirror. She looked at herself and forced a smile. 

“I can do this,” She whispered to herself. “I can survive another Hunger Games.”

But deep down, Malia knew the truth. She wasn’t sure if she could survive another round. She wasn’t sure if anyone could. 

“What are we supposed to do when we’re the final two?” Jade asked, her gaze fixed on Jake as they sat across from each other. Her grip tightened around the spear resting on her lap, a symbol of both her survival and the imminent danger they faced.

“We already discussed this,” Jake sighed, his voice heavy with resignation. “You’re the one going home, not me.”

Jade’s eyes blazed with defiance. “And I already told you, no fucking way.”

Jake leaned forward, his expression earnest. “Look, the Capitol isn’t going to allow us both to win just because we’re twins,” He explained. “The Hunger Games don’t work like that. It hasn’t for 61 years, and it certainly isn’t going to work like that starting anytime soon.”

Her voice trembled with frustration. “But why is it that you have to be the one to die? Why can’t it be me?”

“Because I’m older than you by like twelve minutes,” Jake replied, a touch of bitterness seeping into his words. “Which means it’s my responsibility to keep you safe.”

“That’s bullshit,” Jade retorted, her voice tinged with anger and hurt.

Jake’s eyes met hers, filled with a mixture of determination and sorrow. “Well, that’s too bad,” He said firmly.

Jade's voice softened as she pleaded with him. “Can’t you see this from my perspective for once? You’ve been protecting me your whole life. Why can’t I be the one to protect you for once?”

His voice softened as well, his eyes searching hers. “Because I’m not going to watch you die,” Jake replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “You dying will be like losing a part of me.”

Her voice cracked with emotion. “And you don’t think that you dying is the same for me? We’re twins, Jake. The feeling of losing a part of you goes both ways.”

“I told you the moment we were reaped that I would make sure you’d go home,” Jake reminded her, his voice steady. “I’m standing by that statement.”

Tears welled up in her eyes as she pleaded with him one last time. “You can’t protect me forever, Jake. You’re going to have to let me go.”

His voice quivered, mirroring the conflict within him. “No,” Jake uttered, his tone filled with anguish. “Why are you so okay with dying?”

She looked at him, her voice filled with raw honesty. “Why are you?”

In that moment, the weight of their choices and the inevitability of their impending fate hung heavily in the air. The bond of their twinhood was a source of strength and love, but now it became a barrier, separating them in the cruel arena of the Hunger Games. As they stared at each other, both aware of the impossible decision they faced, the silence echoed with unspoken words of love, sacrifice, and the unyielding desire to protect the other.

“Does it really matter who lives and who dies?” Trent asks, sitting up from his spot in one of the many booths in the abandoned diner. “You were doomed the moment you two were reaped together.”

“No shit,” Jade tells him. 

“I’m just saying,” Trent responds.

“I think you’re forgetting the point, Trent,” Isla tells him, sitting up as well. “They’re the Twin Titans. They’re not the doomed ones here, we are.”

“What do you mean?” Trent asks.

His district partner stands up to stretch her limbs before sitting back down. “There can’t be two winners. But imagine how famous one of them would be if they won while the other died.”

“Isla-” Jake warns.

“No, think about it,” Isla says. “Two twins, reaped together. Separated for the first time in sixteen years because one died. It’s a great story.”

“The Capitol wouldn’t rig the Games like that,” Trent replies.

“Oh you poor naive soul,” Isla chuckles. “It’s the Hunger Games, there are no rules. Well.. except only one person winning.”

“Rigged or not,” Jake says. “Jade’s winning this. Now everyone go to sleep.”

“Since when did someone appoint you two as leaders?” Magnus asks. 

“We appointed ourselves,” Jade tells him. “Now lay your ass down and go to sleep.”

“I don’t have to listen to you,” Magnus says.

“If you want to make it to the final five, you will,” Jake tells him.

“I’m having a conversation with your sister,” Magnus says. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“She’s  my twin,” Jake states. “So yes, it does concern me.”

“Fine,” Magnus says, standing up. “District one doesn’t have what it takes to be leaders. They’re not the richest district, they tend to make training scores less than a ten, and they lack the skill to kill when necessary.”

“Last time I checked, Jake and I got matching scores of ten,” Jade retorts. 

“There hasn’t been a single Career alliance where district one was in charge,” Magnus states. 

“Well, times are changing,” Jake says, patting Magnus’s head before turning to walk away. 

“I’m a better leader than you are,” Magnus tells him, grabbing a hold of his arm.

Jake scoffs slightly as his jaw clenches and he turns to face Magnus, his arm still clinging to his own.

“If you were a better leader than me, then you would’ve taken charge,” Jake glares. “Now, if you don’t take your hands off of me in the next two seconds, you won’t have hands.”

“Magnus, let it go,” Avia tells him. “No use causing a fight over absolute bullshit.”

“One,” Jake counts. “Two.”

Magnus removes his hand and Jake smirks slightly before throwing himself down onto a booth seat across from Jade. Magnus plops down next to Isla and he glares at Jake before slouching down in the booth. 

“He’s going to kill you, you know?” Isla tells him.

“Not if I kill him first,” Magnus responds. 

“And his twin?” Isla asks. “They’ve been attached at the hip ever since they reached the Cornucopia at the start of the Games. It’s been four days in this godforsaken arena and you talk all this shit but you never actually do anything.”

“The twins have everyone on their side,” Magnus responds. “I wouldn’t be able to kill them with Avia, Trent, Thatch, and Fauna following them without so much of a hesitation.”

“We’re switching locations tonight,” Isla says. “Now, I’ve been very paranoid lately.”

“Why?” Magnus asks. 

“Because I overheard Trent talking with his mentor about how he was planning to kill me,” Isla replies. “I have been nothing but on edge and paranoid around him since I stepped onto that platform.”

“If he was planning to kill you, he would’ve done so during the Bloodbath,” Magnus states.

“So you see why I’m paranoid,” Isla replies. “If he was planning to kill me, imagine what he has planned for this alliance.”

“He wouldn’t be able to take all of us,” Magnus tells her.

“I don’t think he’s alone,” Isla says. “I mean, he’s been hanging around Thatch a lot lately.”

“Now Thatch could take us all,” Magnus states. “It’s the only reason we welcomed him into the alliance– normally district eleven would be out there on their own.”

“We need to take them out before they kill us,” Isla tells him. “Avia too.”

“Why Avia?” Magnus asks.

“She’s a weak link,” Isla replies. “She does nothing but follow and obey the twins and their every command– and if Trent has been planning to kill me since before the Games, who’s to say Avia isn’t the same towards you? They’re just waiting for the right time.”

“What do you suggest we do?” Magnus asks.

“I’m so glad you asked,” Isla replies. 

Later that night, Jake and Jade led the Careers to a new location, an abandoned building on the far side of the arena where they set up camp once more. 

Jake’s eyes scanned the room, and he spoke in hushed tones, laying out their plan for the final confrontation with the remaining tributes. Jade stood by his side, a sense of unease lingering in the air.

“We track them down,” Jake says. “After that, we all go our separate ways.”

Isla exchanged a subtle signal with Magnus. Without warning, Isla plunged her blade into Trent’s side, while Magnus did the same to Avia. Two cannons sounded as the metallic scent of blood filled the air.

Jake sighed, he knew it was only a matter of time before someone in the alliance cut ties early. He was just shocked it was district four. With lightning speed, he shoved Jade behind him, his trained reflexes guiding his movements. He hurled his spear, impaling both Magnus and Avia in a cruel twist of fate. The two betrayers fell back-to-back, crimson staining the floor beneath them as two cannons sounded.

Breathing heavily, Jake looked over at Thatch and Fauna. Doubt gnawed at him, but he couldn’t afford to be trustful anymore in the Hunger Games.

“Were you fucking in on this too?” He asks them, questioning their loyalty.

But before he could receive an answer, a deafening explosion shook the building. The Gamemakers had set off a bomb, and Fauna was the closest to the blast. Her body was thrown across the room, lifeless, as the smoke and debris filled the air and her cannon sounds.

Thatch was knocked to the ground, disoriented but alive.

With no time to mourn, Jake and Jade sprinted through the building, their hearts pounding, adrenaline surging. They heard the sound of Thatch screaming followed by his cannon. They wasted no time and they leapt onto the rooftop of the adjacent structure, hoping for a brief respite. Two more cannons sounded. 

Just as they thought they were safe, a mutated creature, an unholy creation of the Capitol, lunged at Jade. Jake’s heart stopped as he watched his twin’s life hang in the balance. Without hesitation, he thrust his spear into the creature, saving Jade from its deadly clutches.

Pulling her up onto the rooftop, relief and gratitude shone in their eyes as they locked gazes. 

“We made it,” Jade tells him, pulling Jake into a hug.

“Yes we did,” Jake says, pulling away. “Come on, we got to go.”

But their brief moment of respite was shattered as another mutt, darker and more menacing, lunged at Jade. Jake tried to catch her, but his fingers slipped through her desperate grasp. She fell, disappearing into the fiery building with the relentless mutt, and her cannon sounded a mournful dirge.

Jake screamed and cried out her name, his heart shattered into a million pieces. Alone and consumed by grief.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, the winner of the 61st Hunger Games, Jake Griffin!”

A knock on the door startles Malia as she rubs the sleep out of her eyes. She looked around at her surroundings before laying eyes on Jake wrapped up in blankets on her couch. They had fallen asleep sometime the previous night after hours of just trying their best to distract themselves from the undeniable truth of the Quarter Quell announcement. 

The knock comes again and Malia pushes herself off the floor and rushes to the door.

“I’m coming! I’m coming!” Malia calls out, opening the door. “What do you– Finnick??”

“Hey,” Finnick greets, noticing how off guard Malia looks.

“How are you here?” Malia asks, leaning against the door. “This is district one.”

“I was here on business,” Finnick replies. “Uh, Ron became a Peacekeeper and they transferred him here. As his mentor, he wanted me to tag along. I figured since I’m here, I thought I’d stop by. See how you’re doing with the announcement and everything.”

Malia runs a hand through her disheveled hair and sighs. 

“I thought my worst nightmares were over,” Malia tells him. “But no, now we have to go back into the Games. It’s bullshit.”

“You really think your name is going to get picked?” Finnick asks.

“If you think Cashmere will volunteer for me, you’re insane,” Malia replies. 

“Get a room you two,” Jake groans tiredly from his spot on the couch.

Finnick scratches the side of his face. “Is there a uh.. place we can go? A place that’s more private?”

“Yeah,” Malia nods. “Yeah, there’s a hill that’s very secluded. I go there when I need to be alone sometimes. Just let me grab a coat real quick.”

Finnick nods before shoving his hands into the pockets of his blue jean jacket as the door closes in front of him.

Malia walks across the room and opens the closet door to grab a jacket.

“What did lover boy want?” Jake asks, his voice groggy from sleep. 

“I’m about to find out,” Malia replies, throwing on her jacket. 

“You should fix your hair, it's doing that.. frizzy thing again,” Jake says, turning over on the couch so his back was facing Malia. 

Malia glares at Jake before grabbing her red beanie and throwing it on her head. 

She heads to the door and opens it before stepping out. 

“Let’s go,” Malia tells Finnick, leading the way towards the secluded hill a couple miles down before plopping down in the grass. 

Finnick sits down next to her and she watches as he reaches into his pocket. He looks hesitant, as if he was debating whether or not to pull out whatever he had inside. Malia guessed he decided against it because he pulled his hand out of his pocket and pulled out a piece of grass out of the ground and started playing with it. 

“You do know that all this is because of Katniss and Peeta, right? And with Ron becoming a Peacekeeper, I’m the only male victor still alive,” Finnick states. “Which makes me the automatic male tribute for the Quarter Quell.”

Malia could feel her heart shatter. 

“The Reaping is in a few hours,” Finnick adds. “It’s not too late.”

“What do you mean?” Malia asks.

“We could run away,” Finnick replies. “Get as far away from the Capitol before it’s too late.”

Malia looks over at Finnick, shock clearly written all over her face. 

“Run away?” Malia asks. “Where would we even go? There’s no place we can go where the Capitol won’t find us. Plus, I can’t just abandon Jake.”

“We wouldn’t be abandoning him,” Finnick states. “He’d be coming with us. Mags too.”

Malia shakes her head. 

“Finnick, they’d track us down,” Malia tells him. “The circumstances would be different if we were nobodies. But we’re popular in the Capitol. The moment we don’t show up to that Reaping, they’ll know exactly what happened. They’d turn us into Avoxes, or worse. They’d kill us.”

“It was just a suggestion,” Finnick sighs, looking back down at the piece of grass in his hands. “But then of course, by the time they find out we’re gone, we’d already be in the wind.”

“Finnick, we can’t,” Malia tells him. “I have too much innocent blood on my hands, I can’t get them anymore bloody.”

“They’re going to get bloody if you get reaped anyways,” Finnick replies.

“Not if I die in the bloodbath,” Malia tells him.

“Malia-” Finnick begins.

“I lost my sanity the last time I was in the arena,” Malia cuts him off. “I’d rather die than lose it again. I don’t want to be.. I don’t want..”

“Be what?” Finnick asks.

“A monster,” Malia replies. “I spent these past nine years recovering from the amount of trauma I’ve endured and now that I know I’m being put back into the arena, I just know it’s bound for me to go insane again.”

“You won’t go insane,” Finnick tells her. “Cause I’ll be right there next to you the entire time. I’ll be your anchor.”

“And if you die?” Malia asks. “All that would be for nothing. There’s not a single male victor in district one that will volunteer for Jake if he gets reaped. There’s no guarantee that I won’t go insane, not when I could lose either of you. Sure, running away seems like the only option but it’s scarier. And who would want to run away with a girl with a broken heart? Someone who’s damaged?”

“A boy with nothing to lose,” Finnick replies. “You’re my best friend and you’re the only thing that really matters. And you’re not damaged. You’re just a girl who’s been dealt a bad hand in life. And although the odds aren’t exactly in our favor..”

Finnick holds out his hand for her to take and Malia looks at him, his palm still stretched out in front of them.

“But if you do get reaped,” Finnick continues. “Then we’ll fight together.”

“Together or not at all.”

Malia chuckles before taking his hand and Finnick closes his fingers around hers and smiles slightly.

“Together or not at all,” Malia agrees.

A comfortable silence fell between them as they sat hand in hand up until Finnick broke it. 

“Mal,” Finnick says.

Malia hums in response as she looks over at him.

Finnick turns his body to face hers and his free hand comes up to caress her cheek. 

“Will you–”

“Boo!” Jake exclaims appearing behind them before pushing the both of them down the hill. 

Malia and Finnick’s screams mixed with laughter echoed through the rolling hills as they tumbled down together, hand in hand. The soft grass cushioned their fall, turning their descent into a playful roll. They couldn’t stop laughing, feeling like carefree children again, the worries of the world temporarily forgotten.

Jake’s mischievous voice followed them as he joined the fun, rolling down the hillside beside them, adding to the chaos.

“Weee! This is the best way to go down a hill!” Jake exclaimed.

As the trio reached the bottom of the hill, Malia found herself on top of Finnick, their laughter mixing in the air. Her heart raced, and her eyes locked onto his, captivated by the spark of joy in them. In that moment, surrounded by nature and laughter, she felt an overwhelming sense of affection for Finnick.

“Are you okay?” Malia asked, her smile widening as she brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead.

Finnick’s grin was infectious as he replied, “I’m more than okay, Mal.”

Jake, still laughing, walked down the hill towards them.

“Oh, Finnick, you dropped this!” He called out, holding out a small velvet box he had somehow managed to produce.

Finnick’s eyes widened, his laughter faltering for a moment as he quickly reached out to snatch the box from Jake’s hand. He stuffed it into his pocket, trying to act nonchalant, though Malia couldn’t help but notice a hint of nervousness in his eyes.

“Jake, you asshole!” Malia exclaims, reaching over to playfully punch him in the leg. She lets out one more laugh before looking down at Finnick still on the ground. “What’s in the box?”

“Nothing, it’s getting late,” Finnick said, his cheeks slightly flushed, trying to change the subject. “I should head back to district four. I can’t miss the Reaping.”

Finnick got up from the grass, dusting himself off, and reached a hand out to help Malia up. 

“See you later,” He said with a grin, giving her a quick, gentle peck on the cheek.

Malia’s heart skipped a beat, and she blushed, feeling butterflies in her stomach.

“See you later,” She replied.

With a wave and a last laugh shared between the three of them, Finnick turned to walk away. As he headed towards the train station, his hand found the small velvet box in his pocket. It just wasn’t the right time.

As he left, Malia watched him go, her heart still fluttering. She knew she was falling for Finnick, she knew it for about five years now, and the playful moment on the hill had only made her feelings stronger. With a contented sigh, she turned to Jake.

“You’re a dick,” Malia tells him, punching him in the arm.

“Yeah, well,” Jake says, rubbing his arm. “He shouldn’t have been here.”

“Well he left so you can lay off him,” Malia responds.

“It wasn’t to be mean,” Jake replies. “If the Peacekeepers saw him talking to you, it would’ve been bad.”

“Well he’s going into the Games,” Malia states. “So I’m sure he’d rather take his chances with the Peacekeepers than the arena.”

“There’s also the slight chance one of us is reaped,” Jake says. “Or both.”

“The only other female victor besides me and Clarity is Cashmere,” Malia retorts. “And she has a family, she’s not volunteering for me. And stop making this about me, you’re just as fucked. Gloss and Augustus probably won’t volunteer for you either.”

“Are you sure about that?” Jake asks. “We might be Careers but everyone knows that district two is more skilled, faster, and more brutal than we are. They know I’ll do anything to get you out of that arena alive and I’m pretty sure they’d want a second victory. It’s not everyday a victor wins the Hunger Games twice.”

“Finnick was right,” Malia sighs. “This is all because of Katniss and Peeta last year.”

“What else has he told you?” Jake asks. 

“He just told me he’s going back in,” Malia replies. “He came to check up on me. I thought it was sweet but I can’t shake this feeling that I’m going to lose him.”

“Do you love him?” Jake asks.

Malia looks down and sighs as she fiddles with the sleeves of her jacket.

“I don’t.. I don’t know..” Malia replies.

“It’s okay to feel afraid to love again,” Jake tells her. “But that man loves you as if you’re the only thing left in this damn world.”

“I feel the same,” Malia smiles slightly before letting it falter. “But I can’t tell him. Not now. Not when he might die. I’d rather have him not know than have him know and then lose him. My heart wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

“That’s more the reason to tell him,” Jake says. “It would give him something worth fighting for. He’d crawl his way back from hell if it meant getting back to you.”

Jake turns to leave but Malia reaches out and grabs his arm, stopping him.

“Jake, if I’m not reaped and you are, please keep him safe,” Malia pleads. “And yourself too. If I can’t have both of you alive, I’d like at least one of you to come back to me. I’ve lost enough people in my life, I can’t lose you too.”

“I’ll try my best,” Jake tells her, pulling her into a hug. “For you.”

Celeste Skygrove stands on stage with a huge smile on her face as she watches the Peacekeepers escort each victor to the stage. The entirety of district one was watching them, Malia couldn’t tell if it was in a sorrowful way or a proud way– but it didn’t matter, the inevitable was soon to come. 

“Welcome!” Celeste greets, speaking into the microphone. “As we celebrate the 75th anniversary and 3rd Quarter Quell of the Hunger Games.”

Malia stands to Celeste’s right, trying her best to calm the shaking in her hands as Cashmere stood beside her, head held high. Clarity stood on the opposite side of Malia, her long blonde hair had been cut short sometime over the years and she stood with her hands crossed. Three slips of paper were in the bowl in front of them and three slips of paper were in the bowl in front of all the male victors.

“As always,” Celeste began. “Ladies first.”

Celeste walks over to the bowl in front of Malia, Cashmere and Clarity, and reaches her hand inside, shuffling all the papers inside before grabbing ahold of one and pulling it out. She gives each of the women a nod before walking back towards the microphone. 

“The female tribute from district one,” Celeste announces, opening the slip of paper to reveal the name. 

Celeste clears her throat. 

“Clarity Lovell!”

Cashmere sighs in relief before making her way down the steps of the stage and back towards her family.

Malia shook her head. She couldn’t let Clarity go back into the Games. There wouldn’t be even the slightest chance she’d survive without resorting to killing. She had a chance to save Clarity– even if it meant losing her sanity again. 

Malia pushes Clarity behind her and holds her head up high.

“I volunteer as tribute!”

“Malia, no,” Clarity hisses.

“It’s already done,” Malia tells her.

Malia slowly walks towards Celeste before standing at her side.

“Wonderful,” Celeste says. “And now for the men.”

Celeste walks over to the bowl and reaches her hand inside, shuffling each paper before picking one and walking back towards the microphone where Malia stood. 

Malia looked over, making eye contact with Jake who just gave her a reassuring nod. 

“The male tribute from district one,” Celeste announces, opening the slip of paper.

Celeste’s face falls immediately after seeing the name but she clears her throat and looks over at all the male victors.

“Jake Griffin.”

Malia feels nauseous, and she watches as Jake slowly makes his way towards Celeste.

“I volunteer as tribute,” a voice calls out, grabbing ahold of Jake’s arms and pulling him back so he could step forward.

Gloss makes his way over to Celeste and gives her a nod. 

“Very well,” Celeste says. “The tributes from district one.”

“Pull yourself together,” Gloss whispers to Malia, taking her hand and raising it in the air. Malia nods slightly before putting on a prideful smile. 

“Malia Wells and Gloss Nicholo!”

The entirety of district one cheers and Celeste clasps her hands together. 

“Now all that’s left is for you to say your goodbyes,” Celeste says, waving her hand out in front of her. 

The Peacekeepers rushed forward grabbing ahold of both Gloss and Malia and rushing them inside the Hall of Justice where each of them were placed in rooms. 

Malia only waited a total of five minutes before the door opened and Clarity stumbled inside.

“You have five minutes!” A Peacekeeper called out.

“Rude much?” Clarity scoffs, fixing the cuffs of her jacket sleeves.

“Clarity,” Malia sighs in relief.

“Why would you do that?” Clarity asks, pulling Malia into a hug. “All this talk about not wanting to go back into the Games and you volunteer?” 

“Clarity, I love you, but you would not have won this time around without killing,” Malia tells her. “The tributes this year are all previous victors, Brutus, Enobaria–”

“--Finnick,” Clarity says.

“Yes, Finnick too,” Malia nods. 

“Shit, what if Annie’s reaped?” Clarity asked.

“Shit, I didn’t think of that,” Malia replies.

“You clearly don’t think a lot of things through,” Clarity tells her.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Malia asks.

“You volunteered in my place!” Clarity exclaims.

“To protect you!” Malia exclaims. “I couldn’t save you from going into the Games the first time, but I can stop you from going into the Games this time. I would’ve felt so guilty if I didn’t and you died when I could’ve stopped it.”

“And what about my guilt?” Clarity asks. “You’re putting guilt on me if you go out there– in my place– and you die. I’d be the one letting Cal down after he spent every moment in that arena making sure you lived.”

“If Cal were here right now, he’d know I did the right thing,” Malia says. “I’m saving his sister– and at least there’s a slight chance I win again.”

“Against other Hunger Games record holders?” Clarity asks. “Enobaria ripped a man’s throat out with her teeth. That’s why she has fangs.”

“Yes, I’m aware,” Malia nods.

“And Brutus? Brutus has been wanting to get back into the arena for years ,” Clarity says.

“How do you know all this?” Malia asks.

“I do my research,” Clarity replies. “Let’s say you do manage to kill Enobaria and Brutus– what’s your plan when you come face-to-face with Finnick? Would you be able to kill him?”

“Finnick and I already promised each other that if we were both reaped that we’d do this together or not at all ,” Malia tells her.

“Right, well, that’s not going to guarantee you anything,” Clarity says. “Do you think if the two of you made out that the new head Gamemaker would allow two victors again?”

“Seneca Crane allowing two victors is the whole reason we’re in this mess to begin with,” Malia states. “He went and changed the way the Games had been for 74 years– most likely upsetting President Snow– and now he has to set a reminder for future generations that just because you win the Games– doesn’t mean you’re better than him.”

“That’s bullshit,” Clarity tells her.

“Yeah, just wait until you find out what happens when Panem sees a victor as desirable,” Malia says, running her hands through her hair.

“Why?” Clarity asks. “What happens?” 

“Nothing you’d be interested in,” Malia tells her. “You dodged a bullet when no one found you desirable because Royce delivered most of the killings.” 

“You know, that lowkey hurts my feelings,” Clarity says, feigning hurt as she places a hand over her heart.

“Trust me, being considered desirable isn’t what it’s all cracked up to be,” Malia tells her. 

“Look, I believe in you,” Clarity says. “So, just go out there and win. Then maybe the both of us can stop feeling so guilty over this situation.”

“Time’s up!” a peacekeeper calls out.

Peacekeepers rush in and grab a hold of Clarity, ushering her out the door.

“You have five minutes!” 

The door opens again and Jake stumbles inside.

“Fucking bitches,” Jake muttered quietly, dusting off his jacket.

“Jake,” Malia smiles, rushing over and giving him a hug. “Words can’t express how happy I am that Gloss volunteered in your place.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Jake tells her, rubbing her back gently before watching her pull away.

“He’s going to kill me, isn’t he?” Malia asked. 

“I’m not sure,” Jake replies. “Cashmere volunteered to be his mentor. I think they have a trick or two up their sleeves.”

“Great,” Malia groaned, flopping down on one of the chairs in the room. “Who’s my mentor?”

“You’re looking at him,” Jake says.

“Oh my god, seriously?” Malia asks.

“As if I’d let you go through this again by yourself,” Jake replies. “My mentoring helped you win the last time, it’s going to help you win again.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Malia smiles.

“You’d literally die,” Jake tells her. “Look, in about three minutes we’re going to be rushed onto that train and then we’d have to deal with Cashmere and Gloss the entire train ride to the Capitol. From there on out, all of Panem will be watching you. I know you hate this, but you’re going to have to show no emotions from here on out. No tears. No smiling. You’re pissed off. This entire thing is beneath you.”

“But I am pissed off,” Malia says.

“Then you have that part down already,” Jake retorts. “Gloss did you a favor at the Reaping. I doubt he’ll do it again. But we got to work hard this year to get you sponsors. That sponsor gift from Finnick saved your life. He’s not a mentor this year and if Annie is his mentor– she is not going to be making sure you survive. If anything, she’ll benefit from your death.”

“The more reason to stay alive,” Malia says.

“Exactly,” Jake tells her. 

Chapter Text

Malia sits down in one of the seats on the train and watches as Gloss fills two glasses with one of the clear liquids on the alcohol rack. 

He clears his throat before walking over and handing one of the glasses to Malia who hesitantly takes it. 

“For fuck’s sake, it’s alcohol not poison,” Gloss tells her, downing his in an instant. 

Malia bites her lip before taking a drink from the glass. 

“Can I ask you something?” Malia asks.

“You just did,” Gloss replies, heading towards the rack to get another refill. 

“Why’d you volunteer for Jake?” Malia asks. “You never once spoke to him, so I’m just trying to understand.”

“Jake was my mentor,” Gloss tells her. “He told me all about how he was the famous ‘Twin Titans’ with Jade. And then he became ‘The Last Titan’ when she died.”

Malia takes another drink from the glass in her hand as she recalls her own conversation with Jake about his past.

“Look, Jake hasn’t known peace since his twin died and his family was murdered,” Gloss continues. “I have a wife and kids. I’ve known peace. And Jake doesn’t need to go back into these Games after finally getting close to that peace.”

“What do you mean?” Malia asks.

“Oh come on,” Gloss retorts. “The entirety of district one knows you’re the most important person in his life. Jake has done a lot for district one, he doesn’t let his own personal trauma get in the way of being a great mentor. Even when he was always drunk he’d give great advice. He’s brought district one a lot of victories and everyone knows he couldn’t kill you even if he tried. Plus, you’re a badass. I know I’ll be protected with you as my ally.”

“You give me too much credit,” Malia says, downing the glass in her hand. “I didn’t do much in my Games except kill literally all my allies. How can you trust someone like me?”

“You should know by now that these Games aren’t about trust,” Gloss tells her. “It’s about staying alive. The Capitol basically worships you.”

“You know how many sponsors someone could get if they killed the Cutthroat Queen?” Malia asks. “I’ll be a target.”

“You protect me, I’ll protect you,” Gloss says, holding out his hand. “Deal?”

“Deal,” Malia responds, shaking his hand. 

“Great, we’re on the same page,” Gloss says, giving her a slight smile. 

The doors open and Cashmere and Jake walk in. 

“All the Reapings have been broadcasted live,” Cashmere announces. “Once we get to the Capitol we are getting straight to work.”

“What she means is,” Jake says, stepping forward. “This is a Quarter Quell, things are different. Haymitch won the last Quarter Quell and with everything that happened last year, everything is going to be about Katniss and Peeta. Their love story, their engagement, everything.”

“So what do you suggest we do?” Gloss asks.

“Your stylists will help out at the Tribute Parade,” Jake answers. “But it’s up to you two to remind Panem why you won the first time.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” Malia replies.

“But also,” Cashmere says, stepping forward. “A lot of the victors are angry. They were promised a peaceful life after winning the Games and now they’re all being thrown back into the arena like nothing. Our main goal these next coming days is to try and stop the Games.”

“Stop them?” Gloss asks.

“Last year two victors won,” Jake states. “If all the victors work together, we might have a chance at stopping these Games.”

“What victors are there?” Malia asks.

“Word travels fast,” Cashmere answers. “But the ones we know for sure are you two, Brutus and Enobaria, Beetee and Wiress–”

“Beetee? Isn’t he the guy who–” Gloss began.

“Electrocuted six tributes at once? Yes,” Jake answers.

“Who’s the female tribute for district four?” Malia asks. “Is it–”

“It’s Mags,” Jake replies.

“Shit,” Malia says. “Why didn’t Annie volunteer?”

“Believe it or not, Annie was the one reaped,” Cashmere says. “Mags volunteered.”

Malia shakes her head. 

“Which means Finnick now has a weakness,” Gloss says.

“You’d kill a nice old lady?” Malia asks, turning to look at him.

“Oh, I wouldn’t,” Gloss answers. “Mags has been nothing but an angel to all of us. But that doesn’t mean the Gamemakers will go easy on her just cause she’s old. Or any other tributes for that matter.”

“We’ll be arriving at the Capitol in a few minutes,” Jake says. “Our plan is to stop the Games while also reminding the Capitol who they should be actually rooting for. If the plan to stop the Game fails, at least we’ll have a second plan to fall back upon.”

“Emery, this is..” Malia began, looking at herself in the large vanity mirror. “Woah.”

The dress she wore was enchanting and it boasted an exquisite blend of opulence and artistic flair. Emery had crafted it with meticulous attention to detail; it featured a figure-hugging silhouette that effortlessly accentuated Malia’s curves. The dress was designed to be a harmonious dance between audacity and elegance.

The lush fabric chosen for Emery’s masterpiece was a rich, deep scarlet, reminiscent of velvety red wine on a moonlit night. As light caresses its surface, a mesmerizing play of shadows and highlights adds depth and dimension to the dress, creating a striking visual impact.

The true magic of the dress lies in its cascading sleeves. They start modestly, hugging the shoulders with delicate grace, but as they extend downwards, they transform into an extravagant spectacle. The sleeves billow and flow, mimicking the graceful motion of crimson waterfalls, forming voluminous ripples of fabric that pool around the wrists like regal pools of silk.

The dress’s neckline is an artful blend of sophistication and allure. A daring plunging V-neck, tastefully complemented by a sheer illusion panel, draws attention to the décolletage without compromising the elegance of the dress. Delicate beadwork and sequins gracefully accent the neckline, adding a sprinkle of fairy-like sparkle to the ensemble.

The waistline is accentuated with a slender belt, adorned with ornate embellishments that twinkle like stars on a dark canvas. This detail creates a seamless transition from the fitted bodice to the flowing skirt, capturing the essence of refined femininity.

As the dress cascades to the floor, it creates a mesmerizing effect akin to a scarlet waterfall, pooling gracefully at the feet. The skirt embraces movement, gently swaying with every step, making Malia feel like she was gliding on air.

To complement the masterful creation, Malia’s hair was elegantly swept up into two buns that trailed into two braids falling down her shoulders, allowing the graceful sleeves to take center stage. Emery made sure to apply subtle makeup to enhance Malia’s natural beauty, while a pair of dainty, sparkling earrings glimmered like fallen stars, adding the perfect touch of radiance and on her feet were a silver pair of heels.

“You really outdid yourself,” Malia tells him.

“Seems like it was just yesterday you were fifteen years old and I was dressing you up for your victory interview,” Emery smiles. 

“A lot has certainly changed,” Malia responds. “Why the red though?” 

“This is a Quarter Quell,” Emery tells her. “You’re going up against a lot of Capitol favorites. The red is meant to remind the Capitol of the record you broke during your time in the Games. It’s to remind them that although it’s been years you’re still the Cutthroat Queen.”

“Is she ready?” Jake asks, walking into the room. 

Malia turns around and takes a few steps forward before twirling and Jake claps before giving her two thumbs up. 

“That’s definitely bound to get you sponsors,” Jake tells her before turning to look at Emery. “Good job, Goldstein.”

“Just you wait and see what I have cooking up for her interview outfit,” Emery says. 

Jake nods before turning to Malia and pushes a lock of unruly hair behind her ear. 

“Alright, remember, heads up, big smiles, and waves,” Jake tells her.

Malia nodded before following Jake towards the elevator. 

“I have to go talk to Haymitch so I’ll catch up with you later,” Jake tells her.

“By talk you mean throw a water balloon at him?” Malia asked.

“Nah, that’s later,” Jake replied before walking away and Malia shook her head before stepping into the elevator.

When the elevator opened on the correct floor she stepped outside and was immediately greeted by screams, chants, and cheers from above. 

“Malia! Malia! Malia! Malia! Malia!”

“Great,” Malia mutters underneath her breath. “I can’t believe I’m back in this fucking place.”

As Malia prepared to step into her chariot, her heart pounded with anxiety. She knew the dangers that lay ahead in the arena, but the leering eyes of Jackson were equally unsettling. His reputation preceded him, and she had heard enough horror stories about his crude behavior.

Just as she was about to step forward, the sound of a sharp whistle pierced the air, drawing attention to Jackson who was now staring at Malia with a predatory gaze.

He grinned maliciously and shouted, “Hey there, sweetheart! Looking mighty fine, aren’t ya? Shame we can’t have some fun together!”

Malia’s face flushed with anger and embarrassment. She wanted to retort, to put him in his place, but Jackson continued to talk over her, spewing more vulgar remarks that objectified her rather than showing any respect.

“You’re the talk of the Capitol, Malia,” Jackson chuckled as he approached her, his voice lowering. “They say you’re a fierce competitor, but I’m more interested in seeing how fierce you can be outside the arena. Why don’t you ditch the chariot after this is all over and come for a private ride with me? I promise it’ll be more thrilling.”

“Hey asshole!”

Finnick approached the two, towering over Jackson with an intimidating presence.

“Is this how you treat women, Jackson?” Finnick’s voice was firm, radiating a quiet anger that sent shivers down Jackson’s spine. 

Jackson attempted to shrug off the confrontation, but Finnick wasn’t backing down.

“You show some respect! Malia’s a human being, not some object for your amusement,” Finnick stated, his eyes blazing with fury.

Malia looked up at Finnick, grateful for his intervention and he gave her a quick wink before he turned his attention back to Jackson, a cold smile forming on his lips.

“And let me tell you something,” Finnick continued, his voice low and dangerous. “If I ever catch you saying anything inappropriate about Malia again, you won’t be safe anywhere. You’ll be the first guy I kill in the arena. You understand me?”

Jackson’s bravado crumbled under Finnick’s intense gaze, and he stammered.

“I-I didn’t mean any harm. Just joking, you know?”

Finnick’s eyes never left Jackson’s face as he warned. 

“Sexual harassment isn’t a joke, and you’d be wise to remember that.”

Malia noticed Katniss nearby, and she muttered a quick thank you to Finnick and excused herself. As she walked away, Finnick’s gaze followed her protectively.

Malia took a deep breath as she left Finnick behind, still seething with anger at Jackson’s behavior. She had a different approach in mind when she approached Katniss, hoping to bridge the gap between them. With hesitant steps, she walked up to the girl known throughout Panem as the Girl on Fire.

“Hi, I know you probably don’t remember me but-” Malia started, but before she could finish, Katniss cut her off with a bitter remark.

“I know who you are,” Katniss retorted, her voice laced with hostility.

Malia’s shoulders slumped slightly, expecting this response.

“Who am I kidding.. Of course, you remember me,” Malia sighed, lowering her gaze for a moment before meeting Katniss’s eyes again.

“I come from district one, but that doesn’t mean I’m the same as the others,” Malia tried to reason, her voice tinged with genuine sincerity.

Katniss’s expression remained guarded, but she allowed Malia to continue.

“Look, I won the 66th Games, just like you won the 74th. We both know what it’s like to fight for our lives,” Malia said, trying to find common ground.

“Maybe, but there’s a difference. You carved up a tribute, right?” Katniss shot back, her tone accusing.

“Yes, I did. But that was a long time ago, I’m not heartless and I value life,” Malia replied, her voice tinged with regret.

 “I wished Seneca had allowed two victors for my Games, just like they did in yours last year,” Malia admitted, her eyes reflecting a mix of hope and regret. “Maybe then you’d see where I’m coming from and there wouldn’t be so much strain between us.”

Katniss’ face darkened, recalling the tragic death of Rue being killed by Marvel. The pain of that loss still haunted her. 

“It doesn’t change anything,” Katniss said sternly. “Rue’s death will always be a stain on the Games and on those who played a part in it.”

“I understand,” Malia said softly, accepting the truth. “I won’t force you to trust me or see me differently. But know this – I never wanted any of this. I never wanted to be a tribute or to participate in these Games. But I’m here, and I’ll do whatever it takes to survive, just like you.”

Katniss’s icy exterior softened slightly as she saw the sincerity in Malia’s eyes.

“Why the sudden niceness?” Katniss asks. “I sensed the coldness at my victory party.”

“This isn’t about you,” Malia replies, slightly bitter. “It’s about the fact that you figured out and initiated a loophole. I lost Cal, and now you come along and you figured out how to get you and Peeta out when I had to watch the ones I loved and cared about die because there could be only one victor. How is that fair?”

“Just stay out of my way,” Katniss said with a hint of resignation. “And I’ll stay out of yours.”

Malia gave Katniss a slight nod before heading back towards where her chariot stood. 

Finnick’s eyes locked onto Malia as she gently fed the horse in charge of her chariot, her movements so graceful they seemed to belong to a different realm. Unable to resist any longer, he sauntered over to her, a playful glint in his ocean-green eyes.

“Malia,” Finnick greeted, attempting to hide his primal admiration behind a cocky smirk. It was a desperate attempt to deflect from the fact that Malia’s elegance was stirring something wild within him.

“Well, well, well, look at you,” Finnick chuckled, leaning against the chariot with exaggerated nonchalance. “Malia Wells in a tribute parade outfit that could make even the Capitol’s fashionistas jealous.”

Malia’s cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and amusement at Finnick’s theatrics. “Oh, please, Finnick. You’re the one who’s always dressed to impress. I just tried to keep up.”

He’s draped in a golden net that’s strategically knotted at his groin so that he can’t technically be called naked, but he’s about as close as you can get. Malia was pretty sure his stylist thought the more of Finnick the audience sees, the better.

“You know,” Finnick chuckled, popping a sugar cube into his mouth. “I’m starting to regret our decision. Maybe we should’ve just taken our chances and ran away before all this.”

“Where could we have gone?” Malia asked. “The Capitol never would’ve let us get away with it. Not when they need their stupid victor.” 

“Does this mean we’re allies?” Finnick asks, grinning slightly at the thought. “We’d be one hot team. Especially since you’re giving me a run for my money. Damn.”

“I.. uh.. no..” Malia responded, taken aback. “Jake says my best chance for survival is to stick with the Careers.”

“Since when do you listen to what Jake says?” Finnick asked. “Especially after he knocked us both down the hill.”

“He’s my mentor,” Malia chuckles. “I have to listen to him now.”

“Well your mentor should know that no one’s on your side more than me,” Finnick tells her. 

Finnick grinned, his gaze roaming over her form as he unabashedly admired her attire.

“You’re too pretty to die, Mal. And well , you’ve certainly outdone yourself this time. The Capitol might not survive this level of beauty on display,” He chuckled, trying to maintain his composure while his heart raced at the sight before him. “All these other tributes couldn’t possibly hold a candle to you. You’d annihilate us all if you wanted to.”

Malia rolled her eyes, playfully nudging his shoulder. 

“Are you flirting with me, O’Dair?” Malia asks.

“I have been for the past nine years, but who’s counting?” Finnick responds.

“Why the sudden boldness?” Malia asks. “Sponsors?” 

“No one’s watching us right now,” Finnick states. 

“You’re such a flatterer,” Malia says, rolling her eyes. 

“What?” Finnick responds. “A guy can’t tell his best friend he thinks she looks beautiful?”

“No,” Malia tells him, her eyes trailed down without her even realizing it. “People will get the wrong idea.”

Finnick noticed her wandering gaze and couldn’t help but smirk.

“My eyes are up here, Wells,” He teased, his voice tinged with amusement.

Malia’s eyes shot back up to meet his, and she could feel her face turning even redder. 

“I-I wasn’t…” She stammered, trying to find the right words to explain herself.

Finnick laughed softly, enjoying the rare moment of seeing Malia flustered.

“Relax, Mal. I’m just messing with you,” He said, his playful smirk turning into a warm smile. “It’s not every day you get to see me like this, huh?”

Malia rolled her eyes, attempting to regain her composure.

“Yeah, well, you could’ve warned me,” She retorted, trying to play it cool.

“I didn’t think it would’ve been an issue,” Finnick replied with a chuckle. “You’ve seen me shirtless before.”

“My point is,” Malia began, trying to change the subject. “I don’t stand a chance. I’m just some psycho to these people, you’re basically their Prince. They’d kill me if it means keeping you.”

Finnick’s smile softened as he looked at her, admiration gleaming in his eyes. 

“Maybe,” Finnick replied, his voice sincere. “But you know what they say. Every Prince needs a Princess.”

The sound of the crowd screaming pulls them out of their conversation and Malia watches as all the tributes head towards their chariot. 

“I’ll see you around,” Finnick tells her. 

He went to head towards his chariot but stopped because he couldn’t resist adding one last remark. 

“Don’t worry, Mal,” He said, smirking playfully. “I’ll make sure to keep my shirt on during the Games. Wouldn’t want to distract you too much.”

Malia rolled her eyes, but a hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

“You wish, O’Dair,” She replied, her tone teasing as she stepped into her chariot. 

Malia’s heart pounded in her chest as her chariot began its slow, regal procession through the crowded streets. Her fingers clenched tightly around the edge of the chariot.

Gloss stood tall beside Malia, he wore a practiced smile on his face, his eyes carefully scanning the crowd for any sign of weakness or dissent. The weight of their district’s expectations bore heavily on his shoulders, forcing him to maintain a façade of unyielding pride.

As their chariot rolled along the streets, the Capitol’s citizens cheered and applauded, their excitement palpable. Malia and Gloss raised their hands high in the air, waving to the crowd, their movements calculated and rehearsed. Deep down, they both knew that this show of enthusiasm was a farce, a performance meant to entertain the Capitol’s decadent populace.

Malia’s eyes scanned the faces in the crowd, and for a brief moment, her gaze met President Snow’s piercing eyes. She felt a chill run down her spine, knowing that the ruthless leader was observing her every move. Her heart sank as she saw the twisted smile on his lips, aware that he reveled in the suffering he orchestrated for the districts. She quickly looked away, fixing her eyes on some distant point in the horizon, hoping to escape his unsettling gaze.

The chariot completed its first circuit around the parade route, and as it turned, Malia’s heart clenched with anxiety. She didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to face the horrors of the arena again, but she knew she had no choice. The Capitol demanded a victor from every district, and now she and Gloss were thrust back into the vicious cycle of the Hunger Games.

As the chariot began its second loop around the parade route, Malia tried to steady her breathing and keep her composure. She couldn’t afford to show weakness. In the Capitol’s eyes, she was a fierce and victorious tribute from District 1, a symbol of their power and dominance. To falter now would mean risking not only her life but also the safety of her loved ones.

With each passing moment, Malia felt the weight of the Capitol’s expectations bear down on her, pushing her to bury her fears and doubts deep within herself. The chariot continued to circle around, and as it headed back toward the cheering crowd, Malia raised her hand once more, her eyes scanning the faces in the sea of people.

Her gaze met President Snow’s once again, and this time she held his gaze, refusing to look away. Beneath the veneer of forced pride, determination glinted in her eyes. She would play the Capitol’s game, but she wouldn’t forget the darkness that lay beneath the surface. As the chariot moved forward and back into the tunnel they came from she let out a sigh of relief. 

Jake and Cashmere are waiting inside the tunnel and Jake helps Malia down before clapping his hands. 

“That was great,” Jake tells her. 

“Did we have to make them go the prideful route?” Cashmere asks. “I thought the plan was to stop the Games?” 

“This was the tribute parade, Cashmere,” Jake says. “There’s not much we can do to stop the Games during a tribute parade. This is all about reminding Panem that district one is who they should root for in case we don’t stop the Games.”

“Right, well,” Cashmere sighs, turning to Gloss. “We should head back to our quarters. Scope out all the competition.”

Gloss nods before following after his sister and Jake watches them leave before turning to Malia.

“Haymitch says he has something important to discuss with us tonight,” Jake tells her.

“Where?” Malia asks.

“The Nebula Nook,” Jake replies.

“Never heard of it,” Malia responds.

“It’s new,” Jake tells her. “It’s two streets down from the Capitol’s local diner. He says he wants us both there around seven o’clock.”

“Since when are you and Haymitch all buddy-buddy?” Malia asks. 

“I promised Haymitch we’d both be there,” Jake tells her. “I am a man of my word so please just be there, okay?” 

“Okay.”

In the heart of Panem’s Capitol, amidst the towering skyscrapers and glitzy streets, is where the hidden gem known as The Nebula Nook stood. Tucked away down a quaint alleyway, the diner was a sanctuary of delight, a haven for those seeking respite from the bustling city. Its peculiar name was inspired by the beautiful night sky, scattered with stars like a magnificent nebula.

When people approached The Nebula Nook,  they were greeted by a charming sign adorned with twinkling lights and swirling colors, mimicking the grandeur of a distant nebula. The entrance was framed by two pillars, styled with futuristic accents, and a neon-lit galaxy stretched across the roof. As people pushed the glass door open, a gentle chime welcomed them inside, setting the tone for an extraordinary dining experience.

The interior of The Nebula Nook was a fusion of retro aesthetics and futuristic touches, creating an otherworldly ambiance. The walls were adorned with colorful murals depicting cosmic scenes and celestial bodies. Soft lighting emanated from crystal-like fixtures suspended from the ceiling, casting a warm glow across the diner.

The seating arrangements offered something for every patron’s preference. You could opt for cozy, cushioned booths decked out in celestial patterns, or perhaps sit at sleek, silver barstools by the counter where you could watch the skilled chefs prepare culinary wonders. The tables were inlaid with holographic displays, offering an interactive experience to order your food and explore the galaxy’s wonders as you waited.

A beautiful starlit dome graced the center of the restaurant, allowing diners to gaze up at a mesmerizing celestial display while enjoying their meals. The constellations seemed to come alive in the night sky, offering an escape into the universe’s mysteries.

The aroma of delectable dishes filled the air, a melange of tastes and scents from various cuisines across Panem and beyond. The menu was an exploration of culinary diversity, with dishes ranging from traditional Capitol favorites to exotic fare from the far reaches of the galaxy. The Nebula Nook’s signature dish was the Stellar Supreme Burger , a mouthwatering creation topped with a constellation of colorful ingredients representing the planets.

At the heart of the diner was the bustling open kitchen, a theater of culinary artistry. The chefs donned futuristic attire, their uniforms shimmering like starlight. They worked with precision and flair, creating masterpieces on each plate that left the patrons in awe.

To complete the dining experience, the waitstaff wore elegant, space-inspired outfits that seemed to mirror the beauty of the stars. They moved gracefully among the tables, ensuring that every guest felt like a distinguished interstellar traveler.

But The Nebula Nook wasn’t just a place for good food; it was a gathering spot for people from all walks of life. Here, conversations flowed freely, friendships were forged, and ideas exchanged under the glow of the starlit dome. It became a melting pot of cultures, where Capitol elites mingled with visitors from distant districts, and everyone shared the common language of a love for good food and the wonders of the universe.

As you stepped back out into the hustle and bustle of the Capitol, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of wonder and gratitude for the experience you had at The Nebula Nook. It was a place that transported you beyond the confines of everyday life, a celestial escape nestled within the heart of Panem’s bustling cityscape.

“No fucking way!” A voice calls out. 

Finnick turns around as the waitress lets out a squeal.

“Finnick O’Dair!?” The waitress asks and Finnick nods and gives a slight smile.

“Oh my god,” The waitress smiles. “I can’t believe the Finnick O’Dair is in my diner!”

“You own this place?” Finnick asks.

“I sure do!” The waitress replies. “Oh my god, no way.”

The waitress looked around at the booth. 

“Jake Griffin. Haymitch Abernathy,” The waitress greeted. “I didn’t expect to see one victor in my diner let alone three!”

“Four,” Jake corrects. “We’re uh waiting on one more.”

“Oh my wife is going to love this,” The waitress says, before rushing away. 

“Wife?” Haymitch asks, lifting an eyebrow. 

Jake shrugs before turning to look at the door and then at his watch. 

“It’s almost seven,” Jake says. “Malia promised she’d be here.”

“She’ll be here,” Finnick tells him. “She probably got lost.”

“Or she’s primping in the mirror,” Haymitch chuckles, taking a drink from his flask.

“Malia doesn’t primp,” Finnick tells him.

“He’s right,” Jake chuckles. “Malia’s well aware of this thing called natural beauty. She never primps. Besides, even if she did. She doesn’t know Finnick’s going to be here tonight. She’d have no reason to.”

“Are you saying that if Malia were one to primp, that it would be because of me?” Finnick asks.

“I should not have to answer that,” Jake replies.

“Cass, what did I tell you?” The waitress says, stopping in front of the booth with a girl behind her. “Jake, Haymitch, and Finnick are in our diner.”

“Finnick?” 

“No fucking way. Cassiopeia??”

Finnick stands up to give Cassiopeia a hug. 

“You two know each other?” Jake asks.

“Oh we go way back,” Finnick replies. “How have you been?”

“Well,” Cassiopeia chuckles, holding up her hand to show off a diamond ring. “I’m married now.”

“That’s amazing,” Finnick says. “I assume she’s your wife?”

“Ophelia,” Cassiopeia nods. “You encouraged me to face my fears that night and I actually went and asked Ophelia out on a date.”

“We’ve been married for about.. two years now?” Ophelia replies. “We opened this diner together just two months ago.”

“Well I’m happy for both of you,” Finnick smiles. “Really, I’m glad you’re happy, Cass.”

“Speaking of happiness,” Cassiopeia says, looking around the diner. “Where’s Malia?”

“Late,” Jake replies.

“By a minute,” Malia says, thwapping him on the head. “What’d I miss?”

“Malia Wells!” Ophelia squeals.

“I’m sorry,” Malia smiles slightly. “Have we met before?”

“No,” Ophelia replies. “I’m Ophelia Silverheart.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Malia tells her before turning to look at Cassiopeia. “And you are?”

“Cassiopeia,” She replied.

“H-Hendricks?” Malia asks, slightly tensing up.

Finnick clears his throat before moving to stand by Malia and gives her a soothing rub on her back. 

“Flint Hendricks was my father, yes,” Cassiopeia replies. “But I’m nothing like him. I actually go by Cassiopeia Silverheart now.”

Cassiopeia holds up her hand to show off her ring and Malia slightly nods and Finnick helps her into the booth. 

“So why are we here?” Malia asks, looking over at Haymitch as Finnick slides into the booth next to her. 

“I actually didn’t realize how popular this place was, uh,” Haymitch says. “We might have to go somewhere more… private.”

“We have a back room,” Ophelia tells them.

“Yeah, it’s very secluded,” Cassiopeia chimes in. “No cameras. Nothing. No one will bother you there.”

“Thanks,” Finnick says, standing up. “I owe you one.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Cassiopeia tells him, gesturing for everyone to follow her.

Behind a discreet door tucked away in a corner of The Nebula Nook was a hidden sanctuary that awaited those who sought an even more intimate dining experience— the private back room. Accessible only to a select few, this exclusive space was reserved for special occasions, confidential gatherings, or for patrons willing to pay a premium for an extraordinary culinary journey.

As Cassiopeia pushed open the heavy wooden door, everyone was immediately greeted by a sense of hushed elegance. The ambiance in the private back room was distinctly different from the main dining area, exuding an air of sophistication and mystery. Soft, golden lighting cast a warm glow, creating an intimate atmosphere that enveloped you like a soft embrace.

The room was adorned with luxurious decor, showcasing a seamless blend of opulence and futuristic charm. Rich velvet drapes in deep, celestial shades adorned the walls, absorbing sound and adding an element of privacy to the space. The drapes were adorned with shimmering constellations, giving the illusion of being wrapped in the night sky itself.

In the center of the room, a grand table awaited, its surface crafted from a single piece of polished meteorite rock. The table was adorned with delicate crystal glassware, gleaming silver cutlery, and bespoke dinnerware that featured intricate cosmic designs. At the center, an exquisite floral arrangement bloomed, resembling a mesmerizing nebula in its intricate patterns and colors.

The seating around the table was a collection of plush, high-backed chairs upholstered in luxurious fabrics, each meticulously chosen to complement the room’s theme. The chairs were comfortable and elegant, inviting guests to settle in and savor their dining experience in unparalleled comfort.

Adorning the walls were framed vintage maps of the galaxy, chronicling the explorations of centuries past. These maps were a nod to the human desire to explore beyond the stars and discover new frontiers, mirroring the spirit of adventure that echoed throughout The Nebula Nook.

A discreet, high-tech entertainment console stood in one corner of the room. With a gentle tap, the holographic display would come to life, projecting captivating cosmic scenes and immersive visuals that delighted the senses. Patrons could request to have their favorite constellations or celestial phenomena depicted on the screen, creating a personalized dining backdrop like no other.

The private back room was also attended by a dedicated team of waitstaff, whose service was attentive, yet unintrusive. Dressed in elegant uniforms that mirrored the night sky, they moved gracefully throughout the room, anticipating guests’ needs and catering to their every desire.

The culinary experience in the private back room was nothing short of extraordinary. A personalized menu, crafted in collaboration with the head chef, offered a selection of rare, carefully curated dishes and the finest wines from across the galaxy. Each course was a work of art, presented with flair and finesse, and designed to tantalize both the taste buds and the imagination.

In this hidden retreat, time seemed to stand still, and the world outside faded away. The private back room of The Nebula Nook was a celestial escape, an enchanting haven where fine dining and a touch of the cosmos converged to create an unforgettable experience that left guests feeling as though they had ventured beyond the stars themselves.

“Wow, this is nice,” Haymitch responds.

“If you need anything at all, please let me or Ophelia know,” Cassiopeia tells them. “You guys can come and use this room whenever you’d like.”

Malia watches as Cassiopeia and Ophelia leave the room and she sits down on one of the plush chairs and crosses her arms.

“I had to sneak out my window to be here because Gloss and Cashmere are watching me like a hawk,” Malia says. “So why are we here, Haymitch?”

“How much do you trust this Cassiopeia chick?” Haymitch asks, looking over at Finnick. 

“I trust her a lot,” Finnick replies. “I’ve known her since I was sixteen. Back when Malia uh..”

Jake clears his throat and Finnick stops.

“She helped me with a task that got a friend of mine out of trouble,” Finnick responds. 

“Okay,” Haymitch says. “I’ve spoken with a few other tributes but it is imperative that you two are on board.” 

“On board for what?” Malia asks.

“If the plan to stop the Games doesn’t work, we need a Plan B,” Haymitch replies.

“Which is?” Malia responds.

“You must do everything in your power to make sure Katniss gets out of that arena alive,” Haymitch tells them.

“By everything you mean sacrifice ourselves so that she can live?” Malia asks, glaring. “Why the fuck has everything been about Katniss lately?”

“Plutarch believes she’s the Mockingjay,” Haymitch replies.

“The what now?” Malia asks.

“The Mockingjay,” Haymitch repeats. “A symbol of rebellion. He has a plan but it requires both of you freely cooperating.”

“Malia did not go through so much shit these past few years all for something Plutarch believes,” Jake says. “And neither have I.”

“Let’s just hear him out,” Finnick tells him.

“If you guys can keep Katniss alive long enough then Plutarch will be able to swoop into the arena and pick you all up and get all of us to district thirteen,” Haymitch explains. 

“Wait, district thirteen is real?” Jake asks. 

“Yes,” Haymitch replies. “Plutarch has been talking with the leader of district thirteen and they both believe that Katniss has what it takes to turn the districts against the Capitol.”

“Districts one and two aren’t going to turn,” Malia states. “They worship President Snow and everything he stands for, including The Games.”

“That’s where you three will come in,” Haymitch says. “You guys call yourself The Royal Alliance, right?”

“We do but I don’t see what that–” Finnick begins.

“You guys are all from Career districts,” Haymitch says. “If you help us in this rebellion, the Career districts will see things from your perspective. This could stop the Games. No one else we love and care about will have to die.” 

“How certain are you that this will work?” Jake asks.

“100% certain,” Haymitch responds. “Johanna and Blight already agreed to help.

So has Beetee and Wiress.”

“How many tributes have you gotten in on this plan?” Finnick asks.

“Just about most of them,” Haymitch replies. “But this won’t work unless you three are in on the plan as well.”

Malia sighs before pinching the bridge of her nose. 

“Fine, I’m in,” Malia says. “What do you need me to do?”

“I’m in too,” Finnick states.

“I guess I am too,” Jake sighs.

“First things first,” Haymitch says. “Katniss and Peeta can’t know about this plan. President Snow is watching them non-stop. Finnick, I need you to ally with them. Keep them both alive for as long as possible.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Finnick replies, nodding slightly. “Malia and I can definitely do that.”

“Oh no,” Haymitch says. “Malia is to stay with the Careers like Jake planned.”

“What?” Malia asks.

“Finnick is to keep the two lovebirds alive,” Haymitch states. “You are to keep the Careers away from them.”

“So what the fuck am I supposed to do when they want to hunt them down?” Malia asks. “I can’t fucking convince them not to. That would be suspicious as hell and I’ll be dead before I know it.”

“Lead them in wrong directions or something,” Haymitch suggests.

“This plan will put Malia in danger,” Jake says. “Having her in the alliance to keep the Careers away will only get her killed.”

“Is Gloss in on this plan?” Malia asks.

“No,” Haymitch replies. “The only reason you are is because Finnick says you can be trusted.”

“Fuck you too,” Malia says, rolling her eyes.

“I’m not trying to be stereotypical here, okay?” Haymitch tells her. “You’re a Career. And everyone has had at least one bad experience with one.”

“What about Annie?” Finnick asks.

“What about her?” Haymitch responds.

“Is she in on this?” Finnick asks.

“No,” Haymitch replies.

“And she’s not going to,” Jake states.

“Why not?” Malia asks.

“Jake was just telling me about her victory party five years ago,” Haymitch replies. “He saw her talking to President Snow.”

“We saw her too but we didn’t think it was that big of an issue,” Malia says.

“She’s been talking to him more,” Jake says. “I don’t know what they’re talking about but for the sake of the rebellion, she can’t be trusted.”

“What about Mags?” Finnick asks. “She’ll join.”

“Yeah, but there’s no way you’ll be able to tell her–” Haymitch begins.

“Mags doesn’t leave my sight,” Finnick cuts him off. “She’ll be in the alliance with Katniss, Peeta, and I. It’s the only way I can guarantee her safety until Plutarch does what he promised.”

“What about Clarity?” Malia asks.

“Cal’s sister?” Haymitch responds. “What does she have to do with this?”

“If we’re to head to district thirteen, she needs to come with us,” Malia says. “Once President Snow finds out about my rebellion, he’ll kill her.”

“Fine,” Haymitch replies. “I’ll talk with Plutarch, see if he can get Clarity and her family a trip to district thirteen.”

“Thank you,” Malia says and Haymitch shrugs before excusing himself to go find a bathroom. 

“Are we sure about this?” Jake asks. “A lot could go wrong.”

“Not if we pretend,” Finnick replies.

“As long as we act like nothing’s wrong, Snow won’t suspect a thing,” Malia says. “But if he’s constantly watching Katniss, how do we know he’s not constantly watching us too? I mean, we’ve mistrusted a lot of people in our lives. Ophelia and Cassiopeia–”

“Hate Snow,” Finnick cuts her off. “They’re on our side.”

“Am I missing something here?” Jake asks. 

“Finnick was bought by Cassiopeia’s father for her birthday nine years ago,” Malia answers.

“Holy shit,” Jake replies.

“Nothing happened,” Finnick explains. “We went on one date and I left it early to go find Malia.”

“What? Why?” Malia asks.

“Does that matter?” Finnick counters. “Me leaving early was good because I finally found you in the rain.”

“Wait so, if you left Cassiopeia to find me,” Malia says. “Does that mean–”

“Cass was the one who lit her father on fire,” Finnick answers.

“Woah, I did not see that coming!” Jake exclaims. “All these years I thought you did it!”

“That was my plan,” Finnick answers. “Cass just beat me to it.”

“Why would she kill her father for me?” Malia asks.

“He was already dead when she got there,” Finnick replies. “She just burned all evidence tracing it back to you.”

“She doesn’t even know me,” Malia counters.

“She didn’t need to,” Finnick says. “Once she found out what he did to you– she wanted to make sure you didn’t go down for ridding the world of a bastard like him.”

“You don’t know the full story about what he did to me,” Malia tells him.

“I saw what he did to you, Mal,” Finnick says, his voice breaking. “And it broke my heart. You were sixteen. And he treated you like a piece of shit. Cass knew about her father buying victors, and she wanted to put a stop to him. He’s lucky he was already dead when she lit the flame because I would’ve done far worse than lighting him on fire.”

“I could’ve claimed self-defense,” Malia states. “You guys didn’t have to go through all of that just to keep me safe.”

“President Snow doesn’t give a shit about self-defense,” Jake scoffs. “He would’ve just seen a girl who had recently slaughtered a bunch of people the previous year with a bloody knife in her hand standing over the dead body of a Capitol elite. Cassiopeia did you a favor.”

“And I am grateful,” Malia says. “But I don’t need more people–”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” Jake tells her, raising up a finger to silence her. “As long as Finnick and I are breathing, you’ll always have people who will burn the world down to ensure you are safe.”

“You guys,” Malia says, tearing up. 

“It’s true,” Finnick responds. 

“I can’t help you guys in the arena,” Jake says. “But I can keep an eye out for Annie. Make sure she keeps her distance and isn’t snooping where she shouldn’t be. With you two on the inside and me on the outside, we’ll get to district thirteen.”

“We got this,” Malia smiles.

Chapter Text

“Remember,” Jake says, stepping out of the elevator. “There’s three days of training and it is crucial that each day you stay focused.”

“Oh please,” Malia scoffs. “Like I’m one to get distracted.”

Jake just looks at her, a stern look on his face.

“Day one,” Jake continues. “Show off your skills. You’re already in the Career Alliance so today is all about striking fear into the hearts of the others. You want them to take you seriously.”

“And if they don’t?” Malia asks.

“They have to,” Jake replies. “Tomorrow you can focus on the survival stations.”

Malia nodded and Jake gave her a thumbs up before leaving.

Malia stepped into the Training Center, her eyes scanning the gathered tributes from various districts. The air was tense with anticipation and nerves, each tribute preparing for the deadly competition that lay ahead. She spotted Enobaria, locked in a fierce sparring match with a trainer, showcasing her district two strength and ferocity. Nearby, Brutus was honing his spear-throwing skills, while Gloss was gracefully sending knives flying through the air, each one hitting its target with deadly precision.

Approaching Gloss, Malia couldn’t help but admire his skill. As a tribute from district one, she knew that the Careers were always formidable opponents. Yet, she couldn’t resist sharing some advice to improve his technique.

“Hey, Gloss,” She called out. “I noticed your stance could use some adjustment. Stand a bit straighter, and try to relax your grip when you throw the knives. It might help with your aim.”

Gloss raised an eyebrow, not used to receiving advice from others, especially from a competitor.

“Think you can do better than me?” He challenged, a hint of arrogance in his tone.

Malia’s competitive spirit flared up, and she narrowed her eyes, determined to prove herself. Without a word, she hit the button that activated the holographic targets, grabbed a handful of knives, and began her display of precision. One after another, the knives left her hand, hitting each hologram with unerring accuracy.

She never missed a shot.

Gloss was taken aback, impressed by her skill, but he wasn’t ready to concede.

He picked up a sword, looking at Malia. “Let’s see if you’re as good at fighting as you are at throwing.”

She grabbed her sais, accepting his challenge without hesitation. They moved to a training mat, and their intense duel began. Gloss swung his sword with calculated strikes, and Malia expertly defended herself, the clang of metal resonating through the air as their weapons clashed.

As the sparring continued, Malia’s focus wavered for a split second, her attention drawn to Finnick who was laughing and chatting with Katniss Everdeen on the sidelines. He spun his trident over his head with a huge smile on his face and a pang of jealousy tugged at her heart but she quickly tried to shake off the distraction and refocus on her opponent.

In that momentary lapse, Gloss seized the opportunity, nicking her forehead with his sword, causing a thin trail of blood to form.

“Ow! What the fuck?” Malia exclaimed, blinking in surprise and frustration as she lifted her fingers to touch her forehead. When she pulled them back they were covered in a crimson colored liquid.

Gloss looked serious, taking the opportunity to lecture her. “You can’t afford to be distracted in the Games. Focus is crucial. Don’t let your emotions get the best of you.”

The other tributes, including Finnick, had noticed the commotion and turned their attention to the scene. Malia’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment and anger, and she shot a fiery glare at Gloss. She set down her sais, not willing to continue the duel at this moment, and walked away from the training mat, trying to collect herself.

She found herself making her way towards the survival stations and found solace in the knot-tying area, following the instructions displayed on the screen with intense concentration. As she focused on mastering the knots, she was unaware of Finnick slowly approaching her from behind.

His voice, soft and soothing, reached her ears, “It’s just me, don’t freak out.”

Malia tried her best to remain composed. “Thanks for not scaring me.”

“Katniss refused to take me for a walk,” Finnick tells her, holding up the end of the noose tied around his neck. “Will you?”

“Aww, she didn’t rub your belly and call you a good boy?” Malia asks. 

“Ooh, I like it when you call me that,” Finnick replies, earning a smack on the arm.

He chuckles as she goes back to her task at hand and he removes the noose from around his neck and gently pressed his chest against her back, running his hands down her shoulders. 

“Here, let me help you.”

Finnick’s arms wrapped around hers, guiding her in tying the knots, but she instinctively pulled away, slipping under his arm and he chuckled lightly at her reaction.

“Are you crazy?” Malia asks.

“Damn, I didn’t know you were that embarrassed to be seen with me,” Finnick chuckles slightly in response.

Malia felt a pang of guilt, realizing that her actions might have given him the wrong impression. 

She quickly clarified, “It’s not like that, Finnick. I’m supposed to be allies with the Careers. I can’t do that and keep them away from Katniss if they think I’m allied with you.”

Finnick smirked playfully, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he looked over at her. 

“Word of advice, maybe don’t drool over me next time you’re training with Gloss.”

Indignant and flustered, she protested. 

“I wasn’t drooling!” Malia states. 

But he knew how to get under her skin, and his laughter only fueled her embarrassment.

“He nicked you for being distracted,” Finnick pointed out, his tone light and teasing.

Defensively, she replied, “I was distracted because I was too busy scoping out the competition.”

Finnick couldn’t help but smile, genuinely enjoying her fiery spirit. He admired her authenticity and determination.

“Sure, okay, yeah, I totally believe you,” He teased.

Unfazed, Malia playfully shot back, “Well, you should because I’m telling the truth.”

His eyes softened as he gazed at her, captivated by her genuine nature and infectious laughter. He noticed her forehead still bore the mark of Gloss’s nick, and concern crossed his features. 

“Want some help treating that nick?” He asked, genuinely caring.

Her cheeks tinged with a blush, she nodded. 

“Yeah, yeah, that’ll be great.”

Finnick stretches out his hand in front of him and Malia takes the lead before stepping out into the hallway, away from prying eyes and ears as she sits down on a bench. 

Finnick sits down next to her, a first aid kit in his hand that he took off the wall. He opens it before rummaging through it. 

“All these skilled tributes,” Malia sighs, resting her hands on her knees. “How are we supposed to keep her alive?” 

“Don’t think about that right now,” Finnick tells her.

“Kind of hard not to,” Malia responds. 

“Tell me about your tribute token,” Finnick says, changing the subject.

“Don’t have one,” Malia tells him. “I didn’t have one in my first Games either.”

“What would it be if you did have one?” Finnick asks.

“Not sure,” Malia replies. “I don’t really cherish many things aside from the jewelry box that Jake gave me. But it has too much sentimental value for me to take it in an arena where the potential to lose it is high.”

“I was the same way,” Finnick says, reaching under his training uniform to pull out the necklace tucked underneath. It was a necklace made out of a blue string and a single seashell. “I told Mags after she made this for me to hold onto it until I won. So that it would be a reminder that I’d have to come back to get it.”

“Yeah,” Malia smiles. “I remember you telling me that.”

Finnick smiles back and nods before pulling the necklace over his head to take it off.

“Wait, Fin,” Malia protests. “What are you doing?”

Finnick held the necklace out to her.

“I want you to hold onto this for me,” He said.

Malia was taken aback.

“What?” She asked, her voice trembling.

“You never see me go anywhere without this,” Finnick explained. “So you know I’d never take it off or leave it behind without a reason.”

Reluctantly, Malia accepted the necklace, holding it in her hand.

“Fin, I can’t,” She stammered. “It has too much sentimental value. I can’t–”

“Please?” Finnick implored, his eyes filled with emotion. “I’m not going to be able to be by your side in that arena with everything going on.”

Malia stared at the necklace, conflicted.

“You don’t need to protect me,” She whispered.

“No, I know that,” Finnick assured her. “It’s more for my sanity, if anything.”

Malia chuckled lightly, trying to ease the tension.

“Your sanity? I’m supposed to be the insane one here, not you.”

“I’m not going to force you,” Finnick tells her. “But I’d be at peace in the arena knowing you’re wearing it. And it’ll be like I’m there with you until I find you.”

Malia smiles at him and he takes the necklace from her hands and lowered it over her head and onto her neck, tucking it safely under her training uniform.

Malia lowered her head, a big smile on her face as she tried to hold back the tears that started to form. 

“Malia,” Finnick says, bringing her eyes to meet his.

Finnick’s thumb brushed her lips, and her breath hitched. She met his gaze, and she saw the love and longing reflected in his eyes. The world around them seemed to fade as they leaned in closer, their lips drawing nearer, anticipation and desire intertwining.

But just as their lips were about to meet, Johanna’s unmistakable voice shattered the moment.

“Hey, lovebirds,” Johanna’s voice pierced the silence. “Hate to interrupt your sweet, sweet moment, but you have other important matters inside the training room.”

Finnick and Malia pulled away abruptly, their faces flushed with embarrassment and longing.

Malia, flustered and caught off guard, stammered.

“I...I should go,” She hastily excused herself, retreating to the safety of the training room.

Finnick stood up, resisting the urge to go after her. He shot Johanna a look that was a mix of irritation and frustration, silently cursing their unfortunate timing. Johanna, for her part, simply smirked and shrugged before walking away, leaving Finnick standing there, his heart still racing.

“No, you don’t get it, Jake!” Malia exclaims, pacing back and forth in her room as he stands in the doorway. 

“I’m pretty sure I do,” Jake answers. 

“No,” Malia shakes her head. “Finnick and I almost kissed.”

Jake’s eyes widen and he steps into her room and closes the door quickly.

“Say you’re joking,” Jake says.

“Nope,” Malia replies, popping the ‘p’.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Jake responds. “Who leaned in first? You or him?”

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Malia says, scratching her head. “I think I did.”

“Holy shit,” Jake responds. “I mean, I knew you liked him but I didn’t think you’d be the one to initiate a kiss.”

“Well, technically we didn’t kiss,” Malia reminds him. “I said almost.”

“Did you chicken out?” Jake asks.

“Oh no,” Malia replies. “I saw the way he was looking at me and–”

“How was he looking at you?” Jake asks.

“Like..” Malia begins. “Like Cal used to.”

“Oh honey,” Jake sighs and places a hand on his hip before shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Finnick’s always looked at you that way. I’m honestly shocked it took you this long to do something about it. Flabbergasted, if I may add.”

Malia throws a pillow at him and Jake ducks at the last second before scooping it up and tossing it back at her. Malia catches it before tossing it back on her bed and flopping down, face first into the pillow. 

“I’m so embarrassed,” Malia says, her voice muffled by the pillow. 

“One almost kiss and suddenly you’re sixteen again,” Jake laughs.

Malia lifts her head out of the pillow and looks at Jake, biting her lip slightly.

“Wait a minute–” Jake says, lifting up a finger and taking a step back. “This wasn’t the first time, was it?”

Malia shakes her head.

“Holy shit,” Jake laughs. “When was the first time you almost kissed?”

“Five years ago,” Malia answers. “During Annie’s victory party.”

“This just keeps getting better,” Jake smiles. “It took you five years before you initiated another kiss?”

“I thought I was seeing too much into things,” Malia answers.

“His face was probably not even five inches away from yours and you thought you were seeing too into things?” Jake asks.

“Finnick’s been my best friend for nine years,” Malia states. “How do you know when things stop being platonic and start being romantic, you know?”

“First off, ouch,” Jake says, covering his heart in feign hurt. “I thought I was your best friend. Secondly, things stop being platonic when he tries to kiss you, Malia. You saw how Katniss and Peeta are, you should know by now that’s how romance works.”

“Please do not compare Finnick and I to Katniss and Peeta,” Malia tells him.

“Right, cause they kissed and you haven’t,” Jake says, snapping his fingers at her. “You still didn’t answer my question about who pulled away first.”

“We both did,” Malia answers. “Johanna–”

“Johanna knows!?”

“Johanna interrupted us,” Malia states. “It’s not that big of an issue if she doesn’t snitch.”

“Johanna is not one to keep her mouth shut,” Jake says. “She speaks her mind like all the time.”

“I just think–” Malia begins but is cut off by a knock on her bedroom door. She raises a brow before climbing off her bed and walking over to open the door.

“I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything?” Gloss asks.

“No, we were just talking,” Malia replies, gesturing to Jake behind her.

“Day two of training is in half an hour and there’s someone at the door for you,” Gloss says.

“For me?” Malia asks. “Who?”

“The crazy bitch from district four,” Gloss replies. “Crannie?” 

“Annie?” Malia asks.

“Probably, I didn’t really care that much to know her name,” Gloss responds.

“Nobody does,” Jake says, pushing past Malia and heading towards the front door. 

“Jake, wait!” Malia calls out. She turns to look at Gloss. “Thank you for letting me know.”

Jake swung open the door and smiled widely at Annie. 

“Finnick isn’t here,” Jake tells her. “Goodbye now.”

Jake goes to slam the door in her face but Annie stops it with her foot.

“Why would Finnick be here?” Annie asks, squeezing herself inside the room.

“Hey, no one welcomed you inside,” Jake says. “Get!”

He pushes her back outside and closes the door before opening it again. 

“Let’s try this again,” Jake says, smiling. “Hello, Annie. It is not a pleasure seeing you but would you like to come in?” 

Annie rolls her eyes before walking inside and Jake closes the door with a grin. 

Malia stands in the kitchen, her arms crossed as she watches Annie make her way further into the room.

Cashmere and Gloss stand in the hallway, watching her every move before she finally plops herself onto the couch.

“State your business,” Jake says.

“I was actually hoping to talk to Malia alone,” Annie tells him.

“Like hell you will,” Jake snorts.

Gloss groans before retreating to his room with Cashmere following close behind.

“Jake,” Malia says, looking at him with a certain look in her eye.

“Absolutely not,” Jake tells her. “Last time she talked to you she made you feel like shit.”

“I wasn’t aware the Cutthroat Queen had feelings,” Annie says.

“I will cut you,” Jake tells her, causing her to shift uneasily. “And I’ll make it look like an accident.”

“Jake,” Malia scolds.

“Whatever you want to say to Malia, you can say to me,” Jake tells her, ignoring Malia’s scolding. 

“Fine,” Annie says, clearing her throat as she stands up. “You need to leave Finnick alone.”

“Excuse me?” Malia and Jake both reply in unison.

“You’re distracting him from what’s at stake here,” Annie continues. “His sole focus needs to be winning and he can’t do that if you’re stealing him away from his training time.”

“Stealing him away?” Malia asks. “For the record, he offered to help treat my nick.”

“What twenty-four year old woman doesn’t know how to patch up a nick by herself?” Annie asks. “It’s absurd.”

“It’s absurd,” Jake mocks. “Do you hear yourself right now? Malia has been nothing but focused the entire time she’s arrived in the Capitol. If Finnick’s distracted it’s because his mentor doesn’t know what the fuck she’s doing.”

“So this is my fault now?” Annie asks.

“Everything is your fault,” Jake replies.

“That’s an overstatement,” Annie tells him. 

“How fragile is your ego to the point you have to drag down your competition?” Jake asks.

“What competition?” Annie asks. 

“The competition for Finnick’s affection,” Jake replies. “I mean, I saw how desperate you were at your victory party to get his attention. Must’ve sucked the moment Malia and I arrived.”

“I don’t have a fragile ego,” Annie states. 

“You’re literally asking Malia to stop distracting Finnick,” Jake retorts.

“Because her existence is so–” Annie begins but stops herself.

“-- So what?” Malia asks, urging her to continue as she stands next to Jake. “I’m not a distraction to Finnick.”

“If anything she’s his motivation,” Jake chuckles.

“His motivation for what?” Annie asks.

“Everything,” Jake replies. “Finnick’s not going to win the Games– not when Malia’s around.”

“You think he’d sacrifice himself for her?” Annie asks. 

“Yes, I do,” Jake answers. “Can’t say he’d do the same for you.”

“How self conceited do you have to be to think that every fucking guy you meet thinks you’re so wonderful that they’d give up their life to save yours?” Annie asks, turning to look at Malia. “First Cal, then Jake, now Finnick?”

“I take offense to that and it’s not even directed towards me,” Jake tells her.

“Cal loved me,” Malia states. “And Jake has done nothing but protect me from the moment I stepped onto that train when I was fifteen. And Finnick? There’s nothing he’d do for me that I also wouldn’t do for him.”

“Yeah?” Annie asks, getting into her face. “ Prove it. Stop distracting Finnick and die in that arena. You want to help Finnick? Do what your sorry ass dead ex-boyfriend did and sacrifice yourself to make sure Finnick wins. He has his whole life ahead of him so stop fucking it up.”

Jake chuckles bitterly before lunging towards Annie but Malia pulls him back. 

“Oh come on!” Jake exclaims. “I have a policy of not hitting girls but oh – oh ho ho I never said I wouldn’t hit a bitch!”

“Jake, go fill up some water balloons,” Malia tells him.

“Can’t,” Jake replies.

“Why not?” Malia asks.

“I ran out of space to put them,” Jake answers.

Malia shakes her head before stepping in front of Jake and smiling slightly at Annie. 

“Listen, Annie,” Malia says, sliding up the sleeves of her shirt and bites back a chuckle seeing Annie take a step back. “For Finnick’s sake, I’m going to let that comment slide. He cares about you and I don’t want to have to ruin my friendship with him by carving up your face for disrespecting me. Which– the old me would’ve done but I believe people can change. That’s why I was willing to give you a second chance. I know I’m still insecure about my ability to find love again after Cal, but I know my worth and I know that what Finnick feels for me is far beyond anything I could ever imagine. I don’t know why he feels that way, but I do know that I’m not distracting him. I’m simply easing the stress and undeniable truth that when he leaves the arena– I won’t be with him.”

“And neither will Mags,” Malia continues. “In order for him to win he has to lose two of the most important people in his life. And who’s going to be there for him when he undoubtedly has survivor’s guilt for the rest of his goddamn life?”

“I will,” Annie says.

“Sure, you will,” Jake snorts. “Your only concern is to win him over– you don’t actually care about his well-being.”

“And you do?” Annie counters. 

“We might not be the best of friends but at least I don’t go behind his back and try to tell his best friend to fuck off and die,” Jake tells her. “You say you want what’s best for Finnick, yeah? Does that apply as his mentor or just in general? Cause all of Panem can see that Malia is Finnick’s happiness, why can’t you? Or have you known for years now and can’t handle the truth that you never stood a chance? You come into my apartment, harass my sister with your fake ass self and expect her to just drop dead all because you told her to? Nah, we don’t take that kind of disrespect because if you think Malia dying will help Finnick then you truly don’t know him. So either you leave now or I’ll throw you out.”

“Sister?” Annie sneers. “You guys can keep playing family but we all know how it usually ends for your family.”

Jake was caught off guard. He stood there, his chest heaving as he tried to regain his composure. His fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white, and every muscle in his body was tensed. Annie’s taunts had hit a nerve, and the urge to lash out and put an end to the confrontation was almost unbearable.

Annie, however, seemed undeterred, her eyes cold and calculating as she continued to sneer at Jake. The tension in the room was palpable, and it was clear that the situation was spiraling out of control. This wasn’t a ‘friendly’ conversation anymore.

“I mean, come on,” Annie chuckles. “You’re called ‘The Last Titan’ for a fucking reason. Everyone around you dies. ” 

But just as it seemed that Jake was going to give in, Malia punched Annie in the throat. Annie’s eyes widened in shock as the blow hit her, and she let out a strangled gasp, clutching her throat with both hands. She stumbled backward, struggling to breathe, her face contorted in pain. Malia’s punch had been precise, leaving Annie wheezing and gasping for air.

Malia fixed her intense gaze on Annie, her voice filled with a quiet but unmistakable warning.

“You should leave now, before I decide to do more than just shut you up.”

Annie, still struggling to catch her breath, realized she was outnumbered and outmatched. With a final, venomous glare at Jake and Malia, she staggered towards the door, finally making her exit from the room.

As the door closed behind Annie, Jake finally released the breath he had been holding and turned to Malia, gratitude and surprise written across his face as he pulled her into a hug and the tension in the room began to dissipate.

The door down the hall swings open and Gloss walks out in his training uniform and stares at the two standing in the living room.

“Where’s–” Gloss began.

“She left,” Jake answers before Gloss could finish. He pulls away from Malia and grasps her shoulder. “Go get ready for training, you’re going to be late.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be my fault,” Malia replies, giving a joking salute to Jake before disappearing in her room.

Cashmere walks into the room and gives Gloss a look. 

“Right,” Gloss says, turning to look at Jake. “We couldn’t help but overhear–”

“Finnick is no threat to Malia’s loyalty to the Careers,” Jake tells him. 

“That’s not–” Gloss begins. “Look, I know I seem big and bad but I don’t want to be here anymore than either of you really.”

“Yes, I’m aware,” Jake says. 

“I know you’re not as close to me as you are with Malia,” Gloss begins. “But you were my mentor too and what Annie said about your family was out of line.”

“I appreciate the sentiment,” Jake replies. “But Malia already dealt with her and I have a shit ton of water balloons to get rid of.”

Gloss watches as Jake walks away and he turns to look at Cashmere and shrugs. 

“You’re going to be late,” Cashmere tells him.

“I was going to wait for Malia,” Gloss tells her.

“Fine,” Cashmere says. “But if she’s not out in ten minutes, leave her and get your ass to the training room.”

Malia and Gloss walk into the training room and Enobaria waves them over. 

“Fingers crossed,” Malia mumbles under her breath as she heads over with Gloss behind her. 

“I’m just going to get straight to the point,” Enobaria says, looking at Malia. 

“Where’d you and Finnick go yesterday during training?” Enobaria asks.

“He’s district four,” Malia says. “I thought I’d propose an alliance. Jake always says there’s strength in numbers.”

“And what did he say?” Brutus asks, crossing his arms.

“He said he’d think about it,” Malia replies.

“What’s there to think about?” Enobaria asks. “Either he’s in or he’s out. If he has to think about it he shouldn’t even be in it.” 

“Well there’s also Katniss,” Gloss adds. “After her performance yesterday, Cashmere says literally half the tributes want her as an ally.”

“Motherfucker,” Brutus grumbles. “How is Katniss more popular than us? We’re Careers for fuck’s sake.”

“She did just change the history of the Hunger Games last year,” Malia says.

“And look how that ended for her,” Enobaria states. “Right back in a year later.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Brutus tells her. “ We’re Capitol favorites.”

“News flash, so is she,” Gloss replies.

“She’s the Girl on Fire for fuck’s sake,” Malia adds. “She gets first pick before we do.”

“Well, I think we should stick with the traditional Career Pack,” Brutus says. “If we ever want things to go back to the way they were before last year’s Games, we have to keep the Careers the same.”

“That includes district four,” Gloss says before turning to face Malia. “Finnick’s your buddy, what do you think he’d say if we asked him?”

“Depends,” Malia replies.

“On what?” Enobaria asks.

“On whether the invitation goes to Mags as well,” Malia replies.

“No,” Brutus says.

“Then no,” Malia answers. “Mags raised him, he’s not going to be in an alliance that Mags isn’t in.”

“Just go ask him,” Enobaria snaps, gesturing towards a training mat where Finnick stood. 

“Fine but when I come back I’m going to say I told you so,” Malia says, leaving the group and making her way towards Finnick. 

“I don’t trust her,” Enobaria mutters, causing Gloss to raise an eyebrow at her. 

“What do you mean?” Gloss asks.

“Does she think we’re fools?” Enobaria asks. “She’s been friends with Finnick for what? Nine years? Why ally with us when he’s in the Games?”

“Malia’s a survivor,” Gloss tells her. “The Games have never been about trust and Malia’s witnessed that first hand. We all have. She knows her chance to survive is with us.”

“I have a proposal for you,” Malia says, approaching Finnick on the mat. 

Finnick chuckles slightly and sets his trident down on the rack. 

“Damn, Mal,” Finnick responds. “I don’t know what to say. I always thought I’d be the one proposing first.” 

“Why would you–” Malia began but shook her head. “Not that kind of proposal!”

“I’m messing with you,” Finnick tells her, stepping off the mat.

Malia steps off the mat right after him and follows.

“Your jokes are getting less and less funny,” She replied.

Finnick stops and turns to look at her. “Why? Did you want me to propose to you?”

“That’s not the point,” Malia says. “The point is that the Careers are proposing an alliance with you.”

“What about Mags?” Finnick asks. 

“Mags isn’t included,” Malia replies.

“No,” Finnick says.

“That’s what I told them,” Malia tells him. 

“Even if Mags was included, my answer would still be no,” Finnick says. “Cause of the whole– you know.”

“Yes, I’m aware,” Malia tells him. “I still had to come over here and propose an alliance. Since yesterday the Careers have been doubting my loyalty.”

Finnick peeks around Malia and looks at the Careers watching the interaction. Finnick scrunches his nose before giving his attention back to Malia.

“The Careers are supposed to believe you’ll kill me to win, right?” Finnick asks.

“Yes,” Malia replies. “But I could never do that, you know that.”

“Yeah, but they don’t,” Finnick says. “C’mon, fight me Mal.”

“What?” Malia asked. “I’m not going to fight you.”

“Okay,” Finnick says. “ What if I make you mad? Insult you?”

Malia scoffs. “You can try.”

“You know,” He began, his voice light and teasing. “I have to say, Malia, that red hair of yours is something else. It’s like a blazing fire in the midst of all this darkness.”

He reached out, gently tucking a strand of her red hair behind her ear, his touch as soft as the flicker of a candle’s flame.

Malia blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected compliment. Her nose scrunched in amusement.

“Finnick, you’re not supposed to be sweet-talking me right now.”

Finnick chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“I can’t help it, you know. Your green eyes are like the forests back in district seven. They’re so full of life, and every time you scrunch your nose, it’s like the sun peeking through the leaves.”

Malia’s cheeks flushed a light shade of pink, and she turned her gaze away, unable to hold his intense stare. The Careers were watching their interaction closely, and she knew they were expecting a fight. But she was struggling to hide her smile.

Finnick leaned in a little closer, his lips almost brushing against her ear as he whispered. 

“And your smile, Malia, it’s just... breathtaking.”

Malia’s heart raced, and she couldn’t help but smile, her nose scrunching just as he’d mentioned. 

“Finnick, those aren’t insults.”

He pulled back, giving her a charming grin.

“I know, I know. But it’s hard to insult you, you’re just.. very pretty.”

“Annie has no problem insulting me,” Malia says.

“Is that why you punched her in the throat?” Finnick asks, slight amusement glistening in his eye.

“She deserved it,” Malia replies. “She was being a bitch to Jake.”

“That’s not what she told me,” Finnick says.

“Of course not,” Malia tells him. “She’s trying to stay on your good side, of course she’d paint us badly.”

“There’s nothing anyone can say or do to make me see you as bad,” Finnick says. 

“Give it time,” Malia tells him, picking up a pair of sais. “Let’s fight.”

Finnick smirks slightly as he picks up his trident from the rack. 

“I won’t go easy on you,” Malia tells him, stepping up onto the mat.

“Funny,” Finnick says, stepping up after her, pressing the button on the machine. “Neither will I.”

Finnick twirled his trident, the weapon gleaming under the flickering lights, while Malia gripped her sais, her determination evident in her fierce gaze. Their exchange was punctuated by the soft hum of the machine.

As the holograms moved, Finnick and Malia moved with fluid grace, their movements almost a dance. Finnick lunged with his trident, each strike swift and precise, while Malia darted in and out, her sais dancing to parry the attacks.

They fought seamlessly, their trust in one another apparent. Malia’s sais clashed with the holographic targets as Finnick’s trident sliced through the air. Their synchronization as they fought left a trail of disappearing holograms in their wake.

But as the last of the holograms vanished, Malia moved with blinding speed, striking at Finnick. He barely had time to react, using the handle of his trident to block her attack.

“I fucking knew it,” Finnick tells her, his grip on the handle of his trident tightening. He smacks one of her arms and her sai clatters to the floor. “You’re good. But not as good as me.”

He goes to smack her other sai out of her hand but she swipes her foot underneath him and knocks him to the floor. She picks up the sai off the ground and climbs on top of him, straddling his waist as she looks down at him.

“You give yourself way too much credit,” Malia quipped, her sais pointed at Finnick’s throat.

“Do I?” Finnick asks, a playful smirk on his lips, the trident in his hand aimed at her side. If they were in the Games, Malia could easily slit his throat just as easily as he could thrust his trident into her side.

Malia’s eyes locked onto his, and she gave him a playful glare.

“All the time.”

Finnick’s smirk deepened as he held her gaze.

“I think it’s deserved.”

Malia slowly withdrew her sais, but there was a teasing glint in her eye. She climbed off him and helped him to his feet. 

“Careful, Finnick, you might end up regretting those words,” She tells him.

“I’ll take my chances,” Finnick says, swinging his trident at her and she raises her sais over her head. Her sais clashed with the trident and she tilts her head slightly before side stepping and jabbing her elbow into Finnick’s ribs. 

Finnick stumbles forward and Malia points the blades of her sais at him. 

“Give up yet?” Malia asks.

“I’m just getting warmed up,” Finnick replies, regaining his composure. 

“Sure you are,” Malia tells him. “You know, you’re kinda hot when you’re cocky.”

She swings her sais at him and he ducks underneath them before her words finally register and he falls off the mat, hitting the hard floor with a thud.

“Shit,” Malia mutters, the sound of clapping drags her attention off of Finnick and to the group that had gathered to watch their fight. 

“You ate shit!” Brutus laughs, directing his comment towards Finnick on the ground. 

Johanna smacks Brutus’s arm and he gives her a glare.

The crowd slowly disperses, the trainer signaling the end of the training day. 

Malia sets her sais down on the rack and steps off the mat, crouching down in front of Finnick. 

“You didn’t hurt that beautiful face of yours, did you?” Malia asks.

“Am I dead?” Finnick asks in response. “Cause I’m pretty sure I’m looking at an angel.”

“This is exactly why you fell off the damn mat,” Malia laughs. 

“Your beauty is blinding,” Finnick says.

“This whole flirting tactic is impressive,” Malia tells him, jokingly. “The Capitol will go nuts. Finnick O’Dair in love. ”

Finnick tilted his head slightly, the frown on his face transparent. 

“What?” Malia asks.

“Nothing,” Finnick replies.

“Right, well,” Malia says, pulling him up to his feet. “I should go.”

Finnick puts the trident back on the rack before scratching the back of his head.

“Malia, wait!” Finnick calls after her. 

Malia stops in her tracks and turns back to look at him. 

“Yeah?” 

“Good luck tomorrow,” Finnick tells her.

“Thanks,” Malia smiles. “You too.”

“District One. Gloss Nicholo,” a Gamemaker called out. “Report for individual assessment.”

Malia watches as Gloss stands up and heads inside the training room. All eyes were on him and Malia’s leg was bouncing like crazy. Gloss steps into the training room and the doors close behind him before she can feel a pair of eyes on her. She turns around and makes slight eye contact with Finnick before he turns away. 

Malia’s leg had slowed to a less crazy pace and she furrowed her brows in confusion. 

“Can you stop that?” Brutus asks, gesturing towards her leg.

“Oh I’m sorry that my anxiety is inconveniencing you,” Malia spat. “Next time it happens I’ll chop my own leg off so you can feel comfortable.”

“The Capitol has pills for that, you know?” Enobaria tells her.

“No thank you,” Malia says. “The Capitol already controls my life. Why the fuck would I let them control how anxious I feel?” 

“What are you even anxious about?” Brutus asks. “You’ve done this before.”

“So just because I’ve done this before, I shouldn’t be anxious?” Malia asks, rolling her eyes. “It’s been nine years. New rules. New Gamemakers.”

“All you have to do is score above an eight,” Brutus states. “Think you can manage that? Or do you need someone to hold your hand?”

“Fuck off,” Malia scoffs.

“District One. Malia Wells,” a Gamemaker announces. “Report for individual assessment.”

Malia flips Brutus off before standing up and heading inside the training room. Gloss gives her a slight nod as he exits and Malia stands in the center of the room. 

“Miss Wells,” Plutarch greets. “You have ten minutes to present your chosen skill.”

Malia began by taking out her sais, the glint of steel catching the dim light. She twirled them expertly in her hands, her movements fluid and graceful, a dance of deadly beauty. The sais seemed like extensions of her own arms, a natural part of her being. With each spin and flourish, she displayed her complete mastery of the weapon, showing the Gamemakers her finesse and precision.

The Gamemakers watched in rapt silence as Malia demonstrated her expertise with the sais, the tension in the room growing palpable. She couldn’t afford any mistakes. With a final, breathtaking twirl, she sheathed the sais, leaving the Gamemakers in awe of her skills.

But Malia wasn’t finished. She stepped back and, with a swift motion, reached for her throwing knives. The small, deadly blades glistened in her hand as she took her stance, her eyes fixed on the distant target. With lightning speed and uncanny accuracy, she released the knives one by one, each one finding its mark with a satisfying thud as it embedded itself into the bullseye.

Malia’s display was a mesmerizing combination of agility, precision, and deadly intent. She demonstrated her ability to adapt to different situations, showing both close-quarters combat finesse and remarkable accuracy at a distance. Her performance left the Gamemakers speechless, a feat not easily achieved.

As the last knife hit its mark, Malia stood there, her chest heaving, her expression unwavering. Plutarch stood stunned, looking at the target’s head on the floor. Malia’s knife had somehow managed to cut it clean off. 

“Thank you,” Plutarch says.

Malia nods at the Gamemakers before making her way towards where she came from. 

Jake was waiting and he gave her two thumbs up before escorting her and Gloss back to their apartment complex.

Chapter Text

Jake walks into the living room just as the Capitol TV theme song plays. Malia waits alongside Gloss, her leg bouncing nervously as Caesar Flickerman fades into view.

“Good evening, everyone!” Caesar announces, a pair of flashcards in his hands. “As you know, the tributes were rated on a scale of one to twelve after three days of careful evaluation.”

“Starting from district one,” Caesar continues, looking down at the cards in his hands. “Gloss Nicholo with a score of… ten.”

The room erupted into cheers and Gloss smiled proudly. 

“Malia Wells,” Caesar adds. “With a score of… eleven.”

The room erupted into cheers once more. 

“Brutus Gunn with a score of… eleven.”

“Enobaria Golding with a score of… eleven.”

“Beetee Latier with a score of… nine.”

“Wiress Plummer with a score of… eight.”

“Finnick O’Dair,” Caesar continues, and Malia leans forward, her eyes fixated on the screen. “With a score of… twelve.”

“Holy shit,” Jake and Malia reply in unison. 

“A twelve!?” Gloss asks.

“Don’t hate him cause you ain’t him,” Jake tells him.

“Mags Flanagan,” Caesar goes on. “With a score of… five.”

The scores continued to be announced. 

James Logan with a score of eight.

Ivette Li-Sanchez with a score of nine.

Justin Hix with a score of two.

Megan Hayes with a score of three. 

Blight Jordan with a score of eight.

Johanna Mason with a score of nine.

Woof Casino with a score of one.

Cecelia Sanchez with a score of eight. 

Daniel Bernhardt with a score of nine.

Marian Greene with a score of eight.

Jackson Spidell with a score of ten.

Tiffany Waxler with a score of eight.

Chaff Mitchel with a score of ten.

Seeder Howell with a score of eight.

Caesar looks down at the next set of cards in his hands and his eyes widen.

“Peeta Mellark with a score of… twelve.”

“Fuck,” Gloss says.

“Katniss Everdeen with a score of… twelve.”

“Matching scores of twelve,” Jake states. “They’re doomed.”

Cashmere turns off the TV and stands up. 

“Gloss, come with me,” Cashmere says. “We need to discuss strategy.”

Jake watches as Cashmere and Gloss disappear down the hall before he turns and looks at Malia.

“Guess the Gamemakers bought my act of being more loyal to the Careers than anyone else,” Malia chuckles.

“Now, I know what you’re thinking but an eleven is not that bad,” Jake tells her. “We can work with an eleven. Unlike the twelve’s that Finnick, Katniss, and Peeta scored. They’re marked for death.”

“Which means it’s up to me to make sure the Careers stay as far away from them,” Malia states.

“Keep your guard up,” Jake tells her. “Gloss volunteered for me and he probably gave some bullshit excuse to hide his true intentions.”

“Do you think President Snow paid him a visit?” Malia asks. “Told him to volunteer to keep me in check?”

“President Snow doesn’t think you’re a threat,” Jake replies. “At least, not that I’m aware of.”

“Well maybe we can use that to our advantage,” Malia says, furrowing her brows. “At least until I can break off from the Careers.”

“Once you do,” Jake began. “You’ll be on your own until you can find Finnick.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Malia says. “I can handle myself.”

“I know you can,” Jake tells her. “But you know what I always say. There’s strength in numbers. We also have to work on what to say in your interview. We have to try and stop these Games.”

“The Capitol won’t stop no matter what,” Malia states. “They practically worship these Games. I’m pretty sure that’s made really clear.”

“Finnick has a thing or two up his sleeve–” Jake began.

“You’ve talked to Finnick?” Malia asks. 

“Of course I have,” Jake replies. “That’s not the point. You need to remind the Capitol what they took from you.”

“Jake, you don’t mean–” Malia began, shaking her head.

“You need to talk about Cal,” Jake answers. 

“No,” Malia says. 

“Listen,” Jake tells her. “You don’t have to say a lot, just enough that the Capitol feels guilty for putting you back in the Games. You being put back into these Games is disrespectful towards his memory. He died to make sure you’d win and they haven’t realized it yet but– they’re making his death be in vain.”

“Jake, if I talk about Cal…” Malia begins. “I won’t be able to keep a strong demeanor. From the moment I stepped onto that chariot during the Tribute Parade, Emery has made sure that the Capitol saw me as the Cutthroat Queen. The Cutthroat Queen is a badass– she’s not supposed to cry. Talking about Cal? It will make me cry.”

“Even the strongest people can’t stay strong forever,” Jake says. “These past few days have been nothing but to make sure the Capitol fears you. Now it’s time to remind them you are human.”

“I’m not sure I even am anymore,” Malia tells him. “All the pain I’ve gone through, it’s left me numb. I’ve put up walls so I don’t shatter and if I break them down after all these years– I don’t know what will happen.”

“You’re not in this alone,” Jake says, reassuringly. “No one knows pain and suffering better than me. But I promise you this. If things don’t go according to plan– and you’re thrown back into the arena– I will stop at nothing until you’re out of that arena.”

Malia stood in her dressing room, completely mesmerized by the dress Emery had designed for her. It was like something out of a fairy tale. Crafted with meticulous care, it shimmered like molten gold under the dimly lit chandeliers. The fabric flowed like liquid silk, cascading down from a delicate, off-the-shoulder neckline. The dress was a symphony of fine details, tailored to perfection.

With every step Malia took it seemed to whisper secrets of luxury and grace. The metallic gold hue danced in the light, changing with every move and angle. It was as though the gown had been spun from threads of stardust and dreams.

The dress featured a subtle cinched waist that enhanced the silhouette, making Malia look like a goddess that descended from the heavens. A daring thigh-high slit teased glimpses of golden legs, and the floor-length train trailed behind like a river of liquid gold, which Emery said would leave a trail of awestruck admirers in its wake.

For Malia, the dress was a symbol of her unique radiance and charisma. She was the star of the night, commanding attention and admiration from all who were fortunate enough to lay eyes on her. With her confidence and the dress as her armor, she wove a story of beauty, sophistication, and unapologetic glamor. 

Her ginger hair had been styled more wavier than usual and had been parted to one side. Her face, different shades of gold and brown to bring out her natural hue. 

“I’m afraid that’s not going to match,” Emery says, pointing towards the seashell necklace around Malia’s neck.

“I’m afraid I’m not going to take it off,” Malia tells him. “Someone special gave it to me and I promised him I’d take good care of it.”

“It’s true,” Xanthe says. “Jake says she hasn’t taken it off once since the special someone gave it to her.”

“Can’t lose it if I never take it off,” Malia states. 

Caesar Flickerman’s theme begins to play and Emery rushes her out of the dressing room. 

“Malia,” Finnick calls. 

Malia turns her attention towards him and she bites her lip slightly.

“Finnick,” Malia greets.

“You look–” Finnick begins. “ Wow.”

“You’re not too bad yourself,” Malia tells him. 

“Thank you! Thank you!” Caesar exclaims, bowing before shushing the crowd. “Thank you for being here tonight on the eve of the 75th Hunger Games!” 

The crowd cheers and Caesar laughs. 

“We have never seen anything like this,” Caesar announces. “And we will never see anything like this again. Because tonight, on this stage, twenty-four of Panem’s brightest stars will vie for the ultimate crown. Tonight will be their final opportunity to express their thoughts. Our final opportunity to express our love. And heartbreakingly, to say goodbye to all but one.”

The crowd remained silent and Caesar looked out into the crowd.

“What a night,” He says. “Let’s hear it.”

The crowd bursts out into cheers and Caesar laughs again. 

“This is so exciting!” 

“He has to be some kind of undiagnosed psychopath,” Malia mutters, causing Finnick to snicker. 

“Give it up for Gloss!” Caesar announces and the crowd cheers as Gloss walks on stage. 

“Gloss,” Caesar says. “You and your sister made the Games a family affair. You both became everyone’s brother and sister. I don’t know how we’re going to let you go.”

“I’m not going by choice,” Gloss tells him. “The Capitol is my family. And I don’t know how anyone else can love me better.”

“So sweet,” Caesar says, gesturing towards the staircase and Gloss walks up them.

“Give a huge round of applause,” Caesar began. “For the one, the only, Malia Wells!”

The crowd screams and shouts as Malia walks onto stage and she could hear several gasps of awe. She stands in front of Caesar– his grin making her more angrier than she already was.

“It was great hearing from Gloss,” Caesar says. “But now we’re curious as to what you have to say, Malia. What could possibly be on the Cutthroat Queen’s mind?”

Malia stands there, silently, as Caesar looks around before chuckling.

“Miss Wells?”

“I’m sorry,” Malia chuckles back, angrily. “I’m still trying to grasp the fact that Cal’s sacrifice meant nothing to you people.”

The crowd gasps at her slight outburst.

“I’m sure you know how much we loved Cal,” Caesar says. “We are grateful for his sacrifice and he is very dearly missed.”

“Then why are you trying to kill me again?” Malia asks. “Cal didn’t have to die that night. But he chose to sacrifice himself so that I could live. I lost everything nine years ago. And when I’ve finally healed and moved on, I’m back here. Can’t you see this isn’t fair? I won the Games, why wasn’t that enough? Why do I have to prove myself to you all over again? I carved up that tribute and became the Capitol’s Cutthroat Queen because I had nothing to lose. I have too much on the line, people I care about, I’m desperate. Which means I’m dangerous. I’m not afraid to do it again, I won’t let Cal’s death be in vain.”

“Isn’t she absolutely amazing folks?” Caesar asks, turning his attention towards the crowd and they cheered once more.

“Beetee,” Caesar greets. “You have contributed so much to Panem over the years. I don’t know who we will miss more, you or your brain.”

“The Quarter Quell were written in law by man, certainly it can be unwritten,” Beetee tells him. 

“Yes,” Caesar says, furrowing his brows in slight confusion. “Interesting concept.”

Beetee joins everyone else on stage and stands next to Enobaria as Wiress walks out on stage before joining the others.

“Finnick,” Caesar smiles. “Rumors have spread around that you have met someone. And I understand that you have a message for that somebody out there. A special somebody.”

Finnick looks down, a huge smile on his face before turning back to look at Caesar. 

“Somebody who you’ve known for quite a long time,” Caesar continues. “Can we hear it?”

“ My love,” Finnick begins, leaning into the microphone Caesar had pointed at him. “I want you to know that every step I take in that arena, every breath that I draw, is a testament to the love that binds me to you.”

Malia shifts slightly in her spot between Gloss and Brutus and her breath catches in her throat.

“I gave you my necklace, not just as a token, but as a piece of my heart,” Finnick continues. “Yet, truth be told, you’ve always held my heart in your hands. For nine years, you’ve held it.”

“Oh my god,” Malia mutters. 

“Thank you, Finnick,” Caesar says and Finnick joins the rest of the tributes.

The interviews went by quickly. Tributes coming out, saying a thing or two and then joining everyone else on the platform.

“We have seen a lot of tears tonight,” Caesar announces. “But I see no tears in Johanna’s eyes. Johanna, you are angry. Tell me why?”

“Why yes, I’m angry,” Johanna answers, chuckling bitterly. “You know, I’m totally getting screwed over here.”

“Uh huh.”

“The deal was that if I won the Hunger Games I’d get to live the rest of my life in peace. But now, you wanna kill me again. But you know what? FUCK THAT! AND FUCK ANYBODY WHO HAD ANYTHING TO DO WITH IT!”

“Alright then,” Caesar says, ushering Johanna off stage. “One’s little opinion. Who’s next?”

The interviews continued and then two more spots remained on the platform.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Caesar announces. “The victor of last year’s Games, Katniss Everdeen!”

Malia watches as Katniss walks onto the stage decked out in a wedding gown and the entire crowd were filled with oohs and ahhs.

“You look fabulous!” Caesar exclaims. “Doesn’t she, folks?”

The crowd erupted into screams. 

“My my my,” Caesar says, fanning himself. “Wooh wooh wooh. Now, Katniss. This is a very big and very emotional night for all of us, wouldn’t you say?”

“Now don’t go crying on me now, Caesar,” Katniss chuckles.

“I can’t be making promises, you know me,” Caesar responds. 

“You know I wouldn’t believe you even if you did,” Katniss replies and Caesar laughs.

“I love it!” Caesar exclaims. “The Girl on Fire is so cheeky!”

“But Katniss, on a more serious note,” Caesar adds. “I think we’re all here a little disappointed that a certain wedding did not take place. Aren’t we folks?”

The crowd grows silent as Caesar looks at them. 

“Alas,” Caesar says. “Am I correct in assuming that this is the gown that you would have worn on that day, yes or no?”

“Yes,” Katniss answers. “President Snow thought everyone would want to see it.”

“Well President Snow was right as usual,” Caesar says. “Was he not folks?”

The crowd erupted into cheers and Caesar laughed before waving his hands towards Katniss’s dress.

“Will you do us the honor?” Caesar asks. “Please please please.”

Katniss looks out into the crowd, her stylist giving her a slight nod and she begins to twirl. Fire erupted from the bottom of her dress and the more she twirled the more it rose higher up the gown until it was nothing but a black dress. 

Gasps erupted from all around the room and Katniss stretched out her arms to show off a pair of bird wings. The crowd jumped out of their seats, screaming, cheering, and clapping.

“Oh my god,” Caesar says. “It’s like uh… it’s like a bird… it’s like umm… umm…”

“A Mockingjay,” Katniss answers.

“Your stylist has certainly outdone himself this time,” Caesar says, gesturing towards her stylist in the crowd. “Cinna, take a bow.”

Cinna stands up and bows as the crowd claps.

Katniss joins the rest of the tributes as Peeta walks out onto the stage.

“Peeta,” Caesar greets. “The wedding? The marriage? Never to be?”

“Well actually we got married,” Peeta says. “In secret.”

“A secret wedding?” Caesar asks. “Do tell.”

“We want our love to be eternal,” Peeta tells him. “You know, Katniss and I… we’ve been luckier than most. And I wouldn’t have any regrets at all… if uh… if it weren’t…”

“If it weren’t for what?” Caesar asks, prying.

“If it weren’t for the baby,” Peeta replies.

Gasps from all around the room filled the room– which eventually turned into angry cries. 

“Stop the Games!”

“This is outrageous!”

“Alright, calm down!” Caesar exclaims, raising his hand out. “This is news to us all!”

Caesar leans in and whispers something into Peeta’s ear before Peeta nods and joins the rest of the tributes on stage. 

“STOP THE GAMES!”

Malia watches as Peeta joins the rest of the victors and he pulls Katniss into a tight hug.

Katniss was pregnant? And that’s all it took to outrage Capitol citizens?

Malia feels Gloss take her hand into his. She tries pulling away but sees that all the victors have taken hands. She catches on and happily lifts hers, Brutus’s, and Gloss’s hands in the air. 

The crowd began to cheer and a look of surprise and horror spread across Caesar’s face and the lights immediately turned off, leaving the room in complete darkness. 

The moment Gloss helps Malia off the platform she gives him a nod as a thank you before making a beeline towards the exit. 

“Malia!” Finnick’s voice called out after her.

Malia’s heart raced as she burst out of the darkened room and into the frigid night. The cold air cut through her like a knife, but it was a welcomed contrast to the suffocating chaos inside.

She stumbled through the dark, her breaths coming in ragged gasps, and her vision blurred as the tears welled up in her eyes. The weight of her past victory in the Hunger Games pressed on her like a boulder, and she could feel the memories clawing their way to the surface. She had fought, killed, and survived, and it had scarred her in ways she could never fully express.

Malia collapsed onto the ground, clutching her head in her hands, trying to stave off the onslaught of haunting memories. The roar of the Capitol crowd, the faces of those she had defeated, and the faces of those she had lost in the arena all swirled in her mind, threatening to consume her.

Anderson.

Cleo.

Giselle.

Amber.

Astrid.

Cal.

Lucius.

As she sobbed, someone’s arms wrapped around her trembling body, and she couldn’t tell if it was Finnick or Jake. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the warmth and comfort of that embrace. She clung to their shirt, her tears soaking the fabric, and she buried her face in their chest.

The person holding her said nothing, but their presence was a lifeline in the tempest of emotions. Malia let out all the pain, fear, and regret she had bottled up for so long. She cried for the lives she had taken, the lives she had lost, and for the life she had been forced to lead as a victor.

“How are you not afraid right now?” Jade asks, throwing her hands in the air in anger. “We both just got reaped and no one stood up and volunteered for us.”

“We’re from district one,” Jake answers. “Why would anyone volunteer when twins going into the Games are bound to entertain everyone?”

“We do everything together,” Jade states. “They can’t just assume we’d be willing to kill each other and feel no remorse.”

“It’s not going to come down to that,” Jake says, biting his nail.

“This is the Hunger Games, Jake,” Jade retorts. “It’s kill or be killed.”

“Yeah, I’m well aware of how these stupid fucking Games work,” Jake says. “And I’m not killing my sister.”

“And I’m not killing you,” Jade tells him. “Looks like we’re both fucked.”

“No,” Jake says. “You’re coming out of that arena alive. I’ll make sure of it.”

“I know damn well you’re not referring to sacrificing yourself to save me,” Jade scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I’m twelve minutes older than you,” Jake states. “It is my responsibility to keep you safe. I’m the older twin here, so believe me when I say I will stop at nothing to make sure you get out of that arena alive.”

“Jake–” Jade begins.

“No,” Jake cuts her off. “This isn’t up for discussion. You’ll be the one coming back home, Jade. Not me. ”

Jake sat in the dark with his hands sitting in his lap as he tried to ignore the fact that the Games were the next morning. After he lost Jade– Malia became a little sister to him and although she was in on the rebel plan— he knew something was bound to go wrong in the arena at any given moment. He couldn’t even look at Malia without seeing his own sister. Her smile, her laugh, and now.. her death.

“Are you okay?” Malia asks, standing in the doorframe, her arms crossed against her stomach. Her hair was disheveled, probably from all the late night shuffling trying to get a good night’s sleep but never succeeded. Her silk robe was tightened around her body and she stepped further into the living room.

“What?” Jake asks, looking up at her. His eyes were red and puffy and Malia’s heart nearly broke. She had never seen Jake cry. He never cried around her and it was a state she never wanted to see him in again.

“I said, are you okay?” Malia asks. 

“I’m fine,” Jake replies, looking back down at the floor.

“No, you’re not,” Malia says, sitting down next to him and taking his hands into her own. “Don’t lie to me.”

Jake turns to look at her and flinches before snapping his eyes closed. 

“Jake?” Malia calls, rubbing the back of his hands with the pad of her thumbs. 

Jake shakes his head. 

He couldn’t look at her. Not when all he saw was Jade falling all over again. 

“We made it.”

“NOOOO!”

“This is about me going into the arena in the morning, isn’t it?” Malia asks in a hushed tone.

“You’re the closest thing I have to a sister,” Jake tells her, his voice hoarse. “I can’t… I can’t lose you too.”

“Oh, Jake,” Malia says.

Malia could feel Jake trembling beside her, his body wracked with silent sobs. She tightened her grip around him, drawing him closer into her embrace. The storm that had been brewing within him had finally broken, and tears flowed freely down his cheeks, soaking her shoulder. He clung to her as though she were his lifeline in a sea of grief.

Malia’s heart ached for him, and she continued to stroke his hair gently, whispering soothing words into his ear. Her fingers traced comforting circles on his back, a steady rhythm that matched the beat of his breaking heart.

The room was hushed, except for Jake’s choked sobs, a stark contrast to the chaos and violence that had become their reality. Malia could feel the weight of Jake’s pain, a pain that had been bottled up for far too long, spilling out as he clung to her. Afraid to let go. Afraid she’d slip right through his fingers. 

Malia’s own eyes welled with tears as she held Jake tighter, as if her embrace could shield him from the nightmares that plagued him. The rhythm of her hand on his back remained constant, an attempt at a reassuring touch.

Time seemed to stand still as they clung to each other, their shared pain drawing them even closer. Jake’s sobs began to subside, and his breathing steadied, but he remained nestled in her arms. It was in this silence, punctuated only by their shared breaths and the occasional sniffle, that Malia finally spoke.

“Jake, you’re not going to lose me,” Malia tells him softly. 

She pulled away from the hug to get a good look at his face, her hand resting on his knee.

“You and Finnick made sure of that by letting me in on the plan,” She adds.

“Plan or not,” Jake says, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “A lot can go wrong in the arena tomorrow.”

“You’re overthinking things, Jake,” Celeste says from the doorway. 

Malia jumps slightly at Celeste’s sudden presence. Neither of them knew how long she had been standing there but it didn’t really matter. 

“Malia has pulled so many sponsors,” Celeste adds, walking over towards them. “Plus with Finnick’s live confession, more are coming.”

“Celeste’s right,” Malia says, patting Jake’s knee slightly. “But Finnick’s confession isn’t exactly fool proof against the other victors.”

“Most of the victors are in on this plan,” Celeste says. “And they know you are too. No one’s going to harm the Princess of Panem.”

“Princess?” Malia retorts. “I’m the Cutthroat Queen.”

“My point is,” Celeste says, sitting down. “The Capitol loves a good love story. Rumors even say that you and Finnick could be the new it couple. Might even beat Katniss and Peeta at being the greatest love story to exist.”

“There is no love story between Finnick and I,” Malia tells her. “I mean, come on, his confession was clearly an act. It was nothing more than some cruel joke Annie gave him as his mentor.”

“What makes you say that?” Jake asks.

“Because she knows I’m in love with him,” Malia replies.

“You’ve been at war with Annie Cresta ever since she won and began to show interest in Finnick,” Celeste tells her. “It’s been five years since she won, he’s turned her down countless times. She never stood a chance against you.”

“Are you saying he actually loves me?” Malia asks. “That his feelings are his own and not something people have been telling him to feel?”

“I can’t speak for him,” Celeste says.

“I can–” Jake began.

“Shush,” Celeste tells him before turning her attention back towards Malia. “I’ve had my fair share of seeing a lot of tributes. I’ve seen their mannerisms and their actions around certain people. Once you’ve been around long enough you’re able to tell what’s real and what’s fake .”

“How old are you anyways?” Jake asks, earning a glare from Celeste.

“Everything that came out of that boy’s mouth,” Celeste continues, turning back to Malia. “Was the most genuine thing I’ve ever seen in years. The Capitol knows you’re angry, Malia. Use it. Finnick’s done his part by allying with Katniss, you need to do yours. The plan was to stop the Games. That failed. Now, it’s survival of the fittest from here on out. Now get some sleep.”

Celeste stands up and leaves. 

“I can’t sleep,” Malia says, looking over at Jake. “With everything going on, everytime I close my eyes, I see his face.”

“Whatever happens tomorrow,” Jake says. “Cal would be proud. You’re Malia Wells. You’ve got this. Just remember, this is a Quarter Quell. I’ve done all I can to get you sponsors. You’re on your own, tomorrow. Everything you do in that arena decides sponsorships. So make them count. You’ll kick ass, I know you will. So stay alive. Get to Finnick as soon as you can, he’s the only one you can trust. And if this plan works, neither one of us will have to watch another loved one die.”

“I won’t let you down, Jake,” Malia tells him. “Thank you.”

Jake nods at her before standing up and disappearing in his room. 

Malia walked into her quarters, her hand running through her hair as she flopped down on her bed. What was she going to do? Everything was so overwhelming. The high expectations. Finnick’s live confession. Annie telling her that she had given Finnick the task to confess out of pure enjoyment. She wanted to scream.

A stone hits her window and she sits up with an eyebrow raised. She’s about to lay back down when another stone makes contact with her window. Malia reaches under her pillow and pulls out a knife as she walks to the window and opens it before peeking out.

“Hey asshole— Finnick!?” Malia exclaims, peeking behind her to make sure her door was still closed before she looked back down at him. “What the fuck are you doing here? If Gloss sees you—”

“I just told the entirety of Panem that I’m in love with my best friend of nine years and that’s all you have to say to me?” Finnick asks.

“Sorry, but that still doesn’t answer my question,” Malia tells him, crossing her arms. 

“We have dinner plans, remember?” Finnick says. He steps back and twirls, showing off the suit he put on.

“You mean that’s still a thing this year?” Malia asks.

“Just because we’re tributes this year and not mentors doesn’t mean we don’t deserve our traditional night out in the Capitol eating dinner,” Finnick tells her. “What do you say? For old time’s sake?”

Malia smiles. “Let me change.”

She closes the window before walking over to her bedside table and removing the lid off of the butterfly jewelry box. She moves to her closet and grabs the black dress Emery gave her as a good luck present. She leans down and picks up a pair of black heels before stepping into the bathroom to change.

She wipes her face and pins her hair back before stepping out of the bathroom. The pair of heels were being held in her hands as she opened the window again to peek out. 

“I’ll be right down,” Malia tells him.

“Just jump,” Finnick tells her.

“What?” Malia asks. “You’re insane.”

“You’re not that high up,” Finnick responds. “I’ll catch you, I promise.”

“Finnick,” Malia protests.

Malia hesitated at the open window, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew it wasn’t a very tall drop, but the idea of jumping out into the Capitol’s strange, extravagant streets was nerve-wracking.

Finnick’s eyes, filled with anticipation, met hers, and he stretched his arms out toward her.

“Just jump, I got you,” He reassured her.

Taking a deep breath, Malia nodded and gingerly stepped onto the windowsill. With a mix of anxiety and excitement, she leaped into the night air. Her descent was swift, and she felt herself being caught in Finnick’s arms, just as he had promised.

However, as she landed in his embrace, a sudden jolt caused her to lose her balance. Her knee collided with Finnick’s chest, and her elbow accidentally hit his face. There was a sharp intake of breath, and she realized she had unintentionally struck him.

“Are you okay?” Malia asked, her voice trembling with concern, ushering him to set her down on the ground. She feels her feet touch the cold pavement and she turns around to look at him.

Finnick winced and touched his lip, feeling a warm trickle of blood.

“I’m fine,” He managed to say, though it was clear that he was in pain.

Malia quickly guided him to sit down on the sidewalk. She knelt beside him, her eyes filled with worry, and gently took his chin in her hand to inspect the injury. His lip was cut, and blood was smeared across his skin.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Malia reached into her bag and pulled out a small first aid kit. She silently praised herself for her foresight in bringing it along. With delicate fingers, she cleaned the wound with an alcohol pad, trying to be as gentle as possible. Finnick winced a few times, but he didn’t complain.

“I’m so sorry,” Malia said softly as she continued to dab at the cut. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s alright, Mal,” Finnick managed a weak smile. “Accidents happen.”

After cleaning the wound, Malia carefully applied an adhesive bandage to his lip. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it would stop the bleeding for now. She looked up into his eyes, her expression a mix of relief and apology.

“There,” She said. “All patched up.”

“Thanks,” Finnick nodded and touched his newly bandaged lip. 

Malia nodded in response, using the silence to slip on her heels before Finnick quickly stood up. He stood in front of her, his hands stretched out in front of him and Malia took them as she’s raised to her feet. 

“Shall we?” Finnick asks, holding out his arm.

“We shall,” Malia replies, hooking her arm through his. 

Finnick leads the way further into the Capitol, stopping once he’s outside a familiar restaurant. 

“The Nebula Nook?” Malia asks, chuckling slightly.

“What?” Finnick smiles. “They have amazing food.”

Finnick unhooks his arm from Malia’s before opening the door and bowing. 

“After you m’lady,” Finnick says.

“Why thank you,” Malia laughs, walking inside and Finnick follows after her. 

“Malia!” Ophelia exclaims, waving at her. “And Finnick, oh my god!”

Ophelia grabs two menus before rushing over. 

“Cass will be so stoked you’re here,” Ophelia says. “Come with me!”

Malia absentmindedly slides her hand into Finnick’s and he smiles slightly. He gives her hand a gentle squeeze before following Ophelia, Malia behind him hand-in-hand. 

Ophelia leads them to the back room and sets their menus down at an empty table. Finnick pulls out Malia’s chair and she sits down. 

“Thank you,” Malia tells him.

Finnick flashes her a smile before sitting across from her.

“You two are so cute,” Ophelia says, clasping her hands together. “I’m not normally a fan of straight couples but you two are definitely the exception.”

“Oh, we’re not–” Malia began. 

“This isn’t a date?” Ophelia asks.

“Afraid not,” Finnick replies. “Just a traditional dinner we have every year.”

“Well,” Ophelia says. “This is awkward. I’m going to go get Cass.”

Ophelia leaves and Malia chuckles slightly to herself. 

“What?” Finnick asks. 

“Nothing,” Malia replies. “It’s just… something about this dinner feels different than our others.”

“Is it the restaurant?” Finnick asks. “Because if you’re uncomfortable we can go to the one we went to last year.”

“No,” Malia says. “It’s not the restaurant. In fact, I love this restaurant. Cassiopeia and Ophelia are doing great. You should be proud.”

“I am,” Finnick responds. 

“I just feel like things are going to be awkward between us,” Malia says. 

“And why’s that?” Finnick asked.

“Well, for starters, I busted your lip,” Malia replies. “And we practically know everything about each other. What could we possibly talk about at this dinner?”

“You know what,” Finnick says.

“What?”

“I’m going to ask you a question,” Finnick tells her, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table, his chin resting on his enclosed fists. “Something that I’ve always wanted to know more about.”

“Okay, shoot,” Malia says, mimicking his pose.

“When we first met,” Finnick begins. “You were introduced as a big fan of my Games.”

“Correct,” Malia confirms.

“Was that just to boost my ego or was that actually true?” Finnick asks.

“That was actually true,” Malia replies.

“What?” Finnick asks, laughing slightly.

The door opens again and Cassiopeia walks in.

“Holy shit,” Cassiopeia laughs, rushing over and giving them both hugs.

“Where are the others?” Cassiopeia asks. 

“Oh, it’s just us two,” Malia replies.

Cassiopeia turns towards Finnick and gives him a smile.

“No, no, no,” Finnick tells her. “It’s not a date.”

“Oh come on!” Cassiopeia exclaims. 

“It’s just a friendly dinner,” Finnick says.

“Yeah, okay,” Cassiopeia says, reaching into her back pocket and pulling out her notepad. “ Friendly.”

“What happened to your lip?” Cassiopeia asks.

“Oh, you should see the other guy,” Finnick replies, leaning back in his chair as Malia snickers. “Such a sight.”

“What can I get for you guys?” Cassiopeia asks, chuckling as she clicks her pen.

“I’ll take the same thing I got last time,” Malia tells her. 

“Gotta eat well,” Cassiopeia chuckles. “With the arena in the morning and everything.”

“Yeah,” Malia says, handing her the menu.

“And what about you, Finnick?” Cassiopeia asks, scribbling down Malia’s order. 

“I’ll try the number seven this time,” Finnick says, closing the menu and handing it over to her. 

Cassiopeia takes the menu from him and smiles as she scribbles down his order. 

“Right, well,” Cassiopeia says. “I’ll make sure this gets to the chef and you two enjoy your friendly dinner.”

The door opens and then closes after Cassiopeia leaves and Finnick looks back at Malia.

“Please continue,” Finnick tells her. “I’m quite curious.”

Malia leans her head back as she lets out a soft chuckle before tapping her fingers on the table. 

“My father was always a huge fan of the Games,” Malia says. “He basically worshipped them. I had a general understanding of what they were– I had seen some clips of it being broadcasted live from time to time. I’ve never actually seen a Hunger Games start to finish. But I was desperate for my father’s love– you know, growing up in an abusive household always has you wondering if you’re the problem. You’re not, but enough psychological warfare and a couple beatings will have you convinced you are.”

“Malia–” Finnick says, protesting slightly. He didn’t want to pressure her into bringing up her abusive past but Malia shook her head so he stopped himself.

“So when I was eight years old, I had this plan to volunteer for the Hunger Games when I turned sixteen,” Malia continues. “I trained my ass off for years, never saw any Game. Sure, I heard about twins being in the Games but I only ever had one goal.”

“To win your father’s love,” Finnick says.

“Yes,” Malia replied. “But on the morning of the 65th Hunger Games, my father had gotten into an altercation with a Peacekeeper and drunk himself into a stupor that night. Didn’t really give a shit about the Games, said he didn’t care about who would win so he’d pass out on the couch with the Game still on. I’m pretty sure you were my first crush.”

“Me?” Finnick asks, a small grin appearing on his face. “I’m honored.”

“I sat at the bottom of the staircase and watched as the gong sounded,” Malia continues. “And I watched you run into that Cornucopia and grab supplies. I was fixated on the screen for days, never leaving the staircase unless it was to eat or drink. Your Games weren’t only my favorite– but they were my first Games that I watched from start to finish. Your Games was the one my father wasn’t obsessed with— so it felt right to love it.”

“Malia,” Finnick says, reaching across the table and grabbing a hold of her hand. 

“Don’t,” Malia tells him, pulling her hand free from his before standing up and rushing out the door. 

“Malia!” Finnick calls out after her. 

Ophelia stood in the doorway, two glasses in hand as she looked at him.

“Trouble in paradise?” Ophelia asks.

“I’m sorry,” Finnick says, scooting his chair out and rushing after Malia. “Malia!”

He finally catches up to her outside the Tribute Center.

“Malia, wait!” Finnick calls out, draping his suit jacket over her shoulders. “You’re going to catch a cold.”

“Finnick, I can’t do this,” Malia tells him. “Not with you.”

“Do what?” Finnick asks, reaching out to grab her hand to stop her from walking any further. “You’ve been acting weird the entire night, can we at least talk?”

Malia rips her arm free from him and spins around to face him.

“What are we?” Malia asks, breathing heavily. “Friends? Best friends? Lovers? Cause I don’t know anymore.”

Finnick seems taken aback.

“I thought I knew, but then you go on live television and tell the entirety of Panem that you’re in love with me?” Malia says, anger in her voice. “And for what? Some cruel joke from Annie?”

“Cruel joke?” Finnick asks, the features on his face turning into that of pure confusion. “Mal, that’s not what that was. Whatever Annie told you–”

“-- She told me enough,” Malia retorts, cutting him off. “Now, I don’t know how you both found out that I was in love with you, but it’s not funny.”

“ Was?” Finnick asks. “You mean, you’re not anymore?”

“I don’t know,” Malia replies. “I closed off love for so long that I’ve forgotten what it feels like. But what I feel for you… it’s something.”

Finnick steps closer to her, their bodies merely a foot apart.

“Do you trust me?” Finnick asks her.

“More than anything,” Malia replies.

“So believe me when I say that none of that was a joke,” Finnick tells her. “Annie didn’t put me up to it and neither did Jake. I said what I said because I wanted to.”

“Why?” Malia asks.

“You mean the world to me, Mal,” Finnick says, lifting his hand to stroke her cheek. “And you always have. That hasn’t changed. I never made a move on you until now because I didn’t want to scare you.”

Malia bites her lip slightly as Finnick stares directly into her eyes.

“I thought that if I could just wait it out that my feelings would disappear,” Finnick tells her. “But the more time I spent with you, the more I fell in love with you day by day.”

He watches as Malia closes her eyes, nuzzling her cheek into the warmth of his hand before he continues.

“I understand that you’re scared to love after Cal was killed. But I don’t have a problem waiting until you’re ready. Because you deserve someone who loves you like you’re his everything. I’ve waited for you for nine years, what’s a few more?”

Malia’s heart pounded in her chest as she stood there, inches away from Finnick. His confession had left her breathless and confused, and in that moment, her emotions swirled like a whirlwind. She had known Finnick for years, but she had never truly allowed herself to fully accept that he felt the same way about her.

As she gazed into his eyes, all the uncertainty and fear that had been plaguing her seemed to fade away. She found herself drawn to him, her feelings for him stronger and more real than ever before. Slowly, almost unconsciously, she leaned in closer, her lips inching towards his. The world around them faded into insignificance, and for that fleeting moment, it was just the two of them.

“Oh please don’t start kissing,” Jake gags. “I came out here to chuck this water balloon at Haymitch, but now I’m kind of tempted to throw it at you.”

Malia jerked back in shock, her eyes widening as she turned to see Jake standing there, a mix of surprise and concern etched across his face. She had no idea how long he had been standing there, watching the tender exchange between her and Finnick.

“Jake!” Malia stammered, her face flushed with embarrassment and caught completely off guard. She took a step back from Finnick, trying to regain her composure. Her heart raced, and she fumbled for words, her thoughts in disarray.

Finnick looked taken aback by the sudden interruption. He quickly stepped away from Malia, his expression a mix of frustration and disappointment.

“How long have you been standing there?” Malia asks.

Jake cleared his throat, his gaze darting between Malia and Finnick.

“Too long,” He responds.

“I’ll see you in a few hours,” Finnick whispers to Malia, before rushing inside the Tribute Center to escape the awkward interaction.

“This close,” Malia says, pinching her fingers and holding it out in front of Jake to see. “I was this close.”

“Oh so it’s my fault your lips can’t work faster?” Jake snorts.

Malia glares at him slightly before walking inside the Tribute Center. 

“I honestly don’t think you should be kissing at such a young age,” Jake jokingly tells her, following after her.

“I’m twenty-four,” Malia responds. “I can kiss whoever I please.”

“Except you haven’t,” Jake tells her.

“Yeah, because everytime I allow myself to initiate it first, someone always interrupts!” Malia exclaims. 

Malia steps inside the apartment complex and kicks off her heels and Jake walks in after her, closing the door. 

“A word of advice?” Jake says. 

Malia unpins her hair and takes off Finnick’s suit jacket. 

“Tell the boy you love him,” Jake tells her.

“I’ve been trying that,” Malia states. “But like I’ve said–”

“--No, you’ve been trying to kiss him,” Jake corrects her. “There’s a difference.”

“There is?” Malia asks.

“Look, this whole romance thing is not my thing,” Jake says. “You know that. But even I know that kissing someone and telling someone you love them doesn’t mean the same thing. You can kiss a person and it could mean absolutely nothing. But telling them you love them? That makes things real.” 

“I’ve watched him be in love with you for nine years,” Jake continues. “So either, face your fears and tell him you love him or let him down easy so he can move on.”

Malia nods slightly before patting Jake’s shoulder.

“Goodnight Jake,” Malia says, walking towards her room.

The moment Malia is settled back in her room, she sighs as she sits down on her bed. She loved Finnick, that was the one thing she knew for certain. But for some reason she couldn’t find the right words to tell him.

The entire time he was talking to her outside, Malia was trying not to tell him she loves him. Not because she didn’t love him. But fear taking over because she did. That same fear took over at the thought of losing him.

She tried to choke down those feelings, and she was trembling. But then Finnick reached over and touched her, like a prayer for which no words existed. Her heart had taken root in her body as she began to feel something she didn’t think she’d ever feel again.

Malia picked up one of her pillows before laying it over her face to muffle her screams. She hated Jake for being so right. 

Malia pushes herself off her bed and walks over to her dresser, pulling out a pair of pajamas before entering the bathroom to change into them. 

When she left the bathroom, she put the lid back on her jewelry box before crawling into bed, pulling the comforter over her body as she stared at the ceiling. 

But the more time I spent with you, the more I fell in love with you day by day.

Finnick’s words rattled through her brain and she shifted onto her side and closed her eyes. She had to at least try to get some sleep. 

Jake sat in the dimly lit kitchen, a steaming mug of cocoa cradled between his hands. He could hear the soft creak of footsteps echoing through the hallway, growing closer with each passing second.

As the familiar figure of Finnick drew near, Jake’s lips curled into a wry smile. He had suspected that his friend wouldn’t give up so easily, but he hadn’t expected the audacity of this midnight rendezvous.

Malia’s bedroom door was just a few feet away from where Jake sat, and he had a clear view of the entrance to the hallway. The darkness cloaked him, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he watched Finnick’s attempts to be sneaky.

Finnick, moving with practiced stealth, inched closer to Malia’s room, taking each step with deliberate care. He looked like a shadow on a covert mission.

As Finnick reaches the door, Jake clears his throat, causing Finnick to nearly jump out of his skin. Finnick glanced back to see Jake sitting in the kitchen, cocoa in hand, his expression a curious mix of amusement and nonchalance.

Their eyes locked, and for a moment, an unspoken understanding passed between them. Jake sighed audibly, raising one eyebrow, and then extended a hand to pat Finnick on the shoulder.

“Leave room for Jesus, mate,” He quipped, taking a leisurely sip of his cocoa.

Finnick’s cheeks flushed, caught red-handed and unable to conceal the embarrassment that colored his face.

He chuckled softly, sheepishly, realizing that his stealth mission had been anything but covert.

“Right, right,” Finnick mumbled, feeling a bit like a teenager caught sneaking out of the house.

Jake offered a reassuring grin and then returned his attention to his cocoa, leaving Finnick to ponder the situation. The tension in the air slowly dissipated and as Finnick retreated from the door, he gave Jake an appreciative nod before knocking softly on Malia’s door.

With a shake of his head, Jake couldn’t help but chuckle at the younger man’s determination.

“Kids these days,” He mused to himself, taking another sip of cocoa, then deciding it was time to head back to his own room. Jake sets his mug in the sink before walking past Finnick and disappearing into his own room.

Malia’s heart raced as she heard the soft knock on her bedroom door. In the darkness, she assumed it was Jake, and with a hint of caution, she opened the door. To her surprise, it was Finnick, his eyes reflecting a mixture of hope and apprehension.

“Can I come in?” He whispered, and she stepped aside to let him in, her mind filled with a mix of emotions.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Malia began, closing the door. “We have to go into the arena tomorrow.”

Finnick met her eyes, his gaze unwavering.

“Yes, but I can’t sleep,” He admitted, his voice barely louder than a breath. 

“Neither can I,” She confessed in return.

Finnick took a deep breath, his voice barely audible.

“Would you mind if I stay the night? I just can’t sleep unless... I’m next to you.”

Malia hesitated, contemplating the risks and the consequences.

 “I’ll be gone before Emery comes to take you to the hovercraft,” Finnick assured her, sensing her reluctance.

With a resigned sigh, she finally relented.

“Fine,” Malia whispered. 

They both crawled into her bed, the closeness of their bodies bringing comfort and warmth that was so desperately needed. Finnick pulled her close, and in the darkness, they both found a sense of peace that had been missing for so long.

After what seemed like hours, Malia opened her mouth to speak, to tell Finnick how she felt, but before the words could escape her lips, she noticed the soft snores coming from him. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she gazed at his bandaged lip and she gently laid her head on Finnick’s chest, her fingers tracing the contours of his scars.

In the stillness of the night, she finally let go of her biggest fear.

“I love you, Finnick O’Dair.”

Chapter Text

The soft tendrils of dawn’s light began to creep through the window, casting a gentle glow over the room. Finnick laid in bed, his arms wrapped around Malia, watching her sleep with an adoration that seemed to grow with every passing moment. He couldn’t help but marvel at the peaceful expression on her face, even in the midst of the horrors that awaited them in the arena.

As he brushed a strand of hair away from her face, a small, hesitant knock came from the bedroom door. Jake stood in the doorway, a solemn look in his eyes as he watched the two of them entwined in each other’s arms. He knew he had to be the one to give them a reality check.

“Finnick,” Jake said quietly. “It’s time for you to go. Your stylist is going to be in your apartment soon to take you to the hovercraft.”

Finnick nodded reluctantly, his gaze never leaving Malia. He wished for more time, for moments to last longer, but the Games cared little for such desires. With great care, he began to extricate himself from Malia’s embrace, moving so gingerly that he barely disturbed her.

As he managed to sit up on the edge of the bed, Malia stirred and her eyes fluttered open. Her voice, still heavy with sleep, carried a note of disappointment.

“Is it time?”

Finnick met her gaze with a mix of tenderness and determination.

“Yeah, it is,” He whispered, caressing her cheek gently. “But I’ll see you soon.”

He reluctantly pulled away, leaving the warmth of the bed and her embrace behind. Jake quietly waited by the door, knowing that this was one of the hardest parts of the Games. Malia watched him go with a mix of longing and anxiety, her heart heavy with the knowledge that they were both headed back into the brutal arena.

With one last lingering look, Finnick left the room, his footsteps soft and almost reluctant. Malia pushed herself up, wiping the sleep out of her eyes as Jake walked over, stopping at the edge of the bed.

“You ready?” Jake asks her.

“Not really,” Malia replies, rubbing the back of her neck. 

“Well, you don’t really have a choice,” Jake tells her. “Up up up!”

Malia groans and flops back down on the bed. 

Jake sighs and places his hands on his hips.

“Well, I didn’t want to have to do this,” Jake says. 

“Do what?” Malia asked.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” Jake tells her.

“What’s the hard way?” Malia asks.

“It’s… harder than the easy way,” Jake replies. “Definitely harder.”

Malia chuckles and rolls her eyes.

“Alright, hard way it is,” Jake says, throwing Malia over his shoulder and leaving her room.

Malia sighs and just dangles over his shoulder, she didn’t feel like fighting him.

Jake drops her down onto the couch just as the front door swings open. 

Emery walks inside and claps his hands. 

“Let’s get to work!” He exclaims and the Triple X team rushes over towards Malia. They pull her off the couch and usher her into a bathroom where they hand her the arena uniform.

“A wet suit?” Malia asks.

Xelda just shoos her away, urging her to hurry up and change into it.

Once Malia steps out dressed, Xanthe steps forward and quickly fixes Malia’s hair to look presentable. Once done, the team ushers her out and Emery clasps his hands together. 

“We must hurry if we plan to make it to the hovercraft on time,” Emery says. 

“Wait,” Malia says, rushing over to Jake and pulling him into a hug. “You take care of yourself, okay? I’ll see you in a few days.”

Jake nods as he hugs back. 

“Stay alive,” Jake tells her.

“Oh come on, you know me,” Malia smiles. “I don’t go down easily.”

Malia pulls away before following Emery to the elevator. 

“Any idea on what the arena is?” Malia asks.

“Your suit is light,” Emery replies. “No thermal.”

“So like a desert,” Malia responds. “Or a tropical arena.”

“Possibly,” Emery says, gently laying his hand on her lower back as he gently nudges her forward out the elevator. They step onto the hovercraft and sit down. 

“Arm,” a Peacekeeper demands, holding out their hand.

Malia hesitates slightly before placing her arm in their hand.

The hovercraft takes off and the Peacekeeper picks up a syringe device. 

“Tracker is going in,” the Peacekeeper announces, inserting the syringe into Malia’s arm. The Peacekeeper presses a button and a tracking device shoots out of the syringe and into Malia’s arm.

“Tracker is in,” the Peacekeeper says, setting the device down before walking away.

Malia rubs her arm slightly. She forgot how much she hated needles.

After a few minutes, the hovercraft lands and Malia and Emery rushes out before being placed into a room. 

“Alright, jacket off,” Emery says, holding out his hand.

“Emery, I don’t think I can do this,” Malia tells him, unzipping her jacket and handing it to him. 

Emery takes it from her and holds it under his arm. He messes with her hair slightly before grasping her shoulders. 

“It’s just like any other Games,” Emery tells her reassuringly. “Just remember, sometimes you’re the cat. And sometimes you’re the mouse.”

“Except in these Games, you’re both,” Malia states.

“Do you have your tribute token?” Emery asks.

Malia reaches beneath her wet suit and shows Emery the necklace Finnick gave her. 

“Good,” Emery says, taking it in his hands and inspecting it close up. “Finnick’s necklace might just save your life in there, I have a feeling.”

“What if I put my trust into the Careers and it ends up being a Lucius and Cleo ordeal all over again?” Malia asks.

“Then don’t give them your trust,” Emery replies. “If you don’t think they’re worthy of it, don’t give it to them. I know you’re feeling nervous right now but you’ve got this.”

“Emery–” Malia began.

“Look, I’ve been your stylist since you were fifteen years old,” Emery tells her. “I’ve watched you grow into this remarkable young woman you are today. If anyone is capable of getting out of that arena alive, it’s you. And because of that, you are not allowed to die on me.”

“Thirty seconds until launch,” A voice announces. 

Emery ushers Malia onto the platform. 

“You’re going to kick ass, Malia Wells,” Emery tells her. “I’ll see you when all this is over.”

“Stay safe, Emery,” Malia replies, her voice a little shaky.

“Can’t make any promises,” Emery chuckles. “Someone’s gotta keep Jake out of trouble while you’re gone.”

A glass tube closed in around Malia and Emery watches her with a smile on his face and he gives her a thumbs up.

Malia takes a deep breath and grasps the necklace around her neck. She didn’t have a tribute token the first time she went into the Games. But she was happy to have one this time around, it meant a lot to her that Finnick entrusted her with such an important necklace.

Malia gently tucked the necklace underneath her wetsuit and she gave a nod to Emery as her platform slowly began to rise.

“Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games begin!” The voice of Claudius Templesmith, the Hunger Games announcer, hammers in Malia’s ears. She has less than a minute to get her bearings. Then the gong will sound and the tributes will be free to move off their metal plates. 

Where are you? Malia finds herself searching. 

She can still make no sense of her surroundings.

Where are you?! She demands an answer from herself and slowly the world comes into focus. 

Blue water.

Pink sky.

White hot sun beating down. 

The Cornucopia, the shining gold metal horn, was about forty yards away. At first, it appears to be sitting on a circular island. But on closer examination, Malia can see the thin strips of land radiating from the circle like the spokes on a wheel. She can see there are ten to twelve, and they seem equidistant from one another. Between the spokes, all is water.

Water and a pair of tributes. 

There are no boats, no ropes, not even a bit of driftwood to cling to.

No, there’s only one way to get to the Cornucopia.

Malia was relieved that she had taken Finnick up on swimming lessons all those years ago.

She continues looking around, her eyes searching until they land on a familiar face, waiting for the gong to sound so he could dive right in.

Finnick.

“There you are…” Malia mutters quietly, a smile lighting up on her face. “Oh god, I hate it here already.”

 When the gong sounds, Malia doesn’t even hesitate before she dives into the water and starts swimming. She pulls herself up, dripping, onto the land strip and sprints down the sandy stretch for the Cornucopia. She can’t see anyone else converging from her side, although the gold horn blocks a good portion of her view. 

Last year, the supplies were spread out quite a distance around the Cornucopia, with the most valuable closest to the horn. But this year, the supplies seemed to be piled at the twenty foot-high mouth.

Malia’s eyes instantly home in on a pair of sais laying on a crate just in arm’s reach and she yanks them free. She ducks down to avoid an attack from Seeder– the district eleven female– only to rise up mere seconds later and thrust one of her sais through the woman’s abdomen.

She watches as Seeder crumbles to the floor, blood spilling out of her mouth and a cannon sounds. Malia rushes further into the Cornucopia and snatches up a pack full of throwing knives and clips it around her waist. 

She rushes out the Cornucopia just in time to see Katniss pointing an arrow at Finnick. Freeing a knife from her pack she readies it in case Finnick couldn’t flatter his way out of being shot through the heart.

Malia wasn’t allies with Finnick– but she’d be damned to let him die so early on in the Games by someone like Katniss. She wouldn’t kill her– that would ruin the entire plan that half the tributes were willing to die for. No, she’d only injure her slightly so Finnick could get away.

Finnick gives Malia a nod— a subtle gesture to let her know he has things handled and she hesitates before running off. 

“Good thing we’re allies, right?” Finnick asks, holding up his hand to show off a gold bangle. 

“Where did you get that?” Katniss asks, an arrow still poised at his heart. 

“Where do you think?” Finnick responds, giving her a slight smirk. “Duck.”

His trident goes whizzing over Katniss’ head and there’s a sickening sound of impact as it finds its target. The man from district five sinks to his knees as Finnick frees the trident from his chest. 

“Don’t trust two,” Finnick tells Katniss, holding his trident tightly in his grip. “Gloss is lethal– stay clear from him and only trust Malia. I’ll take this side and you hold them off. I’ll go find Peeta.”

Malia rushes over to the other side of the Cornucopia– throwing a knife into the heart of the district six male and grabbing a hold of Gloss’ arm to pull him out of the water as the cannon sounds. 

“What took forever?” Gloss asks, immediately picking up a giant knife off a crate. 

“It’s called avoiding being stabbed, maybe if you didn’t hide in the water you would know,” Malia replies. “Do what you need to do, I’ll find Enobaria and Brutus.”

“No need,” Brutus says from behind, laying a pack down at his feet.

Another cannon goes off as the district ten female falls to the floor in front of Enobaria. The district eight female– the one Malia knew as Cecelia– stabs Enobaria in the back with a knife but immediately regrets her decision when Enobaria turns around and rips Cecelia’s throat out with her teeth and a cannon sounds.

“Is that everyone?” Gloss asks, returning back to the group with a bloody knife. Two more cannons went off and Malia looked around. 

“Most of the tributes fled to the jungle,” Malia responds, sais poised as she walks further along the Cornucopia. 

“What about O’Dair?” Gloss asks as Malia catches sight of Finnick pulling Peeta out of the water. 

“He’s fled too,” Malia replied, her eyes making contact with Finnick’s green ones. He gives her a slight nod and she nods back before walking back around the Cornucopia where the Careers stood. “It’s just us here.”

She barely looks over in time to see Finnick disappear in the treeline of the jungle with Katniss, Peeta, and Mags in tow. 

Finnick stops walking the moment he puts a good enough distance between himself and the Cornucopia. He helps Mags step carefully onto the ground, making sure she doesn’t trip before crouching down to look at both Peeta and Katniss. 

“God, it’s hot,” Peeta says, panting. “We gotta find fresh water.”

Three more cannons go off and Finnick chuckles. 

“Well, I guess we’re not holding hands anymore,” He says, panting slightly before chuckling some more. 

“You think that’s funny?” Katniss asks, disgust clearly written all over her face as she looks at him. 

“Every time that cannon goes off, it’s music to my ears,” Finnick tells her, pointing at the sky. “I don’t care about any of them.”

“And what if one of those cannons were Malia?” Peeta asks. “Would it be music to your ears then?”

“What are you trying to say?” Finnick asks.

“You said Malia was the only Career I could trust,” Katniss replies. “Why would I trust a Career?”

“Because he’s in love with her,” Peeta says. “Haymitch mentioned that Malia was one of his weaknesses, remember? Now we know why. That interview confession was about her.”

“Who I profess my undying love to is my business,” Finnick states. “But if you must know, then yeah, it was Malia. She won’t kill us if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not worried,” Katniss says.

“And why’s that?” Finnick asks.

“Because I’ll kill her first,” Katniss replies. “I killed three Careers last year, Malia won’t be any different.”

“You want to face Malia Wells alone?” Finnick asks, chuckling. “Need I remind you that Malia broke a Hunger Games record for longest kill. It’s why she’s the Cutthroat Queen. She carved up a tribute the last time she was in an arena– when the tribute was sent home in a casket not even her own family could recognize her. Malia can be your best friend or your worst nightmare. If you face her alone, then you better hope she goes easy on you or she’ll turn your face into a bloody canvas for her knives.”

“And that’s the person you want me to trust?” Katniss asks.

“What can I say?” Finnick laughs. “I’ve known her for nine years. She has a soft spot for me.”

“But she doesn’t love you,” Peeta states. “I mean, if she did she’d be here in this alliance but she’s out there somewhere with the Careers.”

“I’m very confident in my views on how well Malia feels about me,” Finnick responds. “She’s not in this alliance because I refused to ally with the Careers. I don’t trust any of them. Except Malia. I trust her with my life.”

“You won’t be saying that when she puts a knife into your heart,” Katniss says, pulling the machete off her back and handing it to Peeta. 

“I don’t know what your problem with Malia is but you have no right to judge her when you don’t even know her,” Finnick tells her. “In fact–”

“Let’s just get moving,” Peeta interrupts. A quick but efficient attempt at changing the subject. 

“Come on, Mags,” Finnick says, slightly glaring at Katniss as he helps Mags onto his back before standing up.

Malia sets the last pack of supplies down on the ground before plopping down on a metal crate and running a hand through her damp hair.  Almost as if it was a sixth sense, her hands flew up just in time to catch a water bottle that was tossed at her. 

“Drink up, Jake would kill me if you died of dehydration,” Gloss tells her and she nods before downing the water. 

Enobaria sits on a crate next to Malia and looks around at the surrounding area of the jungle. 

“How many tributes are left?” Brutus asks, crossing his arms as he leans against the Cornucopia. 

“Sixteen,” Malia replies before anyone else could start counting. She points at the dead bodies surrounding the Cornucopia– counting them off as she pointed. 

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8

“Which leaves the four of us,” Malia says, gesturing towards the group. “As well as Wiress and Beetee, Finnick and Mags, the female from five, the female from six, Johanna and Blight, Jackson, Chaff, and of course Peeta and Katniss.”

“First chance we get we go after O’Dair,” Brutus says. “Neither of us have a chance at winning with the Capitol’s Prince running around.”

“He has the Girl on Fire in his alliance– you sure that’s a smart idea?” Malia asks.

“Why are you so urgent to defend O’Dair?” Enobaria asks. 

“I’m not defending him,” Malia replies. “I’m just saying– Katniss killed all of our Mentees last year. She shot Marvel, dropped a Tracker Jacker nest on Glimmer, indirectly had Clove’s head bashed into the Cornucopia and had Cato mauled to death by Mutts. She’s more than capable of killing all of us.”

“The Careers last year had no idea what they were doing,” Gloss responds. “We’ve won these Games before. We’re experienced killers.”

“You know what I think?” Enobaria asks, standing up slowly. “I think you’ve made a second alliance with O’Dair.”

“What?” Malia asks. “Enobaria you can’t seriously be accusing me of being a traitor to the Career alliance.”

Enobaria picks up a knife before shoving Malia against the Cornucopia and places a knife to her throat. 

“That’s exactly what I’m accusing you of,” Enobaria sneers, baring her teeth.

“Enobaria, let her go,” Gloss tells her. He goes to pull Enobaria away but Brutus puts a hand on his chest to stop him. 

“I want to see how this plays out,” Brutus chuckles. 

Malia brings her leg up and knees Enobaria in the stomach. When Enobaria stumbles back, Malia snatches the knife from her hand and pushes Enobaria up against the Cornucopia– knife to throat. 

“I have been nothing but loyal to this alliance since the day I was reaped,” Malia says, pressing the blade further into Enobaria’s skin enough to draw a bit of blood. “I was loyal to the Careers back when I was fifteen– I’m loyal to them now. Sure, I might be friends with Finnick. But I know where my loyalties lie and I have no problem with cutting up another bitch– ally or not.”

“Seems I misjudged you,” Enobaria says and Malia steps back, releasing Enobaria.

“Don’t make that mistake again,” Malia tells her, putting the knife into her belt and picking up her sais and walking away from the group and towards the far side of the Cornucopia. 

“I’d keep an eye on her if I were you,” Enobaria tells Gloss, wiping the blood off her neck with the sleeve of her wetsuit. 

“Malia swore off on guys the moment Cal’s cannon went off in her Games,” Gloss replies. “I reassure you, Finnick O’Dair is no threat to Malia’s loyalty to the Career Pack.”

Malia approaches the group once more and picks up a pack. “The hovercrafts have to pick up the dead bodies, we have to switch locations and set up camp somewhere.”

“Alright, let’s go,” Gloss responds.

Chapter Text

The absence of water intensifies the alliance’s thirst. Katniss continued to keep a sharp eye as they continued to trek upward, but they still had no luck trying to find a water source. After about another mile, they can see an end to the tree line and they assume they’re reaching the crest of the hill.

“Maybe we’ll have better luck on the other side,” Finnick says. “Find a spring or something.”

But there is no other side.

Katniss notices before anyone else, even though she’s the furthest from the top. Her eyes catch on a funny, rippling square hanging like a warped pane of glass in the air. At first she thought it was the glare from the sun or the heat shimmering up off the ground. But it’s fixed in space, not shifting when anyone moves. 

And that’s when she connected the square with Wiress and Beetee in the Training Center and realized what lies before them. 

“PEETA NO!” Katniss cries out. But her warning barely left her lips when Peeta’s knife swung out to slash away some vines. 

There’s a sharp zapping sound and the trees are gone and an open space over a short stretch of bare earth. And then Peeta’s flung backwards from the force field, bringing Finnick and Mags to the ground. 

Katniss rushes over to where Peeta lies, motionless in a web of vines. 

“Peeta?” 

There’s a faint smell of singed hair. 

“Peeta?” Katniss calls his name again, giving him a little shake, but he’s unresponsive. Her fingers fumble across his lips, where there’s no warm breath, even though moments ago he was panting.

Katniss presses her ear against his chest, to the spot where she always rested her head, where she knew she’d hear the strong and steady heartbeat of his heart.

Instead, she finds silence.

“Peeta!” Katniss screams, shaking him harder. She even resorted to slapping his face, but it’s no use. His heart has failed. “Peeta!” 

“Get a cannon ready,” Plutarch says, diverting his attention from the screen to the Gamemakers behind him. “On my command.”

Finnick props Mags against a tree and pushes Katniss out of the way. 

“Let me,” He tells her, his fingers touching points on Peeta’s neck. His fingers run over the bones in Peeta’s ribs and spine before he pinches Peeta’s nose shut.

“No!” Katniss yells, hurling herself at Finnick. 

Finnick’s hand comes up and hits her hard, so squarely in the chest that she is sent flying backwards into a nearby tree trunk. 

Katniss scrambles to her feet as she watches Finnick close off Peeta’s nose again. She pulls out an arrow and whips the notch into place. She’s about to let it fly when she sees Finnick lean down and kiss Peeta. 

Katniss is caught so off guard that she stops her hand from letting the arrow fly. 

No, he’s not kissing him. 

He’s got Peeta’s nose blocked off but his mouth is tilted open, and he’s blowing air into his lungs. Katniss can see Peeta’s chest rising and falling. 

“Come on, Peeta,” Finnick says, unzipping Peeta’s wetsuit and begins to pump the spot over his heart with the heels of his hands. 

Katniss makes a mental note, whatever Finnick’s doing, he’s done it before. There’s a very set rhythm and method and she finds the arrow tip sinking to the ground as she leans in to watch, desperately, for some sign of success. 

Agonizing minutes drag past as her hope diminishes. Around the time that she’s deciding it’s too late, that Peeta’s dead, move on, unreachable forever, he gives a small cough and Finnick sits back.

Katniss leaves her weapons in the dirt as she flings herself at Peeta. 

“Peeta?” She says softly, brushing the damp blonde strands of hair from his forehead and finding the pulse drumming against her fingers at his neck. She presses a soft kiss to his lips.

His lashes flutter open and his eyes meet hers.

“Careful,” Peeta says weakly. “There’s a force field up ahead.”

Katniss laughs as tears run down her cheeks. 

“Must be a lot stronger than the one on the Training Center roof,” He says. “I’m alright, though. Just a little shaken.”

“You were dead!” Katniss exclaims, clapping her hand over her mouth when she realizes she’s starting to make those awful choking sounds that happen when she sobs. “Your heart stopped!”

“Well, it seems to be working now,” Peeta says. “It’s alright, Katniss.”

She nods her head but the sounds aren’t stopping. 

“Katniss?” Peeta calls out. 

Now Peeta’s worried about her, which only adds to the insanity of everything happening. 

“It’s okay,” Finnick says. “It’s just her hormones. From the baby.”

Katniss looks up to see him, sitting back on his knees but still panting a bit from the climb and the heat and the effort of bringing Peeta back from the dead.

“No, it’s not–” Katniss begins, but she’s cut off by an even more hysterical round of sobbing that seems only to confirm what Finnick said about the baby. Finnick meets her eyes and she glares at him through her tears.

She scolds herself. She knows it’s stupid, that his efforts vexed her so much. All she wanted was to keep Peeta alive, and she couldn’t and Finnick could, and she knows she should be nothing but grateful.

And she is.

But she’s also furious because it means that she will never stop owing Finnick O’Dair. Ever. 

How was she supposed to kill him in his sleep now?

Katniss expects to see a smug or sarcastic expression on his face, but his look is strangely quizzical– mixed with something else. Almost as if he was seeing someone else lying there unresponsive instead of Peeta.

Finnick glances between Peeta and Katniss, as if trying to figure something out, then he gives his head a slight shake as if to clear it. 

“Do you… wanna stand up?” Katniss asks and Peeta nods.

Katniss scoots back, helping Peeta to his feet as she stands. The moment he’s on his two feet again, she pulls him into a hug, her entire frame shaking in his grasp.

Mags looks up from her spot near the tree that Finnick had propped her up against. Her eyes shift from the two lovers to Finnick, staring at them with a pained realization on his face as he continues to breathe heavily. 

After a minute or so, he walks away from them, leaning up against a tree trunk as he slightly spaces out, getting lost in thought. 

“It’s okay,” Peeta tells Katniss reassuringly, rubbing comforting circles onto her back as he holds her close in his arms.

“So, do you want to make camp here, then?” Finnick asks, speaking up as he slightly fiddles with the gold bangle around his wrist. 

“I don’t think that’s an option,” Peeta answers, pulling away from Katniss. “Staying here. With no water. No protection. I feel alright, really. If we could just go slowly.”

“Slowly would be better than not at all,” Finnick says. 

Katniss checks over her weapons, making sure they are in perfect condition to make her feel in control.

“I’ll take the lead,” Katniss announces.

Peeta starts to object but Finnick cuts him off. 

“No, let her do it,” Finnick says.

Peeta furrows his eyebrows at him.

“You knew that force field was there, didn’t you?” Finnick asks. “Right at the last second? You started to give a warning.”

Katniss nods.

“How did you know?” He asks.

Katniss hesitates. Did she really want him knowing about Beetee and Wiress’s trick of recognizing force fields? She didn’t know if the Gamemakers made note of that moment during training when the two pointed it out to her or not. One way or another, she knew she had a very valuable piece of information. And she was pretty sure that if the Gamemakers knew she had it, they might do something to alter the force field so she couldn’t see the aberration anymore. So she decided to lie.

“I don’t know,” Katniss tells him. “It’s almost as if I could hear it. Listen.”

They all grow quiet. There’s sounds of insects, birds, and the breeze in the foliage.

“I don’t hear anything,” Peeta says.

“Yes,” Katniss insists. “It’s like when the fence around district twelve is on, only much, much quieter.”

Everyone listens again intently. Katniss does too, although there’s nothing to hear.

“There!” Katniss exclaims. “Can’t you hear it? It’s coming from where Peeta got shocked.”

“I don’t hear it, either,” Finnick says. “But if you do, by all means, take the lead.”

“That’s weird,” Katniss says, causing everyone to look at her. She turns her head side to side as if puzzled. “I can only hear it out of my left ear.”

“The one the doctor’s reconstructed?” Peeta asks. 

“Yeah,” Katniss answers, then shrugs. “Maybe they did a better job than they thought. You know, sometimes I do hear funny things on that side. Things you wouldn’t ordinarily think have a sound. Like insect wings. Or snow hitting the ground.”

Mags nudges her forward, so she takes the lead. Since they are to be moving slowly, Mags prefers to walk with the aid of a branch Finnick quickly fashions into a cane for her. He makes a staff for Peeta as well, which is good because, despite his protestations, all Peeta really wants to do is lie down. Finnick brings up the rear, so at least someone alert has their backs.

Katniss walks with the force field on her left, because that’s supposed to be the side with her superhuman ear. But since that’s all made up, she cuts down a bunch of hard nuts that hang like grapes from a nearby tree and toss them ahead of her as she goes. Whenever a nut hits the force field, there’s a puff of smoke before the nut lands, blackened and with a cracked shell, on the ground at her feet.

After a few minutes Katniss becomes aware of a smacking sound behind her and turns to see Mags peeling the shell off one of the nuts and popping it in her already-full mouth. 

“Mags!” Katniss cries out. “Spit that out. It could be poisonous.”

She mumbles something and ignores her, licking her lips with apparent relish. Katniss looks to Finnick for help but he just laughs. 

“I guess we’ll find out,” He says.

Katniss shakes her head as she presses forward. He’d carry Mags on his back throughout the entire first few hours of the Games, but he doesn’t bat an eye when she begins to eat strange nuts?

The same man that Haymitch has stamped with his seal of approval.

Who brought Peeta back from the dead.

Why didn’t he just let him die?

He would have been blameless.

Katniss never would have guessed it was in his power to revive him. Why could he possibly have wanted to save Peeta?

And why was he so determined to team up with her? 

Or willing to kill her, too, if it comes to that.

Katniss keeps walking, tossing the nuts, sometimes catching a glimpse of the force field, trying to press to the left to find a spot where they can break through, get away from the Cornucopia, and hopefully find water.

But after another hour or so of it she realizes it’s futile. They’re not making any progress to the left. In fact, the force field seems to be herding them along a curved path.

Katniss stops and looks back at Mags’s limping form and the sheen of sweat on Peeta’s face. 

“Let’s take a break,” Katniss says. “I need to get another look from above.”

The tree Katniss chose seems to jut higher into the air than the others. She makes her way up the twisting boughs, staying as close to the trunk as possible. No telling how easily these rubbery branches will snap. Still she climbs beyond good sense because there’s something she has to see. 

As she clings to a stretch of trunk no wider than a sapling, swaying back and forth in the humid breeze, her suspicions are confirmed. There’s a reason they can’t turn to the left, they will never be able to. From this precarious vantage point, she can see the shape of the whole arena for the first time. 

A perfect circle. With a perfect wheel in the middle. The sky above the circumference of the jungle is tinged a uniform pink. And she thinks she can make out one or two of those wavy squares, chinks in the armor, Wiress and Beetee called them, because they reveal what was meant to be hidden and are therefore a weakness.

Just to make absolutely sure, she shoots an arrow into the empty space above the treeline. There’s a spurt of light, a flash of real blue sky, and the arrow’s thrown back into the jungle. She climbs down to give the others the bad news.

“The force field,” Katniss begins, sliding her bow back onto her back. “It’s a dome. We’re at the edge of the arena. I couldn’t find any signs of fresh water.”

Mags looked the most devastated at the news.

“It’s going to get dark soon,” Finnick says. “We’ll be safe with our backs protected. We should set up camp. Take turns sleeping. I can take first watch.”

“Not a chance,” Katniss tells him. He might have brought Peeta back from the dead but she still had no straightforward reasoning to trust him. 

Finnick looks a little offended as he picks up his trident, swinging it over to the other side of him, jabbing the end of it into the ground as he stands. 

“Honey,” Finnick says. “That thing I did back there for Peeta? That was called ‘saving his life.’ If I wanted to kill either of you, I would’ve done it by now.”

He lifts the edge of the trident out of the ground and makes his way over to Mags, crouching down in front of her.

“You okay?” He asks her, gently brushing her hair behind her ears so he could see her face. “We’ll find some water soon, don’t worry.”

Mags nods and he presses a kiss to her forehead.

“You should get some rest,” Finnick tells her and Mags doesn’t protest. He stands back up to his normal height and takes both of Mags’s hands into his own, helping her step up and over a log. He looks back at Katniss and Peeta, both of them keeping a close eye on him. He rolls his eyes slightly, sliding the base of his hand down to Mags’s lower back, helping her settle down at a nearby tree.

“How’s Peeta?” Finnick asks, looking over at Katniss. The sun had set not too long ago and he was on first watch with Katniss while Mags and Peeta slept. 

“He’s okay, I think,” Katniss replies, glancing over at Peeta’s sleeping figure. “Just dehydrated like the rest of us.”

The sky brightens when the seal of the Capitol appears as if floating in space and the faces of the eight dead victors are projected in the sky.

The man from district five, the one Finnick took out with his trident, is the first to appear. That means that all the tributes in one through four are alive — the four Careers, Beetee and Wiress, and, of course, Mags and Finnick. 

The man from district five is followed by the male morphling from six, Cecelia and Woof from eight, both from nine, the woman from ten, and Seeder from eleven. The Capitol seal is back with a final bit of music and then the sky goes dark except for the moon.

 Finnick felt a sense of relief knowing that Malia was still alive and out there somewhere. He wasn’t worried for her before– he knew she had the skills to survive but after he had brought Peeta back to life after he hit the forcefield– he never felt more fearful for Malia’s life until then. 

She wasn’t immune to death just because she’s made it this far. Every brush of death was a call too close, regardless of the outcome. Death is indiscriminate and unpremeditated. Peeta proved that. And the idea of her being within this hell but out of his reach only strengthened his determination to find her.

She knew what was going on– she had agreed to a secret alliance with him– but he couldn’t help but wonder if it was only a matter of time before the Careers found out and killed her before she could sneak away. 

“Eight,” Katniss says, looking down at the ground. Sixteen tributes left.

“Mhmm,” Finnick hums in response, too lost in thought to give her a better one as he fiddled with the sleeve of his wetsuit.

No one speaks. Everyone in the sky was all dead. All gone.

Katniss cranes her neck to look over her shoulder at Finnick, an expression etched upon her face that Finnick couldn’t quite read.

“Malia and the Careers are still alive,” Katniss tells him. 

“Damn right she is,” Finnick says, causing Katniss to furrow her eyebrows at him before turning away and bringing her attention to the ground. 

They weren’t too sure how long they might have sat there in awkward silence if it weren’t for the arrival of the silver parachute, which glides down through the foliage to land before them. 

“Hey,” Katniss says, grabbing Finnick’s attention before rushing towards the silver parachute. “Whose is it, do you think?”

“No telling,” Finnick tells her, following after her. “Why don’t we let Peeta claim it, since he died today?”

Katniss rolls her eyes slightly at him before crouching down and opening the canister containing whatever sponsor gift they had just received.

“Drink up?” Katniss asks, reading Haymitch’s notecard.

“What is it?” Finnick asks.

“It’s from Haymitch,” Katniss says, rolling it over in her hand to examine it. It’s a hollow metal tube, tapered slightly at one end. On the other end a small lip curves downward. It’s vaguely familiar. “I think it’s a spile.”

“A what?” Finnick asks, watching as she scrambles towards a random tree and hammers the spile into its trunk with a rock. Peeta quickly but quietly approaches, crouching down, watching in anticipation.

At first, nothing happened. But after a few seconds of waiting, water pours out of the trunk and Katniss quickly places her mouth underneath the pouring water.

“You’re kidding me,” Finnick chuckles, his whole face lighting up in delight. Katniss steps back and Finnick ushers Peeta forward. “Get some water.”

Peeta holds his mouth open under the tap for a few seconds before he steps aside allowing Finnick to get some water. He closes his mouth and cups his hands underneath the tap before splashing the water on his face as he pants. 

“I’m gonna get a leaf,” Finnick says, stepping back to allow Katniss to have another turn with the water. He returns a few seconds later, cupping a giant leaf in his hand like it’s a cup. “I’ll get some for Mags.”

He holds the leaf under the tap and watches as it fills up with water. 

“There we go,” Finnick smiles, carefully stepping back and making his way towards Mags who was breathing heavily. He crouches down in front of her, holding out the leaf full of water like it was an offering. 

Mags drinks from the leaf, her hands coming up to clasp around Finnick’s as she drinks. She pulls away for a split second, looking up at Finnick with adoration in her eyes, bringing one of her hands up to stroke his cheek affectionately– a way to say thank you.

“Want some more?” Finnick asks her softly. “Drink as much as you’d like.”

Katniss watches as Finnick gives Mags a sweet smile. A smile she’d never seen him have before. A smile that he probably only gave to those he truly cared about.

Mags simply nods, bringing her hand down from Finnick’s cheek to wrap back around his hand as she drank some more water.

“There you go,” Finnick tells her. “Feeling better?” 

Mags gives him a smile before slowly lowering herself back down to rest. 

“I’ll be right over there,” He tells her, pointing towards the rock he had been sitting at previously while on watch with Katniss. She gives him a slight nod and he stands back up to his normal height before heading back over and sitting back down on the giant rock. 

A few hours go by and Finnick’s head starts to slowly droop as the need to sleep kicks into his system. He shoots upright by what seems to be the tolling of a bell.

Bong! Bong!  

After a few times, the tolling stops.

“I counted twelve,” Katniss says.

“Midnight?” Finnick asks. 

“Or the number of districts,” Katniss suggests. 

They wait a few minutes for further instructions, maybe a message from Claudius Templesmith. An invitation to a feast. The only thing of note appears in the distance. A dazzling bolt of electricity strikes a towering tree and then a lightning storm begins. It’s meant to be an indication of rain, of a water source for those who don’t have mentors as smart as Haymitch.

“Well…” Finnick says, wiping the palm of his hands on his pants. “If you’re not going to sleep, I will.” 

“Okay,” Katniss responds and watches him pick up his trident and make his way towards an empty spot near Mags. One hand is gripped around his trident and he drifts into a restless sleep.

Malia sat on the ground, her back pressed up against a rock as her eyes drifted over her alliance huddled on the ground. She knew that if she stayed with the Careers for one more night, her cover would most definitely be blown. 

She needed to find a way to leave the alliance the first chance she got. But she couldn’t do that with Gloss still awake and watching her every move. He was being cautious after Enobaria’s warning and Malia couldn’t blame him.

“They’re still out there,” Gloss says, making eye contact with Malia.

No elaboration was needed for Malia to figure who they were. With The Fallen starting at district five, it meant both Finnick and Mags were still alive. And seeing as it ended with Seeder-- Katniss and Peeta were also still alive.

“Yeah, they are,” Malia replies.

“Out of curiosity,” Gloss says, gesturing towards Malia. “What’s your tribute token?”

“What makes you think I have one?” Malia asks, her hand gripping the handle of her knife tightly. 

“Just, trying to figure you out,” Gloss replies.

“No one has me figured out,” Malia chuckles. “I don’t like being an open book.”

“Jake understands you,” Gloss says.

“That’s different,” Malia tells him, shifting slightly from where she sat.

“How so?” Gloss asks.

Malia twirls her knife in her hand, raising a brow at Gloss’s question.

“You should know,” Malia tells him. “Hell, the entirety of Panem knows he’s like a brother to me. Isn’t that why you volunteered? Or was that just to bring my guard down or some shit. Get me to trust you?”

Gloss sighs before standing up and Malia stops twirling her knife, instead grabs ahold of the handle and brandishes the knife at him. 

“Relax,” Gloss tells her, raising his hands in the air. “I was just standing up. I have no intention of harming you.”

“Why?” Malia asks.

“We promised we’d have each other’s backs,” Gloss tells her.

“I thought you were joking,” Malia says.

“Oh no, I was dead serious,” Gloss replies. 

Malia lowers the knife, setting it down on the grass near her foot. 

“Why do you want to know what my tribute token is?” Malia asks.

“So you do have one,” Gloss replies.

“Answer the question,” Malia demands.

“Fine,” Gloss says. “Enobaria has been nagging at me about you since the cornucopia bloodbath.”

“Enobaria has been nagging about me for years,” Malia states. “What’s new?”

Gloss keeps his hands raised as he sets his weapons out of reach and sits down next to Malia and she furrows her brows in confusion.

“She says I should keep an eye on you,” Gloss tells her in a hushed whisper.

“Whatever for?” Malia asks sarcastically, glancing over at Enobaria’s sleeping frame. “I’m surprised she trusts me enough to sleep while I’m on watch. I could easily slit her throat if I wanted to, but I won’t.”

“Yeah, well,” Gloss says, shrugging slightly. “I guess I just needed some sort of confirmation.”

“About what?” Malia asks, turning to look at him. 

“About Finnick’s interview,” Gloss replies.

Malia shifts slightly, pulling out some grass to fiddle with. 

“Let me guess,” Malia says. “You want to know if I’m the mystery girl Finnick has fallen in love with.”

“Something like that,” Gloss tells her, tilting his head slightly. “Wouldn’t be much of a mystery though, everybody has seen how he’s been looking at you these past couple years. We’re all just shocked he’s actually come forth about it and actually confessed. Besides, he’s not very sneaky, you know?”

“Shit,” Malia mutters. “Were you awake last night?”

“Not at first,” Gloss says. “Heard Jake mumbling and grumbling.”

“And you didn’t tell the alliance that when they were questioning my loyalty?” Malia asks. She watches as he shakes his head. “Why not?”

“You are loyal, Malia,” Gloss tells her. “Just not to us.”

“Gloss–” Malia interjects.

“-- Let me finish,” Gloss says. “Maybe you once were loyal to the Careers when you were fifteen but your Games changed you. Now you’re only loyal to your closest friends.”

Gloss reaches over and gently pulls out the necklace tucked underneath Malia’s wetsuit and he nods. He had the confirmation he needed.

“And what about you?” Malia asks, tucking the necklace back under her wetsuit. “What are you loyal to?”

“My family,” Gloss replies. “Which is why I made a deal with Jake.”

“You what?” Malia asks. 

“He promised me that if I died in this arena that he’d make sure my family would get closure,” Gloss replies. “He’d send my body back for a proper funeral and make sure they’re well taken care of when I’m gone in exchange for something else.”

“Like what?” Malia asks.

“You know how Jake is,” Gloss answers. “Always has a backup plan. I’m the backup plan.”

“So you’re like, what? My bodyguard?” Malia asks.

“No,” Gloss chuckles. “He said if I noticed any signs of Enobaria or Brutus wanting to turn on you, I’m to help you get to Finnick. After that, everyone for themselves.”

“Why make that deal?” Malia asks. “You know I’ll be able to kill you if I wanted to. You just signed your own death certificate.”

“Yes, but this way we’re even,” Gloss answers. “No more debts owed.”

“Even?”

“Jake has done a lot for me since I won,” Gloss says. “Things I can’t really discuss right now, but once this is done, he and I are even. The only thing you owe me is a new shirt after you stained mine with your tears last night after the interviews. But, I’m not responsible for what happens the moment you leave my sight so get a head start, run quickly, and don’t look back.”

“That was you?” Malia asks.

“You ran out crying,” Gloss answers. “Excuse me for feeling a tad bit concerned.”

“I’m.. I’m not mad,” Malia reassures him. “I just… thank you.”

Gloss nods and picks up her knife off the ground, handing it to her.

“Although, I can’t guarantee that I won’t kill you the next time we cross paths,” Gloss tells her. 

“Don’t challenge me then,” Malia says, taking the knife from him. “You won’t win.”

“Guess we’ll see,” Gloss responds. 

Malia watches as he stands up, picking up his weapons. He walks over towards Enobaria’s sleeping frame and starts shaking her awake. 

“What?” Enobaria grunts, sitting up and glaring at him.

“Get up,” Gloss says, kicking Brutus in the side. 

“Why?” Brutus asks.

“I saw someone run past us,” Gloss answers.

“Then go deal with them,” Enobaria snaps, rolling back over onto her side. 

“No, I don’t think you understand,” Gloss says, pulling out one of his knives. “It was Finnick.”

The name alone caused the rest of the alliance to stand up.

“You’re joking,” Brutus scoffs. “Why would he be so far away from his alliance?”

“Maybe he’s looking for water,” Malia says. “I mean, we’re the ones with the canteens.”

“You know,” Enobaria says, crossing her arms as she circles around Malia. “If Gloss did see Finnick, and he’s close to us in this jungle then I’m sure you don’t mind.”

“Don’t mind what?” Malia asks, keeping her expression neutral as Enobaria stops in front of her, baring her fangs.

“If we gut the son of a bitch,” Enobaria sneers. “I mean, you are loyal to us, right?”

“By all means, have at it,” Malia tells her.

“Don’t worry,” Enobaria says, getting up in Malia’s face. “I’ll make sure to carve out and bring you back his heart.”

“Good,” Malia responds. “Looking forward to it.”

Enobaria steps back, raising a brow slightly with an impressed smirk on her face.

“Stay here and guard the camp,” Enobaria tells her, picking up her sword. “We’ll be back once we’ve gutted the Prince of Panem.”

“Lead the way,” Brutus tells Gloss. “Since you’re the one who allegedly saw him.”

“He went this way,” Gloss says, taking off in a random direction with the two in tow. 

Malia sinks to the ground, placing her head in her hands as her head throbbed. Gloss could only keep them away for so long before they realized he lied and she had to plan her escape at the right time. Not too soon, in case one of them stayed back at a distance to see what she’d do. And definitely not too late when they returned. 

After maybe a minute or two, she stands up and picks up the pack she got from the Cornucopia. She slides it over her shoulder and clips her sais to her belt before rushing off in a random direction. 

Malia moved through the dense underbrush, her breaths shallow and her heart pounding in her chest. The dense jungle of the arena provided some cover, but the lingering fear of being discovered by Brutus and Enobaria haunted her every step.

The sound of distant voices echoed through the trees, and she pressed herself against a moss-covered tree trunk, her eyes darting around for any sign of danger. She had to find a safer place to hide or a way to put more distance between herself and Enobaria and Brutus.

As she crept further into the jungle, her foot caught on a gnarled root, and she stumbled forward. Her heart leaped into her throat as she struggled to maintain her balance, and her pack fell to the ground with a soft thud. Panic surged through her, but she quickly knelt down to retrieve her belongings, trying to be as silent as possible.

As she crouched there, hidden behind a cluster of ferns, she heard faint voices growing louder. The Careers were returning, and they would surely notice her pack on the ground if she didn’t act quickly. With one last glance, she snatched up her pack and resumed her escape, her senses on high alert.

Malia’s footsteps were now more cautious, her eyes scanning the ground for any signs of traps or telltale signs that someone was nearby. She knew she couldn’t stay in the same spot for too long, or the Careers would catch up to her.

She makes her way through a bunch of bushes at full speed before body slamming into a figure and she falls to the ground. Malia quickly scrambles back on all fours before picking up her sais and holds them out in front of her.

“It’s district one,” Beetee says, pushing his glasses further up on his nose.

“Let’s gut her before her buddies come,” Blight suggests, stepping forward towards the ginger. 

“No, wait!” Malia exclaims, dropping her sais to the ground and raising her hands in the air. “I’m on your side.”

“Our side?” Wiress asks. 

“Yes, your side,” Malia replies, panting slightly as she reaches for the necklace tucked beneath her wetsuit. “See? Finnick gave this to me.”

Johanna steps forward, taking the necklace into her own hands as she inspected it. She had seen Finnick wear the necklace countless times and she had seen him give it to her– she was just slightly shocked Malia still had it all this time.

Johanna drops the necklace, letting it fall back around Malia’s neck, before turning around and taking the axe out of Blight’s hand. 

“She’s telling the truth,” Johanna says. “I saw him give it to her.”

She reaches down and picks up Malia’s sais, handing them to her. Malia takes them from her, nodding at her.

“Thank you,”  Malia says, standing up.

“Finnick’s girlfriend will tag along with us,” Johanna tells them, handing back Blight’s axe to him.

“Well, I wouldn’t say I’m his girlfriend,” Malia interjects. “Definitely a girl who- who’s a friend.. but not girlfriend.”

Johanna looks back at her, a look of disbelief on her face before she shakes her head and takes off walking. 

The rest of the alliance follows after her and Malia shifts her pack to her other shoulder and follows the group.

“So, where’s your buddies?” Blight asks. “There weren’t any cannons so they’re not dead.”

“I snuck away,” Malia replies.

“Why?” Wiress asks.

“Because I didn’t feel safe,” Malia replies. “Every moment I spent with them I felt this feeling in my stomach that one of them would betray me. I mean, they only questioned my loyalty several times.”

“You were never going to stick with them for long,” Johanna says. “I’m surprised you even lasted a day without being by Finnick’s side.”

“I’m sorry..?” Malia asks, confused.

“We’re not dumb,” Beetee replies. “We all knew Finnick was talking about you from the moment he said the words, my love.”

“He didn’t–”

“Malia,” Johanna sighed, pressing her index and middle finger between her eyes as if she was trying to prevent a cluster headache. “For the sake of our time and sanity, admit to your feelings already. You two are the very definition of the archetypal soulmates. The longing looks, the subtle hints. Katniss and Peeta may be the star crossed lovers that the media loves to focus on but anyone with eyes and a single brain cell can see that you and Finnick would cross galaxies to be together.” 

Malia stops walking and they all turn to look at her. 

“He loves you,” Johanna adds. 

“Not to mention all that sexual tension between the two of you during training,” Blight adds on.

“We done?” Johanna asks, looking around at everyone. “Everyone in agreement that we can move on and finally get these two together?”

“It should happen naturally,” Beetee says. 

“No shit, Volts,” Johanna retorts. “Look, I get that Katniss and Peeta are endgame but Malia and Finnick are destiny. Written in the stars kind of shit, they have been apart long enough. Let’s move. God, you’re all so annoying.”

“It’s been a day…” Beetee mutters quietly, following after Johanna.

“I gotta ask,” Blight says, slowing down his pace to walk beside Malia. “Please tell me you were the one who punched Annie in the throat.”

“She said some fucked up shit to Jake,” Malia tells him. “So I shut her up.”

“Well you did us all a favor,” Johanna says. “We always found that bitch so annoying.”

The alliance stopped walking, feeling liquid dripping from the sky.

As the first drops of rain fell, everyone sighed with relief, thinking they might finally get some reprieve from the oppressive heat. But the relief was short-lived. Within seconds, the droplets turned into a thick, dark liquid that splattered upon the ground with a sickening splat. The air was heavy with the metallic stench of blood.

Johanna’s eyes widened in horror and she frantically tried to wipe the liquid from her face.

“What the hell is this?” She gasped, choking on the thick substance.

“It’s blood!” Blight shouted.

“Everyone go!” Malia yelled, spitting out blood in the process.

Blight took off running but screamed out in pain as the electrified forcefield jolted through him. His body convulsed and then he collapsed to the ground, lifeless.

“BLIGHT!” Johanna screamed as a cannon sounded.

“Johanna we got to go!” Malia coughed, grabbing her arm and dragging her away.

Finnick awoke to the soft morning light streaming in through the curtains, casting a warm, golden glow across the room. He laid there for a moment, savoring the tranquility of the moment. But as he rolled over he saw Malia, peacefully sleeping beside him.

She laid there with her ginger hair splayed out on the pillow, her delicate features bathed in the gentle morning light. Finnick couldn’t help but smile as he watched her chest rise and fall in a slow, rhythmic pattern. He traced the curve of her cheek with his gaze, marveling at the way her eyelashes cast graceful shadows on her skin.

Finnick’s heart swelled with love as he stared at her with so much adoration.

His best friend.

His wife.

His everything.

Her strength, her kindness, and her unwavering support had been a constant source of inspiration and joy in his life. He knew that he would do anything to keep that radiant smile on her face.

Malia began to stir, her eyelids fluttering open to reveal the deep, sparkling pools of her eyes. She blinked a few times, adjusting to the morning light, and then her gaze met Finnick’s. A soft, sleepy smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

“Good morning,” She whispered, her voice husky from sleep.

Finnick couldn’t resist the overwhelming affection he felt for her. He rolled over and moved on top of her, leaning down to press a tender, lingering kiss to her lips. The kiss was sweet and gentle, filled with all the love and adoration he felt for her.

When they finally parted, Finnick rested his forehead against Malia’s and gazed into her eyes.

“Good morning, my beautiful wife,” He whispered, his voice filled with tenderness.

“You love that word too much,” Malia murmured, her eyes shining with the same love and devotion.

“Well, don’t expect me to stop anytime soon,” Finnick tells her, pressing a few kisses to her collarbone. “Cause I never get tired of saying it.”

“And I’ll never get tired of hearing it,” Malia sighs, running her fingers through his disheveled hair. “Finnick, you’re going to be late.”

“It’ll be worth it,” Finnick tells her, pulling away from her collarbone to look at him. “I’m sure everyone will understand that I was taking care of my wife.”

“Jake’s going to kill you if you’re late again,” Malia states. “How can you take care of me if you’re dead?”

“Good point,” Finnick says, rolling off of her and pushing himself off the bed. He stumbles towards the bathroom door, disappearing behind it as he turns on the shower. 

Malia chuckles slightly, shaking her head. 

“Oh!” Finnick exclaims, peeking out from the bathroom. He used the wall to cover up the parts of him that were indecent which caused Malia to chuckle again. It’s not like she hadn’t seen him completely naked before. “There’s some coffee waiting for you whenever you’re ready.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Malia tells him, smiling. 

“I wanted to,” Finnick grins. “And there’s some waffles and eggs on the stove if you get hungry.”

“Thank you,” Malia tells him. She watches as a huge childish grin appears across his face before ducking back into the bathroom and closing the door. 

Malia rolls back on her side, bringing the covers up to her chin as she smiles. She’d eat the breakfast Finnick prepared for her soon. But she just needed a moment to regain her barings. The war was over, no more Hunger Games. Just, her and Finnick for the rest of their lives. 

She didn’t know how long she had spaced out as she was lost in thought, but she could hear Finnick putting on his watch from behind her.

“I forgot to tell you that I also made a dinner reservation for us at six,” Finnick says, leaning over her to press a goodbye kiss to her cheek. “I’ll have to meet you there.” 

“RUN!” Katniss screams at the others. “RUN!”

Finnick snaps awake instantly, rising to counter an enemy. But when he sees the wall of fog, he tosses a still-sleeping Mags onto his back and takes off. Peeta is on his feet but not as alert. Katniss grabs his arm and begins to propel him through the jungle after Finnick.

“What is it? What is it?” Peeta asks in bewilderment.

“Some kind of fog. Poisonous gas. Hurry, Peeta!” Katniss urges. It was obvious how much he denied it during the day, the aftereffects of hitting the force field have been significant. He’s slow, much slower than usual. And the tangle of vines and undergrowth, which unbalance Katniss occasionally, trip him at every step. 

 Everyone seems to move a little faster, but never enough to afford a rest, and the mist continues to lap at their heels. Droplets spring free of the body of vapor. They burn, but not like fire. Less a sense of heat and more of intense pain as the chemicals find their flesh, cling to it, and burrow down through the layers of skin. The wetsuits are no help at all. They might as well be dressed in tissue paper, for all the protection they give.

At some point they had split up, Finnick and Mags had gone one way while Katniss and Peeta went another. But they kept pressing forward, trying to put as much distance between themselves and the fog as much as possible. 

Katniss trips, falling to the ground as the fog neared closer. Peeta skids to a stop, rushing back to her side and pulling her up to her feet. Both of them let out screams of pain as the fog reached their backs and they threw themselves forward, running as fast as they could. 

Peeta’s leg catches in a knot of creepers and he sprawls forward before Katniss can even catch him. As she helps him up, she becomes aware of something scarier than the blisters, more debilitating than the burns. The left side of his face has sagged, as if every muscle in it has died. The lid droops, almost concealing his eye. His mouth twists in an odd angle toward the ground.

Whatever chemical laces the fog does more than burn — it targets their nerves. A whole new kind of fear shoots through them and Peeta is yanked forward, which only causes him to stumble again. By the time Katniss gets him to his feet, both of her arms are twitching uncontrollably. The fog has moved in on them, the body of it less than a yard away. Peeta’s trying to walk but his legs move in a spastic, puppetlike fashion.

Finnick’s screams could be heard from a hill above Katniss and Peeta and he falls to the ground as the fog closes in on him, hitting the heels of his legs.

“Oh God!” Finnick screams, reaching behind him to pull Mags back onto his back. “Goddammit! Mags, please. Please come on!”

Mags pushes herself forward, flopping herself onto Finnick’s back again and he takes off running again, only coming to a full stop when Peeta fully collapses on the ground.

“Peeta!” Katniss cries out, kneeling down next to him.

Finnick crouches down, setting his trident down on the ground as Peeta groans from the pain. Finnick feels Mags crawl off his back and he looks over at Katniss, her voice shaking.

“I can’t carry him,” Katniss says, before turning back to look down at Peeta. “Peeta, please. Get up.”

Finnick’s attention turns towards Mags as she places a hand on Finnick’s shoulder. Mags hauls herself up, plants a kiss on Finnick’s lips, and then hobbles straight towards the fog.

“Mags?” Finnick calls after her. “Mags!”

Finnick crawls after her, trying to reach out to her and pull her back to safety but Katniss pulls Finnick back.

“No, let me go,” Finnick says, trying to shove Katniss’s grip off. “MAGS!!”

Mags walks into the fog and her body is seized by wild contortions and she falls to the ground in a horrible dance. 

“Finnick!” Katniss calls, pulling on his arm. She watches his face fall at the sound of Mags’s cannon. “Finnick, we have to go.”

“We have to get out of here,” Katniss repeats as Finnick turns to look at her, tears streaming down his face. “We have to go.”

Finnick pulls himself together, he could mourn later when his life wasn’t still in danger. He made a deal to keep Katniss alive and she wasn’t going to leave Peeta behind. If he wanted to ensure a trip for him and Malia to district thirteen– far away from the Capitol– he had to push through the heartbreak and the pain and outrun the fog.

“Alright, alright, come on,” Finnick says, reaching down and helping Katniss pull Peeta to his feet. One of Peeta’s arms is draped over Finnick and the other is draped over Katniss and they rush further through the jungle with the fog closing in on them.

They reach the edge of a hill and the fog closes in on their backs and they all scream out in pain and fall forward, tumbling down the hill at fast speeds. Their bodies spasm at uncontrollable rates as they finally reach the bottom of the hill.

Katniss looks behind her, eyes widening in panic as the fog was merely inches apart from where the three of them lay sprawled out on the jungle floor, writhing in pain. She hears Finnick groaning in pain and she watches as the fog becomes a wall, which has taken on a pearly white quality. The fog seems to be transforming, becoming thicker, as if it has pressed up against a glass window and is being forced to condense. It has stopped moving forward entirely. It seems to have reached the end of its territory.

“It’s stopped,” Katniss tries to say, but only an awful croaking sound comes from her swollen mouth. 

“It's stopped,” She says again, and this time it was much clearer, because both Peeta and Finnick turned their heads to the fog. It begins to rise upward now, as if being slowly vacuumed into the sky. They watch until it has all been sucked away and not the slightest wisp remains.

Katniss throws her head back in a sigh of relief as Peeta groans out in pain, followed by a slight whimper from Finnick as he clutches at his own throat. 

Katniss looks up and spots a pair of monkeys. These monkeys seem to have orange fur, although it’s hard to tell, and are about half the size of a full-grown human. But Katniss takes the monkeys for a good sign. Surely they would not hang around if the air was deadly. If there were monkeys nearby, surely that also meant there had to be a water source nearby. 

She rolls onto her stomach and spots a pond a few feet away from where she laid, she slowly begins crawling towards it, panting. She can’t walk, maybe swimming would help her get somewhere. But the moment she sticks her hand into the water she lets out a scream of pain. 

It was like rubbing salt in a wound. The salt in the water makes the pain of Katniss’s wounds so blinding she nearly black out. But there’s another sensation, of drawing out. She experiments by gingerly placing the rest of her hand in the water. Torturous, yes, but then less so. And through the blue layer of water, she can see a milky substance leaching out of the wounds on her skin. As the whiteness diminishes, so does the pain. 

“The water…” Katniss calls out, her voice raspy. “The water helps!”

Peeta’s the first one to push himself off the ground with a groan, crawling towards where Katniss had stuck her other hand in the water. 

Finnick tries to push himself up but the pain is unbearable and he falls back down to the ground and he yells out.

Peeta sticks his hand in the water and hisses out in pain but slowly sighs as the pain is relieved. He sticks his other hand in the water as Katniss propels herself forward into the water, allowing the water to soak up the remaining wounds scattered across her body. He follows seconds after, dipping the side of his face into his water and groans.

“We gotta get Finnick,” Peeta tells her, standing up the moment all the pain has left his body. 

“Okay,” Katniss says, splashing water onto her neck before standing up. 

They walk over to Finnick who was still clawing at his own throat, gasping and twitching as his mind and body was being invaded by the poison.

“We got to get him into the water,” Katniss says, grabbing ahold of Finnick’s arm and Peeta grabbing the other. Finnick flailed and fought back against them, the touch of their hands making the poison on his skin hurt that much more. They pull him to the water, before pulling him in as he screams in pure agony. 

His hand ripped free of Peeta’s and he clung to Katniss. She froze, the look of terror and despair at the foreign look on Finnick’s face. 

“Finnick we got to get you in the water,” She tells him.

Finnick’s sea-green eyes clouded, a tear running down his face. He was staring directly at her but not seeing her. His voice soft and broken as he managed to speak, “Malia…” 

“No, I–”

Finnick’s eyes close and he starts screaming Malia’s name. Peeta takes his arm again, a reassuring nod to Katniss as they plunge him screaming under. He fights back briefly until his throat involuntarily drinks in the cool water, forcing the poison out and causing him to choke and gurgle in pain. They both let Finnick go and he bursts out of the water gasping for air, holding onto Katniss as they help him to the shallow edge.

“We need our weapons,” Katniss says, looking over towards Peeta. He nods before leaving Katniss’s side to retrieve all their weapons that had been dropped during their tumble down the hill. 

Finnick slowly begins to revive. His eyes open, focused on his two allies, and register awareness that he’s actually being helped, not drowned. Katniss watches as he has seemed to have moved out a bit farther into the shallows, floating alternately on his belly and back. If the seawater had healed Peeta and her, it seems to be transforming Finnick altogether. 

He begins to move slowly, just testing his limbs, and gradually begins to swim. But it’s not like how Katniss was used to swimming, the rhythmic strokes, the even pace. It was like watching some strange sea animal coming back to life. He dives and surfaces, spraying water out of his mouth, rolls over and over in some bizarre corkscrew motion that makes Katniss dizzy even to watch. And then, when he’s been underwater so long she feels certain that he’s drowned, his head pops up right next to her.

“Don’t do that,” Katniss says.

“What? Come up or stay under?” Finnick asks.

“Either. Neither. Whatever. Just soak in the water and behave,” Katniss tells him. 

Finnick rolls his eyes slightly, pulling himself out of the water and sitting down on the bank of it, washing his hands and neck with the water. Katniss did the same as Peeta began to hammer the spile into a nearby tree. 

Not a single word was spoken as Finnick sniffled slightly. The aftermath and realization of Mags’s death finally hit him, allowing him to mourn in silence. 

Katniss watches as Finnick’s body shakes as he scrubbed at his hands. Or maybe from the silent sobs that racked throughout his body. She couldn’t tell.

“I’m sorry about Mags,” Katniss tells him. 

She knew an apology couldn’t bring the woman who was like a mother back to him. But it was enough to try and calm the guilt and heartbreak that he felt. 

He continued to scrub at his hands, not a single word leaving his lips as he bit his lip, stopping the sob from escaping his lips. He shouldn’t cry, not in front of them. He’s supposed to be making sure they’re the ones okay, that they’re the ones who were unharmed.

“She was never going to make it anyways,” Finnick says, going back to scrubbing at his hands. “So…”

“You know who is going to make it?” Katniss asks. “Malia.”

That was enough to direct Finnick’s attention away from his hands and he looked over at Katniss. There was a scratch on his face, she wasn’t sure exactly where he got it from. Probably from him clawing at his own face during the poison attack. 

“She’s out there somewhere,” Katniss continues, moving her head in a slight circle gesturing towards the jungle surrounding them. “I don’t trust her but… she clearly means the world to you. I think that once we get out of this jungle, we should go find her. She’s a Career so she’s probably camped out at the Cornucopia with the others. We’ll be outnumbered if we go there and they see us, but if we’re lucky enough then maybe she’ll turn on them to join us. That’s if she actually does have a soft spot for you.”

Finnick goes to say something but he’s cut off when Katniss places a hand on his arm, silencing him. Put it down to years of hunting, but she can sense the mass of warm bodies poised above them. They don’t need to chatter or scream. The mere breathing of so many is enough.

“What?” Finnick asks.

He follows Katniss’s gaze upward. He doesn’t know how they arrived so silently. Perhaps they didn’t. They’ve all been absorbed in restoring their bodies. During that time they’ve assembled. Not five or ten but scores of monkeys weigh down the limbs of the jungle trees. The pair Katniss spotted when they first escaped the fog felt like a welcoming committee. 

This crew felt ominous.

Katniss arms her bow with two arrows and Finnick slowly reaches towards the ground, grabbing ahold of his trident and holding it firmly in his grasp. Katniss looks around for an out, she sees a clearing through the trees and can see the Cornucopia in the distance. 

“Peeta,” Katniss calls.

“Yeah?” He answers, turning his attention away from his current task of collecting water from the spile to peer over his shoulder to look at her.

“Walk over here slowly,” Katniss instructs him. 

Peeta jumps back as one of the monkeys roars in his face and he slowly backs away, carefully lowering himself down the hill until he’s in the water beside Katniss and Finnick. 

“Woah,” Peeta says, turning around as the monkeys began to close in around them. Finnick hands Peeta his machete and he takes it without hesitation. The three of them back up until they’re all pressed back to back, weapons raised.

“Get to the beach,” Katniss tells everyone. She steps forward to lead the way but two monkeys step out, blocking her path. She pulls back the string on her bow as she steps back, pressing her back to Finnick’s and Peeta’s shoulders.

One of the monkey’s lunges at her from behind and Peeta swings his arm out, slamming the monkey into the water with his machete.

Katniss has never seen any animal move so fast. They slide down the vines as if the things were greased. Leap impossible distances from tree to tree. Fangs bared, hackles raised, claws shooting out like switchblades.

“Mutts!” Katniss spits out as she looks at Peeta. But his eyes are focused solely behind her and she turns around just in time to send an arrow flying at the monkey. She quickly reloads a new arrow and sends it flying into another one. 

She knows that every arrow must count, and they do. In the eerie light, Katniss brings down monkey after monkey, targeting eyes and hearts and throats, so that each hit means death. But still it wouldn’t be enough without Finnick spearing the beasts like fish and flinging them aside and Peeta slashing away with his machete. Katniss catches a glimpse of the Cornucopia in the distance, the monkeys that had been blocking the path were now dead at her feet. 

The hesitation was enough for a monkey to leap from its spot on the tree and lunge itself at her, she brings her bow up to block the monkey’s teeth from finding its way into her body as she’s tackled under the water. 

She struggles against the monkey’s grasp as she tries her best to throw it off of herself, but she has no luck with all the water currently filling her lungs. The monkey falls forward, lifeless as a blade protrudes out of its body and she’s yanked to her feet by Peeta.

She lets out a huge gasp of air and he pushes her towards the direction of the Cornucopia.

“We gotta get to the beach!” Peeta exclaims. 

They take off running, taking turns slamming their weapons into the monkey mutts that dare try to attack them.

Finnick kicks one directly in the stomach as he takes off running after Katniss and Peeta. He skids to a stop as monkeys surround him and he thrusts his trident into one, before slamming it against the tree and twirling around to fight off another. 

A monkey launches itself at Katniss and Peeta, throwing Peeta to the ground before baring its teeth at Katniss. She picks up Peeta’s machete that he dropped before swinging it at the monkey. 

Peeta pants as he presses himself against a tree, a monkey mutt lunges out of a tree for his chest. 

Katniss’s eyes widened.

 She has no arrows, no way to shoot.

 She can hear the thud of Finnick’s trident finding another mark and knows his weapon is occupied. She throws the machete at the oncoming mutt but the creature somersaults, evading the blade, and stays on its trajectory.

Weaponless, defenseless, Katniss does the only thing she can think of. She kicks the monkey mutt that was currently trying to attack her and runs for Peeta, to knock him to the ground, to protect his body with her own, even though she knows she won’t make it in time.

Someone else does, though. 

Materializing, it seems, from thin air. One moment nowhere, the next reeling in front of Peeta. Already bloody, mouth open in a high-pitched scream, pupils enlarged so her eyes seem like black holes.

The insane morphling from district six throws up her skeletal arms as if to embrace the monkey, and it sinks its fangs into her chest.

Peeta picks up the machete on the ground and buries it into the monkey’s back, stabbing it again and again until it releases its jaw. He kicks the mutt away, bracing for more. Katniss managed to get the arrows Peeta had dropped and loaded her bow with Finnick at her back, breathing hard but not actively engaged.

The monkey mutt that Katniss had kicked away lunged once more and Finnick stabbed it with his trident as Peeta repeatedly stabbed the monkey that had attacked the morphling.

“Who is that?” Katniss asks, appearing by Peeta’s side.

“A morphling!” Peeta answers, grabbing a hold of one of her arms. “Help me get her.”

Katniss grabs hold of the other and they quickly drag the morphling towards the beach. Finnick grunts behind them, fighting off several monkey mutts to the best of his ability. He swings his trident at one, sending it flying into another and he turns around and takes off running. 

The mutts are fast at his heel and he watches as Katniss and Peeta make it into the water before he dives forward, landing on his side into the damp sand. He pointed his trident at the mutts, watching as they snarled and growled at him but didn’t step onto the sand. They reached the end of their territory. 

He jabs at one, sending it back a few steps and it snarls at him.

The morphling lays in Peeta’s arms, gasping like a fish out of water. Everything about her speaks of waste—her body, her life, the vacant look in her eyes. There is nothing any of them can do. Nothing but stay with her while she dies.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay,” Peeta reassures her as she wheezes. “Shh, it’s okay.”

He looks around him, searching for something to distract the Morphling, something she could focus on and not her own pain. 

“Hey, you wanna see something?” He asks, stroking her hair. The morphling stares into his eyes, and he gestures towards the sky. “Look up. Look.”

The morphling shifts her gaze to the sky and Peeta smiles softly.

“Look at it,” He says softly. “Look at that.”

The morphling’s breathing is slowing into shallow catch-breaths as she stares at the sunset.

“It’s incredible, isn’t it?” Peeta asks. “All those colors. Don’t worry about anything else. I’ll be right here with you.”

The morphling seems mesmerized. Entranced. 

“It’s okay,” Peeta reassures her. “It’s okay.”

For a moment, the morphling’s face lights up in a grin and she makes a small squeaking sound. Then her blood-dappled hand falls from Peeta’s and back onto her chest, she gives one last huff of air, and the cannon fires. 

Finnick watches in disbelief as the monkey mutts retreat back into the jungle and he slowly lowers his trident to the ground.

Peeta carries the morphling out into the water before returning and standing next to Katniss on the shoreline. The morphling floats out toward the Cornucopia for a while, then the hovercraft appears and a four-pronged claw drops, encases her, carries her into the night sky, and she’s gone.

Finnick wanders off, pacing as if to clear his mind about the fact that the Cornucopia was empty. 

“She sacrificed herself for me and I didn’t even know her name,” Peeta says.

“You think she sacrificed herself?” Katniss asks, turning to look at him.

“Looked like it,” Peeta shrugs.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Katniss says.

“No, what doesn’t make sense is those damn mutts,” Finnick says, approaching the two on the shoreline. His fist is full of Katniss’s arrows still wet with monkey blood. He drops them beside her on the sand. “Thought you might want these.”

“Thanks,” Katniss says.

She wades into the water and washes off the gore, from her weapons, her wounds. By the time she returns to the jungle to gather some moss to dry them, all the monkeys’ bodies have vanished.

“Where did they go?” Katniss asks.

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” Finnick says. “The vines shifted and they were just gone.”

Katniss stares at the jungle, numb and exhausted. In the quiet, she notices that the spots where the fog droplets touched her skin have scabbed over. They’ve stopped hurting and begun to itch. Intensely.

She glances over at Peeta and Finnick, and sees they’re both scratching at their damaged faces.

“Don't scratch,” Katniss says, wanting badly to scratch herself. But she knows it’s the advice her mother would give. “You’ll only bring infection. Think it’s safe to try for the water again?”

They make their way back to the tree Peeta was tapping. Finnick and Katniss stand with their weapons poised while Peeta works the spile in, but no threat appears. Peeta’s found a good vein and the water begins to gush from the spile. They slake their thirst, let the warm water pour over their itching bodies and then fill a handful of shells with drinking water and go back to the beach.

It's still night, though dawn can’t be too many hours away. Unless the Gamemakers want it to be.

“Why don’t you two get some rest?” Katniss says. “I’ll watch for a while.”

“No, Katniss, I’d rather,” Finnick tells her.

She looks in his eyes, at his face, and realizes he’s barely holding back tears.

Mags. 

The least she can do is give him the privacy to mourn her.

“All right, Finnick, thanks,” Katniss says.

She lies down on the sand with Peeta, who drifts off at once. She stares into the night, thinking of what a difference a day makes.

How yesterday morning, Finnick was on her kill list, and now she’s willing to sleep with him as her guard. He saved Peeta and her countless times and she doesn’t know why. Only that she can never settle the balance owed between them. All she can do at the moment is go to sleep and let him grieve in peace.

And so she does.

Chapter Text

It’s midmorning when Katniss opens her eyes again. Peeta’s still out beside her. Above them, a mat of grass suspended on branches shields their faces from the sunlight.

She sits up and sees that Finnick’s hands have not been idle. Two woven bowls are filled with fresh water. A third holds a mess of fish.

Finnick sits on the sand, skinning them with a knife.

“They’re better skinned,” he says, ripping a chunk of flesh off the fish and tossing it into the bowl. His eyes are still puffy but Katniss pretends not to notice.

Her stomach begins to growl at the smell of food and she reaches for one. The sight of her fingernails, caked with blood, stops her. She had been scratching her skin raw in her sleep.

“You know, if you scratch you’ll bring on infection,” Finnick tells her.

“That’s what I’ve heard,” Katniss says.

She stands up and goes into the saltwater to wash off the blood, trying to decide which she hates more, pain or itching.

Fed up, she stomps back onto the beach, turns her face upward, and snaps.

 “Hey, Haymitch, if you’re not too drunk, we could use a little something for our skin.”

It’s almost funny how quickly the parachute appears above her and she reaches up and the tube lands squarely in her open hand. 

“About time,” Katniss says, but she can’t keep the scowl on her face. 

Haymitch. 

What she wouldn’t give for five minutes of conversation with him.

She plunks down on the sand next to Finnick and screws the lid off the tube. Inside is a thick, dark ointment with a pungent smell, a combination of tar and pine needles.

Katniss wrinkles her nose as she squeezes a glob of the medicine onto her palm and begins to massage it into her leg. A sound of pleasure slips out of her mouth as the stuff eradicates her itching. It also stains her scabby skin a ghastly gray-green.

As she starts on the second leg, she tosses the tube to Finnick, who eyes her doubtfully.

“It’s like you’re decomposing,” Finnick tells her.

But the itching wins out, because after a minute Finnick begins to treat his own skin too. The combination of the scabs and the ointment looks hideous and Katniss can’t help herself from enjoying his distress.

“Poor Finnick,” Katniss says. “Is this the first time in your life you haven’t looked pretty?”

“It must be. The sensation’s completely new. How have you managed it all these years?” He asks.

“Just avoid mirrors,” Katniss tells him. “You’ll forget about it.”