Chapter Text
The Games start in no less than twenty minutes.
Twenty minutes until the clock resets, until time fractures into something measured in blood and screams and cannon fire.
Twenty minutes until I lose some of my friends. Maybe all of them.
Twenty minutes until I might never see Annie again.
I sit on the edge of my bed in my room, elbows on my knees, fingers laced so tightly I can feel my pulse pounding against my knuckles. Everything we tried—every desperate act, every bitter plea, every performance meant to rattle the Capitol—none of it changed a thing.
Not Johanna storming off-stage and cursing on national television.
Not Beetee’s calculated questions about the Quell wording, trying to trap the linguists in their own loopholes.
Not my own poem, quiet and choked, that they let air only once before yanking it from the rotation. Too raw. Too true.
Not even Peeta and Katniss’s last-ditch effort, that baby lie dropped like a bomb. For a split second, I thought it might do something. That even the Capitol couldn’t stomach forcing a pregnant girl into the arena. But they can. They did.
Even Gloss and Cashmere tried—Cashmere in tears, her brother silent but burning with fury. That surprised me. Not the emotion, but the openness. Maybe we’re all unraveling.
But none of it mattered.
There are twenty-four of us going into that arena, and this isn’t just another Games. It’s a Quarter Quell. That means all bets are off. The traps will be crueler, the design sadistic in a way only the Capitol’s architects could dream up.
It won’t be enough to survive. They want a show. They want us to destroy each other for sport.
And as much as I hate it, I know that some of us will play along.
There’s really only a handful I trust—Mags, because she raised me better than this place, and Johanna, because we’ve both been broken open by the same knife and decided not to lie about it.
The rest? Some I like. Some I pity. Some I fear.
But the Careers? They’ll kill their “friends” with a smile. That’s what Snow’s counting on. That the instinct to win, to live, will outweigh everything else. And for many of them, it will.
Not for me.
Because when the arena closes around us like jaws, I already know who I’d die for.
And that knowledge might be the only thing that keeps me human.
“Finnick, there’s someone waiting for you.”
Mags’ voice cuts through the silence of the room, startling me. I’d been lying on my bed staring at the ceiling, trying to convince myself not to throw up.
I sit up with a tired sigh and swing my legs over the side of the mattress, dragging my feet toward the common room. My joints feel stiff, like they’ve already begun preparing for the end.
When I reach the doorway, I stop short.
Haymitch is there. Standing beside Mags, arms crossed, shoulders hunched, like he’s been carrying the weight of the whole rebellion on his back. He looks tired—more than usual. A bottle isn’t in his hand, which feels strange. Dangerous.
“Haymitch?” I ask, confused. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you, kid,” he says flatly.
I raise an eyebrow, trying to hide how uneasy his presence makes me. “What, here to give me one of your inspirational death speeches?”
Haymitch doesn’t rise to the bait. He just shakes his head, eyes sharper than I’ve seen them in days. “This is important.”
That sobers me. There’s a weight in his voice that makes my stomach twist.
“Okay…” I glance at Mags, hoping for a clue, but she just nods at me—steady, unreadable.
Haymitch steps forward and places a hand on my shoulder. His grip is surprisingly firm. Then, without a word, he holds something out to me.
A golden bangle, shaped strangely, like the pieces interlock. Ornate, but not flashy. Symbolic, maybe.
I blink at it. “You came all this way to give me… jewelry?”
“It’s your token now,” Haymitch says.
Immediately, I shake my head and step back. “No. No, I can’t. I already have one.” I pull Annie’s necklace out from under my shirt and show him. “This is what’s keeping me from falling apart. I’m not giving it up so I can carry around some Capitol bracelet.”
Haymitch exhales slowly, like he expected this. “It’s not about what you carry for yourself. It’s about who sees it.”
I frown, clutching the necklace tighter. “What are you talking about?”
“She won’t trust you unless you have it.”
It takes me a second to register what he means. Then it clicks.
My voice lowers. “You’re talking about… Katniss. You’re actually talking about Katniss Everdeen.”
He nods. “If she sees you wearing this, she’ll know I sent you. She’ll know you’re not just some Capitol puppet or a threat. She’ll help you.”
I stare down at the bangle, my throat dry. “Haymitch, I know Plutarch wants us to play our parts. I know this whole plan rides on us throwing ourselves into fire for Katniss like it’s noble. But asking me to give up Annie’s necklace? That’s not part of the deal.”
“I’m not asking you to give it up,” he says, eyes sharp now. “I’m asking you to take this. You’re already planning to protect Mags. Johanna. Chaff. But if you find her—if you’re with her—you might be her only shot. She doesn’t know who to trust anymore. She’s scared. Paranoid. But if she sees this—” he lifts the bangle—“she’ll trust you whether she wants to or not. That’s what matters.”
I stare at the bangle like it’s a verdict.
Like Haymitch is asking me to choose between the girl I love and the girl the rebellion needs.
My stomach twists.
“I don’t want to be her handler,” I mutter. “I don’t want to be anyone’s symbol or babysitter or—whatever it is you expect me to be in there. I’m barely holding my own head above water.”
Haymitch’s jaw tightens. Not annoyance. Not anger. Something worse—understanding.
The kind that hurts to look at.
“I know you are,” he says quietly. “Believe me, kid, I know better than anyone what it looks like when you’re drowning.”
I grit my teeth, chest tightening. I don’t want comfort. I want Annie. I want to run home, to wake up in our bed instead of this damned Capitol suite. I want a world where she isn’t watching me die on a screen.
But that’s not the world we get.
Haymitch steps closer, lowering the bracelet to my eye level.
“This isn’t about choosing her over Annie,” he says. “It’s about making sure you get to go home to Annie at all.”
That lands like a blow.
I inhale sharply, but the air doesn’t feel like oxygen—more like smoke.
Haymitch goes on, voice steady. “You know how Katniss is. She trusts maybe five people in the entire world. And after these interviews?” He shakes his head. “Everyone looks like a threat to her now. Everyone.”
He taps the bangle lightly with his thumb.
“But not if she sees this. Not if she sees you.”
My jaw tightens as I look down, fingers clenching around Annie’s pendant until the metal cuts into my palm. The idea of taking anything Capitol-made feels like betrayal, like peeling away the last layer of myself that Annie held together.
Haymitch must see the war in my face because his voice softens—not weak, but honest. The kind of tone he doesn’t use unless he wants something to land.
“I’m not sending you in there blind, kid. I’m giving you an ally who’s just as desperate as you are to keep the people she loves alive.” He pauses. “You protect her. She protects you. That’s the only way any of this works.”
My pulse is a roar—too loud, too fast, rattling through every bone like it’s trying to shake me apart.
“But… but—” The words fall out of me clumsy, half-breath, half-fear. “But Annie. I— I can’t just—”
Haymitch cuts me off with a sharp wave of his hand. “This isn’t about choosing Annie over Katniss. I’m not trying to play no damn matchmaker,” he repeats, desperately hoping I see his point. “This is about trust. About showing her you’re on her side before she starts seeing you as another threat.”
I swallow hard, but the lump in my throat doesn’t budge.
“I already have someone to protect,” I whisper. “Someone I’m terrified I’ll never see again.”
“Katniss sees this, she knows you’re not playing the Capitol’s game. She knows you’re mine. That means she listens to you. She works with you. And when the arena turns ugly—and it will—you’ll both have one more person trying to keep you alive.”
I stare at the bracelet, the weight of it pressing into my palm like a bruise.
“But she doesn’t even like me,” I mutter, the frustration bleeding through. “I don’t even like her, either.”
Haymitch snorts. “Welcome to the club. She barely trusts me either. But she trusts the anyone who sees the faults of the Capitol. This?” He points to the bangle. “This tells her you’re not her enemy.”
I look down at Annie’s necklace in my palm. The pendant in the cord. The way she twirled it together with fingers that shake when she’s overwhelmed, but never dropped a piece.
And now Haymitch is asking me to hold someone else’s hope in the same hands.
My voice is rough. “This necklace… it’s the only thing that reminds me I have something to come back to.”
“I get it,” Haymitch says quietly. “Believe me. I do.”
I can’t stop staring at Annie’s necklace. My fingers tighten around it like I could will it to become part of me.
I should tell him no. Should fight harder. But the truth is, if there’s even a sliver of a chance this will save Katniss—I don’t get to be selfish. She’s the Mockingjay after all. We come after her.
I look down at the necklace one last time. My fingers ghost over the hanging pendant. I press it to my lips and bring it over my head.
Then I reach for Haymitch’s hand.
“Promise me,” I say, voice low and rough. “If I live… give this back to me.”
Haymitch stares at me. He’s not drunk now. Not enough to miss the weight in my voice.
“And if I don’t,” I say, placing the necklace carefully in his open palm, “you give it to Annie.”
Something flickers in Haymitch’s expression—something sharp and human.
He closes his fingers around the necklace. Nods once.
“I promise.”
I nod, once, like that’ll make this feel less like cutting out a piece of myself.
He hands me the bangle. I slide it onto my wrist. It’s heavier than I expect.
When Haymitch leaves, I don’t move. I just stand there, my hand ghosting over my bare collarbone.
It’s colder without her there.
But if this is what it takes to protect her—if this is the key to saving someone who still has a chance—then it’s worth it.
I just hope, one day, someone will tell her why I gave it up.
The room feels too still after Haymitch leaves, like even the air is holding its breath. I stare at the door for a long time, not really seeing it.
“I gave it to him,” I say quietly.
Mags stares at me for a couple seconds as if trying to gauge my feelings.
“She’ll get it,” I add, my voice rough. “One way or another.”
Mags nods, slow and understanding. She reaches over and takes my hand, her fingers cool and calloused. She doesn’t speak—not with words—but the look in her eyes is enough. It says she’s proud of me. It says she’s sorry I had to make that choice. It says she knows exactly what it cost.
I look down at the golden bangle on my wrist. It gleams in the soft light, foreign and elegant, nothing like Annie’s necklace. But if it means I’ll be able to keep someone else safe—if it means I’ll have a chance to get out and return to Annie—it has to be enough.
“There’s ten minutes until we have to go down to the launch room. Do you want to call her?” Mags asks softly, her hand warm and steady on my arm.
I nod without hesitation. “Yes, please.”
She gives me a small, sad smile and pats my arm. “Go ahead, hun.”
I’m already halfway to the phone, dialing Mags’ house number from memory with shaking fingers. My heart is pounding so hard I can barely hear the dial tone.
One ring.
Two.
Three—
“Finnick?”
Annie.
Her voice cuts through the static in my chest like sunlight. I almost break right there. I almost drop to the floor because this might be the last time I ever get to hear that voice. Gentle. Sleep-rough but unmistakably her. Like waves brushing the shore.
“Hi, Annie.” My voice cracks anyway. I try to swallow it down, to sound calm, strong—for her. But all I want is to climb through the line and be beside her. To bury my face in her hair and forget the world. “Hi.”
“Hi, love,” Annie whispers, her voice already breaking. Just the sound of her calling me that—it nearly unravels me. “You called.”
“Of course I did,” I breathe, pressing my palm to the wall beside the phone, like I can hold myself up with just that. “I… I just wanted to call you—”
“Finnick, don’t talk like that,” she cuts in quickly, voice sharp but trembling. “Don’t talk like you’ve already lost.”
I close my eyes, shaking. “Annie, I’m not— It’s just—” I choke on the words, on the truth that’s been sitting in my chest like a stone. “I might not get another chance. I need you to know… if something happens—”
“No,” she says, and it’s not soft anymore. It’s pleading. Fierce. “Don’t. Please, don’t say goodbye.”
I can hear her breathing hard on the other end, trying to hold it together. It shatters me.
“You're the only thing keeping me steady,” I whisper. “You’re the only reason I’m not falling apart right now. And I—I need your voice. Just for a little longer.”
“Then don’t hang up,” she says desperately, like she’s terrified I’ll vanish the second the line goes silent. “Please don’t hang up yet.”
“I won’t,” I promise, though I know time’s running out. I can already hear the shuffle of feet in the hallway, the low murmur of Peacekeepers gathering to escort us downstairs. But I cling to the sound of her, to every syllable. “I keep thinking about your laugh. The one you try to hide when you're embarrassed. I remember it from when you beat me at cards and tried not to gloat.”
“I always gloat,” she says softly, trying to smile through the tears I know are there. “You’re just bad at poker.”
“I’m bad at a lot of things,” I say, voice hoarse. “But I know how to love you. I know that.”
There’s a long silence.
“Is Trent there?” I ask, my voice barely steady.
“Yeah,” Annie says softly. “Let me get him for you real quick.”
The line goes quiet, the seconds stretching out longer than they should. I close my eyes, trying to steady my breathing, to keep the panic from choking me. Then a new voice cuts through the silence.
“Finnick?”
“Hey, man,” I answer, my throat tight.
Trent’s voice is rough but steady, a solid anchor in the chaos swirling around me. “You okay?”
I swallow hard, the lump in my throat making the words catch. “I’m trying to be.”
There’s a pause, then Trent says gently, “You don’t have to pretend to be. Feel what you have to feel.”
I let out a shaky breath, relief flooding me that I don’t have to hold it all together here. That someone else knows what’s at stake.
“I’ve been taking care of her, Finn,” Trent continues, his voice softening. “Just… please, make it back. I think it’s only a matter of time before I burn the house down with my cooking, and Annie needs to eat.”
A strangled sound escapes me, something caught between a sob and a laugh. The image of Trent fumbling in the kitchen makes the unbearable weight in my chest loosen just a little.
“Okay,” I say, my voice thick and raw, each word catching like a lump in my throat. “I’ll try.”
There’s a pause on the other end before Trent’s voice comes steady, a quiet reassurance cutting through the storm inside me. “That’s all I ask of you. I’m going to pass the phone back to Annie now, but promise me you’ll take care of yourself, okay?”
I swallow hard, trying to keep my breath even. “Okay. I will. Thank you, Trent.”
There’s a faint smile in his voice. “Don’t mention it, Odair.” Then the line goes silent for a beat, filled only with the faint hum of static.
Then—soft and fragile—Annie’s voice slips through like a lifeline. “Hi, love.”
I quickly wipe at my face, afraid the tears will betray me. “Hi, Annie.” I clear my throat, forcing my voice steady. “I just wanted to say… what I said in my interview… it was all true.”
There’s a pause. Then, in the quiet, her voice comes back like a whisper, so tender it breaks something open inside me. “I know,” she says. “I know.”
Her words hang in the silence, simple but heavy with meaning. I close my eyes, picturing her—how she always looks at me with that fierce, quiet strength. It’s the only thing steady in a world falling apart.
“I just wish…” I start, voice barely above a whisper, “I wish I could be there. I wish I could hold you. Tell you it’ll be okay.”
Annie’s breath catches on the other end. “Finnick… you don’t have to promise that. You just have to come back.”
The weight of those words sinks into me deeper than any fear or doubt. “I will,” I say, though I’m not sure if it’s a promise or a prayer.
“I don’t want to be without you,” she whispers, barely audible now. “I don’t know how to be.”
I press my forehead to the cold wall. “Then I’ll come back to you. I don’t care what’s in that arena. I’ll crawl through it if I have to.”
“You have to come back,” she breathes. “Promise me you’ll try. That you won’t give up, even when it gets bad.”
“I promise,” I say, the words like blood from an open wound. “I promise, Annie. For you, I’ll keep going.”
“I love you,” she says suddenly, as if the words have burst out of her, like she couldn’t hold them back one second longer. “I love you so much, Finnick. Don’t let that be the last thing I get to say to you.”
“I won’t,” I whisper. “I love you too. I always will.”
And then, like all the worst things in life, the moment ends. A soft knock on the wall. “Finn, it’s time,” Mags says.
I swallow hard, my throat burning. “Goodbye, Annie,” I whisper, my voice breaking despite everything in me trying to hold it together.
“I’m not saying goodbye,” she insists, and I can hear her fighting tears, hear the shake she tries to hide. “This isn’t a goodbye. Can we… can we end with an ‘I love you’?”
My heart caves in on itself. I wipe hastily at my eyes with my sleeve. “Of course, love. I love you.”
“I love you too,” she whispers back.
I hold the receiver just one more heartbeat, pressing it to my ear as if I can memorize the warmth of her breath, the shape of her silence. One second of refusing to let go.
Then I force myself to loosen my grip.
I lower the receiver.
The line goes dead — empty and silent, all the warmth evaporating as if it had never existed at all. My chest tightens, a crushing, suffocating pressure, as the weight of every single word she spoke settles over me like a mantle I’m terrified I won’t be strong enough to carry.
I take a shaky breath and turn away from the wall, feeling Mags’ steady presence at my side. Her hand slides into mine—a quiet anchor before the storm.
“We have to go,” she says softly.
I nod, swallowing the lump rising in my throat. There’s no room for anything but the mission ahead, but part of me wants to stay here, locked in this moment where Annie’s voice still lingers.
Slow steps echo down the hallway as Peacekeepers appear, their faces grim, their eyes unreadable. The air feels thick, heavy with tension and fear.
Mags tightens her grip on my hand. “Remember why we’re doing this,” she whispers.
I nod again, trying to focus on the fight, on surviving. On coming back to Annie.
As we’re led toward the launch room, my mind clings to her last words like a lifeline: I love you. Don’t let that be the last thing I get to say.
I won’t let it be.
Mags and I step onto the hovercraft, the cold metal floor humming faintly beneath our boots. Briar is already there, sitting close, her expression guarded but steady. I take the seat beside her, but my eyes keep drifting across the cabin.
That’s when I see Johanna.
She’s leaning sitting, arms crossed, her eyes locking with mine. For a long moment, we just hold each other’s gaze—no words needed. Our smiles are small, tight, soaked with the weight of what might be the last time we see one another. No bravado, no false hope. Just quiet understanding.
The cabin fills with the muted sounds of others boarding—voices low, tension thick in the air.
Katniss and Peeta are the last to step on, their faces drawn and pale, but determined. Katniss glances around quickly before settling down, Peeta close beside her.
The hovercraft doors slide shut with a final hiss.
My heart pounds in my chest as the engines whir to life, vibrating through the floor and into my bones.
We lift off. The world outside blurs—everything I know slipping away beneath us.
I squeeze Mags’ hand briefly, then close my eyes and hold onto the last threads of hope.
The hovercraft begins to descend, the vibration under our feet shifting as the engines adjust. A voice comes over the intercom—calm, cold, precise.
“All tributes, prepare to disembark. You’ll be escorted to your launch pad levels.”
The doors open, revealing a gleaming white hallway with waiting Peacekeepers.
Mags rises slowly beside me. I help her to her feet, fingers brushing her elbow gently.
“This is it,” I murmur.
She turns to me and cups my face for a second, the way she used to when I was just a scared kid on my reaping day. I pull her into a quick, fierce hug. She smells like salt and lavender, like home.
“Be brave, sweetheart,” she whispers. “And stay alive.”
“You too,” I say, though we both know she won’t. It’s written in the way her fingers linger on my arm as she pulls away and walks toward her level, her steps slower than usual.
I force myself to breathe and keep moving.
I spot Chaff across the corridor, already moving toward his room. “Chaff!” I call.
He turns, grins when he sees me, and opens his arms. I step in without hesitation. The hug is strong, grounding.
“Keep your head, kid,” he mutters. “Don’t let the Capitol take that from you. And don’t go dying. We’ve got Capitol liquor to steal when this is over.”
I grin faintly. “Deal.” He gives me a final pat on the back and disappears behind his door.
I pivot, searching—
Johanna.
She’s just ahead, tugging at the back of her clothes like it’s too tight. I catch up to her, and without a word, we hug. Not a quick one—this is real. Her grip is tight, arms locked around my ribs like she doesn’t want to let go.
“Promise me you’re not gonna die,” she mutters into my shoulder.
I smile faintly. “Only if you promise the same.”
She pulls back just enough to look at me. Her eyes are raw but steady. “Haymitch came to my room. Told me I needed to make Katniss trust me. Said to grab Beetee and Wiress. Make it look like strategy. I thought he was crazy at first. This is stupid.”
I blink. “He told me something similar.”
She raises her eyebrows. “You’re kidding.”
“He gave me his bangle,” I say, tugging my sleeve up to show the golden band. “Said Katniss would notice it. Said she needed to believe I was with her.”
Johanna lets out a dry, humorless laugh. “Son of a bitch was playing chess the whole time, wasn’t he?”
“Looks like it.”
A Peacekeeper clears his throat behind us.
Johanna sighs and shoves my shoulder lightly. “Just… don’t get yourself killed, Odair.”
“You either, Mason.”
She nods once and starts walking toward her launch room.
And suddenly, I’m alone again, with nothing but the silence and the tight ache in my chest.
It’s almost time.
The door hisses open as I step into my assigned launch room.
It’s sterile. Cold. Too quiet. I half expect Deverra to be waiting, fussing over every wrinkle in my uniform, but the room is empty—just a bench, a mirror, a neatly folded suit waiting on a low shelf.
Thank god. I’m not sure I could handle her theatrics right now. No clever Capitol quips, no ridiculous pre-fight metaphors wrapped in silk and teeth. Just silence. Just me.
Still, I think of her. Of what she told me before my first Games, when I was barely more than a boy standing barefoot in a District Four wetsuit.
I strip quickly and pull the underlayers on accompanied by the wet suit. It clings to me like a second skin—lightweight, flexible. Black with silver patterns that shimmer under the artificial lights. A wetsuit, or close to it.
I move my arms, testing the give of the material. It's breathable, slick. Definitely designed for humid environments. Yeah, just like Deverra said.
Jungle, maybe. Something tropical. Dense with foliage. My stomach coils.
Just like my arena.
I stare at myself in the mirror, heart pounding. I remember the smell of rotting vines. The wet crunch of leaves under my bare feet. Where Rome and Harmonia bled from the savage mutts. I swallow hard and force the thoughts back into their cage.
This isn’t then. I’m not that boy anymore.
But if it is jungle, that means water.
My hands settle at my sides as a new thought settles in my chest. Not dread—something closer to anticipation.
Water.
My fingers twitch.
That’s something I can work with.
They’ve put me in an arena they thought would level the field, but in doing so, they gave me an edge. I’m from the sea. I grew up in it. I don’t just know how to swim—I live there.
Let them come.
I glance up at the countdown monitor. Three minutes.
Outside, I hear muffled voices, movement, and then silence.
It’s almost time.
I close my eyes, picture Annie’s face, and let the memory steady me.
Let them come.
The metal cylinder in my room hisses softly. The platform glides into place, ready to carry me up.
It’s time.
I step into the lift. The walls are cool against my skin, the faint electric hum building beneath my feet.
The Capitol might be throwing me into a nightmare that feels too familiar, but they’ve also handed me one advantage: the arena is my element. That could save me. That could save them.
Mags. Chaff. Johanna.
I have to protect them. Mags—she’s more than a mentor. She’s home. Chaff, rough around the edges but sharp beneath it. And Johanna—hard as nails and just as breakable, whether she wants anyone to know it or not.
And Peeta.
I don’t want to think about him. But I have to.
If Peeta dies, Katniss might fall apart. And if Katniss falls, the whole thing burns down. Plutarch’s plan, the rebellion, all of it.
We need her. So I need Peeta to survive.
It feels wrong, thinking of it like that. Calculating. But this is war now. There’s no other way.
Still, even that isn’t the deepest reason. Underneath all of it—every promise, every alliance, every brutal calculation—is her.
Annie.
I have to get back to her.
I think of her voice on the phone. The way it broke when she said my name. The way she begged me not to say goodbye.
I didn’t. I won’t.
She’s the only thing that keeps me grounded, that reminds me there’s still something good in the world, something that isn’t corrupted by the Capitol or soaked in blood.
The light above me intensifies. The hum becomes a roar. The platform shudders once, then begins to rise.
I don’t know what’s waiting for me at the top.
But I know what’s waiting for me at home.
And for that—for her—I’ll survive.
The cylinder rises with a soft hiss, and the world opens around me—blinding, hot, and unmistakably familiar.
I'm standing on a pedestal. Again.
Only this time, I’m not fourteen. I’m older, heavier in heart and memory. But that doesn’t make it easier.
I force my eyes open against the glare of sunlight and take in the arena.
The Cornucopia sits in the center of a rocky island, jagged and shining like bone in the middle of an endless stretch of water. It's a perfect circle, twelve spokes of rocky path radiating from the Cornucopia like a cruel clock.
And water.
A whole ocean of water.
You can’t avoid the water—no matter who you are or what you're capable of. They’ve made sure of that. Which is great for me.
Beyond the water’s edge, a thick tropical jungle rises like a wall, dense and alive with noise. It pulses with heat and insects and movement. Even from here, I can see birds flit between canopies and hear something scream—distant but not distant enough.
A jungle.
My throat tightens. It's too much like home. Too much like that arena.
I take a breath through my nose. This isn’t then. This isn’t those Games. I know how to survive this time. I have people now. I have Annie.
My eyes sweep the ring of pedestals.
There—Mags. Three spokes to my left. Her figure is small, but her back is straight. She’s not trembling. She knows what she’s doing.
Farther across—Chaff. He rolls his shoulders back and stares out at the Cornucopia like it insulted him. Typical Chaff.
To my right—Johanna. Her eyes sharp even from a distance. She sees me. We lock eyes for a second and she gives me a nod. I nod back. If this is the end, at least we’re ending together.
I keep scanning and my gaze catches on a smaller figure to the right—Katniss. Standing tall. Her eyes are focused. Determined to get the bow in the middle of the cornucopia where I also spot a trident. That’s good.
But Peeta—
I turn, looking for the telltale blond head, but I don’t spot him.
Where is he?
I need to know where he is. Because if he dies, Katniss dies inside. And if she dies inside, this whole rebellion dies with her.
But even as I search, the countdown clock begins. Sixty seconds.
I steady my stance on the pedestal. Focus.
Protect Katniss.
Protect Mags. Watch Johanna’s back. Keep Chaff close.
Protect Peeta, because Katniss needs him.
And above all—come back to her. Come back to Annie.
No matter what’s waiting in that jungle or hiding beneath that water, I’m not dying here.
I’ll crawl through every nightmare they throw at me.
I’ll come home.
To her.
As soon as the cannon fires, I dive.