I hesitantly agreed to let Finnick accompany me back to my room, more out of a lack of alternatives than genuine willingness. His eagerness to be a supportive mentor left little room for me to decline, and I couldn't bring myself to resist his generosity. But even as I walked beside him, an unsettling awareness of my undeserving position churned in my stomach.

Maybe Dylan had a point after all. Strength wasn't just about physical skill. Dylan had this unshakable resilience, an unapologetic assertiveness that I lacked. While he stood firm in his convictions, I shrank back when confronted with my weaknesses.

We reached the end of the hallway, and I opened the door to my room. "Thanks for walking me. It wasn't necessary."

"I know," Finnick replied, offering a sweet smile. He stepped inside without hesitation, and I followed, feeling a sudden twinge of unease. His eyes swept the room, as if he were captivated by it.

"Aren't these rooms all the same?" I asked, trailing behind him.

"Somewhat. But I like seeing how people make the space their own while they're here. It's different every time." Finnick picked up the seashell Cordelia had given me, turning it over in his hands with a curious, gentle touch.

"Oh, um—" I walked over to him, carefully taking the seashell from his hands. "Sorry. My best friend gave this to me before we left. I'm afraid it might break."

Finnick lowered his hands, his gaze softening. "No need to worry. District Four seashells are built to withstand anything. They endure storms, tides, and time. They're more resilient than they look—just like the people from our District."

"That's District Four for you," I said with a quiet smile, recalling the familiar training mantra. "Strength beneath the surface." My eyes lingered on the seashell before I placed it gently on the dresser, and the room settled into a heavy silence. But I knew I couldn't avoid confronting our past any longer. If I was going to face the Games, I needed to address the wounds that had been festering for years.

I took a deep breath, summoning the courage to speak. "Finnick, I—"

"Vivian, I know what you're going to say," he interrupted softly.

"Huh?"

"You're going to apologize for everything that happened when we were kids. But you don't need to. It's okay."

"I do need to apologize," I said, my voice trembling. "I was egotistical, letting something so trivial affect me. You were always there, trying to check on me, trying to talk things through, but I was too stubborn to let you. And then you got reaped, and I—"

"Vivian," Finnick interrupted again, his tone still gentle, his expression unwavering. "I promise, it's okay. I'm not mad at you. I'm not upset with you. The only thing I'm upset about is that you're here. You don't deserve to be put through this. You deserve to be back home with your family."

I felt the sting of tears in my eyes, my chest tightening. "I feel like I don't deserve your kindness. I was horrible to you over something as insignificant as training. I wanted to be your friend, but I was too scared. You never deserved any of this."

"You were eleven," Finnick said, a sad chuckle escaping him. "Do you know how many stupid things I did as a kid that don't make sense now? You're doing yourself no favors by beating yourself up over it." He sighed sympathetically. "So, here's the deal... Take this chance to be my friend. Show yourself that you've grown over the years. Show yourself everything I see in you. Please."

I blinked, my breath catching in my throat. His words—be my friend—echoed in my mind. Making friends had always been hard for me, which was why I had so few. But for Finnick? I'd give it a shot.

"Okay," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "It'll be nice facing death with two friends instead of just one." I managed a shy grin, feeling the weight of his offer and the weight of my own past starting to lift.

"Don't say that," Finnick said seriously, but he matched my grin. "I'll let you get some sleep. Sorry for barging in without asking."

"No," I responded almost automatically, "you can stay. I'm not that tired yet."

He raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised but quickly regaining composure. "Alright. What do you want to do?"

"Anything that'll take my mind off tomorrow," I sighed, settling onto the edge of my bed.

Finnick perched on the opposite side, his fingers tapping lightly on the blanket, lost in thought. After a moment, he turned to me, a half-smile tugging at his lips. "Tell me about your favorite memory from Four."

I took a second to reflect on my favorite moments from home, grateful for the distraction from the dark cloud hanging over tomorrow. I glanced at Finnick, feeling a twinge of shyness under the weight of his encouraging smile. "I remember when Cordelia—my best friend—asked me to set her up with a girl from our fishnet braiding class. Watching her try to impress someone was hilarious."

"Oh?" Finnick looked intrigued.

"Her name was Cove Sheller, if I remember correctly," I continued. "At the time, I wasn't exactly great at socializing, as you well know." I added with a playful tone, which earned a small chuckle from Finnick. "I found Cove insufferable. She had this inflated ego about her fishnet braiding skills. And since I wasn't very good at it myself, her bragging bothered me."

Finnick nodded, clearly entertained.

"So, I went up to her after class and said, 'My best friend Cordelia thinks you're cute, even though I think you have the personality of a dying sea turtle,'" I said, trying not to laugh as I remembered. "Surprisingly, it worked! Not because of me, but because Cove was already interested in Cordelia. We were only twelve, and had no idea how relationships worked, so nothing came of it. But it was still fun." I smiled at the memory. "Cordelia and I ran to the beach after, giggling, and spent the whole evening there—sang sea shanties, swam, and devoured one of Mags' pies."

"It was one of those rare nights when we felt like regular kids, not potential tributes," I added, my voice softening. "The excitement of trying to play matchmaker, then just being free, away from everything. It was... one of my favorite memories."

Finnick smiled warmly, resting on his forearms. "That's a beautiful story."

I glanced down at him, a small smile tugging at my lips. "What about you? What's your favorite memory of Four?"

His expression shifted subtly, his gaze distant, as though my question had stirred something deep. Finnick took a deep breath and looked down at his hands, lost in thought.

"I'm sorry," I began quickly, realizing he might not want to share. "You don't have to answer if it's—"

"No, it's okay," he interrupted, his usual calm returning as he met my eyes. "It's just... been a while since I thought about that stuff." He sat up, pushing off his forearms. "My favorite memory is a simple one, but I always remember waking up to the smell of a homemade breakfast. My mother would be downstairs, singing sea shanties."

I leaned in, intrigued. "Oh? Which ones?"

Finnick tapped his tongue against the roof of his mouth, thinking. "One of them went like..." He hesitated before shyly singing the first line in a low voice, capturing the tune. "Leave her, Johnny, leave her! Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her!"

I giggled, my cheeks warming, and picked up where he left off. "For the voyage is long, and the winds don't blow, and it's time for us to leave her."

Finnick grinned wider, gaining confidence in his recollection. "Oh, the wind was foul, and the sea ran high. 'Leave her, Johnny, leave her!'"

"She shipped it green, and none went by, and it's time for us to leave her!" I finished, laughing with him.

Our laughter filled the room, and for a moment, the weight of the Games lifted. I hadn't realized how much sea shanties had meant to both of us, a shared piece of home.

Finnick's smile lingered as his gaze softened. "I've always been captivated by your voice."

Heat rushed to my face, and I quickly cleared my throat, standing up. "I'm getting pretty tired," I said, changing the subject. "Need all my energy for tomorrow."

Finnick stood as well, hands casually in his pockets. "No worries. All that singing's worn me out," he teased.

I chuckled, then met his eyes with a genuine smile. "Thank you. For talking with me. You really helped lift my spirits."

"It's what friends are for," he said, walking toward the door.

The word friends settled in my chest, a warmth spreading. "Good night, Finnick."

"Sleep well, minnow," he said softly, closing the door behind him.

I stared at the closed door for a long moment, wishing Finnick didn't have to leave.

⋯

Decima roused us bright and early the next day, instructing us to wear the same outfits from the Reaping for our arrival in the Capitol. I made sure my appearance was in order, choosing to leave my hair down—braids were never my style, after all.

"Sponsors will be present!" Decima called excitedly down the hall as she woke me.

The ones who could keep us alive when we're seconds from death.

After finishing my preparations and gathering my belongings, I clutched the seashell tightly and made my way toward the nearest train car by the exit.

"You look stunning!" Decima exclaimed, gently taking my arm and guiding me toward Dylan. "Remember, the sponsors will be waiting outside when we reach the Capitol. Smile and wave, alright?"

"Mhm," Dylan muttered, his attention clearly elsewhere.

"Smile and wave, got it," I assured Decima, hoping to at least give her a sense that one of us was paying attention.

As the train moved forward, the Capitol unfolded before us, and my eyes widened—this was my first time seeing it in person. The tall buildings were so tightly packed together, it felt like the entire city was leaning in. Even Dylan appeared momentarily impressed. But before we could fully take it all in, the train entered a tunnel.

"The greatest city in the world," Finnick's voice reached my ear, dripping with sarcasm.

I jumped, caught off guard by his sudden proximity. "Oh! Good morning."

"Morning," he replied, still sounding half-asleep.

Dylan scoffed. "Quit sucking up to the mentor. No need to pretend you like him."

"I'm not pretending," I blurted before thinking, instantly feeling my cheeks burn. I couldn't decide if my sudden flush was from frustration at Dylan's jab or the realization that I actually enjoyed Finnick's company.

"Oh, Dylan," Decima interjected quickly, clearly trying to defuse the tension. "Forming a good relationship with your mentor is important! It can be a game-changer in the arena!"

The train decelerated and came to a halt, sparing Dylan from any further comments. As the crowds of Capitol citizens eagerly swarmed the train, dressed in vibrant hues of pink, red, blue, green, and yellow, it felt like an assembly of Decima look-alikes.

When the train doors slid open, my body tensed instinctively. Sensing my unease, Finnick placed his hands on my shoulders, positioning himself behind me. "It's alright. I'll make sure you get through the crowd safely," he reassured, his voice calm and steady.

"Thanks," I murmured, breathless from the overwhelming bustle of the new environment and the eager gazes of the crowd. But I couldn't let the anxiety win. Smile and wave. Just smile and wave.

Stepping off the train, I gripped my seashell tightly for comfort. I forced a bright smile and waved at everyone who caught my eye.

"Hello! It's wonderful to be here!" I called out to those close enough to hear.

The Capitol citizens eyed me like I was a prize—reaching out to touch me, gasping with excitement whenever I made eye contact, and some even declaring that I was already their favorite. Despite Finnick's steady guidance, the crowd was suffocating, growing more intense with each step we took.

Yet, to my surprise, navigating through the throng was faster than I expected. Soon enough, we were ushered into another vehicle, where we were informed that our next stop was the Remake Center to prepare for the Tribute Parade.

The Tribute Parade. It brought back memories of one of the few aspects of the Games my mother had ever found interesting. She loved watching the tributes wear their District-themed costumes and wave to the crowds. It was one of the only parts of the Games she could appreciate, and yet I couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. I knew what those tributes were walking into—how their fates were sealed, no matter how bright their costumes. But for her, fashion was a source of comfort, a small escape from the darkness of it all, and I couldn't entirely fault her for that.

The car came to a stop in front of the Remake Center. Dylan and I stepped out, heading toward the building while Decima and Finnick stayed behind in the vehicle.

"We'll catch up with you shortly," Finnick called out, his eyes briefly meeting Dylan's before turning to focus on me. "There are people inside who'll help you meet your stylist."

Dylan didn't acknowledge him and walked into the building, his expression unreadable.

"See you soon," I said to Finnick, giving him a small wave before turning to follow Dylan inside.