(a/n): This will be the final chapter about Finnick's experience in the Games. After this, we are going to get some real tension between Finnick and Ceres...and just you wait until the next chapter...when shit really gets real.

CHAPTER FOUR

better to leave it unspoken

I feel compelled to state the obvious, so I shall...Harpee is more than likely going to rub my name into the dirt, regardless of what the Mentors have told her to do. After all, why wouldn't she take this opportunity? I had spent years upon years bragging about how I was going to be a part of the Hunger Games, yet on the day of the Reaping I didn't even bother Volunteering - for my own friend, no less. Harpee Volunteered where I should have, but to my defense I would have willingly taken Mara's place. The only issue comes in the form of Finnick...

Clearing my head, I put my focus back on the matter at hand. Harpee has stepped into the lights and cameras, smiling sweetly to the audience as she blows them kisses that seem almost too rehearsed, and takes an elegant seat beside Caesar. She's wearing what I can only describe as a fluffy cupcake. It is a bright shade of blue with ruffles that fall to her ankles, thus allowing for her glittering heels to be seen by all. Her hair has been fluffed up and left to drape over her left shoulder; showing off the least freckled shoulder.

Caesar smiles as Harpee settles into her seat. "So, Harpee, being from District 4, I imagine you're a very good swimmer."

"Well, in our District you're practically born in the water, so if you can't swim you're just shark bait," Harpee giggles. Her smile is tight, but at least her voice sounds smooth and natural. Keep it up, just avoid talking about me. "Luckily for all of us, I am a good swimmer, though I prefer to set campfires on the beach and watch the water at night. It makes for a very calming and romantic atmosphere, you know?"

"Oh, romantic!" Caesar croons, eyebrows rising high above his forehead in interest. "Is this indicating there's a special someone at home?"

Harpee flutters her eyelashes, then presses her index finger to her lips. "If I win the Games I'll tell you," she chirps.

This is the first time I've ever heard of Harpee being interested in someone. She's had crushes before in the past, but as far as I have ever known she hasn't been with anyone - hell, I can't even think of a time I caught her looking at someone like that. But I have to remind myself that I am - was - her good luck charm...her Token...so maybe she never felt compelled to tell me her deepest and darkest secrets.

Alternatively, this could be a ploy set by the Mentors to help her gain sympathy through the promise of romance. After all, if there is anything the Capitol adores, it's the fantastical flights of fancy that their Tributes bring.

Caesar cackles at Harpee's response. "Oh, how devilish of you to leave us in suspense!" He collects himself enough to resume to the next question. "So it is my understanding that you Volunteered for the Games, in a very beautiful moment, for your best friend. Is this correct?"

Harpee's smile softens into the semblance of a melancholic frown. Just as quickly she catches her error and offers that fake, twisted smile again, though it doesn't even begin to graze her eyes. "Yes. My best friend, Mara...she was Reaped," she says. Each word she utters is slow and meticulous, as she is seemingly spending a gross amount of time on each syllable, to perfect it; to ensure everything comes out as perfect. She glances out at the audience with those soft eyes. Yes. Yes. Sympathy. Good. "I couldn't let my friend die like that, not when I could stop it."

I feel something stab into my chest. Damn you, guilt.

Caesar reaches out and places his hand on her knee. "You did a very brave thing, young lady. Did she visit you before you left?"

A momentary silence falls across the interview. Harpee's eyes lower to the ground, her lips curling inward in an expression I know all too well. Whenever Harpee would find herself in a state of discomfort of unease, she would often stare at the ground or scrunch her face up, just as she is doing now. The display seems to be one of mere emotion to the blind eye, but I can see well enough to know its true meaning.

"She did." Harpee smiles up at Caesar. "She told me that if I don't win...that she will never forgive me. I can't very well die knowing my best friend is going to have an eternal judgment on me, can I?"

Liber makes a sound beside me. "She's good," he muses.

I mull over Harpee's words for a moment. Thus far she has made no mention of me, the friend who betrayed her and Mara, and threw them both to the wolves, but I know that can change in an instant. I am still sitting tightly in place, my hands wringing together on my lap. Liber is able to judge Harpee with a critical eye, whilst I am in a disarray of frazzled nerves. Harpee can do serious damage in this interview towards me if she wants to. She can run my name through the dirt; title me a coward. None of it would necessarily matter if my father weren't a Victor or if I didn't want to join in the Games, but because both are all too true then things are made all the more dire. What would the Capitol think of me if they knew?

My hands are quivering now. Eyes closing, I try to find peace in the idea that it would bring Harpee no good to smother my name. After all, she is already admired by the Capitol and Panem for her heroic sacrifice in taking her best friend's place in the Hunger Games. What more could be possibly added by infusing me into the mix? I imagine it would make her sound petty, but then again, when has the Capitol ever cared about such details? If anything, they may live for the drama - crave it like a shark to fresh bait. My eyes flash open, a sense of dread coursing through my veins, and I feel like for a split second I am drowning. It is not nearly the same magnitude of pain I felt when Finnick was Reaped, though it is strong all the same.

Harpee is still smiling at Caesar.

This could be me...then I would have nothing to worry about. The thought weaves its way through my head, all but whispering seductively in my ear; taunting me in such a way that my heart races faster. I can all but see myself where she is sitting, clad in the same dress, making banter with Caesar, and gaining the love and adoration of those around me. That could have been me, were it not for Finnick.

Caesar takes Harpee's hand and kisses it. "And so you shall hope," he says, standing up. She follows the movement. "Harpee Howe, of District 4!"

The crowd roars with applause for her. She smiles at them, her eyes all but sparkling as she spins elegantly (dress resembling a curling wave in this moment) and then is led off of the stage. She maintains a sense of decorum as she struts away, not even budging in her effortless stride. The rehearsed movement is one that seems to gain the approval of the audience, for they cheer for the girl from District 4. But anyone who truly knows Harpee would notice how her hands were twitching as she walked away, indicating a ferocious tidal wave of nerves.

"She did well," Liber says again.

I swallow.

Caesar immediately settles back into his bombastic nature as he eagerly and enthusiastically introduces the next in his long line of interviews. I feel my teeth tighten on either side of my lower lip, sealing it in place as they graze against its surface. The taste of blood will be inevitable, but at the moment I can't bring myself to really care about that. The fabric of my pants are tightened around my fingers, my nails threatening to cut through it, and my fingers turning a fair shade of white. It ached my ego to see Harpee on that stage, being cheered for, and praised by those around her, yet it bruised my heart to see my friend in a predicament where I could have easily been. But if I am to be honest, I would say that I don't know how to feel as I see Finnick led on to greet Caesar.

I have known Finnick all my life, with him being there everyday of school, and him being there on the beach. It seems as though every distinct memory I have in my head somehow features Finnick, whether it is in the foreground or background, yet none of them bring me any sense of melancholy in a way that seeing Harpee and remembering the good times does. As I look at Finnick's smiling face, I am reminded of the times he smiled at me here. This smile is a fake one, but the one I know was so real.

I used to hate seeing him smile at me.

Lips parting before the skin can break, I allow myself to look Finnick over properly. He is wearing a teal suit with designs meant to resemble that of fish scales, as the threads are silver and glisten in the light. He has a devilish smile upon his lips. The girls in the audience all but swoon, no doubt. Finnick flashes everyone in the audience his fair grin, his hand in the air as he waves at each and everyone, with his free hand in Caesar's.

"Finnick Odair!" Caesar says, in his usual cackle. "You've been quite the heartthrob of this year's Games!"

Finnick shrugs his shoulders slowly, his smile morphing into an irritating smirk. I always hated that smirk. "What can I say?" he all but purrs, his eyes briefly flashing over the audience again. "It's easy to be charming towards those who have welcomed me with such kind and opened arms."

I make a sound, not quite a grunt, or a snarl, or a scoff.

Caesar takes a seat, with Finnick following his movement. "Well, it's easy to be welcoming to someone as charming as yourself," he says, resting his fingers under his chin as he offers the Tribute an amused grin. "So I take it you like the Capitol, then?"

"I do," Finnick says. "It's not quite the same as home, but you know...how often does a guy get to see someplace like this? The only shame is I don't get to see all of it in its glory." He does a face that briefly resembles a pout - I want to hit it off of his face - and earns swoons from those in the audience. "If I win the Games, maybe you would be so kind as to help me get a tour around here. I'd love to bring some of these clothes home."

Caesar's brow arches. "Infatuated with our clothes, are you?" he cackles. "Looking to impress someone?"

"Looking to be the most well-dressed man in District 4 doesn't mean I'm trying to impress someone," Finnick says, with a playful tsk. "Besides, I always impress."

"That you do, Finnick," Caesar agrees, with a firm nod. "You most certainly wowed all of us during the chariot ceremony, and though I would love to discuss your incredible stylist and their work, I would much rather ask what everyone here has likely been thinking..." He leans forward slightly, as if he is about to whisper a secret. The audience sits in stunned anticipation as they await for his query. "Is there a special girl in your life, Finnick?"

Finnick is quiet for a moment. His smile never wavers, though I can see it lose its natural, bright luster as his eyes flicker across Caesar's face. In the closeup on him, I can clearly see that he is deep in thought, with his fingers dancing over his knee. What kind of answer is he gouging in his head? How much effort could it really take to think up an answer to that? Finnick has many admirers in the school, so I can only imagine him trying to pluck out some random name to make some random girl's heart soar. Alternatively, it could be he is using the suspense to his advantage, as a means of keeping the audience on their toes as they eagerly await on every sacred word. Whatever the case may be, I notice that my palms are aching, and I quickly retract my nails from them. There is a tight and searing sensation that ripples through me that I can't describe. Rather, I don't want to describe it.

When Finnick breaks the silence, it feels as though he may as well have dropped glass onto a marble floor. His face twists into that usual smirk of his, one brow arched in almost a challenge above his head, and his own fingers curling under his chin to mirror Caesar. "Are you trying to flirt with me, Caesar?"

Caesar cackles again. "Well, I know some who would want to," he says right back. "But tell us about the heartthrob's heartthrob!"

Finnick opts out of a long and weighty silence as he did with his previous answer. "I have someone in District 4," he says, earning a gaggle of swoons and distressed sounds from the audience members. He has someone? I mean, it's no surprise, technically speaking, since the girls in our school were so infatuated with him, but I'd never seen anyone with him. And Finnick doesn't seem like the guy who gets crushes. "She's a bit of a spitfire and one hell of a fisherman, and you know, I made her a promise that I would come back." His smirk returns, though it lacks any sense of romantic intrigue, or passionate feelings; it is purely...cocky. My veins feel chilled. "I'm not going to break my promise before I have the chance to tell her how I feel."

There's a gentleness in Caesar's eyes as he listens to Finnick's words. It doesn't look staged or rehearsed, as the man usually appears to be; it all looks so genuine. "Now could be your chance," he says, gesturing to the camera. "You could tell her."

"I'd rather tell her myself," Finnick says, his gaze briefly falling upon the camera, and for a split second our eyes locked. I know it means nothing, as he can't see me back, but I can't deny the shock that jolts through me. I try to rationalize it, but I can't. Finnick smiles that horribly irritating half-smile of his. "But what I will say is that when I win, that I'm going to remind her of how I survived everyday."

Remind. Remind. Remind. My eyes tighten as Finnick's smile flashes horribly into the camera, to Caesar, to the audience, and just to anyone who is willing to look. My mind is racing as I try to make sense out of what he just said. As far as my knowledge goes, Finnick doesn't have a sweetheart, and it's not like he'd come to me to spill the details of his crushes. Yet my head is racing with the names and faces of the girls I've seen him smile and look at, but none of them fit. Remind. It's that word that rings in my ears, taunting me in an endless loop. The truth is hanging over my head like a heavy banner, waving itself madly in an attempt to latch onto my attention, but I can't let myself take hold of it. It's proving to be difficult.

Deep within my bones, I know that Finnick is talking about me. I want to believe he is talking about someone else, but I know it's me. He said that if he came back from the Games that he would be my new best friend, of which is a promise I tried not to give thought to. To add to this, it is his intent to forever rub his victory in my face. This was the ringer that gave away. He would never let me live it down.

All of this makes fine and good sense, but why would he refer to me in some kind of romantic way? Is this supposed to be real, or is he just trying to cook up some kind of show for the Capitol? The worst part of it is that I'm not sure which I would prefer.

Caesar's voice cuts through my thoughts like a knife. "I hope you get the chance to tell her," he says, reaching to shake Finnick's hand. "Best of luck, Finnick." The two stand together, with Caesar raising their hands up into the air. "Finnick Odair, of District 4!"

When you come home I am going to kill you, Finnick Odair, I think, as I watch him exit the stage. My eyes are stinging now. This is my promise to you.

It's been a week since the Interviews, and in that week I've avoided spending time in my home as much as humanly possible. I needed a distraction, something to pull me away from the tremendous guilt that weighs heavier and heavier on me each day revolving around Harpee, and the confusing thoughts that fill my head whenever I think about what Finnick said. So I decided the day after the Interviews to go back to Neleus. Truthfully, when I did this, I expected to be met with a door in my face or a cruel remark against me or my family, but Neleus did none of this. He instead told me to fetch my spear and net and to get back to work. And since then, I have been spending my days either fishing with Neleus or in town scaling the fish or crushing the crustaceans, as the large screen in the center of the square, for all to see, plays the events of the Games.

The Hunger Games began a week ago, as I watched from my place in front of Neleus' home, observing as the twenty-four Tributes were lined in a circle around the Cornucopia. This is otherwise known as the bloodbath. There were backpacks, weapons, and supplies laid out across the large, metal base. My father says that the Cornucopia gets richer with sweeter items the deeper you go inside of it, but the dangers intensify. When I watched two days ago, I had felt myself clench in place as fish guts spilled around me, as I was blindly cutting into a large Redeye. Five of the Tributes died in the Cornucopia, though I couldn't say which. But what I can say is that Finnick and Harpee survived. When it came time for them to run, Harpee ran as far from the Cornucopia as possible and into the woods, whilst Finnick stupidly launched himself into the heart of the Cornucopia. By some sheer miracle, he managed to obtain two backpacks - one smaller than the other, but that doesn't matter - and even managed to snag a hatchet from the heart of the beast.

He had killed one Tribute on his way out by lodging the hatchet into their head, and then promptly racing in the same direction Harpee had gone. The prodding the weapon took to be removed from the split head was ghastly to behold. I would be lying if I said I didn't feel my blood go cold as I watched Finnick crack open the head of a Tribute no younger than him, without even a second thought. There was no bloodcurdling anger in his eyes, or bloodthirsty smiles; just stone-cold concentration. It was as though he was back on the beaches of District 4, fishing alongside his father. I didn't sleep well that night, I must confess, but then again, I haven't been sleeping at all lately. I am a beginning to wonder if I am slowly descending into madness.

Regardless of what the case might be, it has been a week since the Hunger Games starter, since the Cornucopia, and neither of District 4's Tributes are dead. I suppose this should count for something to ease my mind, but it's hard to find any ease when I spend every waking day in the town square; scaling fish, watching the Games, and then returning home late at night to watch it there. It's a vicious cycle.

As it were, I am currently sitting outside of the Odair home and shop. The shop inside sells the catchings that aren't given to the Capitol, with the upstairs being part of the Odair home. I have never been upstairs, but I can only imagine it looks in a similar fashion to the lightness of the shop. The town that it resides in, called Halycon, is large and open, with cobblestone streets dusted in sand, and fair, colored buildings with architectural designs mirroring patterns of the sea. The colors of the building range from a lightly dusted blue to a brighter shade; depending on the age of the respective buildings. Mayor Eyphra often says that the buildings are going to be painted over one day. The square itself is large and open, with shops and markets, each one bustling with activity today. But most of the attention by the patrons aren't on what they're buying or doing, but rather on the Games as they progress.

I am sitting in the shade in front of the shop, with a table in front of me, and buckets on either side of me. I am currently stabbing through the hardened shells of bright red crabs, to get to the meat that I pry away from the broken shells and throw into the bucket to my left. The bucket to my right is reserved for the broken shells. Neleus and I went out fishing before dawn, and somehow were somehow able to catch a plethora of crabs and lobsters in our nets. I'm not sure where our luck came from, but I'm not going to question it at this point.

I stab my knife deep into the belly of the crab, hearing the sickening crack as I hear a canon go off in the square. It is not from the town itself, but rather from the large screen in the center of it. I don't need to look up to know what's happened. When a Tribute falls, a canon goes off to signal their death. This is done so the Tributes know how many are left.

I glance up for a moment, watching as the boy from District 1 bashes in the brains of the boy from District 10. I lower my eyes back down again, and I crack the shell open.

I start to count in my head. Five dead in the Cornucopia. Three dead within the week. One dead today. Fifteen left.

Neleus steps out from the white door of the shop to meet me outside. There is a holograph in his shop so patrons can watch inside, but sometime he steps outside to watch with me. I'm unsure if he does this to sit in my company (since I seldom go inside), or to simply get a break from the smell of fish and seaweed inside.

He stands off to the side from my table, green eyes staring up at the screen as it flashes away from the murder and bloodshed instead to the hiding, hunting, or running Tributes. He says nothing for a moment as I drop the meat into the chilled bucket, as I throw the discarded shells aside into the other.

"Finnick's still alive?" he asks.

"He is."

"Still with your friend?"

"Yes."

Neleus nods once, then retreats back inside. This is about the extent of our usual conversations. We are by no means close to one another, but at the very least we're above the fight we had weeks prior - which, in my case, he only provoked. In any case, we speak as minimal as possible, and I help as much as I humanly can until he has to retire for the night, and I have to go home. It's a mutually beneficial agreement.

An hour must go by, as I sit there, breaking into the shells and tearing out the meat, until I see my gaze drifting upward to watch the screen again. I hear voices that draw my attention back upward, ones that I recognize in a way that makes my chest constrict. I see Finnick and Harpee on the screen in the square, walking alongside each other through the tall and dark trees. Harpee's curly auburn hair is matted, with scratches lining across her freckled face, and her lips are dry and cracked. She has the smaller backpack on her shoulders, with something in her hand - it looks to be a compass. This either came from the backpack or a gift from a Sponsor. Finnick, meanwhile is carrying the hatchet in his hand, while he carries the backpack on his opposing shoulder. Much like Harpee, his face is scratched, but he looks less worn for wear.

I sit back for a moment, watching as the two walk alongside each other through the rural woods. District 4 doesn't really have broad assortment of trees, at least not in the nature of the Arena. This is foreign territory for them, but I can't help but notice upon further inspecting that they are following what looks to be a stream. I find myself reflecting back to the boy who died years ago - a boy named Jensen - who had been drowned by District 2's winner, Cato. But Finnick and Harpee aren't so stupid as to repeat the mistakes of past Tributes. I'm sure they have a plan. They have to.

"If we keep going this way we should come up to water soon," Finnick says, in a quiet voice.

Harpee nods. "But won't they suspect us to go that way?" she asks, in an equally low tone. "District 4's Tributes going near water seems a bit cliche, doesn't it?"

Finnick shrugs. "More than likely, but it'll put us closer to our element, and closer to fresh water." He glances up at the sky for a moment, peering through the collection of branches that cobweb across the sky; blocking it from view, based on what I can see. He raises his hand to shadow his eyes. He has that contemplative look on his face I never thought much about before; the one he used when he was making nets, or gouging the sunrise or sunset, or studying me as I fished. I miss that gaze.

With a sigh, Harpee stops. "I need to rest."

Finnick shakes his head. "We can rest once we get more upstream. I have a bad feeling about this place."

Harpee sighs again, and follows after him.

I look down at the dead crab in my hand, with the knife in the other. I stab through its belly again for good measure.

Four days go by. Three dead. Twelve left. Harpee and Finnick are alive.

I try not to think about the close calls, like the arrow flying inches away from Harpee's temple, or Finnick narrowly eluding the sword nearly impaling his gut. I instead try to console myself with the positives, that being that Finnick has become far more popular than I could have ever guessed. Everyday there is a new Sponsor dedicated to him, specifically for him; food, medicine, and so on. Harpee has only received one for her exclusively, but at least Finnick is kind enough to share. In the midst of this, I try not to let my ego take hold of me as Finnick is adorned in glorious gifts, because...at least he's alive. At least Harpee is alive.

That's all the matters to me. I just try to focus on that rather than the reality that only one is going to come out.

I feel a hand latch less than gently onto my arm, so I jerk myself away from it and out of my train of thought. Neleus is watching me closely with those piercing green eyes, evenly matching my long stride as we make our way back to Halycon. "You need to relax, girl. If you stiffen yourself anymore, then you may as well become a paddle."

Neleus and I are on speaking terms, but this isn't to say we're two best friends now. Casting an irritated scowl in his direction, I quicken my pace and find myself wishing I had stayed in the water; to rest, to float. "I'm tired," I snap back. "I haven't been sleeping well, so excuse me if I'm a little cranky."

"You're not cranky." Neleus cocks his brow. "Do you think he'll die?"

I shrug. "I don't know," I confess, as I feel the sand start to fade into cobblestone as the path to Halycon becomes clear. I usually make this walk barefoot, as it is far easier to do so than carry shoes around with me. My feet are tough as leather at this point, anyway. "He has a lot of Sponsors - daily, too. Maybe he can outlive everyone else by off of what they have to give him alone."

"Even if it means your friend dies?"

He must take my silence as an answer, since he keeps talking.

"I don't blame you, girl."

"She's my friend." He's staring ahead, but I know his eyes are briefly flickering to glance at me, as if to study and analyze my every little reaction as if to take note of it. His gaze is so analytical. It's unnerving. "I don't want her to die."

"Only one lives-"

"You don't have to remind me," I say, in a low tone. "He's your son. You should be focused on him."

Neleus makes a sound, one that's sharp and cuts through me so deeply I feel myself visibly wince. He stops in his tracks, then with such swiftness he reaches out and latches onto my shoulder to stop me, too. I turn fast to glare at him, but his glare is deeper. Although dawn is barely creeping over the sky, I can still see the glowing intensity in his eyes, and the way his lips curl into an angered look.

For a split second, I expect him to lay a hand against me. I don't know why this thought crosses my mind, as I've never been hit maliciously before or have seen Neleus do anything like that, but in this moment I feel myself stiffen rigidly in place.

Instead of a fist, he raises his finger and points at me. "Don't patronize me. Despite what you may think, I love my son," he bites out. "I may not be the most coddling father, or the most loving, but don't you dare think I don't worry about my son every night." He leans closer, his words sharper. "He is all I have left of the woman I loved. Unlike you, he is the only family I have. You can't even imagine what it is like to see your only son in the Arena, practically a lamb for the slaughter - to have to watch him...to have to watch him and know he might not make it out alive. I may sympathize with your friend, girl, but I won't lie and say I hope she comes back. I want my son."

My blood is chilled at Neleus' display. I've never seen him speak or act this way where Finnick was concerned. The sheer indifference I usually saw has suddenly been replaced by passionately driven love and a protective nature I find to be intimidating. I swallow my nerves, allowing myself a moment to recover before I speak back to him. "I never said I didn't want Finnick back...I just-"

"Just sour over what he had to say in the Interview?"

"What does that have to do with it?"

Neleus' jaw clenches. "He was talking about you, we both know it, so don't even bother to deny it," he says, quietly. "He mentions you throughout his Interview, and yet never once mentions the father who raised him alone. Imagine that, Ceresea."

We exchange no other words as we make our way into town, even though my heart is hammering and my blood is boiling. I let him quicken his stride as to walk ahead of me, since it allows me time to try to refocus my expression back into its neutral setting, rather than the ugly, upset look it wears now. I've been angry since the Reaping, but lately that anger has been subsiding into worrisome regret. Neleus, however...after seeing that, I can safely say he's overcome with it.

We make it to Halycon as the the sky starts to turn a brilliant shade of gold, casting a fair glow over the town as it bubbles to life. Neleus makes it into his shop way ahead of me, so I decide to lag behind a bit more to watch the Games on the screen. As it were, Harpee and Finnick were currently for us to see, both looking cleaner than they have in a few days. Their wet hair is an indication that they have found the source of the stream. They are sitting before burnt sticks, with a cooked fish's remains evident in their hands. They've been hunting. Staying alive. But beside Finnick is a large box that he is currently toying with, peeling away the layers in order to unlock what I believe to be another Sponsor.

"What is it?" Harpee asks, as she picks the meat off of the fish's bones. She chews slowly, as if to savor every bite. "Another gift for Mr. Popular?"

Finnick chuckles. "Maybe it's-" He cuts himself off, with a noticeable look of astonishment in his eyes as he stares into the belly of the box. Seconds tick by of still silence.

"Well? What is it?"

Slowly, Finnick reaches inside, and with careful hands retracts a trident. Now, we have many tridents in District 4, though I would be lying if I said they were common. They're mostly used by those who have more money to spend; the higher class. Neleus owns one, but it is rustic and old, and I imagine that it is not in the same shape it used to be. But the one that Finnick holds now is truly a masterpiece. It is a beautiful shade of gold - hell, maybe it's real gold - with excruciating detail put into every solitary corner of it; every tip, every curve. It all but glows in the light as Finnick raise it up. It is large, too, but not so large that he can't handle it.

To put simply, it is truly a work of art. And undoubtedly expensive.

Finnick is more well-liked than I thought.

Harpee's jaw drop, nearly spilling the chewed fish in her mouth. She makes haste to swallow it. "That's...amazing," she says, gaping at it. "It sure beats the hatchet you've been using." She gestures to the weapon at his belt. "You could probably take everyone out with that, especially given with your experience back home."

"My father uses a trident to fish," he says, smiling as he weighs the trident in his hand. He stands up, so that he can properly maneuver it around his body; lift it, twist it, and so on. The smile on his face is surprisingly warm, though I find myself worrying that he is distracting himself. "Sometimes he'd let me use it."

"I know," Harpee says, smiling back. "Mara used to watch you...and Ceres, too."

I find myself going red as Harpee mentions my name. What in the hell is she doing?

Finnick has the audacity to smile. "Admiringly, I assume?"

"Everything you do earns admiration," Harpee chuckles, as she rips a piece of meat from the fish again. "I guess that's why everyone loves you so much."

Finnick sets the trident at his feet, as he holds the hilt of it. "Not everyone," he says, with his smile softening, and his eyes glistening with something I've never seen before. I don't like it. I don't like this.

"If you win it might change," Harpee says, noticing Finnick's change. What are they talking about? "You have a lot going for you."

"Don't sell yourself short. You've got the same-"

"I don't have the same anything as you...except for maybe one thing, and that thing isn't going to be appreciated. You know that. But I mean it. If you win, you're going to go back there and be met with so much praise, and maybe you'll actually get the praise you want." She goes quiet, enough for her eyes to flutter as they start to moisten. "We both know I'm not going to make it out of this."

"Don't do that," he says, his tone matching her soft one, but it carries a firm determination to it. "I told her that I'd-"

"I appreciate it." Harpee stands up, stretching out her arms as she does so. With a sigh, she throws her head a back, and stares up at the sky for a moment. She's quiet, leaving Finnick to simply examine his newly gifted weapon. With a slow turn, Harpee faces Finnick, with her brown eyes flashing with something I didn't recognize. "I don't hate her, you know, and it's not like I don't want you two to-"

An arrow lodges itself in Harpee's eye. I don't even have time to react as her body falls to the ground, blood pooling from the wound. Finnick reacts faster than me, by spinning fast and seeing the boy from District 6 running towards them. I feel a scream caught in my throat. I can feel it rubbing my throat raw, until there's nothing but blood and pain in its wake. I feel the satchels and my spear fall from my grasp. The fish scatter across the cobblestone like broken glass. I can barely even see as Finnick impales the trident into the other's chest.

Harpee's body lies helpless on the grass floor, twitching. Harpee is twitching. Why is she twitching? It feels like the golden sky is going to swallow me. Take me.

Take me far, far away.

I think I'm crying, but I can't say for certain. All I can do is stare unblinkingly at the screen. After killing the boy, Finnick races back to Harpee. He checks her pulse. He says something to her. But I can't hear him. And then he grabs their supplies and leaves.

Why are you leaving her? Why are you leaving her?

Neleus steps outside. I expect him to yell at me for dropping the fish. I expect him to be angry. Instead, he only reaches out and hugs me. He hugs me to his chest.

"It's okay," he says, as his green eyes lift to the screen, watching Finnick run away as fast as he can. "It's okay..."

But it's not okay...it's not.

Fifteen days. Three left. Finnick alive. Harpee dead.

I don't want to believe she's dead. When I try to pretend she's alive, my mind replays the image of her death. I can see the arrow flying through the air, then lodging itself in her eye. I see the startled look on her face in that split-second of consciousness before she crumples to the ground. I try not to imagine the blood dripping down her cheek. But it's all I see. Even this morning when I dove head-first into the salt water, eyes wide open, and forcing myself to swallow copious amounts of water, I couldn't bring myself to forget. Neleus had been upset with me when he pulled me from the water, but at least he still allows me to work for him. It's better than being at home, and having to listen to my mother repeatedly express her condolences, or listen to my brother critiquing Harpee and Finnick's lack of attention. Like it was their fault.

I know in my heart it was, but I try so desperately not to think about it that way. I try to concentrate on the fish I have in front of me, on my little table in front of Neleus' shop. As per usual, he's inside, but lately he's been spending time in the doorway to watch the Games with me. I'm uncertain if he's doing this because he feels bad for me, or if he's trying to keep a close eye on his son. I suppose it doesn't matter either way...at least I'm not alone.

The Games should be over soon. There are only three left.

My eyes lift to the screen in the square. There is a larger crowd than usual, as the conclusion is drawing to a close, and Finnick - our Tribute - is one of the surviving three. The others are the boy from District 7 and the other is the girl from District 8. They're proven to be efficient killers, as they have taken out many during the Games. It won't be an easy fight.

As of now, Finnick is hiding by the stream, in a heavier bed of water; crouched in the bushes with his trident carefully concealed. He is watching as the other two Tributes are fighting with one another. It seems as though they were once allies, as they are walking close at hand to each other, but now they are fighting; yelling, wielding their weapons. They're after Finnick.

"I'm going to plunge that Trident in this throat," snarls the boy.

"I'd like to see you try! I'm going to be the one to kill that Sponsored pretty boy!"

Their bickering is useless.

Finnick has his back pressed against a shadowed tree, with his face scrunched up into that usual look of concentration that I know so well. His fingers tighten around the trident, as his green eyes are flashing between the two Tributes. I know that look, because I've seen that look on his face when he goes fishing. He is gouging what the fish are going to do, and which to spear first. He presses back against the tree harder when the shouting between the Tributes gets louder.

Neleus steps outside to stand beside me, his hand now resting on my shoulder. He's squeezing it, fingers digging into the skin. Truthfully, I've been so numb the last few days I've hardly felt anything, but I feel this. And I can feel my heartbeat accelerating with ferocity within my chest. My mind is racing.

The boy draws his axe high, lunging at the girl to lodge it into her head. The girl dodges, sidestepping the boy as to pull out her knife and stab it deep within his side. The boy yelps in pain, his body falling over to the ground as he writhes in place, hands gripping the hilt. Without any thought, he pulls it out, and the blood that spurts from the wound begins to stain his jacket and the forest floor. He clings tightly to his axe, attempting to swing it at her leg. Once more, she dodges his attack, and slams her foot down on the boy's side. There is a loud squish followed by the horrible sound of the boy's agonized screams. He calls out for his mother in a moment of vulnerability, and the girl simply pries the axe from his hand, as he tries to keep hold of it, and raises it high above her head.

I close my eyes as the boy's skull is cracked open.

Canon.

My eyes open.

The girl is standing over the body, staring at it with such contempt. "If you had just cooperated and let me have 4, then I could've killed you painlessly and quickly," she says, in a tone that indicates some sort of sympathy, or compassion, or regret. She is mournful of what she's done, that much is certain, but it does not last long before she starts to loot the body of its weapons.

Finnick wastes no time as she is preoccupied.

In a swift, unrelenting movement, Finnick is on his feet, and his trident raised high. The girl only has time to raise her head, with lips parted in horror, before the trident is soaring in her direction. With careful aim and force, it flies through the air in her direction, and with acute aim it finds itself in her chest. The girl wasn't even able to grab a knife or the axe before she falls back to the ground, choking on her own blood with the trident embedded deep within her. Finnick jogs from his hiding spot to get to her. She lay shaking on the ground, blood spilling from her mouth, as her chest is undoubtedly collapsing.

He holds the hilt of the trident. "Don't worry. It'll be fast." He removes the trident, and then impales her head.

Just like that, it's over.

"He won," Neleus breathes, his grip relaxing on my shoulder.

Breathing has become difficult, as I am unable to process what has just taken place. Boom goes the canon. Finnick won. He won the Games. I can't bring myself to be angry over it, to feel that he has robbed me of my right to be District 4's new Victor. I am so overcome by such raw emotion that I can do nothing but watch as he stares at the dead bodies around him, his breathing heavy. He looks so tired. But he also looks so determined. So confident.

"He did," I breathe in return. "He did it, he..."

Thunderous applause roars in the square and across the District, each voice singing Finnick's name. He won. My father kept his promise. My eyes close. And now I have to keep mine.

"What day does Finnick come home?"

I already know the answer to this question, of course, as we have been told the time and day of which they would come home. It's the perks of my father being a Mentor and a Victor...you get the details firsthand. But still, I like hearing it from someone who isn't my mother.

Neleus is reeling in the nets from beneath the blue surface when I ask this query. His shoulders heave in a burly shrug. "Sometime tomorrow," he confesses. I notice that since the conclusion of the Games that Neleus has seemed more relaxed. He does not smile, but there is a definite softness in his eyes. "Eager to welcome home the conquering hero?"

Despite myself, I smile. "I'm eager to critique him."

I'm standing on the beach, organizing the fish we've been catching within the last few hours into separate satchels. I know that my time working beneath Neleus is short-lived, since Finnick will be returning home, and my father will come back and I will work under him again. This beach will become the resting ground of dealings once again. I brush my thumb over the scales of a dead, dark fish; noting how its scales resemble a deep shade of amethyst. Finnick would like this fish, I think. He'd throw it at me and suggest I turn it into a hat.

My smile broadens.

"I bet you're relieved to have your fisherman back soon," I say.

Neleus shrugs. "You'd be surprised. You're somewhat tolerable after a while, so I'll admittedly miss having you work for me." He offers a half-smile similar to that of Finnick's, though it lacks the same boisterous confidence he possesses. "Still, Finnick is better, so I imagine I won't miss you for too long."

"Rheon is easier to work with, so them coming back will be mutually beneficial for us both."

Neleus makes a grunting sound that I can identify as a ghost of a laugh. Trudging from the water, net over his shoulder, he returns to the shore. "I imagine he'll be enthused to see you again." A pause settles over him as he lays the net down, his hands clenching slightly; a tic I've noticed that signals discomfort. "Any word from the girl's parents?"

"No." I don't like talking about Harpee, but it's inevitable. After all, she's not coming home, and she never will - just a body to be delivered to her parents to be buried. "They haven't said anything since the beginning, and Mara's been cooped up in her house. They're just mourning."

"Aren't you?"

I decide not to answer.

"There's no shame in it."

I shake my head. "Finnick is going to come home soon. Let's just focus on that, okay?"

"Whatever you will."

I suppose I am mourning. It's easier to pretend that I'm not, rather than letting the gruesome reality of Harpee's death haunt me. When I close my eyes, I imagine one of two things; Finnick winning the Games of the arrow lodged in Harpee's eye. I've woken my mother and brother up at night from my sobs in the middle of the night, as I imagine being chased by Harpee's body, which moves mechanically yet quickly, voice disorientated as her one good eye stare vengefully at me. She is so angry in my dreams. Sometimes I wake up before she catches me, and to be honest those are the good dreams. But when she does catch me I feel as though I am trapped in a never ending hell. She claws at my eyes, staring deeply into them until I see nothing but red. She calls me a coward over and over again, until I am jerked awake by my mother. She yells at me for my hysteria, but then promptly holds me. Liber doesn't say anything in the morning or at night, though I know from the bags under his eyes that he's tired.

So am I.

At the very least, I am able to leave the house and escape for the better part of the day to the beach. If I were to be honest, I would confess that I never imagined Neleus Odair as being a comforting presence by comparison to my home, but as I've found in the recent weeks, he's oddly pleasant to be around. He isn't like Rheon, but I don't want him to be. Neleus doesn't care about reprimanding or insulting me. He has little care or respect for those with softened backs or spirits. Lucky for him, I'm neither. But there must be some compassion in him, as he was able to hold me after I watched Harpee die before my eyes, though I know he probably felt some semblance of strain in the idea of losing Finnick in that moment. In short, Neleus is a strange man, but I'm not unhappy with his company.

"Are you going to do anything for Finnick when he comes home?" I ask.

"I'm going to fix him a nice dinner," Neleus says, "and if he needs someone to talk to, I'll listen. I may not be the most cuddly individual or coddling father, but after seeing what my son went through...I feel like he deserves it." A sigh trails after his words, his green eyes lowered to the sand that has curled over his large, calloused feet. They have different types of scars and scratches all across it, creating a spiderweb like design. This probably came from the rocks, I think. "He'll probably be more pleased to see you."

"He told me that if he won I'd have to be his best friend," I confess, feeling a slow smile bud across my mouth. "I suppose that isn't so bad...I just wish..."

I once thought Harpee and Mara were my best friends, but the former is dead and the latter refuses to leave her home, much less speak with me. It's not so bad that Finnick would be my friend, even if he is an insufferable individual. Will he still be that way?

"Do you think the Games will have changed hi-?"

I cut myself off, as I see three Peacekeepers descending down the pathway that leads to the beach, one flanked by the two others. It's not so uncommon to see Peacekeepers pass through the beaches, usually to inspect the fishermen or to maintain order if someone was acting up, but I feel something different about these particular Peacekeepers. My back stiffens as I slowly rise to my feet. A small part of me wonders if they're here to tell us that Finnick is back, that he is awaiting us at the train - that he is here, that everything is okay - but then I see a wary look upon Neleus' face and my faith shatters.

Neleus ties a knot in the net before standing upright. "Peacekeepers," he greets.

They pause. The one in front regards Neleus for a moment, and then me. Those helmeted stares are so...unnerving. I usually don't care, but I feel as though something is wrong. Neleus must feel it, too, since he stands so stiffly.

The front Peacekeeper speaks. "You're Neleus Odair, yes?"

I recognize that voice. My mind reels back, as I am brought back to the day that I went to the mayor's home to see Finnick and Harpee before they left. I was guided by a Peacekeeper named -

"Dominic?"

He jerks his head in my direction. Even through the helmet I can see that he is startled he recognizes me. "Ms. Rythe," he greets, cordially yet shakily, and then turns back to Neleus. "Are you Finnick Odair's father?"

"Yes and yes," Neleus replies. "How can I be of service to you gentlemen? Is it my son?"

Dominic does not even move. "We'd like to have a word with you in private, sir. And Ms. Rythe..." He does not even turn when he addresses me. "...go home."

I look between the Peacekeepers and Neleus. "Neleus, I-"

"Do as they say, Ceresea." Neleus reaches out his rough, calloused hand and touches my shoulder. He squeezes it, though it is not the panicked squeeze he'd give me throughout Finnick being in the Games, or even when he realized he had won; it was encouraging. It was the touch of a father. "Get lost. We can resume tomorrow."

I don't want to go. I know something is wrong, but I can see Neleus feels some sense of confidence in this moment; completely unafraid. I try to emulate that within my own, hollow chest. I swallow. The realization of my youth and the fright it carries suddenly weighs heavily upon me, as no longer feel like the strong young woman I usually feel like, but rather the shaken and trembling thirteen year old girl I really am. I can't explain why the Peacekeepers unnerve me, but...I feel it. I feel something wrong. But I can't disobey Neleus.

"I'll see you in the morning," I say, lowly, and then I turn to ascend the dune.

I don't look back, not even when I hear the barest sound of a loud thud, followed by a grunt. It's probably my imagination, I reason as my heart races. Just my imagination, my imagination...

I try not to worry too badly over Neleus. I try to shake off that bad, shivering feeling that courses through me whenever I recollect Dominic and the other Peacekeepers descending down the pathway. In my own head, I try to rationalize that maybe they just had to go over Finnick's arrival; maybe like a rehearsal, or give him grand gifts the Capital had given him. I try to let these thoughts fill my head, and sometimes it works. When I returned home the day prior, after having been sent away, I made an active decision not to tell Demetra or Liber about what I had seen. I merely mention that our fishing had been cut short. In my own head, I think that I was trying to mute the situation; like if I kept quiet then it wasn't real to begin with. That my thoughts weren't as worrisome as they had been. It works for the most part, but even as I go into the next morning, I can't shake it off.

Today is the day that the Victors return home.

My mother wears her prettiest dark blue dress, and decorates my brother and I until we look camera ready - as she so eloquently puts it. She even braids my hair for me, though she grumbles as she does it since she considers it straw-like. Admittedly, my hair is not as fluffy or curly as hers, but I'm not one to really care about her opinion in this regard. It's not like I could choose my hair.

But now we're by the train, waiting for the arrival of our Victors. The rumble of the train's impending arrival roars like thunder in the distance, triggering excited noises from everyone in the crowd. Mayor Euphyra is standing proudly at the head of the crowd, prepared to greet the Victors with equally uproarious applause. Peacekeepers line the crowd to keep the peace. When I see them and their white uniforms, so mechanical and dehumanized, I feel my heart start to race again. I have flashbacks to yesterday, with Neleus looking over Dominic with a cautious eye, as he hisses me away. It was not an annoyed action, but rather one meant to...protect. I don't know if this is the fitting word, but it almost clicks into place.

My eyes rove over the crowd, my nails scratching against each other from behind my back. My mother would reprimand me if she caught me doing this, but her eyes are tracked on the rail, her own fingers over her lips as she anxiously awaits the man she calls husband, the man I inherited my hair from. It does not take long for me to realize that Neleus is not in the crowd of faces. He should on the right hand of the mayor, as the families usually are in District 4, awaiting to greet his son. When he proved to be not there, my eyes searched out everywhere else. He's nowhere. He's just gone.

"Neleus isn't he-"

I'm cut off by the roar of the train's arrival. It appears in view, breaking through the seeming hushed excitement as it them boomed to life. The crowd roared with deafening applause. My brother mirrored their noises and their actions, as my mother stared with a warm smile forward. My eyes were working rapidly through the crowd, trying to search out the signature copper red hair and the tanned skin of Neleus. He isn't here. How is he not here? Earlier yesterday, he had been telling me how excited he was to see Finnick again - excited in his own way - and I knew in that moment that he would never miss this.

I try not to even contemplate the idea that something terrible had happened to Neleus Odair, as the Peacekeepers would have no business doing any harm or foul play to the Victor's father. My heart races faster, as my forehead thickens with sweat. The words of my father from years ago seem to echo in my ears. The Capital likes to play their own games, he says. I didn't know what he meant at the time, as the Hunger Games were the Capitol's games, so what else could they play? But I know his words somehow apply to this. What game could Neleus have a role in? Why?

I don't even notice as Ivoree steps off of the platform to announce Finnick Odair, as he is trailed by the other Victors. The applause grows. My eyes finally lift to the platform.

Finnick is wearing a white, silvery shirt that resembles scales, with a dark vest and dark trousers. He looks as though he were molded to be some sort of Capitolian, as his attire does not necessarily fit in the theme of District 4, but this is not abnormal. My eyes stare rigidly at him as he waves to us all, his green eyes roving over to the mayor, and then flicking out towards the crowd. I see that smile of his briefly falter, as his hand lowers for a mere instant. As if snapping out of a trance, he resumes to play the game. But I catch that moment and hold onto it. Finnick sees what I see. He must notice that Neleus is not here. He is startled, maybe even hurt - but he noticed. No one else seems to care.

He waves in a grand motion, as the mayor proudly and loudly welcomes Finnick Odair, the winner of the 65th annual Hunger Games, back to District 4. The title does not even sting like it used to. I don't feel that tightening, ugly sense of envy. I'm not picturing myself up there in this place, with my parents staring at me adoringly - for once in their lives - with Harpee and Mara cheering my name - or Finnick kneeling down to finally admit to my superiority. I'm not thinking about any of those things. All I can see are Finnick's now dimly lit eyes gravely searching out the crowd. For once in our lives, we share something; the confusion and unease of Neleus' whereabouts.

I want to step forward to embrace Finnick and welcome him home, or alternatively, call out to him so that he knows he has someone waiting for him. The faces of the crowd stare at him with absolute adoration, as if he is the pinnacle of greatness. Mara stares at him as if he is scum on her boot, or raw bait that is too old even for the fish.

The Victors part like the sea, each going to greet their respective family members, and Finnick is flanked by two peacekeepers. I feel as though I am being choked, and my foot is already in front of me in an attempt to race forward, when the mayor speaks.

"Let us excuse our great Victor so that he may settle in his new home!"

That's right.

Now that Finnick is a Victor, he will live in the higher parts of the District. Is Neleus waiting there? Finnick is being led away, but Rheon steps in front of me to cover my view of him.

"Ceres," he greets, and he wraps his arms stiffly around me.

I don't return the hug. "Dad, Finnick-"

"You can see him later," he hisses in my ear, and then pulls away. "Let's go home. I need...I need rest."

"Dad, I-"

"Listen to your father, Ceresea," Demetra says, in a sharper tone than his.

This shuts me up for now, at least.

"I want to see Finnick," I say to my mother, an hour after we have returned home. "Neleus wasn't there today. Don't you find that strange?"

"Neleus is a distant man," Demetra says, quietly.

She is sitting at a table overlooking the seaside, her fingers brushing over the rim of her cup. My father is in the parlor, with Liber asking about the Capitol with such excitement that I wish we could just ship him there. But at the present time he's not my priority; Finnick is.

"He's a good father," I defend, in a sharp tone that makes my mother snap her head up. She opens her mouth to scold me, but I quickly and efficiently cut her off. "He wouldn't just bail on Finnick like that. You know that. I just want to go to Finnick's house to-"

"Let the boy rest," Demetra sighs. "He just returned home from the Games. You can't imagine what that's like for a young boy like that." She takes a slow sip of her tea, eyes never leaving me. Once she puts her cup down, her lips purse into a tart smile. "If anything, you should consider paying a visit to Harpee's parents and offering your condolences."

That stabs deeply within my chest, leaving me with a sharp gasp that feels as though the air has left my body. My mother has never gone for a low blow such as that before. It genuinely leaves me startled, though given my mother's evident dislike towards me, I can't help but feel as though I should have seen it coming. My eyes sting, though it isn't from tears; it's from anger. With my teeth grinding, hands clenching, I spin around fast and leave the kitchen.

"I'll be back later," I call.

I'm thankful that she makes no move to stop me. When I reach the door, I swing it open and am met by a startling sight.

Finnick is standing outside my door, hands in the pockets of his nice pants, and his green eyes staring deeply into my own. They aren't the usually bright, charmed eyes that I associate Finnick with, but rather bloodshot and cold; staring ahead as if I was translucent. He stands so stiffly that I wonder if he is a comatose statue, a frozen shell of the Finnick I knew from over a month ago. I open my mouth to speak when he slowly lifts his head up, lips quirking into a wry, broken smile. It twitches in place, leading me lift my eyes to his. They are glassing over with the threat of tears.

I have never seen Finnick cry. I never even saw him cry when his mother died; he put up some sort of front, as if to protect his reputation, or masculinity. But now I can see those walls crumbling down.

"Finnick," I breathe out, taking a step forward out of the doorway.

"My father is dead."

(a/n): I apologize if this chapter felt rushed. It was kind of the chapter I was most eager to get by, especially since the next chapter actually really goes into the plot, and we're out of the backstory. But we have finally moved out of Finnick's experience in the Games! Albeit with some...tragedy there. You guys will find out what happened to Neleus in the next chapter. The next chapter will move ahead in time, though. So you know what that means...time to move on to Ceres and her joining the Games, and her interacting with Finnick...things are gonna get very complicated. If you like this chapter, please leave a review! I love your reviews, guys! And thank you to everyone who favorites and follows this story! 3

Review replies.

MaxineNixZhong: Thank you so much for your kind words! I really appreciate it! The last few chapters have been admittedly slow, but the idea was to introduce the new characters and relationships before going into the story. But now that we are going into the main story, you're going to see a lot of Finnick and Ceres interactions. In fact, next chapter will feature...a lot of it. ;)

Laure: I'm very glad you saw that! That was my idea behind Neleus. To have Ceres view him as this horrible father, but really, he's a good guy just trying to survive. He's bracing for the worst. I was sad to off him, but it's necessary. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and that you'll enjoy the Finnick and Ceres interactions next chapter. ;)