A/N: *shows up to my own fic four years late with Starbucks*

I tried to check that there were no narrative inconsistencies in the chapter, but it has been a long time, and I am very sorry if there is. I hope you guys are staying safe during these weird pandemic-y times!

Since Gale and I were selected as Victors, I don't remember ever being surprised. Shocked, perhaps, like when wolves were trying to claw my face off, but regrettably not surprised.

The brutality, the pain, the cruelty, and inhumanity of the Games have all come as an initial shock, but in the end, I was never surprised. The Capitol, the contestants, Snow—none of it surprised me.

Upon Finnick informing us that Victor life wasn't all it was cracked up to be, I don't think it even shocked me. More like "Ahh, I should've expected that." This epiphany placed several pieces together in my head: Victors aren't spoiled, aren't living a life free from the binds of the Capital. They're at Snow's beck-and-call, probably all year, all the time. And due to their experience in the Games and as Victors, they are hardened, and probably cruel. Perhaps not as cruel as the Capitol, but still cruel. If Finnick turned and shot me dead right now, it might throw me off for a moment, but it wouldn't surprise me. People come out of the Capitol system cruel.

This first thing since the Reaping to surprise me is this: Annie is not cruel. She is kind.

"We should not kill Snow," she says again as we're crowded together backstage.

Finnick asks her why, and she struggles for an answer. I don't believe it to be the result of what she lacks in the way of her mind. She truly doesn't know how to explain her request logically. Her only explanation is her benevolence.

"We're doing it, Annie," Finnick tells her again. "I don't see a way around it."

She looks dejected, woeful at being outsmarted. I feel sorry for her, but by no means do I agree with her.

"What do we do?" I ask Finnick.

"Snow isn't here," Finnick explains, tearing his eyes away for Annie. "He's safe in his home. The plan is that we find Johanna and pay him a visit. Whoever finds him, kills him."

"Johanna just tried to kill us," Gale points out.

"She said that she was being watched," I recall. "Maybe she was just acting that way because there were guards around. Maybe she's trying to win their trust."

"Exactly," Finnick nods. He holds up the trident he'd gotten from her. "That whole exchange was just to deliver this to me. Johanna is a lot of things, but she's not a traitor."

"But won't there be guards wherever Snow is?" Gale asks.

"Probably, but the thing is, we're better killers than they are."

Finnick's cocky. So not all of the Capitol's rumors are false.

"Wait, the guards," I realize. "Johanna was putting on a show for the guards. If she's earned Snow's trust, maybe she'll be posted to guard him."

"At the very least, Snow would want to keep her close," Finnick says. "Johanna's someone you want to keep both eyes on."

Gale catches on, "And if she's with Snow, and she's really on our side…"

"She'll let us in," Finnick says. "We just have to get there."

"What about her?" Gale gestures at Annie, glazed over. In thought or madness, I can't tell.

"She stays here and looks innocent," Finnick says firmly.

"But what if they come through here to look for us?" I point out. "We shouldn't just leave her defenseless."

"Well, she can't come with us," Finnick says. "She's not getting hurt."

I wonder for a moment what it must be like to love someone like that—to love someone fragile and lovely and meek, someone who is as much a burden as they are a loved one. But then I think, maybe Prim, who I can't imagine loving any more than I already do, isn't really that different. And loving her has never felt like a burden.

"I'll be fine," Annie tells him. "Just give me a knife."

"Fine to come or fine to stay?" Gale asks.

Annie doesn't seem at all offended that we're talking about her in front of her. If anything, it's Finnick who seems to grimace about the whole discussion. Reluctantly, he hands Annie a knife from the waistband of his pants.

"Careful with that," Gale warns.

Finnick scowls, "She knows how knives work."

Yes, Gale shouldn't patronize Annie, but I don't think Annie's actually killed anyone. She'd won the Games because she was a strong swimmer. But I don't fault her for that. The Games did something to all of us, it left us with our pain and our traumas, but it did something different to her then it did to the rest of us. I hope she doesn't have to use the knife, and I hope she's not eager to do so. I don't want her to be like the rest of us.

Finnick embraces Annie one last time. She returns to gesture, careful to keep the sharp end of her knife pointed away from his back. He whispers something into her hair for only her to hear.

Gale and I wait for them to have their moment. We exchange glances. Should we be having a similar moment? Sure, we could die, but we're both going to the same place. That's like saying goodbye to someone and then walking in the same direction.

Gale meets my eyes. He nods once to me, jaw set in a hard line and the determination he's carried with him since he was a child etched all over his face.

I nod back. This is right. This feels right. Our lives have been smothered by the Capitol, and that's a burden we've shared since we were kids, hunting for our families and keeping our heads down. This is our chance to end it, and we're ending it together.

That's our moment.

Finnick finally lets Annie go and then turns back to us.

"Ready?" he asks.

Probably not. But I'm a sixteen-year-old girl who just survived a death match. When has that ever mattered?