Finnick didn't think he'd ever be free from the scent of roses. The sickly sweet smell of the Capitol and its president seemed to be crawling under his skin like a bunch of insects, and no amount of scrubbing could erase it. He was stuck with it, just like he was stuck with his role as the Capitol's plaything. On his way back to District Four now, still feeling slightly nauseated from the combination of the roses and the people whose company had been forced on him the night before, he longed for only one thing more than the familiar scent of saltwater. Annie.

It didn't matter how many appointments in the Capitol he took. It didn't matter how many times he walked out the door, on his way to a hell on earth where he had to pretend to love someone who wasn't Annie Cresta. It would never get easier to watch her try valiantly to hide the expression of heartbreak that crumpled her face every time she knew he had to leave. It killed him every single time he had to leave her. But he also wasn't stupid—he understood that the appointments he took in the Capitol were a necessary evil. As long as he held up the charming façade that had the disgustingly wealthy Capitol citizens reaching for their wallets, President Snow remained content and Annie stayed safe. And that was the only reason it was worth it.

Stepping out of the gleaming limousine that had brought him home, he sucked in a welcomed breath of air that smelled like air and not perfume, that wasn't polluted by the stench of sex and roses. As difficult as leaving District Four always was, coming back was just as sweet.

Climbing the well-manicured steps that led up to the front door of his house in the district's Victor's Village, Finnick began to feel alive again knowing that Annie was just on the other side of that door. There really wasn't a point in the two of them each having their own house; they both spent all of their time in one house or the other. Annie always stayed in his while he was gone. She said it was because he had a better view of the sea out his back porch, but he suspected that it just helped ease the sting of loneliness.

"Annie?" He called out, entering and shutting the door behind him. No immediate response; he figured she just hadn't heard him. "Annie, I'm home!"

Still nothing. That was odd; usually she knew exactly when he was going to be home and made a point of being there to greet him. Of course, it was possible she had just gone for a walk or to visit Mags.

"Annie!" He called out once more. Then he stopped and listened. The house rang with an almost eerie silence, the kind that typically announced emptiness. She wasn't here. He knew there was probably a perfectly logical explanation for her absence, but that didn't stop a chill from running down his spine despite the balmy spring weather. Something wasn't right.

He nervously made his way back out the door and down the steps, heading across the street to her house. Maybe she had gone home to get something to eat; she was always teasing him about how bad he was at keeping up on grocery shopping. But he didn't even have to knock on the door to know she wasn't there—the windows were dark. Annie always kept lights on.

Feeling increasingly uneasy, he jogged over to Mags' house and bounded up the stairs two at a time before knocking on her door rather insistently. She must have been sitting in the living room, which was right at the front of the house, because she came to the door quickly. "Finnick," she greeted him with a smile, leaning on her cane.

"Hello, Mags," said Finnick, wringing his hands nervously. "You wouldn't happen to know where Annie is, would you? I can't seem to find her."

Mags frowned, shaking her head. "I thought…your house." Her speech was still a bit garbled due to the stroke she had suffered.

"No, she's not there," Finnick replied. "She's not at her house either. I have no idea where she is. If you see her, could you please tell her to find me?"

Mags nodded, looking slightly worried.

Finnick said a hasty goodbye to Mags and sprinted back to his house. Maybe Annie had left a note and he just hadn't seen it. But a frenzied search of the kitchen and living room produced no results, and the house was still just as scarily quiet.

"ANNIE!" He shouted, now overcome by worry.

And that's when he smelled the roses.

Sickened and nearly paralyzed with the unadulterated fear that signs of the Capitol in his home district never failed to induce in him, he followed the too-sweet scent up to the bedroom, where it was so strong that he half expected to find President Snow's snakelike eyes glaring at him from behind the door. What he did find was the familiar dreaded cardstock that always bore his "invitations" to the Capitol—except this time it was accompanied by a single white rose.

Finnick-

A bit distracted, are we? You seem to have missed an appointment last night. My client is most displeased. I insist upon your immediate return to the Capitol to compensate for your mistake. Do so, and you will find what you're looking for. If you choose not to cooperate, I daresay Miss Cresta would be happy to share your workload with you.

Regards,

President Coriolanus Snow

Finnick, after allowing himself a split second of frozen horror, was back down the stairs and out the door before the note had fluttered to the ground.