Finnick thought that "Games" was an awfully light term for what the Capitol orchestrated every year.

Games were fun things like tag and hide and seek. Things that kids played out in the yard.

Finnick had once thought that the Hunger Games were fun. Eternal glory and endless money? All you had to do was fight your way out of an arena.

And Finnick could fight. He was a damn good fighter.

But the Games didn't end with the final canon. No, Finnick realized soon that the Games kept being played. They just weren't played with brute force anymore.

12:30 PM

Every day at exactly that time, he watched as last year's victor, Annie Cresta, walked out to the shore. She would sit there for three hours, as she did every day, just staring at the water. She'd then go back inside as if nothing had happened at all.

Finnick had started to watch Annie Cresta. He'd known her a bit before she was selected as tribute. She was always a bit quirky. She wore funny hairstyles and made drawings when she was supposed to be listening in class.

The kids at school were horrible to her. Her mother wasn't very popular in town. She'd done something bad many years ago and no one forgot it. They took it out on Annie.

But Annie never seemed to care about what the other kids said to her. Finnick always admired that.

Now don't think Finnick was some saint: he never went out of his way to be kind to Annie Cresta. He had his reputation to uphold. And what does a fourteen year old have without his reputation?

Of course nineteen year old Finnick realized how stupid his younger self had been. He should've been nicer to Annie. Should've talked to her once in a while.

That's why he worked so hard to keep her alive in the Games. Not because of some mentor wisdom, because of his own selfish guilt.

Because when Annie Cresta's names was called at the reaping, no one volunteered.

No one cared that the weird red haired girl was going to die.

"Finn, the cameras will be here soon," Finnick's mother said in a kind voice. He tore his eyes from his window and looked at her. He tanned skin was wrinkled and he blonde hair tied back at the nape of her neck.

"I'll be there in a minute," he said, turning to look back at Annie. "What's this photo shoot for again?"

"Some designer," his mother answered with a week smile. "They all want Finnick Odair to model."

He laughed to himself, crossing his arms. He listened as she walked closer, looking to see what was out the window.

"She's a sweet girl, that Annie," she said. "A little...unstable, but very good natured. She gave me a shell necklace she made, jus the other day..."

Annie still sat at her spot, the sea breeze blowing back her hair. Perhaps he should've walked out there and talked to her then. She'd gotten back from the Games two weeks ago and he hadn't said much as three words to her since.

I can't risk it. Can't risk being close to anyone. My parents are bad enough. If they found I had a friend...especially a female friend...

Finnick sighed, "I'll just be downstairs in a minute, mom." She nodded and left him alone.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I will go out and talk to Annie Cresta.

But he knew it wasn't a real promise.

He'd promised himself the same thing the day before.

And the day before that.