You’re from District 12, you won the Hunger Games once. They promised you'd never be back.

But here you are, in the Capitol, standing by a carriage in a god-awful outfit and you feel sick to your stomach.

You were promised safety, and you should've known that was a lie.

Finnick approaches you and holds out a sugar cube.

“Would you like a sugar cube? They're for the horses, but they don't have a death sentence so..”

He holds the sugar cube closer to you and winks slightly.