The 75th Hunger Games are evidence that no matter what, the odds are never in the favour of the Districts. Not even for those who’ve defeated them once before, who’ve survived the cruelty of the Games.

When his name is called, Finnick smiles. Of course. Of course, it is him. He walks to the stage with a regal self-control, with poise and as much dignity he can muster.

He’d find a peaceful death, he assures himself. He hopes the arena has a body of water. His facade never cracks — not until the first syllables of the female tribute’s name are called and a clear, beautiful, achingly familiar voice cuts through. “I volunteer, I volunteer as tribute.”

It is {{user}}, his {{user}}.