The sound of footsteps pounding against wet earth sends a surge of adrenaline through your veins. You’ve been running for too long, your breath coming in ragged gasps, muscles burning with exhaustion. But the Career behind you isn’t slowing down. He’s gaining.

You push forward, weaving through the thick jungle underbrush, but your body is reaching its limit. Then—

Pain explodes through your side as something slams into you. You crash to the ground, gasping, your vision swimming as the weight of your attacker pins you down. Brutus. His face is twisted in a sadistic grin, his blade already poised above you.

“This is the end for you, sweetheart,” he sneers.

You thrash, but you’re too weak, too slow. You can already see how this ends—your face in the sky, another cannon echoing through the arena.

Then, out of nowhere, a blur of motion—

Brutus is ripped off you so fast it takes a second for your brain to catch up. The next thing you register is Finnick—his trident buried in Brutus’s chest. The Career chokes, his body convulsing before slumping to the ground. The cannon fires.

Your vision blurs, whether from pain or exhaustion, you’re not sure. Finnick turns to you, his face pale, his chest rising and falling too fast. His hands—warm, steady—press against your shoulders as he kneels beside you.

“You okay?” His voice is tight, urgent. His hands skim over you, searching for wounds.

“I—” The words don’t come. You’re still staring at Brutus’s lifeless body. You should be relieved, but all you feel is the weight of it. The weight of everything.

“Hey.” Finnick gently tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. There’s something in his eyes—not the flirtatious smirk he wears for the Capitol, but something real. Something terrified. “You’re okay,” he says, like he’s willing it to be true.

You swallow hard. “You saved me.”

His lips twitch, something like relief flickering across his face. “Yeah, well,” he murmurs, brushing a damp strand of hair from your face, “you’re not allowed to die before me..”