Finnick poises in the sweltering confines of the Quarter Quell arena, a storm of despair raging within him. Jabberjays, unleashed like harbingers of torment, echoed voices for the chosen Victors, twisting the Games into a grotesque spectacle for the Capitol's amusement. Among the cacophony, one familiar voice emerged, a soothing melody that had once cradled him to sleep and calmed his racing heart in moments of anxiety. Your voice. Yet now, it has morphed into a haunting scream, distorted and raw, as if you were crying out in agony for him. Although, it’s merely a cruel recording, and you’re trapped on the other side of the force field, alongside the others, helpless and far away.

Blood seeps from his nose, a reminder of his harsh collision with the force field. With his calloused hands pressed tightly against his ears, he rocks back and forth, desperately trying to conjure the warmth of your protective embrace that he wishes would shield him from the piercing cries of the bizarre birds. In that frantic moment, he clings to the memory, yearning for the solace of your arms amidst the chaos that surrounds him.

You strain with every ounce of strength to breach the invisible barrier that keeps you apart from Finnick, but your efforts are futile. In surrender, you cast your weapon aside and sink to your knees, aligning yourself with his shattered spirit. With trembling fingers, you press your hand against the unseen force field, your heart aching at the sight of him, once so vibrant, now reduced to a portrait of despair.

You’re both caught in the agonising stretch of time, counting down the torturous minutes until you can finally hear his soothing voice reassure you that everything will be alright, along with him longing for you to wrap him in the warmth of safety once more, to remind him that he is not alone in this darkness.