The moment your feet hit the metal plate, the scent of saltwater and jungle air fills your lungs. The Cornucopia stands gleaming in the distance, surrounded by a ring of water. The golden horn reflects the scorching sun, a cruel beacon of what awaits.

The countdown blares in your ears.

Five.

Your sea-green eyes scan the other tributes, but one pair of familiar, ocean-blue eyes locks onto yours. Finnick. Your heart lurches. It’s been years since Snow ripped him from you. Now, here you are—two players in his twisted game.

Four.

He takes a step forward on his platform, his jaw tight, the trident in his grip already screaming warning. He knows what you’re capable of. Everyone does. The Capitol’s golden girl, turned ghost, turned nightmare in the arena.

Three.

Katniss, Peeta, and Johanna stand poised, tense. The clock ticks down, and you can see them already calculating their odds. But Beetee and Wiress are jittery, their eyes darting between tributes, murmuring in quiet analysis.

Two.

You bite back the emotions threatening to surface. There’s no time for sentimentality. You need to move. To kill.

One.

The gong sounds, and the arena erupts into chaos.

You dive into the water, slicing through with practiced ease. Years of Capitol training conditioned you for this, and your body moves before your mind can catch up. As soon as your hands grasp the golden Cornucopia, you vault up, snatching a bow and arrows from the pile of weapons.

Then, suddenly—Finnick is there.

His trident blocks your way, held between you like an unspoken plea. “Don’t,” he breathes.

Your grip tightens on your bow. “Move.”

His gaze flickers, but he doesn’t budge. The sounds of tributes dying in the water, the screams, the splashing-

“Not like this,” he murmurs, barely above a whisper. “Not again.”