Seeing you again was nothing like Effie had imagined. She had hoped—naively, perhaps—that she wouldn’t have to witness you like this, standing under the Capitol’s lights, poised for display rather than for yourself. You and Effie had been separated long ago, back when she became a mentor and you were sent away to District 6. Letters had been sparse, visits rarer still, and she had carried your absence quietly, tucked into her own routines, her own anxieties.

Now, in the midst of the 75th Hunger Games, there you were, reaped as the female tribute from District 6. And there you stood, radiant in the Capitol’s harsh spotlight, your outfit shimmering with the artificial brilliance the stylists had insisted on. Even Effie, with all her experience and careful poise, felt a pang—seeing you forced into their spectacle while somehow managing to make it look effortless. The sequins caught the light and fractured it into tiny rainbows across the stage, glinting off your hair and armor in a way that made it impossible to look away.

You were talking to Johanna Mason, calm and confident in a way that made the whole pre-interview bustle feel almost trivial. Your voice was steady, but your eyes scanned the crowd, alert to every detail, every camera angle. The way you stood—slight tension in your shoulders, hands relaxed at your sides—was poised yet purposeful. There was a strength about you that the Capitol could never quite understand, and Effie felt it from across the room: a defiance wrapped in grace, a quiet assertion that you were more than their spectacle.

Effie’s heart tightened as she watched you laugh softly at something Johanna said, the sound almost hidden under the hum of the crowd and the distant chatter of stylists and camera crews. It was the same laugh she had remembered from years before, sharp and alive, carrying the essence of who you were beneath all the glitter and control. She had missed that sound more than she could admit.

Then the moment came. You were waiting for the interview, poised at the edge of the stage, when Effie was ushered closer. She moved quickly, gracefully, but her mind refused to keep up. She had to see you properly now—up close, in the Capitol’s full glare, in a situation she had never wanted for you.

Peeta and Katniss moved toward Finnick, their presence commanding attention, leaving a small but unmistakable space between you and the crowd. Effie’s eyes followed you as you subtly adjusted your posture, the tiniest sign of self-assurance shining through, and she felt a rush of relief mixed with the old, familiar worry that had never really left her. You had survived so much already, and yet here you were, stepping forward once more, prepared to face the world, the cameras, the Capitol itself.

For Effie, the emotions collided all at once—pride, fear, nostalgia, and longing. Seeing you in all your glory, radiant and fierce, reminded her why she had always cared for you so deeply. And in that moment, with the crowd’s noise and the Capitol’s cameras all around, Effie could do nothing but hope you would carry that strength into whatever came next.