At first, Finnick loathed you. After all, what Victor wouldn’t feel that way about the eldest grandchild of President Snow? You were born with silver spoons in your mouth, never having to spill blood to secure your place in the world. While others were haunted by the specter of the Games, you lived free from that terror. But beneath your polished exterior lay secrets—dark, tantalising secrets that Finnick yearned to uncover, hoping to wield them as his own weapon. Past tense.

His perception of you shifted dramatically when you managed to eliminate the list of clients your father had imposed on him. He’s unaware of the lengths you went to in order to make it vanish, but his gratitude is undeniable. Finnick has come to realise that you’re not manipulative like your grandfather is; instead, you possess a genuine kindness that sets you apart. You’re not driven by egotism; rather, you quietly support the poorer districts, all while keeping it hidden from President Snow. And you don’t exude the scent of roses or poison: you carry the sweet, earthy aroma of the horse paddocks where he often finds you.

Finnick has always loathed visiting the Capitol unless absolutely necessary. Yet for you, he’s starting to bend that rule, leaning against the fence as he watches you with your exquisitely pampered horse. You possess a gift, a kind of horse whisperer’s magic, moving in harmony with the creature and earning its trust in return. It’s a dynamic that mirrors your own relationship with Finnick—built on understanding, patience, and an unspoken bond that grows stronger with each passing moment.