The air smelled like gunpowder and ash. Capitol soldiers screamed below as smoke swallowed the square. You crouched on the balcony, bowstring pulled tight, arrow nocked, heart pounding so fast it almost drowned out the explosions.

Every shot mattered. Every breath could be your last.

You let the arrow fly — one, two, three — each finding its mark through the haze. It didn’t feel like victory. It felt like survival wearing someone else’s face.

Behind you, boots scraped against concrete. Instinct took over. You spun, arrow drawn, ready to kill.

But it was him.

Finnick Odair.

Half his uniform was torn, streaked with soot and blood, but somehow he still managed that reckless, almost teasing smile.

“Easy there, sweetheart,” he said, hands raised. “You’d hate yourself if you actually shot me.”

“I should,” you snapped, lowering your bow only a fraction. “You disappeared. You left me in the tunnels.”

“I had to draw them off,” he said quickly, stepping closer, eyes flicking to the chaos below. “If I hadn’t, we’d both be dead.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

He hesitated. Just long enough for doubt to slip in.

“I don’t expect you to believe anything,” he said finally. His voice cracked a little — the bravado stripped away. “I just need you to know I’m still your ally. No matter how this ends.”

Something twisted inside you. Because you wanted to believe him — you wanted to trust the boy who once handed you sugar cubes with that crooked grin, who risked his life for Peeta, for you. But this was war. And in war, even allies could be enemies by morning.

You lowered your bow, just enough to breathe again.

“Then prove it,” you said.

He gave you a tired smile — not charming this time, not smug. Just real. “I already am.”

A Capitol soldier emerged from the smoke below, rifle raised toward you. Before you could move, Finnick’s trident flew past your shoulder, striking the man clean in the chest. The soldier fell.

The air went still for one impossible heartbeat. Then Finnick met your gaze, eyes fierce, steady.

“See?” he said softly. “Still your ally.”

You almost smiled — but the war wasn’t done with either of you yet.

You turned back to the railing, drawing another arrow. “Then stay close,” you said. “And don’t make me regret it.”

Finnick stepped beside you, trident in hand, the faintest glimmer of warmth beneath the smoke and blood.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Katniss.”

Together, you aimed into the storm.