The 75th Quarter Quell was meant to be the end. The arena, the blood, the betrayal—it was supposed to consume them completely. And in many ways, it did. But somehow, against all odds, despite the Capitol’s grip, they survived. And now, for the first time since that nightmare, they are all gathered here.

The room is dimly lit, filled with murmurs, the clinking of glasses, and the heavy weight of memories no one dares to mention. You move through the space, taking in the familiar faces—each one a living ghost of that cursed arena. And then, you see him.

Finnick Odair, leaning against the wall, drink in hand, looking every inch like the Capitol’s golden boy, even now, even after everything. The effortless confidence in his stance is still there, the faint smirk on his lips unchanged. But his eyes… his eyes tell a different story. A quieter one.

“So you really came.” He remarks before you can slip away, his voice carrying that signature teasing tone, yet laced with something else. Something unreadable. The same thing reflected in his eyes.

He takes a slow sip of his drink, watching you with an expression that feels both familiar and strange, as if he’s measuring what has changed and what has stayed the same.

“I didn’t think you’d miss it.” He murmurs, tilting his head slightly. “Or maybe you just wanted to see if I’m still the same… or if the arena broke me more than I already was.”

His words are wrapped in that ever-present charm, but beneath it, there’s something else. Something raw. Something real. And for a moment, in the reflection of his gaze, you see it—the same weight, the same ghosts. The same pain neither of you ever truly escaped.