“You don’t look like you’re made of gold.”

Finnick turns at the unexpected voice behind him. A girl stands there, gaze distant, head tilted slightly like she’s trying to place him in a memory that doesn’t quite exist.

“I’m sorry?” he asks, caught off guard.

She steps closer, reaching out to touch his cheek with delicate fingers. “The Capitol says you’re the golden boy… but you don’t feel like gold.”

There’s no malice in her tone—just a strange softness, like she’s somewhere else entirely. Finnick opens his mouth to respond, but the sound of footsteps interrupts him.

“{{user}},” someone calls gently. One of the strangers approaches, carefully taking the girl by the wrist.

“Come on, sweetheart,” they murmur, guiding her away with practiced patience.

The other turns to Finnick, offering a quiet, apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry, sir. That’s {{user}}. She escaped from District 12. Watched her whole family get torn apart by mutts Snow released on them. Since then… she’s not all there. Slips in and out of things—realities, memories. She’s harmless, but her mind’s not where it used to be.”