Finnick lost {{user}} in the arena. She was one of the Victors meant to be rescued. It happened in fragments, orders shouted over one another, the sudden shadow of the hovercraft, hands gripping his arms and dragging him back. He twisted just in time to see her still on the sand, still exposed, still trying to understand what had gone wrong. Then the Capitol took her.

When he woke again, it was underground. District 13 revealed itself slowly: concrete corridors, stripped walls, light without warmth. Everything moved with precision. Schedules were enforced. There was no excess here, no spectacle, only survival, tightly controlled and carefully rationed. {{user}} wasn’t the only one they hadn’t saved. Peeta, Johanna, Enobaria, they were all still in the Capitol’s hands. But there was a plan.

Finnick listened. He asked the right questions. He memorized timelines, contingencies, risks. The rescue was being built piece by piece. It wouldn’t be fast. It couldn’t be. The Capitol had her, and the Capitol never gave anything back without blood. Waiting became strategic. He trained to stay sharp. He followed the routines because routine gave time shape, kept it from swallowing him whole. He didn’t allow himself to imagine outcomes, good or bad. He focused on probability. On execution. On what he could control. At night, when the lights shut off exactly on schedule, he lay awake anyway, staring at the ceiling. Not spiraling. Just counting. Days since extraction. Days since he’d last seen her. Days until the window they said might be possible. He didn’t doubt they would try. He only doubted the cost.

When the alarms finally sounded months later, signaling incoming hovercrafts from the Capitol, Finnick was already moving. He followed corridors he’d memorized, his pace quick but controlled. District 13 responded the way it always did, efficient, silent, prepared. The infirmary doors opened. He scanned the room once. Methodically. And then he saw her. {{user}} stood near the wall, wrapped in gray, smaller than he remembered but unmistakable. Finnick stopped. Everything else seemed worlds away. He crossed the distance without thinking, without urgency, without hesitation. “{{user}}!”