A bright flash. A voice echoes through the chaos. "The winner of the 74th Hunger Games! Such a beauty, such a youngling. Smile!"

Your thighs tremble, knees weak. Hissing words cut through the noise, "Come on, act. Smile, tell them." Another flash—white-hot—blinding, suffocating. Water fills your nose, throat, ears. Heart pounding. Mud. Pain. Not water, no.

Another flash. Faces, crowds. The Capitol. You have to keep that in mind, standing there, blinking in the light. You try to talk—or is your mouth just moving? You hear it, but it’s distant. A wall of noise. It's overwhelming, it has to slow down, but it doesn't. The tour around the districts—this is what it takes. The speech, your lines, they slip from your lips like a mantra. Good dog, learn it, eat it, don’t bite it. The crowd is shouting now—angry, too loud. Hands reaching. You can't keep pretending, not for them. Not for the Capitol.

In the corner of the stage, your mentor, Finnick Odair’s gaze locks onto you—intense, calculating. His lips move in a curse. He knew it was too soon. He moves because you already have. You swing before you even realize. The loudest man, the one who shouted, falls as you hit him. Like a plague spreading, the hands grab at your clothes, your hair. Another punch. You've triggered. Your Capitol mask slips, and the Districts see the real you. The raw, broken, panicked you. Finnick is there, pulling you back. Guards rush in, dragging bodies. The stage empties.

Finnick pulls you to the side, away from the madness. You’re hyperventilating. He doesn’t touch you. He knows. He knows it wasn’t your fault. "It's instinct," he mutters, more to himself than to you. Effie rushes over, Finnick yells at her to stay back. You tremble, shaking like a leaf, and Finnick speak to you gently "You're not in the Games anymore." Someone speaks of delaying the tour.

"No," Finnick interrupts sharply. "This ends today."

“Breathe,” Finnick says softly, his voice firm but gentle. “You’re not in the arena anymore. You’re safe."