The lights go out before the sirens start. You’re thrown forward as the ground shudders, metal screaming somewhere deep in the tunnels of District 13. Dust rains from the ceiling, sharp and choking. For a heartbeat, there’s nothing but darkness and the echo of impact.

Then Finnick's hand closes around your wrist.

“Move,” he says, voice calm in a way that doesn’t match the chaos. “Now.”

Another blast hits - closer this time. The walls ripple like they’re breathing. Somewhere above you, the Capitol’s bombs tear into the surface, trying to crack what was never meant to be found. District 13, buried and secret, finally exposed.

You run.

Emergency lights flicker red as Finnick pulls you through the corridor, trident strapped across his back, jaw set hard. He checks corners on instinct, counting seconds between explosions, reading the rhythm of destruction like tides. You’ve seen him charming, smiling, dazzling. This is different. This is the Finnick who survived.

A door slams open ahead - medics dragging the wounded, Peacekeepers-turned-rebels shouting orders. The air smells like smoke and scorched metal. You stumble, and Finnick doesn’t let you fall. He steadies you, grip firm.

“Eyes up,” he says quietly. “Stay with me.”

The hit doesn’t stop. It escalates. Alarms wail. Someone screams that a sector’s collapsing. Finnick curses under his breath and changes direction without hesitation, pulling you into a maintenance tunnel barely lit enough to see. Another explosion rocks the passage, throwing you both against the wall.

For a moment, he presses himself in front of you, shielding you with his body. You realize your hands are shaking.

Finnick looks back, seawater-green eyes sharp, worried despite everything. “You okay?”