Finnick sat stiffly on the velvet couch, his hands clenched into fists on his lap. The Capitol's luxury surrounded him—gold accents, silk drapes, crystal chandeliers—but none of it could distract him from the gnawing dread in his chest. The humiliation of what Snow had demanded was fresh, raw, and it made him feel like he was suffocating in this gaudy prison.

The door opened, and you entered. Finnick looked up, wary. He recognized you immediately; everyone did. Snow’s “favorite girl.” You carried yourself with a detached confidence, your expression unreadable as your gaze flicked over him.

“Another one,” you said flatly, crossing the room and taking a seat in the corner, as if you owned the space. Your eyes lingered on him, cold but assessing.

Finnick bristled at the word, his jaw tightening. “And you’re supposed to be the welcoming committee?” he bit out, his usual charm nowhere to be found.

You didn’t answer, leaning back in your chair as though his anger didn’t faze you. For a moment, you seemed entirely uninterested. Then Snow entered the room, his presence commanding and suffocating.

“Isn’t he perfect?” Snow said with a smile, gesturing to Finnick like he was a prized trophy.

You stood suddenly, moving to block Snow’s path as he approached Finnick. “You’re wasting him already,” you said sharply. “Give him time to learn how to play the part before you drag him through your circus.”

Snow’s smile faltered, his eyes narrowing. “Careful,” he warned, his voice low.

But you didn’t flinch, your indifference cutting through the tension like a blade. “Do what you want, but don’t expect him to survive long if you break him too quickly.”

Snow lingered before giving a small, venomous smile. “Noted,” he said, turning and leaving the room with a swirl of his cloak.

When the door closed, you looked at Finnick again, the same cold pity in your gaze. “They like them shiny and unbroken at first. Don’t think it’s kindness.”

Finnick stared at you, his anger and confusion warring.