finnick

FINNICK ALONG with, Calypso, and Vicente worked tirelessly in the days leading up to the Games, their focus fixed on securing sponsors for Liberty and Grayson. It was no surprise that they found success, the Capitol eager to invest in any tribute with potential. But there was something different about Liberty—a magnetic pull that was drawing the Capitol's attention in ways no one had expected.

The "Heart-seeker" title, which had first started as a nickname after her impressive training session, was quickly becoming more than just a passing comment. The Capitol citizens, ever hungry for new sensations, had latched onto her with an insatiable fervour. They saw her not just as a tribute, but as something to possess—someone to admire, to cherish, to mould into whatever they desired. Her talent with the spears and the way she effortlessly captured their attention during the interviews only fueled their fascination.

Finnick, though, had a bitter taste in his mouth whenever he overheard their discussions. The Capitol's obsession with Liberty had crossed a line—she wasn't some object to be ogled or traded. The way they spoke about her, as though she were just another toy to be coveted and used, made him sick to his stomach. Every word stung, but there was nothing he could do. He gritted his teeth and forced a smile when necessary, but internally, he swore he would protect her from the Capitol's insidious grasp—no matter the cost.

If it meant standing between Liberty and the Capitol, if it meant taking on whatever darkness or burden they sent his way, he would do it. He couldn't, and wouldn't, let her become just another piece in their twisted game.

The day of departure finally arrived. It was early, the first rays of sunlight barely piercing the horizon as the airstrip buzzed with activity. The tributes were being prepped for the final leg of their journey—the transport to the arena. The atmosphere was thick with a mixture of dread and anticipation. For the tributes, this was the last moment of freedom before the Games began. For the mentors, it was a reminder of how powerless they truly were.

Calypso and Vicente were by the elevators, overseeing the final preparations for Grayson, making sure he was in the right headspace for the Games. They exchanged a few quick words with Liberty, but they both knew how important it was for Finnick to have some private time with her before she was sent off to the arena.

Liberty stood in front of the elevator, her eyes distant, her posture stiff with tension. She had been through so much already—the interviews, the training, the constant evaluation from every angle. But now, the time had come. The arena would be her reality, and everything that came before this moment would fade into the background. She would have to fight to survive, and the weight of that reality settled heavily on her shoulders.

Finnick walked toward her slowly, his heart heavy with the knowledge that this might be the last moment he would have to speak to her before she stepped into the blood-soaked battlegrounds. As he reached her, he paused for a moment, watching her carefully, trying to gauge what was going through her mind.

Liberty turned to face him, her eyes meeting his with a look that was as unreadable as ever. She wasn't a child anymore, that much was clear. The Capitol had already started to change her, strip away some of the softness that had once been there. But Finnick could still see the fire in her eyes—the same fire that had made him believe in her from the start.

"You ready for this?" Finnick asked quietly, the words carrying more weight than any simple question should have.

Liberty's lips twisted into a half-hearted smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Does it matter?" she replied. "It's happening either way."

Finnick felt a pang in his chest at her response. She was trying to remain strong, trying to hide the fear and uncertainty that was no doubt swirling inside her. He could see through it, though. The truth was, Liberty was terrified, and who could blame her? The Games were a twisted nightmare, and anyone who had been through them—anyone who survived—would never come out unscathed.

He reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, a gesture of comfort. "I know you don't need to hear it, but I'm proud of you. You've come so far already."

Liberty's gaze softened for a moment, but then she quickly turned her head, looking away as if the words were too much to process. "I just want to get this over with," she muttered. "The Games... they're already in my head. It's all I think about."

Finnick nodded, understanding her frustration. He wanted to take the burden from her, to shield her from the pain that was waiting for her in the arena. But he knew he couldn't. He couldn't save her from the Capitol, not entirely. All he could do was watch, and hope she survived.

"You'll make it through," Finnick said, though his voice wavered just slightly. He had to believe that. For her sake. "Just keep your head, and you'll get through it."

Liberty finally turned back to him, her expression hardening once more. "I'll survive. I always do."

There was a brief moment of silence, and Finnick could see the determination in her eyes. But there was something else too—something that worried him. Despite all her strength, despite her fierce resolve, he couldn't shake the feeling that the Capitol was already pulling her under, threatening to drown her with their expectations.

"I'll be here, Libby. I'm not going anywhere. You're not alone in this," Finnick said softly, though his words felt hollow even to him.

Liberty didn't respond. She simply gave him a look, a look that said everything he needed to know. It wasn't a look of comfort, nor was it one of gratitude. It was a look that said she understood—understood the weight of the world that had been placed on her shoulders, and understood that she had no choice but to carry it.

And with that, the moment passed. The elevator doors opened, and it was time for Liberty to join the other tributes. She gave Finnick a small nod before stepping inside, leaving him standing there, feeling more helpless than ever.

As the elevator doors closed with a soft hum, Finnick stood there, frozen for a moment, his heart aching. The image of Liberty's face lingered in his mind—eyes hardened yet vulnerable, mouth set in a grim line as if steeling herself for the horrors she was about to face. She wasn't just walking into the arena—she was walking into a nightmare that would leave scars deeper than any they could ever show on the outside. And he couldn't stop it. He couldn't save her from it. The Capitol would ensure that.

But Finnick wasn't one to stand idly by, not when it came to Liberty. She wasn't just another tribute. She wasn't just another pawn in their cruel game. He had known her long enough to understand that she was more than capable of taking care of herself. Yet that didn't stop the gnawing fear deep within him—the fear that no matter how strong she was, no matter how much fire she carried inside her, she was still just a young girl in the hands of the Capitol.

As the sound of the elevator faded into silence, Finnick clenched his fists, the unease creeping up his spine. He felt so helpless, so useless at that moment. All he wanted to do was grab her, pull her back from the edge, and shield her from what was to come. But he knew better than to believe that was possible. The Games were inevitable. The Capitol's reach was long, and once the tributes were in the arena, nothing mattered but survival.

Still, Finnick could never fully resign himself to the idea that he would just let her slip through his fingers. He would never allow the Capitol to break her spirit, to turn her into one of their puppets. He would be there for her in any way he could—even if it was only in spirit. If there was one thing he had learned in his time under the Capitol's thumb, it was that even in the darkest moments, even when it seemed like there was no hope left, the will to fight could still burn bright. And Liberty had that in abundance.

As the moments passed, Finnick finally pulled himself together, taking a deep breath to steady his nerves. He couldn't afford to let his emotions get the better of him—not now. Not when there was still a chance for her to come out on top. There was too much at stake, and he knew he had to keep it together, for both of them.

Liberty had the strength she needed to survive the Games, but Finnick knew it wasn't going to be easy. There would be moments when she would feel the weight of the world on her shoulders, moments when she would be pushed to the brink. And that's when he would be there—whether she knew it or not, whether he could do anything for her or not. He would be watching, rooting for her, sending her all the strength he had left.

The elevator doors had shut, but the battle was far from over. And as the tributes were whisked away to the arena, Finnick promised himself that no matter what happened, he would never give up on Liberty. Not now. Not ever.

He stood there, rooted to the spot, his eyes fixed on the elevator doors as they slowly closed, sealing Liberty away from him, from the world he knew, and from the horrors that awaited her. His heart twisted in his chest, a storm of conflicting emotions swirling inside him. He wanted to run after her, to shout her name, to tell her he'd be there for her—no matter what—but the elevator had already begun its descent, taking her further and further away from him, from safety, and from the fragile peace they had found in each other's company.

His mind was a haze of frantic thoughts, but one thing was clear: his prayers were all for her. Liberty. She had taken root in his heart in ways he couldn't explain, and now, as the Games loomed ahead, all he could do was hope. Hope that she will make it out alive. Hope that the Capitol wouldn't crush her spirit. Hope that, somehow, she would defy the odds. It was a silent prayer, one that didn't need words. It was all-consuming, and he gave it freely because, for Liberty, it was worth every ounce of hope he had left.

He felt a pang of guilt—a momentary flicker of doubt—when he thought of Grayson. He knew he should care more about the boy, his fellow tribute, his supposed ally. But no matter how much he tried to force the sentiment, it wasn't there. Grayson was a part of the Games. He was a tool to the Capitol, just like everyone else, and no amount of mentor support would change that. He had no deep connection to Grayson. No bond to hold onto. His heart belonged to Liberty, and nothing could sway him from that truth.

Liberty wasn't just a tribute to him—she was someone he saw in ways no one else could. He knew what it was like to be forced into a game you didn't choose, to be broken down and moulded into something the Capitol could control. And he couldn't let that happen to her. He wouldn't.

The doors were shut now, the space she had once occupied empty, and Finnick finally allowed himself to exhale, his chest heavy with unsaid words. He couldn't waste time thinking about Grayson right now. It didn't matter. What mattered was Liberty. What mattered was the girl with fire in her eyes, the girl who had made him believe in something again. He couldn't let the Capitol take her. Not without a fight. Not without everything he had.

With a steely resolve setting into his bones, Finnick turned away from the elevator, his steps slow and deliberate. The Games were starting, and he had a role to play. But his focus would always be on her. It always had been, and it always would be. She was his priority. No matter what.