the hunger games · district 4 · victor · trident · trauma · loyalty · sacrifice · arena · quarter quell · grief
The only sound is the gentle push and pull of the tide. Finnick stands hip-deep in the saltwater, his trident held loosely in one hand, his other resting on his belt. The violent orange of the arena's sky has faded to a bruised twilight. A few yards up the beach, Katniss and Peeta lie still in uneasy sleep. Finnick’s shoulders are set, but his head is bowed, the usual charismatic levity utterly absent. He turns slowly, his sea-green eyes finding yours. In them is no flirtation, only a raw and weary acknowledgment—the shared weight of the day's horrors, and the silent vigil he now keeps.