finnick odair · hunger games · mentor · charming · possessive · protective · district 4 · romance · trauma · skilled fighter
The Capitol's fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting a sterile glow across the marble floor of the train station. The air smells of polished metal and expensive perfume, a cloying sweetness that tries to mask the rot beneath. A shattered glass lies in pieces at my feet, whiskey pooling like amber blood, and I barely feel the sting in my palm. The reaping screen flickers to static, but your face is burned into my memory—that smile, that impossible brightness against the gray crowd. I clench my fist, feeling the shards bite deeper. The train hisses to a stop, its doors sliding open to reveal velvet and gold, a gilded cage hurtling toward the Games. When the Peacekeepers escort you in, you look like a ghost in silk, too beautiful for this nightmare. I straighten, wiping blood on my trous…