After a grueling day that began with our arrival at the Capitol, followed by hours of indulgent pampering and the overwhelming Tribute Parade, the thought of finally reaching our quarters in the Training Center was nothing short of a relief. Decima had briefed us on the amenities of the Center, particularly the separate tower designated for tributes and their teams. It was meant to be a sanctuary of rest before the Games, offering food, cozy beds, and beautiful views—a much-needed break. Eagerly, we stepped into the elevator and selected the 'Fourth Floor,' where we were swiftly transported to our quarters.

When the elevator doors opened, we were greeted by a breathtaking expanse of white marble, complete with several bedrooms, bathrooms, a spacious living area, and a dining room. A few stiffly clad attendants in red uniforms filled the rooms, seemingly waiting for instructions from Decima or Clio. I flashed a smile toward the nearest figure, only to be met with a blank stare, their eyes avoiding mine.

"Dinner will be ready shortly," Finnick's voice broke the silence, his tone calm as he gestured toward one of the bedrooms. "Take your time to settle in."

I nodded, still in awe of the opulence of our temporary home. Making my way to what I assumed was my assigned room, I noticed the others, all looking weary as they headed to their quarters to unwind. Clio, in particular, seemed exhausted, though her confident demeanor concealed it almost perfectly. I figured that styling for the Tribute Parade must have been just as draining as being a tribute decked out in extravagant attire.

The room I entered was expansive, with a king-sized bed situated directly across from the entrance. An eccentric touch—the bed was slightly lower than the rest of the floor, accessed by a small set of stairs, a Capitol quirk I found amusing. The space was lavishly decorated with statues, ornate furniture, and stylish light fixtures suspended strategically from the ceiling.

I was about to remove my Tribute Parade attire when my attention was drawn to the vast window ahead, offering a panoramic view of the city below. The Capitol was bathed in a serene nightlight that captivated me. The scene before me was so foreign, especially compared to the distant glimmers of fishing boats I'd watched as a child in District Four, signaling my father's return from his late-night expeditions. Back then, I'd often longed to join him on those adventures before I settled into sleep.

Beside me on the coffee table, a strange remote caught my eye—its shape vaguely resembling a fractured handlebar. Intrigued, I reached for it, pressing what appeared to be the 'on' button. In an instant, the window transformed before me, shifting from a lush forest to a barren desert and then to the vibrant streets of the Capitol. I couldn't help but wonder whether this was a standard feature in Capitol homes or a special indulgence for Tributes, designed to give us fleeting glimpses of the world before the Games.

"Dinner's served!" Decima's voice echoed from the dining room.

I quickly changed into something more comfortable, carefully hanging up my Tribute Parade costume so as not to invoke Clio's wrath. When I exited my room, I found Decima, Finnick, Dylan, Clio, Hestia, Amor, and Dylan's stylists already gathered around the table.

"Sorry I'm late," I apologized, a little flustered as I took the nearest seat—right next to Finnick.

"No worries," Amor reassured me. "We've just started."

"Indeed," Clio added with a nod. "Shall we discuss how flawlessly the Tribute Parade went?"

"Please!" Decima replied eagerly, diving into a recount of her favorite moments.

As I felt Dylan prepare to speak, I quickly diverted my attention to the feast before us. Much like the extravagant spreads aboard the train, the table was heaping with delicacies: cheeses, fruits, fish, vegetables, soups, and meats—an abundant display fit for royalty. Various beverages, including juices, wines, beers, and fizzy drinks, were readily available.

Throughout the meal, the silent attendants in red uniforms moved quietly around us, ensuring our glasses were never empty. The whole experience felt surreal, especially as I sipped wine, despite my distaste for it, trying to emulate the sophistication of the adults I'd grown up around.

"Vivian?" Finnick's voice interrupted my reverie. "What do you think of Clio's interview attire idea?"

Caught off guard, I stammered, "Oh, sorry, I wasn't paying attention. The food just distracted me."

Decima let out a hearty laugh, which was quickly joined by the others. "Can't blame you there. The chefs outdid themselves!"

Clio, twirling her wine glass with a practiced air, leaned forward. "For your interview, we envision a sleeveless knee-length dress in ocean blue, representing your district's maritime heritage. It'll be adorned with delicate sequins or beads, capturing the glint of sunlight on water. Behind you, a sheer white fabric will cascade, mimicking sea foam. Accessories will include a seashell necklace, fish-shaped earrings, and a bracelet with ocean-inspired charms. And, of course, sand-colored pumps to complete the look." She waved her hand dismissively, as if it were nothing special. "These are just initial ideas."

I smiled, a little muddled from the wine. "That sounds wonderful. I trust your judgment."

"Thank you, darling," Clio replied, lifting her glass in a toast. We clinked glasses, sipping in unison.

"What about Dylan?" I asked, prompting Dylan to glare at me.

"Excellent question," Clio acknowledged. "I picture a crisp, white button-down shirt, layered with a lightweight blazer in navy or seafoam green. Slim-fit trousers in khaki or gray for a sleek look. Accessories would include a lapel pin shaped like an anchor and a braided rope bracelet. Boat shoes or loafers would complete the ensemble, though these are just ideas."

Dylan, steadily drinking his beer, didn't offer any input—something I actually appreciated.

"That sounds fantastic," I added, offering some reassurance.

"Clio truly is a genius," Amor said. "We're lucky to have her."

"She certainly knows how to enhance one's natural features," Finnick added, his gaze lingering on me. I quickly took another sip of wine, trying to mask the sudden flush of awareness that crept over me.

Decima, her eyes sparkling, clapped her hands. "Shall we move to the sitting room and catch a replay of the opening ceremony? I'm eager to hear everyone's thoughts on Vivian and Dylan!"

Dylan, grabbing an extra beer, stood up. "I'm heading to my room. Don't need to watch myself in that horrible outfit again." He left, leaving the rest of us unfazed.

We all moved to the sitting room, where Hestia flicked on the television, drawing our attention to the live coverage of the Tribute Parade.

As expected, Finnick settled beside me, his leg brushing against mine. I quickly blamed the heat creeping up my cheeks on the light buzz from the wine, though I couldn't help but notice how natural it felt to be close to him.

I paid only slight attention to the first few Districts, but when it was our turn and the bubbles shot into the air, I couldn't tear my eyes away. The moment sparked cheers from Decima and the rest of the team. Despite the grim reality of what lay ahead—the looming death we all faced—it was hard not to see those few seconds on the chariot as truly magical.

Finnick leaned in, speaking softly over the noise of the team's chatter. "The crowd loves you, and rightfully so. You looked beautiful."

"Thank you," I replied, my voice sincere.

Finnick chuckled, a sound that carried the weight of memories. "I remember how awkward it was to be on those chariots, especially since I was half-naked."

I grinned. "You were the talk of Four back then. I thought I'd never hear the end of it."

His smile softened, and for a moment, his gaze lingered on me. Then, as if a thought had just occurred to him, his expression shifted. "How much of my Games did you watch?"

I shook my head quickly, wanting to reassure him. "Just glimpses of the Parade and interviews. I never liked watching the Games, especially not when you were in them. It just didn't sit right with me."

"I understand," he said, his exhale almost imperceptible.

My curiosity got the best of me, and I couldn't help asking, "Will you... watch me? While I'm in the Games?"

He leaned in closer, his voice almost a whisper. "I have to. I'll make sure you're safe and taken care of." His smile was confident, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of concern.

I opened my mouth to reply, but the loud chatter of our team drowned me out.

Without warning, Finnick rose and extended his hand toward me. "Let's go out onto the balcony. I've got some pointers for tomorrow's first training session."

I took his hand without a second thought, and together, we headed for the balcony.

⋯

Gripping the railing of the balcony, I let the cool breeze sting my face, my gaze sweeping over the Capitol. Below, the voices of Capitol citizens drifted up to me, filled with excitement for the Games. They could walk freely, speak openly with their loved ones, and live without the constant threat of death hanging over them. A wave of envy stirred in my chest.

Finnick stood beside me, his arm brushing mine, his warmth grounding me in the midst of my turmoil. After a long silence, he spoke. "What weapons are you proficient with?"

"I prefer a harpoon," I replied, my voice steady despite the churn in my stomach. "But I also know how to use a trident and set traps with hooks and lines." The bitter realization settled in with each word: those tools wouldn't be used for fishing anymore. They were meant to kill.

Finnick nodded thoughtfully. "I can't guarantee those weapons will be in the arena, but knives and daggers are close enough. Just in case." He turned to face me, his sea-green eyes locking onto mine. "Never show your expertise in front of the other tributes. Use a weapon you're unfamiliar with. Practice making traps for smaller animals. Make them think you're not a threat."

The competitive instinct flared within me, and I fought the urge to argue, furrowing my brows instead. But Finnick's tone remained unwavering.

"We'll have private training sessions where you can sharpen your skills. And when it comes to the Gamemakers, that's when you show them what you can really do."

I hesitated before speaking. "Shouldn't Dylan know this, too? He's going to show off in front of the other tributes, and that'll make him a target." I didn't even know why I cared. Dylan had been nothing but arrogant and rude to anyone with a pulse.

Finnick sighed, his expression a mix of weariness and understanding. "I can't force my mentorship on him. Some tributes want to face this alone." He gave me a small smile, but I didn't return it. A weight of nerves pressed down on me, suffocating.

His gaze softened, and his voice dropped to a whisper as he gently took my hand. "I'm going to do everything in my power to get you out of that arena alive."

Everything hit me at once. The glittering city lights, the immense distance from home, Finnick's intense words—it all crashed over me like a wave. My stomach twisted, my eyes burned, and I wanted so desperately to believe him. But how many tributes had he said those words to? How many never made it out? It felt like he was offering me false hope, a fragile illusion to keep me from drowning. But hope wouldn't stop a blade from piercing my heart.

My stomach turned, and I barely kept my dinner down as I pulled my hand away from his grasp. Without a word, I stormed toward my room. Finnick didn't follow.