“Because —“
The words fell short, her shoulders slumped. Because when he looked at her like that, she realized that she didn’t stand a chance; the second she stepped foot in the arena, they were going to eat her alive. It didn’t matter that her knots were perfect, that her nets were as well, or that she could wield a triton like it was an extension of her arm. You take the girl away from the water and it’s all over.
You throw her in that arena, it’s all over.
“I don’t want to die, Finnick.”
Fuck.
Well what was he supposed to say to that?
Tough luck, sweetheart?
He didn't want her to die either. He was damn tired of watching kids die and seeing Annie in their faces, or his brother reaped and slaughtered years ago. He was just tired. Of everything. But there was nothing he could do about it. He was as effectively trapped as she was. Victors never stopped being tributes, their arena just changed.
"Then I suggest you learn how to throw a knife," he said, all charm and suave, nothing in his tone to hint at the churning emotions that laid acidic and harsh on his tongue.
If he gave a single inch, even for this girl, the effects would be devastating on the people he loved. And he didn't have many of those left.
Finnick could admit that he was selfish, and that wasn't all the Capitol's doing.
