Victor's Crown: A Hunger Games Story

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 [𝟭𝟯]

To Finnick's surprise, Miles seems unusually adept at navigating a watercraft for a tribute from Two, shifting his weight to the center of the raft and sitting with remarkable grace, legs crossed. The others stand some distance away, looking like they're a twitch away from fleeing into the rainforest. Finnick sits near the edge of the raft and skirts his hands over its ropes and ridges, searching for water leaks, places where the logs don't fit together quite right. He's pleased to find there are none—his father taught him well.

"Take this." Finnick thrusts one of the fishing poles into his hand. It's barely fit to be called such a thing—Finnick constructed it from a stick, a length of fishing line, and a hook carved from wood—but it'll work.

Then he pushes off from the riverbank.

Once they've floated out to the middle of the river, Finnick realizes the current is sluggish and the river is shallow enough they barely drift at all. He grabs his own rod, intending to show Miles the basics of fishing, but Miles is already casting his line into the water.

For a while, Finnick and Miles sit in relative silence. The river is wide enough the trees don't cover the whole thing, letting the blistering afternoon sun beat down on the river's surface. If Finnick closes his eyes, he can imagine he's back home in District 4, stealing away from the academy for a rare reprieve. He's fishing the lake located just outside academy property, bothered by nothing and no one but the lack of fish. After a while though, curiosity—and Mags' voice, reminding him of his place and purpose—begin to niggle at him like hair tickling the back of his neck. Miles doesn't fit the District 2 mold, at least compared to what Finnick has seen in previous Games. He's courteous but withdrawn, almost uncertain, forgoing the usual savagery in favor of restraint and brevity. What kind of academy does he come from? Why did he help Finick during the bloodbath?

Finnick takes a deep breath and asks, "So...you have any siblings at home?"

Miles mumbles his reply. "One. Little sister. You?"

"Nah. When I was born, my parents thought I was so perfect they didn't need another kid."

"Surprised they let you volunteer so young, seeing as you don't have any siblings to protect."

Miles response catches Finnick off-guard. Do they all think he volunteered and he's just trying to cover it up, like some kind of coward ashamed of his Career upbringing? He twists around to stare at Miles' back, curved like the bow of a ship. "You saw the reaping recaps. I didn't volunteer. If I did, I'd own up to it."

Miles doesn't return Finnick's accusing glare. 'Sure you would, Four."

"You're one to talk," Finnick scorns. "A training score of seven? There's no need to play yourself down, Strand. You're from Two—we all know what you can do."

At this, Miles twists around, mouth contorted in a defiant scowl. "You think you know me, just because I come from Two," he growls, blue eyes piercing as Bellona's knives. Beneath the veneer of anger, however, Finnick discerns something else, something he's been saturated in from the moment he stepped foot in the Capitol: Fear. "Don't look so surprised. I know what all of you think about the tributes from my district: Hulking, brainless savages no better than the mutts running around this arena. Think whatever you want, but don't pretend you don't know anything about me, my family, or what we've been through."

Finnick blinks, momentarily taken aback. "Fine." The confrontation leaves a bad taste in his mouth, like the fruit he ate earlier had been rotten. What does it matter if Miles doesn't like him? The answer sits in Finnick's chest, weighs on his heart like an anchor: Whether Finnick likes it or not, Miles probably saved his life. And at some point in the not-so-distant future, Finnick will repay that kindness by killing him.