The Princess of Panem | Finnick Odair x oc

XIV

I'm trying to stay calm. My heart pounds in my chest, but for the first time since the Games began, I feel the terror slowly beginning to loosen its grip on me. The images of bloodshed and brutality that once paralyzed me are no longer holding me captive. Instead, they fill me with a sense of grim determination.

I have to adapt. For Katniss. I can't afford to let my fear rule me anymore.

Finnick is beside me, quietly watching the screens. He must sense the change in me because he turns, his voice softer than usual. "You're doing better," he says, not taking his eyes off the display. It's an observation, not a question. Somehow, he knows.

I swallow, nodding slightly. It's hard to put into words how I feel. Less afraid, maybe, but more aware of the weight of this responsibility. My hands are still trembling, but the panic that used to accompany it has dulled. 

"How about you take control of the sponsor gifts this time?" Finnick suggests, his tone casual but filled with intention. He's asking me to step up in a way I haven't yet, pushing me to take on a greater role. "I'll be here if you need help. But I don't think you will."

I glance at him, my hesitation obvious. The thought of controlling something so crucial terrifies me, but there's a part of me that knows I can't shy away from it anymore. Katniss is counting on me. I can't let her down.

Finnick watches me closely, his calm demeanor strangely reassuring. "You've got this," he says. His voice is steady, unwavering. "And like I said, I'm not going anywhere."

I nod slowly, my hands hovering over the controls. "Okay. I'll try." The words come out as a whisper, but they're filled with resolve. I need to do this—for Katniss, for myself.

Finnick leans back in his chair, giving me space but staying close enough to offer support if I falter. His presence is a steadying force, but as I begin to navigate the sponsor system, I find that I don't need as much help as I thought. My fingers move across the screen with growing confidence, and soon I'm sending Katniss the water she desperately needs. It feels like a small victory, but it's a victory nonetheless.

Afterward, as the tension in the room eases for a moment, a question that's been gnawing at me finally surfaces. "Why do you think none of the other academy students are scared like I am?" I ask, my voice low. "Max and Cressida—they seem so... unaffected by all of this. It's like they don't even care."

Finnick doesn't answer right away. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his expression thoughtful. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet, as though he's choosing his words carefully. "You didn't grow up in the Capitol, did you? Not really."

I shake my head, a bitter laugh escaping me. "Not like them. I grew up in the palace. Homeschooling, private tutors... Grandfather kept me sheltered. I didn't even know about the Hunger Games until I came to the academy. I didn't know any of this was real."

Finnick's gaze softens. "That's part of it, then. You didn't grow up with this as your reality. For Max and Cressida, the Games were always there. They grew up knowing this was normal—or at least, they were taught to believe it was. But you... You weren't raised to think this was okay. Your grandfather kept you away from it, protected you from it."

I frown, trying to make sense of that. "But why? Why would he hide this from me? He's the President. He created this world. Why wouldn't he want me to understand it?"

Finnick's eyes darken slightly, as if he's recalling something painful. He doesn't answer right away, and I realize that whatever thoughts are swirling in his head, they're not ones he's ready to share. Instead, he says, "Maybe he wanted to keep you innocent. Or maybe... he didn't want you to see the truth of what he's built."