The Princess of Panem | Finnick Odair x oc

XXXII

The walls of the presidential palace loom around me, adorned with portraits of past leaders, their painted smiles a mocking reminder of the facade I once revered. I stand in the lavish sitting room, the familiar plushness of the furniture and the elegant décor now a suffocating cage. The air is thick with the scent of roses, but today, they seem to suffocate rather than comfort.

I hear a soft knock at the door, and my heart skips. Max and Cressida are supposed to visit, but there's an unfamiliar weight to this meeting. I take a deep breath, reminding myself that things have changed—I have changed.

"Come in," I call, forcing the word out through the tightness in my throat.

The door opens, and they step inside, their presence bringing a rush of warmth that contrasts sharply with the chill of the room. Cressida's eyes are alight with a fierce determination, while Max leans against the doorframe with his usual nonchalance, though I can see the undercurrent of urgency beneath his casual facade.

"Ophelia," Cressida greets, her tone all business as she closes the door behind them. "We have to talk."

"I assumed," I reply, a wry smile tugging at my lips. The irony isn't lost on me. Here I am, in my grandfather's palace, discussing rebellion. It feels surreal, yet invigorating.

Max pushes off the doorframe and moves to sit beside me on the plush couch. "You're still here? I half-expected you to run off with the rose petals after our last chat."

"Very funny," I say, crossing my arms. "What's this urgent talk about?"

Cressida exchanges a glance with Max before focusing on me. "We need to recruit more people. We're running out of time."

The gravity of her words sinks in, and my heart races. "More people? How do you plan to do that?"

"By targeting those who have already suffered," she replies, her voice steady. "The victors. They know the Games better than anyone. They hate them for everything they've lost."

The suggestion resonates with me, a flicker of hope igniting in the dark. "You're right. They've seen the worst of it. They can help us."

Max raises an eyebrow, a playful grin creeping across his face. "Oh yeah? You can definitely convince Finnick."

At the mention of Finnick, my heart sinks. "That's the last thing I'll do," I say, my voice sharper than intended. "I don't trust him."

Their expressions shift, confusion clouding their features. They don't know the truth. They don't know about the rooftop or the poison. "You don't trust him?" Max asks, his tone teasing but edged with concern. "He's a victor! He's on our side."

"Is he?" I challenge, forcing myself to keep my tone steady. "He was supposed to be my friend, but what if he's not?"

Cressida's brow furrows, her concern growing. "What happened, Ophelia?"

I shake my head, unwilling to share the details. The truth is too tangled, too raw. "It doesn't matter. Just know I don't want to involve him in this."

Max and Cressida share another look, a silent conversation passing between them. I can sense their uncertainty, but I can't bring myself to explain. They are friends, but the weight of betrayal is still heavy on my shoulders. How can I trust anyone when the person I thought I knew the best turned out to be a stranger?

"We're meeting tonight," Cressida says, her voice dropping to a whisper. The words hang ominously in the air, and a thrill of fear rushes through me. I lean forward, gripping the edge of the couch, suddenly aware of how serious this all is.