𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫, Finnick Odair

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑭𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝑽𝒊𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒎

As Aphrodite approached the microphone in District 11, her eyes swept over the crowd before her, taking in the sombre faces, the set expressions, the quiet pain hidden in every line of their features. In front of her, arranged in a semicircle, stood the family members of the fallen tributes, each positioned on a small pedestal. Behind each family was a tall, draped image of the tribute they'd lost—a smiling face frozen in time, a cruel reminder of the life that had been stolen from them.

She forced her gaze forward, shoulders squared as she began her speech. The words flowed smoothly, her voice even and strong as she repeated the Capitol's hollow sentiments about sacrifice and honour. But each line felt heavier, more empty, weighed down. And then, as she continued speaking, her eyes landed on the family of the young girl from District 11—bright eyes, dark hair, the quiet, haunting image of the child Aphrodite had manipulated in the arena. Her voice faltered, catching in her throat, and for the briefest of moments, the facade cracked.

Aphrodite quickly drew a breath, pressing forward, but her tone softened, betraying a hint of vulnerability. She could feel their eyes on her, every word slipping like stones from her lips as she continued, "We honour their bravery, their sacrifice... they will never be forgotten." Her voice was steady again, but that moment had stretched, raw and exposed, enough to unsettle even her Capitol facade.

Finally, she closed her speech with a strained smile, gave a small bow, and turned to exit the stage. She held her composure until she passed through the double doors of the Justice Building, where she released a shaky breath, the weight of it all pressing down on her.

Finnick was waiting for her by the doors, watching as she took one final breath to steady herself. He studied her face, noticing the subtle tension in her jaw, the strain in her eyes. Without a word, he reached over and took her hand in his, his grip warm and grounding. She squeezed back, letting out a long sigh she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

Together, they walked back to the train in silence, but the connection between them was unmistakable. Ever since last night, when she had poured her heart out to Finnick, the invisible tension that had hung between them had lifted, leaving a sense of closeness she hadn't expected but deeply needed. As the train pulled away from District 11, she sat by his side, knowing that on this journey, she was no longer as alone as she once thought.

⋆༺𓆩⚔𓆪༻⋆

The fire crackled softly, casting a gentle glow over the train's small lounge, bathing the room in warm, flickering light. Aphrodite and Finnick sat side by side on the couch, each lost in the quiet pull of the flames. The TV was on mute, Caesar Flickerman's face occasionally flashing across the screen with his usual exaggerated expressions, but neither of them paid much attention. For now, the silence felt like an escape.

Finnick leaned back, stretching his arms along the back of the couch, his head tilted slightly toward her. "Ever just sit and stare at a fire?" he asked, his voice calm, almost as if he were talking to himself. "It's kind of... grounding."

Aphrodite nodded slightly, gaze still fixed on the flames. "Yeah," she murmured, feeling the warmth seep into her as she sat there. "Almost like everything else disappears for a while."

He gave a small smile at that. They sat like this for a while, watching the fire, breathing in the calm. It was strange, this quiet. For once, there was no crowd, no pressure, no Capitol expectations looming over them. Just a quiet moment, the soft sounds of the train, and the warmth of the fire.

Finnick eventually leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his head tilted as he looked into the flames. "Feels like forever since I've just... existed without thinking," he murmured. He glanced sideways at her, and she caught his eye. The silent understanding there, free from any expectations, felt like an unspoken promise of safety.