𝙰𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗 ✪ 𝙵𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝙾𝚍𝚊𝚒𝚛

- ȶաɛռȶʏ օռɛ

Willa acted like nothing happened during training. Acted like she didn't spend the night with Finnick, that he hadn't told her anything, and she didn't let herself be vulnerable with him. In public, she wasn't Willa Levine—she was The Assassin.

Her movements were sharp and precise, each strike of her blade calculated and unyielding. She maintained a steely focus, her gaze cold and unreadable. The other tributes kept a respectful distance, as they had since the start of training. Willa's reputation was built carefully, and she wielded it like a weapon, using the fear and awe she inspired as an added layer of armor.

She knew Finnick was watching her. She could feel the weight of his gaze from across the training room, but she never let herself falter. Her mask was unbreakable, forged from years of hiding her true self beneath layers of control and detachment. If she allowed even a crack, the Capitol would exploit it. The other tributes would see it. And weakness—especially one born from something as dangerous as love—was something she couldn't afford.

Finnick was the picture of charm. He flashed that infamous smile at passing tributes, joked with the trainers, and played his role perfectly. But Willa noticed the subtle shifts in his expression, the tension he tried to hide. When his eyes met hers, just for a second, the mask slipped, and she caught a glimpse of the man she'd shared that moment of vulnerability with, the man who had told her he loved her. But she couldn't acknowledge it. Not here. Not now. Instead, she turned her back to him, focusing on the target in front of her. Her throwing knife hit dead center, and she didn't even blink. Inside, though, she felt the weight of what they had shared pressing against her ribs, like a secret she couldn't shake.

Johanna, who had been observing from nearby, sauntered over, her arms crossed and a smirk playing at her lips.

"Impressive," she drawled, eyeing the perfectly embedded knife. "But then again, they don't call you The Assassin for nothing, do they?"

Willa forced a tight smile, the kind that didn't reach her eyes. Yeah, they were friends but her persona showed no mercy to people who weren't careers.

"Just doing what I'm good at," she replied, her voice devoid of any real emotion. Johanna's eyes narrowed, her expression curious.

"You know, it's almost eerie how good you are at shutting everything out," she said. "I wonder what it would take to crack that armor of yours."

Willa's grip tightened around the hilt of another knife, but she kept her tone even, indifferent.

"I wouldn't waste your energy wondering," she said coolly. "Some things are better left unsolved."

Johanna tilted her head, as though considering this, but before she could say anything else, Finnick appeared at Willa's side. His smile was easy, but Willa caught the subtle tension in his posture. He had perfected the art of looking unaffected, but she knew him well enough now to notice the cracks in his façade.

"Willa," Finnick said, his voice light and playful, as though addressing a casual acquaintance, "mind showing me how you manage to get such a perfect aim every time? I could use the help."

Willa's heart twisted at the sound of his voice, but she didn't let it show. She nodded, her expression neutral.

"Sure," she said, her voice devoid of any warmth. "But I doubt you need my help, Odair."

The use of his last name stung more than she'd intended, but Finnick barely let it show. His smile faltered for only a fraction of a second before he regained his composure.

"Always room for improvement," he said lightly, his eyes searching hers for something—anything—behind the wall she had put up. Willa knew she was being cruel, knew it wasn't fair to him after everything they had shared, but this was how she survived. This was how she kept them both safe. If the Capitol sensed any real connection between them, they would exploit it without mercy. She couldn't risk that.