THE SIREN'S SONG 𓇼 F. ODAIR

PRE | THE 66TH ANNUAL HUNGER GAMES, PART 2

"Beck Meadows's death broke Finnick all over again, except he wasn't in District 4 when it happened. It was in the middle of an interview with Caesar Flickerman.

Finnick's parents were dead before he got back to District 4."

- the life of finnick odair

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

The room was dead silent. Suffocating.

The older victors were motionless—their faces stone and too numb to even flinch. They had long since grown used to the brutality of the games and remained completely unphased. A few barely parted their lips, a flicker of what looked like irritation crossing their faces—but their annoyance wasn't for Beck, and rather for their losses in the betting pools.

After a long, tense moment, the District 1 mentor broke the silence.

"Is she alive?" he shouted, jumping up from his desk. "Is Sapphire alive?"

"I–" one of the other mentors said. "I don't know."

"Is she alive?"

"Templesmith never finished announcing her victory," Marina said slowly. "Does that mean..."

"No."

"Calm down, Gloss," the other mentor from District 1 said. "We will know soon."

"What would having no victor mean?" someone asked.

No one answered.

It hadn't happened in years—certainly not in Finnick's lifetime. Someone was getting killed; that was a given. But one question still hung thick in the air. Would the punishment be swift and public, or cold and hidden behind locked doors?

Finnick's eyes remained on the black screens.

He didn't shriek. He didn't vomit. He didn't say a word.

Nothing, Finnick thought to himself, his eyes trained on where the District 1 girl had just been. His death was for nothing.

Beck could have gone home. He could have run back into his siblings' arms, felt their warmth, watched them grow older. Beck would have been cursed with the life of a victor, but at least he would be alive.

Nothing.

A hand was placed on Finnick's shoulder. It was gentle, but it might as well have been a dagger plunging into his back.

"Let's get you back to the apartment," Fletch said eventually. His touch brought Finnick back to reality, and he wasn't grateful for it. "Or away from this, at least."

Finnick shrugged Fletch's hand off of him as soon as it came, but he followed anyway, his eyes locked onto the screens as they moved. He barely registered Fletch grabbing him again, dragging him from the room.

They didn't make it far before a swarm of reporters surrounded the two of them like vultures. All of them were calling out for Finnick and Fletch.

"Finnick, how did you enjoy the finale?"

"Fletch, who are you taking to the victory party tonight?"

Fletch managed to drag Finnick about halfway through the crowd before Finnick pulled away.

"Finnick, what are your thoughts on your tribute's death?"

Finnick recognized the voice immediately. It didn't belong there. He had always thought that being at the center of a mob of reporters was far beneath Caesar Flickerman, but there he was.