BLOOD ON MY HANDS || Finnick Odair

sixteen; almost.

Even with the knowledge that his little baby was fed and sleeping almost comfortably, Eden still couldn't bring himself to sleep. He had sat with his back against the tree, staring up at the sky with hardly-blinking eyes. It was still cold out, and he had Cissy coddled in the abandoned jackets and wrapped tightly to his chest as she slept soundly, his own zipped tightly around her to keep her warm.

He sat awake the entire night with one hand on the grip of his knife, while the other stayed firmly on his baby's back. At the start of the night he'd stopped glancing down at his hands, at the dried and smeared blood dotting the backs of them, as all it did was send his heart lurching. For home.

The only thing it brought him was more heartache than he could deal with on camera, so he simply sat there, lips set in a firm, dirty line on his face. The wind blew harshly at his jacket and numbed all the skin out in the open, but he didn't move a muscle. Not when the slightest twitch could cost him both his life and Cissy's.

He'd heard the grumblings of larger animals roaming through the trees around him, and he could only wish he'd climbed the tree instead. Or that he could sleep long enough to have the energy for running away.

But he didn't, so all Eden could do was sit there until the sun rose in soft swirls of pinks and oranges in the sky above him.

The muscles in his limbs had stiffened to near immobility, so it took a while to force himself to stand. Every step felt like the hardest thing he'd ever done in the world, and as the rain felt harder he was sure the rain and mist had frozen his bones.

I don't get to stop, he forced himself to repeat over and over again, teeth gritting and shoulders drawn up to his ears. He held Cissy tightly to him, doing everything he could to block the wind from her, and said the phrase over and over again silently.

I don't get to stop.

He stared at the trees ahead of him as he forced himself to step over rocks and twigs and puddles. Fawke's words rang over and over again in his head while he stumbled into a tree, and just barely noticed the scraping sensation at his palms. Do your job.

"Do your job," he muttered to himself, teeth gritting and entire body so tense that Eden felt as if he could shatter from the slightest nudge. "Do your job. Do your job. Do your fucking job, Eden Koyle."

A shudder ripped through him. "You have to keep going."

His shoes had soaked through and frozen to the point where he was certain he was going to lose toes, fingers, maybe even limbs. He felt Cissy cough slightly into his chest and it only took him a moment to understand what he was going to do. He shakily pulled his jacket off and wrapped it around her tiny, frail body, and allowed another set of chills tore at him.

He was cold.

Cold, and going to die.

And that was okay.

But he had to kill Darius first.

After everything he'd done and failed to do, after all the promises he'd broken, this was the least he could do for Flora. Uneasily he kept his body curled around Cissy's body as best as he could while moving forward, and set his jaw. The wind was stealing all of the warmth from him, blowing it into the foggy trees.

Early that morning he'd found the trail of footsteps that were roughly two sizes smaller than his own, just a clearing away from where he'd been sleeping. An entirely new kind of chill rattled through him as he thought about it. He hadn't heard Darius moving through the branches, and Darius hadn't heard him shifting in the damp leaves on the ground.

Everything could've ended right then, if either of them had been paying closer attention. A heart could have rattled out its final beat and the the Capitol would have its Victor. But he'd been too busy worrying about the cold.