𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗧𝗟𝗘 𝗦𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 ᐅ 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙠 𝙤𝙙𝙖𝙞𝙧

𝙀𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏

⌌⊱⇱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊷⊶⊰⌍
Look who's being
serious now.
⌎⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊷⊶⇲⊰⌏

The hall I was standing in was incredible — the ceiling was blanketed in lights, and thick pillars soared above my head, lit by the same intricately patterned lights as the ones that gleamed over my head. The room was crowded with important members from District Six, Capitol officials and those rich enough to afford the weighty entrance fee.

The dress I was wearing was a startling silver, and yet again, my stylist had done an impeccable job — the dress glimmered like a thousands sparks when the light fabric flowed with my movements, and even if I were not the Victor, I was confident that all eyes would be drawn to me. That was down to the stunning garment hanging from my shoulders and flowing down my arms in butterfly sleeves.

The atmosphere was once again light, and still so out of place. We were celebrating murder. Celebrating betrayal and crime that would not be tolerated otherwise. We were celebrating a monster. Me.

But I plastered a smile on my face. No one liked a frowning Victor. And today was when Finnick and I would begin our ruse officially, the day that the public would finally start piecing things together.

Finnick Odair was dressed in a navy blue suit, layered over a white shirt, the top buttons left open, as though this entire party was enough to make him uncomfortable. The Capitol Officials weren't complaining at a glimpse of the top of Finnick's torso. My spirits were highly raised when one girl actually fainted at the sight of him.

He was attractive — there was no denying that. I saw the appeal, yet didn't feel it myself, because there was one huge factor standing in the way of that.

He was handsome, charming and a complete pain in the ass.

"You seem happy," he said lightly as he stood beside me, and from the corner of my eye, I could see Jameson nod at the two of us.

"Seem is as good a word as any."

He chuckled at his own joke before even saying it. "Well, at least you didn't kill these people."

My drink almost splashed everywhere at the ferocity of which I turned to stare at him. His eyes stayed amused with that goddamn glint he always had in them, completely oblivious at the horrendous thing he'd just said.

"What's wrong with you? How can you speak like that?"

"Like what?"

"You're so unaffected by death, and you have the audacity to joke about it."

Instead of shooting back an amused remark that riled me up every single time, Finnick only tilted his head to the side. His eyes had become darker, more intense, confused. Why was it that I was paying so much attention to his eyes? Well, maybe because it's the only part of him that wasn't irritating to look at.

"I'm desensitised to it," he said with a shrug.

"Well, I'm not."

He winked casually at me before taking a long sip of his drink. "You'll get there eventually, don't worry."

"Do you think you're being funny?" I spat. "Clever?"

"I didn't mean to—"

"Oh, I think you did," I snapped. "So I'd appreciate it if you were a heartless monster somewhere else."

He nodded to the polished floor, where the overhead lights glowed in the reflection and his voice was a monotone as he pointed out blankly, "If I were actually heartless, I'd be on the floor."