Finnick's Story (2.0) • The Hunger Games | ✓

Chapter Twenty-Eight: The End is Nigh

Day Seven

"What do you think they're thinking right now?"

Peony asks me this as we're walking, and I'm unprepared for it. "Who?"

"Everyone," she says. "All the people watching."

"Well, I'm sure they're bored," I say. "There's aren't many of us left."

Peony's quiet for a moment. "I can't believe I made it this far."

"Mags knew you could," I tell her. "She knew you'd do whatever it takes, and you did."

"But the Games aren't over yet," she says. "And Scalver is still out there."

"You seem to underestimate my ability to take him down."

"I don't," she says, "but he's still out there."

"And so am I," I retort. But that's all I get out.

"If you're cocky against Scalver, you'll lose," Haven fires at me, spinning around to block our path. "Back in Two, he was the strongest in our training regiment. Stronger than me, Phoenix--all of us. That's--"

She pauses.

"That's what?" I ask.

Still, she's silent, as if she regretted what she said. But she answers. "That's why I didn't fight him. Back at the Feast."

Well, that was unexpected.

"Because you thought you'd lose," I infer.

She doesn't directly confirm that. "He was always the best. I never wanted to admit it."

"Then why didn't you join him?"

Haven scoffs. "Because I knew that anyone who allied with Scalver would end up dead."

I think back to Sylvia. He didn't kill her, but he left her alone. I still don't know why.

"You volunteered with him," I say, referencing the Reaping. "You chose this."

"I chose this. I didn't choose Scalver," she clarifies. "We volunteer when we feel prepared. I did. And so did Scalver."

"How old is he?" Peony suddenly asks, slightly surprising me. Haven looks at her.

"17," she replies. "Like me and Phoenix. Sylvia was our youngest, 16."

"16?" I repeat.

Haven nods. "She couldn't wait to volunteer. She'd wanted to the year before, but was talked out of it."

"Why?" asks Peony.

"Because, in our districts, anyone under 16 doesn't stand a chance," Haven replies, seeming to forget both me and Peony's ages. "There's never been a victor under 16."

"Never say never," I remind her. I only realize after what that insinuated.

Haven seems to notice, too. Her lips press together in a thin line. "Watch yourself, Finnick," she says warningly.

Neither of us say anything after that, and the conversation drops. But the tension lingers. It's also starting to get dark. We're closer to the shoreline than before; I can faintly smell the seawater. But we can't see it.

We decide to stop anyway. Nothing about the area we're in is particularly hidden, but it's clear that none of us are really worried about it. The aura is different now. It's clear that the Games are nearing their end, and I think we can all sense it. It's a numb sort of feeling that's hard to describe. After a week of living on pure survival, an odd sort of acceptance has replaced the initial fear. I can't speak for the others, but I reckon the feeling is unanimous.