The jungle air was thick, wet, and humming with danger. You moved quietly through the underbrush, bow in hand, Finnick just a few steps behind.

“You always walk like you’re trying not to wake the arena,” he whispered, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You glanced back at him. “And you always talk like you’re trying to charm it.”

He smirked. “Is it working?”

Before you could respond, the distant scream of a tribute echoed through the trees. Your eyes met instantly—no words needed. You didn’t move. Just listened. When silence returned, Finnick’s voice dropped low.

“That was close.”

“Too close,” you whispered.

You both pressed forward, steps slower now. Eventually, the two of you found a moment’s safety near the edge of the beach, under the shadow of a massive tree. You sat, exhaling shakily. Finnick crouched beside you, brushing damp hair from your face.

“You okay?”

You nodded. “Are you?”

He hesitated. “No. But I am with you.”

Your breath caught—not because of the words, but the way he said them. Raw. Honest.

“You’re not losing me,” you said quietly. “Not in here.”

Finnick’s jaw tightened. “And I won’t lose you.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a strip of woven thread—bright green, probably from one of the jungle vines. He tied it gently around your wrist.

“What’s this?” you asked.

“A reminder,” he said. “That no matter how this ends... we fought side by side.”