Chapter Text
The air in Snow’s mansion still carried the ghost of smoke and roses. The great dining hall had been cleared, but no amount of polish could erase the blood that had soaked its marble floors only days ago. Around the round table sat the victors—Peeta, Johanna, Red, and Finnick—alongside Katniss, Beetee, Haymitch, and President Alma Coin. “I have invited you all here for several reasons,” Coin began, her tone crisp, her silver hair arranged so not a strand fell out of place. “But first, I have an announcement.”
Johanna shifted in her seat, crossing her legs and flicking her gaze toward Red. Red’s mouth tugged slightly upward, an unspoken here we go. Finnick felt her knee bounce beneath the table and set a hand on it—just enough pressure to still her.
“I have taken the burden—and the honor—of declaring myself Interim President of Panem.” The words dropped into the room like stones into still water. Peeta blinked slowly. Finnick’s fingers flexed once before returning to stillness. Haymitch gave a sharp, humorless laugh. “How long’s that, then?” he muttered. Coin ignored him entirely. “We have no way to know for certain,” she said smoothly. “But it’s clear the people are far too emotional right now to make a rational decision. We will plan an election when the time is right.”
Every victor shared a look. It wasn’t planned—it simply happened. A silent communication threaded between them: She’s already planning to keep it.
Red tilted her head, studying Coin with that quiet, dangerous curiosity she had learned from years of surviving. Johanna gave a low whistle, leaning back in her chair and nodding once toward Finnick—her signal for watch her, she’s about to do something.
Coin folded her hands. “But I have called you here for a far more important vote,” she said, her gaze steady as stone. “A symbolic vote.” The table went still. “This afternoon,” Coin continued, “we will execute Snow. Hundreds of his accomplices await their deaths as well.” The sentence hung there—cold, matter-of-fact. Red didn’t move. No one did. They all knew this wasn’t about justice. This was about theater. Coin’s eyes swept the table, measuring reactions she already expected.
Then her voice softened, deliberate. “But the danger is once we begin, the rebels will not stop calling for contribution. Thirst for blood is a difficult urge to satisfy.”
Johanna’s jaw tightened. Peeta’s hand twitched on the table, the movement so small it could’ve been mistaken for breath. Finnick leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his gaze dark and distant.
Coin paused, letting the silence expand. Every heartbeat in that room seemed to echo.
“So,” she said finally, her tone calm and precise, “I offer an alternative plan—”
The room was heavy with a tension that felt almost alive, twisting around every chair leg, echoing in the high ceiling of Snow’s mansion. The morning sunlight poured weakly through the tall windows, but even it seemed subdued, as though the light itself didn’t want to bear witness to what was about to unfold. All around the table, the victors and key figures of the rebellion sat, their faces betraying varying shades of disbelief, anger, and exhaustion. President Coin’s calm, collected presence only amplified the weight of the moment. “In lieu of these barbaric executions, we hold a symbolic Hunger Games,” Coin said, her voice crisp, deliberate, each word measured and deliberate as if she were rolling dice that decided the fates of a dozen children.
For a heartbeat, the room seemed suspended in disbelief. Then Johanna burst into uncontrollable laughter, a bark of amusement that was so loud and sharp it made everyone jump. Finnick’s eyes went wide, and his jaw tensed in a mixture of shock and incredulity. Red’s lips twitched, and she cracked up, leaning forward slightly to elbow Johanna.
“You want to have a Hunger Games with the Capitol’s children?” Red managed through her laughter, her voice pitched high with incredulity. Her hands were pressed to her stomach as she tried to keep from shaking, part disbelief, part absurd amusement.
Coin’s expression didn’t shift. She didn’t blink. “Not in the slightest,” she said, as if the laughter had never existed, as if the joke weren’t being made at her own table. Peeta’s brows furrowed, his voice quiet but sharp, cutting through the tension of the room. “Coin… you’re kidding, right?” She shook her head. “No. I am very serious. These Games will serve as both a symbolic measure of justice and a deterrent. They will demonstrate to the Capitol that the consequences of oppression are real, even for their children.”
Finnick’s hands flexed against his knees. Red could feel the heat in the room, the tension and disbelief that wrapped around everyone’s shoulders like a thick, choking fog. Haymitch, never one for subtlety, leaned back and let out a sarcastic laugh. “Was this Plutarch’s idea?” he asked, voice heavy with irony and disbelief, the faint trace of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
“No,” Coin replied smoothly, her gaze unwavering. “It was mine. This balances the need for revenge with the least loss of human life. You may cast your votes.” The words hung there, rigid and immovable, like a judge waiting for the gavel. The room exhaled as if holding its breath, waiting for someone—anyone—to break the silence. Peeta was the first to respond. His voice was firm, a measured protest, but there was a quiet weight behind it, a subtle desperation in the tone. “No. Obviously not. This is crazy.”
Johanna leaned forward in her seat, smirking like she already knew her answer before speaking. “I say yes,” she said with a grin, her voice brimming with unapologetic fervor. “Snow has a granddaughter. Let them have a taste of it. Let them understand what it’s like to lose everything.”
Red and Finnick exchanged a glance. Red’s brow furrowed slightly, her lips pressed together as she leaned back, arms crossed over her chest. Finnick shrugged almost imperceptibly, his eyes flicking to the floor, then back to Coin. He didn’t need to speak—Red understood him perfectly. “The Odairs are no,” Red finally said, voice strong and unwavering, the kind of clarity that could slice through tension like a knife. “I’m sick of death. I’m sick of losing people. I’m sick of being forced to watch the world burn.”
Beetee adjusted his glasses, his hands steepled together as he spoke, his tone calculated and logical. “Yes. I mean… it would be exactly fair retribution. An eye for an eye.”
Haymitch snorted, shaking his head but not disagreeing outright. Katniss’s gaze was hard, unwavering, her jaw tight. Her eyes flicked to each person at the table, noting the tension in Red’s shoulders, the subtle unease in Finnick’s posture, the clenched fists of Peeta, and Johanna’s smug, almost triumphant grin.
Katniss didn’t move immediately. She stayed silent, her eyes narrowing slightly, as though weighing the implications. The room held its breath. Cressida and Pollux exchanged small, almost imperceptible glances, neither saying anything—Pollux because he couldn’t, Cressida because she wasn’t sure whether to speak or brace herself. Finally, Katniss exhaled slowly, her gaze fixed on Coin’s unflinching eyes, her voice low but steady as she spoke: “Yes.”
The word landed on the table, cutting through the tension with the sharpness of a blade.
The room seemed to pause in the aftermath. Peeta’s shoulders slumped slightly. Red’s eyes met Finnick’s, the silent communication between them as clear as if they were holding hands across the table. Neither could hide the weight of what had just been decided, though outwardly they maintained their composure. The room held a strange, fragile balance—everyone was listening, everyone was watching, and yet no one dared say what they were thinking aloud.
Johanna let out a short whistle, tilting her head toward Red. Red’s lips curved faintly, just enough that Finnick could see it, just enough to know that while she had voted against it, she was still alive in that room, still present, still fiery.
The air felt thick, almost solid. The symbolic weight of the vote settled over the table, pressing down on shoulders, setting jaws tighter, sharpening eyes. Even in that moment, the subtle understanding between Red and Finnick was palpable—they knew they’d face the coming days together, and they would protect each other as always, even if the world was about to ask more of them than it ever had before.
And as the final word echoed—Katniss’s “Yes”—the room didn’t move, didn’t speak, only felt the weight of history shifting, the delicate balance of vengeance and survival teetering on the edge of a blade.
It was the beginning of a new era, whether they liked it or not.
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The sun was high and bright, glaring down on the Avenue of the Tributes. The massive crowd sprawled across the stone-paved streets, voices rising and falling like waves, a living ocean of cheers, shouts, and anticipation. From this height, the balcony of President Coin’s platform cast a long shadow over the gathered masses, the brilliant banners fluttering in the wind as if the entire city itself were holding its breath.
Red, Finnick, and Johanna stood at the very front, their black boots planted firmly on the stone, the crowd’s energy pressing at them from every direction. Snow’s figure, bound and defiant, was tied to a tall pole several feet in front, his gaunt face pale in the sunlight, the corners of his mouth tugging into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. There was a tension in the air so thick it almost hurt to breathe. Every whisper, every movement felt magnified.
Red’s fingers twitched, her daggers sheathed at her hips, her eyes flicking between Coin’s balcony, Katniss ahead, and Snow. She could feel Finnick at her side, his shoulders taut, his jaw set, his hand brushing against the haft of his trident as if needing the reassurance of its weight. Johanna bounced slightly on her heels, her new pixie-cut hair gleaming in the sunlight, eyes shining with an insane mix of joy and nervous anticipation. Katniss stood just a few feet ahead of them, the iconic Mockingjay uniform fitted perfectly, her bow taut in her hands. The golden bird emblem gleamed on her chest, almost defiant in the harsh sunlight. She moved with the calm precision of someone who had been through more than most could bear in a lifetime, yet there was an electric energy surrounding her, a readiness that made the hairs on Red’s neck stand on end.
President Coin raised her hands, her voice cutting cleanly through the roar of the crowd. “Welcome to the new Panem. Today, on the Avenue of the Tributes: all of Panem, a free Panem, will watch more than just a mere spectacle.”
Red’s lips twitched, fighting a smirk. The word “spectacle” always carried a bitter irony with her. Finnick, beside her, let out a low growl, his hand tightening on his trident in frustration. Red reached down subtly and stomped on his foot, just enough to make him huff and shake his head, stifling a yell. Coin continued, her voice rising with ceremonial flourish. “We are gathered to witness a historic moment of justice. Today, the greatest friend of the revolution will fire the shot to end all wars. May her arrow signify the end of tyranny and the beginning of a new era. Mockingjay, may your aim be as true, as your heart is pure.”
Red exhaled a quiet laugh, her shoulders shaking just enough to catch Johanna’s attention. Finnick glanced at her, eyes wide, ready to erupt in protest. “ACTUALLY,” he started, teeth clenched, “her heart isn’t pure at all! She—she cusses more than my wife!”
Red stomped lightly again, the second time with deliberate precision. “Shh,” she whispered, giggling, leaning into him slightly, the warmth of her body grounding him. “If you yell right now, I’m kicking your ass after the arrow hits.” Johanna snickered beside them, covering her mouth as she shook her head in amusement. “You two are ridiculous,” she whispered, her grin wide. “Literally right at the edge of a new era and you’re bickering about… cussing?”
Finnick just muttered under his breath, but the tension didn’t leave his shoulders. His eyes remained locked on Katniss, watching her, noting every micro-movement, the rise and fall of her chest, the way her fingers flexed lightly on the bowstring. Red could see the adrenaline and pride mixed in with the same old worry that had never left him since their first Games.
Katniss raised her bow slightly, eyes narrowing as she studied the distance, the wind, the angle. The arrow rested lightly on the string, the faint gleam of metal catching the sunlight. She exhaled slowly, her chest rising and falling with precision. Her expression was calm, almost serene, but there was an edge there, a controlled force ready to release with one small motion.
Red’s laugh subsided, her shoulders relaxing as she allowed herself a deep breath. She could feel the energy of the crowd vibrating up through her boots, the anticipation crackling in the air. Johanna’s hands were clasped in front of her, eyes sparkling, as if every second of tension was a thrill in itself. Finnick’s hand rested lightly on Red’s back, steadying her, even though his gaze never left Katniss.
The shadows from the tall buildings and banners fell across Snow’s pinned form, making him look smaller, more fragile than he ever had in the public eye. He squinted at Katniss, at Red, at Finnick, and then up at Coin. The pride, the arrogance, the defiance—all of it flickered for just a moment into uncertainty. Red could practically feel the pulse of his fear, barely restrained, a predator now caught in a trap.
Katniss shifted slightly, moving the bow in her hand with the subtlety of someone who had rehearsed this moment a thousand times, yet Red could feel the weight behind each motion. The arrow was not just a weapon—it was a declaration. Each millimeter of draw, each fraction of breath counted. The air between the shooter and the target seemed to hold itself, thick with anticipation. Finnick’s foot nudged lightly against the cobblestone, and Red instinctively pressed her hand to his arm. “Stop moving,” she whispered, voice just above a breath, a laugh hiding behind her caution. “Just let her do it.”
Johanna leaned in slightly, grinning from ear to ear. “I can’t believe we’re actually here. We’re really here. Look at this,” she said, gesturing vaguely at the crowd, the banners, Snow, and the entire scene. “This is insane.”
Red’s eyes flicked to her friend, nodding slightly. “Insane but beautiful,” she whispered. “We’re free, we’re all alive… for now. Just let the arrow do its work, okay?”
Finnick swallowed, jaw tight, and finally allowed himself a breath, eyes still locked on Katniss. His hand moved slightly to rest over Red’s, a silent promise that he was right there with her, and that no matter what happened next, they would face it together. Red felt a flutter of warmth, a brief smile tugging at her lips, even under the weight of the moment. Katniss’s breath came in measured waves. Her arms were steady, her focus absolute. The arrow hovered against the string, the metal glinting, the fletching ruffling faintly in the morning breeze. Red’s heart raced in her chest, echoing in her ears. She could feel Johanna trembling slightly, barely containing her excitement and anxiety. Finnick’s hand tightened just a fraction, his other hand brushing against his trident as though it could lend weight to the arrow’s path.
The crowd murmured, voices rising and falling, anticipation feeding anticipation. Every set of eyes was fixed forward. The silence between the spoken words and the unspoken possibility was thick enough to touch.
Red let herself exhale, letting the tension slip just slightly, though her eyes never left Katniss. Her shoulders leaned back lightly, as if giving her friend room, giving the Mockingjay the space she needed to do what she had trained for, to enact the justice they had all fought for. And then Katniss drew the string back fully, the arrow settling in place, nocked and ready. Red glanced at Finnick one last time, a small laugh escaping as she muttered quietly, “Please aim straight, Mockingjay.”
Finnick just nodded slightly, barely daring to exhale, his eyes still burning with focus and pride for both Katniss and the woman beside him.
And there it was—the moment frozen in time, arrow at rest on string, the world holding its collective breath, everything poised for the first strike in the new Panem.
Red’s body was coiled, tense, but controlled, almost like a spring wound too tight, yet nothing in the world moved her until the unmistakable twang of bowstring pulled taut. Her head snapped toward the source just as Katniss nocked her arrow, and in an instant, Red’s instincts roared to life. Her hands darted to her daggers before she even fully registered what was happening, her reflexes honed over years of arena fights and Capitol raids. The blades slid free from their holsters in a fluid motion, metal glinting under the sunlight. Her heart kicked up, not from fear, but from the electric thrill of knowing something big was about to happen.
Katniss’s arrow shot forward in a perfect arc, and the moment it left the bowstring, Red’s body surged forward. She would have been attacking if Finnick and Johanna hadn’t grabbed her simultaneously, holding her back just enough to keep her from leaping straight at the balcony. Her laughter escaped in a sharp, breathless burst, half panic, half exhilaration.
Finnick’s hands were on her waist, steady but insistent, his eyes darting between her and the growing wave of chaos below. “Red! Sit! Just… sit!” he hissed, though the corners of his mouth threatened to curl into a grin.
Johanna, beside them, was practically vibrating with excitement, eyes wide and a manic grin on her face. “Oh! Ohhhh! This is happening! FINALLY!” she squealed, tugging lightly at Red’s arm to keep her from bolting. Red wriggled against them, every muscle itching to move. “I can’t just stand here!” she hissed back, voice sharp but carrying the undertone of laughter. “He’s still laughing! He actually thinks he’s safe!”
Finnick exhaled, jaw tight, then muttered under his breath, “Just… follow me, Red. We can play with him later.”
But Red’s attention was already half on the crowd. The citizens, the very people Panem had caged and controlled for decades, were moving as one living force. Their screams and shouts of triumph filled the avenue, a tide of fury and relief sweeping forward toward Snow. Red’s grin spread despite the tension, eyes sparkling as she watched them surge. Johanna’s laugh rang out above the crowd noise. “Red, I can’t believe we’re watching this! Look at them! They’re actually going for him!”
Red cracked up with her, a breathless, loud laugh that Finnick had to gently muffle with his hand against her back. “I know! I can’t—look at them!” she whispered, leaning just enough to peek over Finnick’s shoulder at the throng of citizens pushing forward.
Finnick’s hands stayed firm on her waist, guiding her back from the edge where she wanted to leap. “If you jump now, you’ll just get swept up in the crowd and trampled. And I’m not picking you up again in this mess.” Red glanced at him, eyes sparkling with mischief, and patted his chest. “You wish, Finnie. You wish you were getting out of this free of danger.” Johanna nearly doubled over laughing, her pixie-cut hair bouncing as she gave a playful shove to Red’s side. “Oh, I wish too! Look at her! The way she’s squirming… it’s adorable.”
Red twisted against their combined hold just enough to give Finnick a teasing grin. “Adorable? Adorable? I’m dangerous, Johanna. You should know better.”
Finnick rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t hide the grin tugging at his lips. “Dangerous, yes. Also ridiculous,” he muttered, but even as he said it, he adjusted her footing to brace her against the stampeding masses.
The crowd below was a force of nature. Red’s grin widened as she noticed the chaos. People were climbing over barricades, grabbing whatever sticks, metal rods, or debris they could find, charging forward with the raw, unbridled need for justice or revenge. Snow’s laughter was cracking now, panicked and faltering, his once-flawless composure finally dissolving in the face of the tide. Red’s daggers glinted again, though she kept them close to her body. Her attention was split between Finnick’s steady guidance, Johanna’s manic energy, and the unstoppable flood of people rushing toward the tyrant. Her heart was pounding, but there was a pure exhilaration in the air—this was freedom, this was the climax of everything they’d survived.
Johanna leaned closer, practically buzzing with excitement. “We could run straight at him, you know. Just… jump in there and—”
Red laughed, cutting her off mid-sentence. “Oh, we’re not getting anywhere near him. Not yet. Let the crowd have some fun first. I’m enjoying watching Snow squirm.”
Finnick gave her a sharp look, his grip tightening slightly. “You’re not jumping anywhere. Not now, not ever, unless I say so.” Red leaned against him, still laughing, though she shifted slightly to brace her injured leg. “Fine, fine. I’ll try to behave… temporarily.” The trio started moving, weaving through side streets and behind toppled barricades, ducking under hanging signs and avoiding the first wave of citizens who had broken off from the main crowd to follow them blindly. Finnick held Red close, guiding her carefully over uneven terrain, while Johanna bounced slightly on her toes, practically vibrating with adrenaline and excitement.
Red glanced at Johanna. “We’re really… free, aren’t we?” she whispered, a mix of disbelief and joy in her voice.
Johanna’s grin widened, eyes sparkling with tears she hadn’t even realized were forming. “Yeah. Free. No more games. No more arenas. No more… everything.” Finnick smiled, shaking his head, the old boyish grin finally breaking through the weight of years stolen from him. “About time, huh?” he said quietly, mostly to himself, but Red caught it and leaned her head against his shoulder.
Red’s laugh was quiet but full of warmth. “Yeah… about time.”
The alleyways twisted unpredictably, but the trio moved with ease, Finnick subtly adjusting for Red’s leg as they navigated over debris and through narrow passages. The adrenaline made her wound manageable for the moment, and her laughter was infectious. Johanna kept teasing her about being the most over-prepared, “dagger-ready nutcase” in Panem, and Red only laughed harder. Finnick kept glancing back, watching the chaos erupt in the avenue behind them. The screams, shouts, and panicked chaos of a thousand citizens finally taking revenge echoed off the walls, but in this shadowed network of alleyways, the trio found a strange sanctuary.
Red leaned slightly against him again, brushing her daggers against her leg as she checked their surroundings. “Think they’ll ever forget this?” she asked with a grin, though her eyes sparkled with something far more tender than mischief.
Johanna laughed, hopping lightly in place. “They’ll never forget. We’re legends now. All of us.”
Finnick just shook his head, still grinning. “I don’t need them to remember. I just need us to survive this first.” Red laughed at that, leaning in close. “Oh, Finnie… don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere. We’ll survive. And maybe—just maybe—we’ll have a lot of fun watching the chaos from a safe distance.” Johanna clapped her hands together, almost bouncing with energy. “Yes! We need popcorn for this. I want popcorn.”
Finnick rolled his eyes, still smiling. “Popcorn? Seriously?”
Red only laughed, nudging him playfully. “Oh, come on… you know it’s perfect. We survived Snow, and now we get to watch Panem lose it. Popcorn and daggers, my love. Popcorn and daggers.” Johanna doubled over laughing, Red laughing right along with her, and even Finnick couldn’t help but grin widely. The absurdity of it all—the sheer survival, the victory, and the freedom—made the three of them light on their feet as they darted through alleyways, ducking behind corners, and taking stock of their surroundings.
Red’s eyes darted from the chaos to Finnick to Johanna, and back again. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this… alive,” she whispered, almost to herself, though Johanna heard it and grinned.
“Alive, dangerous, and hilarious,” Johanna corrected, nudging Red with her shoulder. “Don’t forget hilarious.”
Finnick shook his head, laughing softly, holding Red’s waist firmly. “All three, yes. Definitely all three.”
They pressed forward, the chaos echoing behind them, but here in their little pocket of alleyways, the world felt lighter, freer. The crowd surged toward Snow, but they had their own escape, their own little bubble of laughter, adrenaline, and relief. Red glanced over at Finnick again, smirking. “You know, this isn’t the first time we’ve run for our lives, but I think it’s the funniest one yet.”
Finnick rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t hide his grin. “You’re impossible.”
Johanna snorted beside them. “Yeah, but you love it, don’t even try to deny it.”
Red only laughed harder, throwing a glance back toward the chaos they’d just escaped. “We survived, Finnick. And now we get to watch. Let’s enjoy it while it lasts.”
Finnick grinned, tightening his arm around her waist. “Yeah… we survived. Together.”
The three of them moved on, laughing quietly, slipping through shadows and side streets, ducking past toppled carts and over broken fences. The roar of Panem’s anger behind them was a distant echo, no longer their burden to bear, and for the first time in years, they felt it: pure, unshakable freedom.