I felt my instincts tighten as Finnick spoke, a chill running down my spine. His story mirrored something from my past, something I thought I'd buried—the fire, the chaos, the helplessness. My mind wanted to spiral into memories, but I forced it back to him. I had to hear this, had to understand.
How had Finnick managed back then? Had he truly abandoned Evelyn?
He stared at the tombstone, eyes dark, voice steady. "When I woke, my hands were untied. And Evelyn… she was gone."
I froze.
All this time, I'd assumed he freed himself. But someone had untied him? And Evelyn—where had she vanished to?
"Are you sure?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
He narrowed his eyes at me, sharp and piercing. "You don't believe me too?"
"It's not that I don't trust you," I said quickly, the words rushing out before I could stop them. Then, catching the weight behind his gaze, I asked, "Wait… others didn't believe you either?"
