Sick twist. There was always some kind of sick twist, but at least Finnick could usually understand where they were coming from. Plutarch was supposed to be on their side this time though, so what the hell was this? Finnick had been expecting a difficult arena, but he had also been expecting hidden help. He didn't even know if this was the arena.

"This isn't one of the hotels in the Capitol," Finnick said finally. He'd been too all of those. "But they may have built this to resemble some building in the Capitol."

The thought made his stomach tighten. It wouldn't taint any place currently in existence -- but when this arena was empty, they could rent out this space. All that extra cash -- sleep in the room where Finnick Odair died. No, he reminded himself. They weren't going to let that happen. This time was different, and not just because of the strange arena.

He didn't argue with her, even though he didn't think for a minute that was going to work. She had to just step off. But he went across the room and started gathering stacks of chairs, putting them on top of each other and sliding them closer to the platform, until there were enough to weigh nearly as much as Johanna.

"Ready?" he asked, his own throat going tight.