Several days ago, Finnick sat in his dimly lit safe house, a place where the peeling paint and sparse furnishings gave a glimpse of his austere lifestyle. He was conferring with several of his men, each seated on mismatched chairs that creaked with every shift of weight.
"So, those three left with Vale's group on that suicide mission, huh?" Finnick asked, summarizing the report he had just received. His voice was calm, though a trace of disappointment lingered in his tone. "That's a shame. I was hoping to train those three up, they seemed to have potential. How long ago did they leave?"
"Over a week ago," one of his men replied, his voice low and uneasy.
Finnick leaned forward, resting his elbows on the scarred wooden table. "So they're already dead, huh?" he muttered, his gaze distant as if calculating the odds.
Get excited big things are coming, thank you always for your support. See you soon, sincerely Skelly
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