There's something tugging at Finnick now, and it feels suspiciously like guilt. He doesn't like it, doesn't like feeling this way because someone is crying.

"They can do things to you, and they only need you in the spotlight for so long. There will be another Hunger Games soon, a new victor to exploit." He pauses, brushing his fingers over her hair. It's supposed to be comforting, but Finnick knows exactly how he comes off to people. "You've met the addicts, haven't you? That can be you."

Not helpful, Finnick.

But he does what she says, climbing gracefully to his feet and brushing himself off. All he wanted was to take a shower and huddle in his room until he can leave again. And instead he's dealing with this mess.