Finnick had always been going to take a leading role in all of this. In protecting Katniss, in protecting Peeta, and for as long as he could, in protecting Mags. That's why he's coiled taut as a fishing line, ready to strike.
But he's also, always, been going to pay attention to Mags, and she maintains the outward poise that's so calming about her which, in turn, is a silent signal to Finnick, a reminder not to lash out until they know what they're facing.
If this is something to do with the Capitol, then doing that will show their game far too soon.
"That we do."
His green eyes are as alert as ever, with the sharp focus they'd learned years ago, that lets him assess a situation in a few quick glances, and he never stops watching, never loses the readiness to jump to action, though it might only be Mags in the room who could notice it. But nobody moves against them. None of the weapons are drawn. Very few people seem to pay them any attention and that, in itself, is strange, because they're stars. Victors and tributes.
Everyone in Panem knows them and knows that right now, they're due to face the dance with death in the arena again.
There isn't really anywhere good to talk here, but there is a table that's empty, off to one side of the lounge, and that's where he leads Mags.
When they get there, he leans in close, a cheeky smile on his face for the benefit of anyone who might be watching, though Mags, of course, will know it's faked, would know it better than anyone except Annie.
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But he's also, always, been going to pay attention to Mags, and she maintains the outward poise that's so calming about her which, in turn, is a silent signal to Finnick, a reminder not to lash out until they know what they're facing.
If this is something to do with the Capitol, then doing that will show their game far too soon.
"That we do."
His green eyes are as alert as ever, with the sharp focus they'd learned years ago, that lets him assess a situation in a few quick glances, and he never stops watching, never loses the readiness to jump to action, though it might only be Mags in the room who could notice it. But nobody moves against them. None of the weapons are drawn. Very few people seem to pay them any attention and that, in itself, is strange, because they're stars. Victors and tributes.
Everyone in Panem knows them and knows that right now, they're due to face the dance with death in the arena again.
There isn't really anywhere good to talk here, but there is a table that's empty, off to one side of the lounge, and that's where he leads Mags.
When they get there, he leans in close, a cheeky smile on his face for the benefit of anyone who might be watching, though Mags, of course, will know it's faked, would know it better than anyone except Annie.
"So what happens now?"