The hand on his is cold, but Finnick's grip is steady and warm, offering what silent reassurance it can, if any of it will get through.

"You've got the symptoms of hypothermia," he says, his voice soft, boyish, its accent completely unlike that of the man he's speaking to. He's never heard an accent like this man's, and maybe he's heard nothing like the faded District Four accent.

"You should lie down. I'll get you warm and find you some medical help. All right?"