Almost automatically, her hand goes to her neck. She wants to pop the collar of her father's jacket, shift it so that it better covers what shows of the scars. It's been a while since she last felt as self-conscious about them like she does now. The people of District 12 don't care. None of them had ever looked perfect, not like the sort of perfection they tried to cultivate in the Capitol. But every time she glimpses the scars, she's reminded of how she received them. Of all the costs that led to today.

She hates her scars right now. She hates her scars and her inability to lie and that Finnick's figured it all out. He put the pieces together faster than she possibly could. No, she hadn't come from the arena. And even though she's certain that her answer is written completely over her face, she shakes her head anyway. Just to be able to answer with something.

"That was almost a year ago," she finally whispers. Almost a year and so, so many deaths. Including his own. How does she even begin to tell him any of this?

It's simple, she realizes a second or two later. She doesn't tell him anything. If... if he really doesn't remember anything past the Quarter Quell, she's not going to be the one to tell him. She owes him too much to ever hurt him like that.

"It's good..." Katniss forces out. "It's good to see you again, Finnick."