Katniss is still too new as a victor to really know what it means, or she was, when he first met her. In a year, maybe things have changed. But Finnick has been a victor for ten long years. Ten years of living with what he'd done in the arena. Nearly that of watching children he was responsible for die. Of playing a very public leading role in the myth that made them want to volunteer in the name of glory. Of being bought and sold amongst the Capitol's supposed elite. Of fear for those closest to him, of seeing their deaths, all except for Annie.

He may barely know Katniss, but he does know she brought him a hope he hasn't dared to feel before. And he knows one thing about her now that he didn't a few days ago: that she understands what it is to love somebody, to fear losing them more than anything.

He'd thought she and Peeta were playing to the cameras, that it was a clever strategy on Haymitch's part to get them both out, that it continued because that's what victors' strategies do, long after they've left the arena.

He'd been wrong. Or, if not wrong, not entirely right. He'd seen Katniss' terror when Peeta had nearly died, felt the terror in the instinctive way she'd attacked him as he checked Peeta's body for signs of life. He'd had to hit her, knock her into a tree, to get her out of the way.

She'd had to go through what Mags saved him from: going into the arena with the person she loved.

He nods as he pulls back, a little, so he can look at her again, though her arms are still strong around him.

"She's in danger." Is now, and will be until the revolution succeeds, because of him. It's driving him mad, knowing that and being unable to do anything about it, worse being stuck here even than being in the arena. At least there he had hope, a way to save her.

He lets out a long breath.

"It's good to know she'll be safe."