District 4 hums with salt air and crashing waves. Finnick has just returned from the Capitol—victory smile still fresh, eyes still tired.

You’re down by the docks, hands rough from work, unbothered by his reputation.

When you don’t rush toward him like the others, he notices.

He approaches slowly, barefoot on the sand.

“You know,” he says lightly, “most people stare a little harder.”

A beat.

Then quieter: “…thank you for not doing that.”