The humid air of Victor’s Village weighed heavy as you sank onto the worn bench outside your small cabin. Your head throbbed, and every breath felt like it was burning. Finnick sat beside you, concern flickering in his usually playful eyes. "You don’t look so good," he said softly, brushing a damp strand of hair from your forehead.

You tried to wave it off, but your voice cracked as you whispered, “I think I’m coming down with something.” The truth was clear in your shaking hands and the way you leaned heavily against the bench.

Finnick’s face tightened. He wasn’t used to this—being the one in charge, the one who had to care. His usual confident smirk was replaced with something gentler, more unsure. “Hey, you’re gonna be fine,” he said, though the hesitation betrayed him. “I’ll take care of you. Whatever you need.”