Gamble of Wits || Finnick Odair

Chapter 53: Clean

"And here I thought I was pretty warm."

"You're beautiful, I know."

"Thank you." He grinned and unbuttoned his shirt, grabbing another from a pile he'd left on a chair.

"That was a statement not a compliment." She pointed out, setting the table and not meeting his gaze.

Admittedly, he was a good distraction but she needed to focus on the task. "And back to Haymitch. You didn't answer my question."

He pretended to pout and turned away to button up his new shirt. "There's not much to say. He's quiet most of the time, which is saying something. I heard he used to have quite the mouth back in the day."

"I've seen his interview post and pre-games."

"Hasn't everyone?" Finnick smiled sadly and took a seat across Sera, watching her as she prepared her medicine and lavender tea on the side. "There isn't anyone out there who didn't study him or his games."

"It was a Quarter Quell."

"The second one to be exact." He added and almost laughed at her struggling to open a jar of sugar.

"Right. The Quarter Quells are like two Hunger Games into one." Her right hands grip slackened, she put more force into it but for some reason, it didn't even move the lid of the jar.

"Uh-huh. Wonder what they got cooking up for next year. Nothing good, I bet."

Sera laughed. "It's the Hunger Games—none of them are ever good, maybe only for the socialites and the avid fans. Though the number of them have gone down over the years."

"Can you blame them? Food prices in the Capitol have gone up."

"I can't imagine what it's like in the districts. I know Five recently began storing an emergency supply for grain and fuel."

He narrowed his eyes and shook his with a sad smile. "Not suspicious at all." He mumbled, poking at his rice and looking up at Sera again.

Without a word, he took the jar from her, opening it with ease before returning it to her. "You can ask for help, you know? It's just a jar."

"Tha—" The cup of boiling hot tea tipped over her right hand mid-speech, burning her hand in an instant. Hot water ate away at the surface of pale gold skin marking it with red.

Finnick jumped out of his seat and grabbed a towel, covering her hand with it before hurriedly dragging her over to the cold running water.

Her throat tightened, not in pain but in fear. Blood rushed to her head and a sharp ringing noise deafened her. She could see Finnick's lips moving, chastising her for her carelessness but she couldn't hear him or her own heartbeat. Her gaze focused on hot angry red marks left behind by the scorching lavender tea.

Finnick's desperate jerky movements, his hands over her shaking hand, holding it under the cold to quell the burn. Yet there was nothing. No sharp stinging pain that made her yelp or gasp. She couldn't even feel the shaking but only saw it.

Her hand was numb.

"Damn it! I know you're not the type to cry or complain but your hand—it was almost…" He trailed off, realizing how harsh he might've sounded but when he spared a glance at her, his face paled.