I turned my head without thinking, and found his face much closer than I expected. For a moment I just looked at him — the sharp lines of his profile, the dark sweep of his lashes, the kind of features that felt almost unfair up close. He was focused entirely on my arm, unhurried and careful, and something about that quietness made it hard to look away.
"Finnick," I said softly. "Can I ask you something?"
"Go ahead." He didn't look up.
I took a breath. "The necklace — the one in your drawer. Was she your ex?"
He stilled for just a second. Then his hands resumed their work. "Yes."
He didn't deflect. Didn't shut it down. I hadn't expected that, and the small relief I felt surprised me. I pressed a little further, my voice careful. "You loved her a lot, didn't you?"
He looked up then. His eyes met mine, dark and still, the kind of depth that gave nothing away and somehow said everything. "Why are you asking, Vivian?"
