The room felt thick with tension, like the air itself was holding its breath. Finnick's voice cut through it, calm but heavy with something darker, something that belonged to a leader used to absolute control. "It looks like you really are concerned about my mate," he said slowly.
Heat rose in me, a surge of anger rolling through my veins. I didn't respect Finnick—not after everything with him and Mark. I dropped the polite tone I'd been holding and shot back, "Yeah. After all, she was my first bond."
I meant to provoke him, to test him, but Finnick's face stayed unreadable, his cold smile unwavering. "Thanks for your concern," he said deliberately.
The words hit harder than I expected, leaving my own temper hanging by a thread. I couldn't take it anymore. I pushed myself up on the bed, muscles tense, and yelled, "Cut the crap, Finnick! Why are you here?"
He didn't flinch. Instead, that same icy smile lingered, and he said, "Of course I'm here to thank you for saving my mate."
