"Stop it!" Annie shouted, wrenching sharply away. "Stop trying to manage me like one of your sponsors!" She could feel it now: the shivering tension building in her chest, threatening to close her throat and curl her limbs, to leave her every bit as helpless as she'd proved herself to be before— As helpless as Finnick obviously believed she was now, speaking to her like she was a horse who might bolt.

"Tristan—" Her voice broke, but she caught hold of it again. "Our son is all alone and there aren't any doors here, Finnick! There is nothing! There is—"

The solution hit her all at once and she stilled, staring back at him.

"We have to get out of the arena," she said. "If this is your version of things, we can get out to Thirteen." There would be doors there, and she'd try every one of them if she had to.