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He'd been careful. He'd been really careful, because the last thing he wanted to do was go back into the arena.

But maybe he'd gotten complacent since the last door that had been special had been weeks ago, resulting in him being a girl for a couple of days. But since then, there'd been nothing. So maybe he hadn't been as diligent about watching where he was going, and maybe he'd been more than a little tired because Tristan hadn't slept well the night before and Finnick had been up with him for most of the night, trying to calm his son back down.

When Finnick did look up and found himself looking out into the jungle instead of into his room at the Nexus, he took a step back, his heart stuttering in his chest. Reflexively, he looked down: He was wearing the wetsuit he'd arrived at the hotel in.

He was back in the 75th Games.

"No, no," Finnick said out loud before he could stop himself. He turned around, desperately looking for the door that had led him in. He had to get back out. He couldn't be here. He couldn't be back here.

His brain suddenly snagged on a horrific thought: What if this wasn't a door at all? What if he had been sent back. It was something he couldn't even begin to fathom. It meant losing Annie and Tristan, and that was something he couldn't contend with.

The arena provided suitable distraction though: the sound of a cannon booming in the distance jolted Finnick back to the present. Door or home, he needed to stay alive. Weapon and water, Finnick thought, years of training fall back into place. The cornucopia was still in the middle of the arena, looking strangely deserted. He ran hastily across the beach and headed out into the water. He swam as fast as he could, reaching the cornucopia where a trident still sat, gleaming. He wrapped his hands around it -- just as he heard footsteps behind him. He turned, brandishing the trident in front of him.

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"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.

Her words bit at him more than he could say, the accusation lancing through his chest. Finnick didn't try to reach for her as she pulled away, but did quickly try to disguise the hurt that had to be apparent on his face with an old but still well-worn mask. There was no point in responding to the comment, he knew. (Could have said, he thought bitterly, that she would know very well if he ever decided to start treating her like one of his sponsors.) But he knew that wasn't fair, because she was scared, and more than just their lives were at stake.

They'd both been gone from their world for months now, and it was terrible how a few seconds back in it could tear them down once more.

"Annie," Finnick said calmly, and pointedly didn't reach for her again. "There are other people at that hotel. Tristan will be fine." Katniss or Johanna would have to notice they were gone. They would take care of him until he and Annie got back.

But, in truth, he zeroed in more quickly on her plan. It was an easier thing to focus on.

"You know this arena," he reminded her quietly. She might not have experienced, but, despite his pleading, he knew that she would have watched him compete. "Tell me what we need to to get out."

Never in her life would Annie have imagined that her watching the Quarter Quell would turn out to be a good thing. Even now she still had nightmares about it, of events taking an entirely different turn. Finnick trapped, Finnick dead before the rebels could ever reach him.

She faltered, blinking, and then sucked in an abrupt breath and jerked a look at the arena around them.

"It's- It's a clock," she exhaled. "I don't know, I don't remember which section does what, but the tree..." Trailing off, she stepped hastily around him to locate the tree on the horizon and point. "There. We need, um. Wire?"

"A clock," Finnick repeated, looking about the arena as he said it. Circle, he noted, as Annie mentioned the different sections each containing a threat. All right. Well, if they only needed to get one section, the rest shouldn't be a problem, he figured. They would just stay on the path to the tree she indicated.

"Wire?" he asked. "Where do we get wire?"

He hoped it wasn't something they needed Beetee or Wiress, although they had been the others one that Plutarch had stressed it was important to get. At the time, he had thought it was only to earn Katniss' trust, but now he wondered if it was something more.