Finnick fell in line behind Johann, echoing her steps, his body still thrumming with warning. The constant tension was one of the hardest parts about the Games, he thought. They taught you to fight, to find water, how to kill. They taught you to defend yourself, and how to avoid poison berries and how to fish so you could feed yourself. What they couldn't teach you was how your body was fraught with adrenaline the entire time you were in the arena, a constant fight-or-flight response that threatened to drive you crazy. (Or sometimes did, Finnick thought soberly.) Of course, they never really came down from that. Maybe it was because, in the Capitol, you were still always surrounded by enemies.

Finnick's eyes flitted back to Johanna when she began to speak again. Something was wrong. They both felt it.

"I'm not sure this is the arena," Finnick confessed. "I didn't come through a launchpad." And that was the hardest part. Which was worse: If this was the arena, or if it wasn't? And what did they do either way?

Follow Johanna, he figured. That was his only choice either way. They would try to get their bearings. Try to find Katniss. Try to stay alive.