Don't apologize. Where I'm from, all my people get them. Often.

[The victors did, anyway. Those were the only people who mattered to him.]

Just focus on breathing.

[Finnick stares over Hythlodaeus' shoulder at the dim neon light coming through a crack in the curtain, not daring to close his eyes or relax his muscles again. Ever since the memory that brought him here, his death repeated several times in a row, he has a fear of nightmares repeating themselves in one night.]