Cove didn't flinch as Finnick reached out, but his right hand moved with the practiced, ruthless speed of someone who had spent his life pulling knives and wrangling nets. He didn't drop the glass. Instead, he caught Finnick by the wrist, his grip like an iron shackle, stopping the boy's hand just inches from the amber liquid. The ice in the glass didn't even clink. Cove looked down at the tight grip he had on the fourteen-year-old, then slowly brought his forest green eyes up to meet Finnick’s furious glare. His face remained completely blank, a mask of pure indifference that didn't change even as Finnick shouted in his face. He didn't let go of the wrist immediately. He let the pressure sit there for a second, a silent reminder of the strength difference between a boy and a grown victor, before he finally tossed Finnick's hand back toward him. Cove took another slow sip of his drink, his throat moving as he swallowed the burning liquid. ‘ You think more deaths matter to me? ‘ Cove asked, his voice low, steady, and entirely empty of emotion. ‘ You think if you die, I’ll feel a single thing? I won't. I'll just go back to my boat, and next year, I'll sit in this exact same room with another kid who thinks they're special. ‘ He set the glass down on a nearby table with a soft thud. He stepped closer, using his height to crowd Finnick against the wall, his stern features casting a shadow over the angry boy. There was no pity in his eyes. No comfort. Just the harsh, unyielding reality of a man who had seen the bottom of the ocean and stayed there. ‘ You want me to tell you what to do? Fine. Here is your lesson, ‘ Cove said, his tone sharp and biting. ‘ Stop looking for a hero. Stop waiting for me to give you a magic trick that keeps you alive. The Capitol wants a show, and the other tributes want your blood. If you go into that arena acting like an angry child who wants to blame his mentor for the world being unfair, they will gut you in the first five minutes. ‘ He leaned in, his scent of moss and sharp alcohol filling the small space between them. ‘ You want to get back to 4? You want to make it back to the sea? Then shut your mouth, stop crying about what you deserve, and pick up a weapon. Because the second that pedestal rises, I am not your problem anymore. You are. ‘