The dining hall of the pack house was so quiet that I could hear every small sound. The only thing breaking the silence was the soft clink of cutlery against plates. Finnick sat across from me at the long wooden table, his presence heavy even though he wasn't saying a word. The air felt tight, like something unseen was pressing against my chest.
"Um…" I finally spoke because I couldn't take it anymore. My fingers tightened around my fork. "About that night…"
"I'm sorry."
His words cut through mine before I could finish. I froze and looked up at him.
"What?" I asked, still processing what I had just heard.
Was Finnick apologizing to me?
"I was too rash that night," he said quietly.
"I was at fault too," I replied quickly. Since he apologized, I had to respond with grace. That was how things worked in a pack. "It was rude of me to leave the family dinner. When I have time, I'll apologize to your grandpa."
