Finnick isn't thinking about the possibilities or otherwise of security and protection. Since it's the fear of encountering Snow here that's drained his energy and alertness, he really should be mindful of defending himself and Annie, but he couldn't concentrate on it if he tried, so he's not trying. He thinks he didn't even remember to bring a knife with him.

Huddled together by the fire feels safe, though it shouldn't; most of the other people from here are around them, also facing the fire. (For once, his vigilance at keeping his back away from the unknown has slipped along with his determination to carry weapons.) It's warm, and he settles his head against Annie's legs in a way that feels comfortable.

Finnick turns his head, watching Annie pick up his wrist and a little braided bracelet.

"Three?" he asks.

"Where did you get the string?" His free hand reaches out to touch the strands she'd been working with. "It's nice."