"Mr. Norton?"
My eyes flew open.
The hallway lights blurred for a second before they sharpened into focus. A familiar figure sat a few feet away from me, his wheelchair angled slightly toward the wall. The air around him felt different, heavier, like the moment before a storm breaks.
"F-Finnick?"
For a heartbeat, I thought I was imagining him. Maybe the alcohol had finally gotten to my head.
But he was real.
His gaze moved slowly from my face down to my dress, then back up again. He didn't say anything at first. His eyes were dark and unreadable, yet there was a tension in them that made my pulse quicken.
I suddenly became aware of what I was wearing. The fitted dress hugged my waist and hips. It was professional, yes—but it showed my curves. I had worn it because it was appropriate for a business dinner.
Now, under his stare, I felt exposed.
