Finnick was quiet the entire time she spoke. In truth, his brain was struggling to catch up, and then to sort through all the implications of what she was saying. She had read things about their lives, presumably things that had happened yet. The oddity of it all was stronger than ever. He had never expected to contend with this from her.
Of course, she knew things he didn't. It was something he usually ignored, that she was from a different time than he was, technically speaking. But that difference came back into sharp focus. She knew even more now. And at the crux of it, he knew, was did he want to know? It hadn't been something he had considered, even knowing when she was from. Even knowing the books were out there.
Probably not, he realized. There seemed to be something inherently wrong about knowing the course of one's life, but he didn't think he'd find anything of comfort in those books anyway.
"You have a right to," Finnick answered neutrally, and even this his voice wasn't the usual smooth, happy one he was used to. But then, Katniss didn't need his permission to read the books -- or see the movies -- or do whatever she wanted to here. They had agreed to go through this together, but their decisions didn't need to be the same on everything. She didn't owe him anything here.