She always seemed to be gearing up for a fight, but with what she had just come from, Finnick didn't blame her. On the contrary, it was part of what made her an admirable Mockingjay, he thought. She didn't give in. But he had wasn't trying to fight her over this, and he wondered if she was defending herself to him or to herself.
He'd given as a little thought as possible to the books, and the reminder that they were written from her point of view struck him in a way it hadn't previously -- mostly for how strange it must have been for her. Was it odder if the books were right or if they were wrong? That someone knew what was going on in her or that someone was trying to impersonate what was happening there? (What had she said or thought about him, he wondered, the thought rising unbidden.) If anything though, that reminder made him even more reluctant to ever pick up a copy of the books. It seemed ... disrespectful. Katniss was his friend, and he didn't have the right to dig around in her thoughts and memories like that.
"I know," Finnick said simply, not knowing what else he could do to placate her -- or even if she needed or could be placated in this moment.