Finnick nodded when she answered him, not trusting his own voice. He knew there was a large difference between alive and okay. They had all came out of the games alive, but he was fairly certain that they were all the furthest from okay.
But it had to count for something, didn't it? That she was still alive? He didn't know. He didn't know what he wanted, other than that he had always been too selfish to let Annie go. If he had been a stronger, better person, he never would have admitted to falling in love with her. He would have hurt her then, let her leave him. And then Snow would have never taken her after the Quarter Quell. (This was an old nightmare, one he hadn't let himself revisit since he was 20, when he and Annie had been freshly in love, caught up in their feelings for each other and simultaneously terrified that Snow was going to kill them and everyone around them.) Whatever scars she came out of the Capitol with this time were his fault.
And he should have never let himself get separated from Johanna. He should have found her. He should have -- But he didn't know what he should have done at this point, other than that he should have done better. He pressed his hands flat against the counter to hide that they were shaking.
"So there's a chance we still all die," Finnick answered, trying to answer ruefully and failing utterly.