Cecil is torn. Legitimately torn. On the one hand, he is a journalist, and it is his responsibility to report-- well, everything that's fit to broadcast! And Finnick Odair's picks for an Arena victory are definitely newsworthy. On the other hand, Finnick Odair has just offered to take him into his confidence and... oh, wow, how do you pass that up?

"...Well." Be cool, Cecil. He gives Finnick a smile, intended to mirror his conspiratorial tone. "Let's... say you weren't on the record." A pause. "--I mean, of course you are on the record - if not my own personal record, then that of the invisible ears planted all around this room, and the invisible eyes watching the movement of our lips and the subtle nuances of gesture that under certain circumstances might become tells, and the invisible hands that hover always over all our heads, waiting for the sirens to declare that a tell has been discovered."

He lets that hang just a second. It doesn't have the air of a threat-- he states it like fact, like an uncomfortable but necessary reminder.

"...But! Let's say you weren't on my record." His grin springs back into place. "Let's say that only the cameras will remember what is said here. What would you say then?"