Peeta Bakes. I Hunt. Haymitch Drinks Until

He Hasn't Accepted His Death. He Is Already Fighting Hard To Stay Alive. Which Also Means That Kind Peeta Mellark, The Boy Who Gave Me Bread, Is Fighting Hard To Kill Me.

You’re Not Leaving Me Here Alone,” I Say. Because If He Dies, I’ll Never Go Home, Not Really. I’ll Spend The Rest Of My Life In This Arena, Trying To Think My Way Out.

Fine. I'll Train. But I'm Going To The Stinking Capitol If I Have To Kill A Crew And Fly There Myself." Says Johanna. "probably Best Not To Bring That Up In Training," I Say. "but It's Nice To Know I'll Have A Ride.

What Do You Think?" He Asks. "i Hate Them," I Say. I Can Almost Smell The Blood, The Dirt, The Unnatural Breath Of The Mutt. "all I Do Is Go Around Trying To Forget The Arena And You've Brought It Back To Life. How Do You Remember These Things So Exactly?" "i See Them Every Night," He Says.

I Press My Ear Against His Chest, To The Spot Where I Always Rest My Head, Where I Know I Will Hear The Strong And Steady Beat Of His Heart. Instead, I Find Silence.