Do i really want him dead? What i want... what i want is to have him back.

Let the Seventy-forth Hunger Games begin, Cato, I think. Let them begin for real.

You're still trying to protect me. Real or not real," he whispers. "Real," I answer. "Because that's what you and I do, protect each other.

I poke around in the pile, about to settle on some cod chowder, when Peeta holds out a can to me. “Here.” I take it, not knowing what to expect. The label reads LAMB STEW.

Just the sound of his voice twists my stomach into a knot of unpleasant emotions like guilt, sadness and fear. And longing. I might as well admit there’s some of that too.

I'm going to be the Mockingjay.

Closing my eyes doesn't help. Fire burns brighter in the darkness.