My lips are just forming his name when his fingers lock around my throat.

Fine. Somebody else can arrange to get the stupid goat knocked up.

Impulsively, I lean forward and kiss him, stopping his word. This is probably overdue anyway since he’s right, we are supposed to be madly in love.

If I feel ragged, my prep team seems in worse condition, knocking back coffee and sharing brightly colored little pills. As far as I can tell, they never get up before noon unless there's some sort of national emergency, like my leg hair.

I can almost hear Haymitch groaning as I team up with this wispy child. But I want her. Because she's a survivor, and I trust her, and why not admit it? She reminds me of Prim.

This is no place for a girl on fire.

KEEP CALM and HAVE A SUGAR CUBE