One more time? For the audience?" he says. His voice isn't angry. It's hollow, which is worse. Already the boy with the bread is slipping away from me. I take his hand, holding on tightly, preparing for the cameras, and dreading the moment when I will finally have to let go.

Entrails. No hissing. This is the closest we will ever come to love.

Most of the Peacekeepers turn a blind eye to the few of us who hunt because they're as hungry as we are for fresh meat as anyone. In fact, they're among our best customers.

Obviously this person's a hazard. Stupid people are dangerous.

It's meant to be pretty," whispers Octavia, and I can see the tears threatening to spill over her lashes. Posy considers this and says matter-of-factly, "I think you'd be pretty in any color." The tiniest of smiles forms on Octavia's lips. "Thank you.

Something inside me twists as I remember another voice. Rue. In the arena. When I gave her the leg of groosling. “Oh, I've never had a whole leg to myself before.” The disbelief of the chronically hungry.

I merely feel emptyness. A hollow of dead brush where flowers use to bloom.