Yeah, about that,” says Peeta, entwining his fingers in mine. “Don’t try something like that again.” “Or what?” I ask. “Or . . . or . . .” He can’t think of anything good. “Just give me a minute.

If you'd been taken by the Capital and hijacked and then tried to kill Peeta, is this the way he would be treating you?

We could do it, you know.

I wonder if Effie will still be wearing that silly pink wig, or is she'll be sporting some other unnatural color especially for the Victor Tour.

Now he's [Cinna] arranging things around my living room: Clothing, fabrics, and sketchbooks with designs he's drawn. I pick one up and examine one of the dresses I supposedly created. You know, I think I show a lot of promise," I say. Get dressed, you worthless thing.

But I don't know what to him about the aftermath of killing a person. About how they never leave you.

I'm sure they didn't notice anything but you. You should wear flames more often," he says. "They suit you.