Instead, I watch myself get shot on television.

Flight is essential, but I can't let my fear show.

Then it’s just Venia, whose skin is so pale her tattoos appear to be leaping off it. Almost rigid with determination, she does my hair and nails and makeup, fingers flying swiftly to compensate for her absent teammates. The whole time, she avoids my gaze. It’s only when Cinna shows up to approve me and dismiss her that she takes my hands, looks me straight in the eye, and says, “We would all like you to know what a…privilege it has been to make you look your best.” Then she hastens from the room.

The morphlings from District 6 are in the camouflage station, painting each other's faces with bright pink swirls.

Because that's what you and I do, protect each other.

I don't know what it is with Finnick and bread, but he seems obsessed with handling it.

I stand there, feeling broken and small, thousands of eyes trained on me.