It’s the final word in camouflage. Forget chucking weights around. Peeta should have gone into his private session with the Gamemakers and painted himself into a tree. Or a boulder. Or a muddy bank full of weeds.

In our world, I rank music somewhere between hair ribbons and rainbows in terms of usefulness.

Where did they get those screams, Katniss?

Got it," I say. "Did you tell Peeta this?" "Don't have to," says Haymitch. "He's already there.

I drag myself out of nightmares each morning and find there's no relief in waking.

My sleep wasn't peaceful, though. I have the sense of emerging from a world of dark, haunted places where I traveled alone.

I guess there isn’t a rule book for what might be unacceptable to do to another human being.