But because two can play at this game, I stand on tiptoe and kiss his cheek. Right on his bruise.

Not daring to flee since my general location has just been broadcast to any killer who cares. I mean, I know it's cold out here and not everybody has a sleeping bag.

He never lets go of Annie's hand. Not when they walk, not when they eat. I doubt he ever plans to.

Dawn comes before sleep does.

I guess this is a bad time to mention I hung a dummy and painted Seneca Crane's name on it.

Peeta bakes. I hunt. Haymitch drinks until the liquor runs out.

Today I might lose both of them. I try to imagine a world where both Gale's and Peeta's voices have ceased. Hands stilled. Eyes unblinking. I'm standing over their bodies, having a last look, leaving the room where they lie. But when I open the door to step out into the world, there's only a tremendous void. A pale grey nothingness that is all my future holds.