I poke around in the pile, about to settle on some cod chowder, when Peeta holds out a can to me. “Here.” I take it, not knowing what to expect. The label reads LAMB STEW.

I go back to my room and lie under the covers, trying not to think of Gale and thinking of nothing else.

Rue, who when you ask her what she loves most in the world, replies, of all things, “Music.

So, here’s what you do. You win, you go home. She can’t turn you down then, eh?” says Caesar encouragingly. “I don’t think it’s going to work out. Winning…won’t help in my case,” says Peeta. “Why ever not?” says Caesar, mystified. Peeta blushes beet red and stammers out. “Because…because…she came here with me.

Maybe I'd think that, too, Caesar," says Petta bitterly, "if it weren't for the baby." There. He's done it again.

Really, the combination of the scabs and the ointment looks hideous. I can't help enjoying his distress. "Poor Finnick. Is this the first time in your life you haven't looked pretty?" I say. "It must be. The sensation's completely new. How have you managed it all these years?" he asks. "Just avoid mirrors. You'll forget about it," I say. "Not if I keep looking at you," he says.

I don’t want anyone with me today. Not even him. Some walks you have to take alone.