Sick and disoriented, I'm able to form only one thought: Peeta Mellark just saved my life.
Something flickers across his bloodshot eyes. Pain.
They erase my face with a layer of pale makeup and draw my features back out.
I really can't think about kissing when I've got a rebellion to incite.
Ladies and gentlemen....." His voice is quiet, but mine rings through the room. "Let the Seventy-sixth Hunger Games begin!
I knew it. In this way, Peeta's not hard to predict. While I was wallowing around on the floor of that cellar, thinking only of myself, he was here, thinking of me. Shame isn't a strong enough word for what I feel.