Let them go, I tell myself. Say good-bye and forget them. I do my best, thinking of them one by one, releasing them like birds from the protective cages inside me, locking the doors against their return.

It sends out a very clear message: "Mess with us and we'll do something worse than kill you. We'll kill your children.

Once I'm on my feet I realize escape might not be so easy.

Where did they get those screams, Katniss?

Please feel free to take this personally.

Never underestimate the power of a brillian stylist.

Something flickers across his bloodshot eyes. Pain.