I pull an arrow, whip the notch into place, and am about to let it fly when I'm stopped by the sight of Finnick kissing Peeta. And it's so bizarre, even for Finnick.

I’ve stopped talking because there’s really nothing left to say and there’s this piercing sort of pain where my heart is. Maybe I’m even having a heart attack, but it doesn’t seem worth mentioning.

I’m in a shallow hole, not filled with the humming orange bubbles of my hallucination but with old, dead leaves.

District 12. Where you can starve to death in safety," I mutter. Then I glance quickly over my shoulder. Even here, in the middle of nowhere, you worry someone might overhear you.

It's strange to be so physically close to someone who's so distant

I don't write about adolescence. I write about war. For adolescents.

You here to finish me off, Sweetheart?