The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes (The Hunger Games, #0)

by Suzanne Collins

Tigris had said to trust her, and he did. Only his cousin’s cleverness with a needle had saved him so far.

Watching the bright pages of his picture books — the very ones he’d pored over with his mother — reduced to ashes had never failed to bring him to tears. But better off sad than dead.

Everyone had learned to despise waste. It was creeping back into fashion, though. A sign of prosperity, like a decent shirt.

A tendency toward obsession was hardwired into his brain and would likely be his undoing if he couldn’t learn to outsmart it.

People had short memories. They needed to navigate the rubble, peel off the grubby ration coupons, and witness the Hunger Games to keep the war fresh in their minds. Forgetting could lead to complacency, and then they’d all be back at square one.

This reaping day, like most, was shaping up to be a scorcher. But what else could you expect on July 4th?

Dean Casca Highbottom, the man credited with the creation of the Hunger Games, was overseeing the mentor program personally.

“And last but least, District Twelve girl . . . she belongs to Coriolanus Snow.”

Everyone knew what happened if you went to the districts. You were written off. Forgotten. In the eyes of the Capitol, you were basically dead.