Mockingjay (The Hunger Games, #3)

by Suzanne Collins

“Katniss, I don’t think you understand how important you are to the cause. Important people usually get what they want. If you want to keep Peeta safe from the rebels, you can.”

Finally, the intercom crackles and Haymitch’s acerbic laugh fills the studio. He contains himself just long enough to say, “And that, my friends, is how a revolution dies.”

“Fire is catching!” I am shouting now, determined that he will not miss a word. “And if we burn, you burn with us!”

“So, what do you think they’ll do to him?” I ask. Prim sounds about a thousand years old when she speaks. “Whatever it takes to break you.”

Peeta, the thing I want so badly to secure, is the light.

“That you what?” “That I knew I’d misjudged you. That you do love him. I’m not saying in what way. Maybe you don’t know yourself. But anyone paying attention could see how much you care about him,” he says gently.

Any questions?” “Can we have a coffee?” asks Finnick.

I’ve got rope burn on my fingers, I can barely hold my eyes open, and a camera crew’s waiting for me to do something brilliant. And Snow’s got Peeta. Gale can think whatever he wants.

I mean this with my whole chest, fuck gale

“Did you love Annie right away, Finnick?” I ask. “No.” A long time passes before he adds, “She crept up on me.”

I cover my face with my arms because this isn’t happening. It isn’t possible. For someone to make Peeta forget he loves me . . . no one could do that.

In fact, I can only manage to hold on to one simple thought: an image of Snow’s face accompanied by the whisper in my head. I will kill you.

To hear Delly describe it, I had next to no friends because I intimidated people by being so exceptional. Not true. I had next to no friends because I wasn’t friendly.

“You’re still trying to protect me. Real or not real,” he whispers. “Real,” I answer. It seems to require more explanation. “Because that’s what you and I do. Protect each other.”

I look at the crew, armed with nothing but cameras and clipboards. And there’s Finnick with two guns and a trident.

I clench his hands to the point of pain. “Stay with me.” His pupils contract to pinpoints, dilate again rapidly, and then return to something resembling normalcy. “Always,” he murmurs.

“I don’t believe you.” Snow shakes his head in mock disappointment. “Oh, my dear Miss Everdeen. I thought we had agreed not to lie to each other.”

The point of my arrow shifts upward. I release the string. And President Coin collapses over the side of the balcony and plunges to the ground. Dead.

So after, when he whispers, “You love me. Real or not real?” I tell him, “Real.”