“I saw Peeta yesterday. Through the glass.” “What’d you think?” I ask. “Something selfish,” says Gale. “That you don’t have to be jealous of him anymore?” My fingers give a yank, and a cloud of feathers floats down around us. “No. Just the opposite.” Gale pulls a feather out of my hair. “I thought . . . I’ll never compete with that. No matter how much pain I’m in.” He spins the feather between his thumb and forefinger. “I don’t stand a chance if he doesn’t get better. You’ll never be able to let him go. You’ll always feel wrong about being with me.”
