[And for Clove, Thesh will always be something that stalks her nightmares. Cato wakes up with memories of dogs; she sees a boy, huge and towering. Even now, if she closes her eyes, she can feel it. That fear of the certainty of death. Her throat still feels raw when she thinks of screaming.

Screaming and screaming... for nothing.

Cato didn't come.

She died humiliating her district, and Cato -- Cato, who had smiled at her at the announcement that two Victors could be crowned if they were from the same district -- hadn't been there. He hadn't protected her. He hadn't kept his promise.

She shifts the knife in her hand, grabs the hilt, and stabs down. Hard into the wood base. Drives it in and can't easily pull out. Only then does she breathe, forcing herself not to cry. It doesn't matter. It shouldn't still bother her. She's been here for years now. She should be over it.

But it wasn't just then.

Another breath. A few more moments.]

I wish I could've seen the last one. The pampered brats of the Capitol, suddenly in an Arena, like they'd watched and enjoyed for so many years.