The first time he meets Clove, she is ten and him thirteen.
Already he is a huge brute, and when he spots her small frame awkwardly shuffling along with the new intakes, he grins. At lunch, she eats alone. When he walks over with swagger and sits opposite her, she doesn't look up. His insults are empty and pathetic, but, oh, they infuriate her.
Then, there is a fork wedged in his hand.
As the crimson blood mixes with his beef stew, he looks up to find her cold, mean eyes daring him to say something.
"You're crazy."