I saw Thresh strike Clove and watched her fall to the floor. Just like that the girl with whom I was supposed to spend the rest of my life was dead. The girl I had grown up with. The girl I trained with. The girl I shared my first kiss with. The girl who was going to volunteer next year and join me in the victor's square.
As I knelt at Cloves body, I finally realised. I knew this would happen. I knew Clove would want action at the feast. I knew she would savour killing the girl from 12, the girl who had taken attention from her by beating her in training. And I knew if eleven reached her she was dead. I knew.
I had even hidden it from myself, saying again and again how strong she was. How she could kill anyone with her knives. How she was faster than her opponents, and clever. She had promised she wouldn't hang around but, when she saw Katniss, she forgot about me.
They train you so well at the academy that you don't even realise it. They train your subconscious. I could never have killed Clove in combat. Instead my twisted subconscious formed a plan. A plan that didn't involve me killing the girl I had grown up with.
But I knew I had.