Weeks later, Gale's secretary handed him an envelope. "It's hand-addressed to you by name, sir, rather than rank. Seemed like personal correspondence. Didn't want to open it for you, sir," the anxious man explained.

"Thanks," Gale said, feeling intrigued by the letter and annoyed by the multiple uses of the word sir. "And can you please call me Gale, when it's just us two? 'Sir' is completely unnecessary. As I've said."

The secretary looked taken aback. He was older than Gale, thought not by very many years, and he was constantly squinting through a pair of very thick glasses. "You outrank me, sir. I have to address you accordingly."

Gale sighed. This is not the hill you want to die on. This is not the hill you want to die on. "Fine," he said, "Call me whatever you want. Thank you for delivering this." Then he left his neurotic secretary in the reception area and went into his own office, considering the envelope.

All it said was, "Gale Hawthorne, Peacekeeper Headquarters, District 2." The postmark said "12" in a cracked red stamp. It's not from my mother; she'd send it to my apartment. He wasn't still in touch with many other Twelve people, at least not ones who had gone back home after the war. He ripped the envelope open.

Miss Katniss Everdeen

and

Mister Peeta Mellark

Request the honor of your presence at their wedding ceremony

to be held at the Twelfth District Hall

June 12 at 10 AM

Reception to follow at Mr. Mellark's House

Replies collected by Mr. Haymitch Abernathy

There was more - a phone number for Haymitch, the address of the District Hall and of the new hotel where out-of-district guests could stay. Gale looked at it, but could not absorb a single syllable. He couldn't focus over the pounding of his heart.