Chapter 1

The dry, hot air of District 11 makes the walk to the mayor's house nearly impossible. Rue did mention the harsh realities of District 11, but I never imagined it to be this bad. I watch little ashen faces peeking through their windows and doors just to get a fleeting look at me.

The houses are modest, remnants of a life overshadowed by the Capitol's oppression. Peeta squeezes my hand, grounding me in the reality of the moment. We reach the mayor's house, a simple yet elegant structure that stands in stark contrast to the struggles of its inhabitants. Peeta takes my hand and leads us to the buffet. The food here is nothing like I've seen before—an array of lentils, sauces, vegetables, and all kinds of bread are set before me. Among them is the rye bread, a haunting reminder of the Games and the bond I shared with Rue. My throat tightens as memories flood back, but I force myself to focus on the present.

"Katniss, come on, get something to eat," Peeta says.

"I'm not very hungry. You go on and eat. I'm gonna go sit over there," I reply as I make my way towards one of the wooden tables. Plagued with memories of Rue, I look out the window; the grey skies remind me of all the miseries the Capitol has sprung upon us. I look at the passing by children, foolishly hoping to find Rue's face among them.

Suddenly my stomach starts rumbling, and a sharp acidic taste fills my mouth. I lift the skirt of my dress and bolt towards the nearest bathroom. I gag and spit, trying my best not to alert the whole neighborhood. Truth is, I haven't eaten since yesterday, and now I reap the consequences of my actions. A familiar hand slides up my back, and I find Peeta crouching behind me. I must've forgotten to lock the toilet.

"Katniss, honey, you need to eat. You can't keep going like this," Peeta says with inexplicable worry in his eyes.

"I know, but how can I eat when all I see are the miserable faces of these children? Everywhere I go, I see her face. I can't do this, Peeta; it's too much," I say with tears swelling in my eyes.

He doesn't say anything. Instead, he sits down behind me, and he holds me ever so tightly, and that's almost enough, knowing that he's at least here with me. We sit there for 15 minutes not saying a word until we hear an annoying truting sound.

"Katniss, Peeta, what is this? I've been looking for you all over the place! Get up and pack your things; we're leaving in 30," Effie chirps with heavy displeasure in her eyes before she leaves.

I try to get up, but my knees start buckling, so Peeta lets me lean on his shoulder, and we make our way back to the hall. Peeta sits me down and disappears. I sigh in disappointment.

"Here, I got you some lamb stew," Peeta suddenly appears with a plate in his hand. I try taking the spoon; instead, Peeta flicks my hand away and commands me to open my mouth. The stew tastes like rubble in my mouth, but I eat it to stop Peeta from worrying. As minuscule of a gesture as it is, I feel more comforted and taken care of than I have by any of our fake kisses.

We get back on the train, and I quietly unlatch my hand from his and walk towards my compartment.

I'm in the woods hunting for some dinner when suddenly I spot a bear. No, it's a mutt, and it's coming towards me. I run and run, but alas, I'm too slow. Brown eyes, brown hair. Oh lord, it's Rue's mutt. She unclenches her slimy jaws and pulls...

"Rue, please stop, stoppp. Aghgh."

"Katniss, wake up, wake up; it's not real," Peeta's familiar voice blooms near my face.

"Peeta, Peeta—it was Rue. Her mutt was trying to—kill me," I say between loud sobs.

"It's not real, Katniss; it was just in your head. Come here," Peeta says as he extends his arms towards me.

I graciously accept and end up sitting on his lap; his arms encircle my waist as I bury my face into his neck.

"You smell different," I tell him, missing his usual scent of cinnamon and dill.

"Yeah, it's the Capitol shampoo. I wish we could go back home," he says. We stay like that for about an hour; when my eyes start to droop, he gently lays me down and starts making his way towards the door. I find myself wishing he could stay, but for some reason, I'm not allowed to say that. And so he leaves.