I'm lying to him, and I know it. He doesn't understand that I'm the type of person who shot an innocent Capitol woman in the heart with no remorse or even a second thought. He hasn't seen the worst of me, and the selfish part won't let it slip. This Peeta loves me. I don't deserve it. I realized that I never did.

His face is so concerned, and his arms are steady and so unlike the shaking, quivering heap I remember him as. A year ago, his arms were the only things that could make me fall asleep. The effect is the same here. I flinch, but don't fight him. I rest my head against his shoulders. Reliving it all is exhausting.

"It's too quiet here." I don't respond to his words, because what's there to possibly say? I can't promise anything.