He’s still stroking my hair when I fall asleep again, my eyelids heavy, my head resting on his chest like a pillow. I dream I’m in the woods, walking toward the cottage where Peeta is waiting for me. He’s more illuminated than usual. Glowing. Beautiful. He kisses me on the forehead before I hear the whistle.
I wake with a gasp, as always The sleep syrup is making everything wobbly. Strong arms and broad shoulders tighten around me. The heartbeat of the victim is still there, loud in my ear. The syrup is whispering something to me. Darling, you’re here. Alive.
He starts speaking quietly, describing where we are. Every good detail of District 4: how the boats rock against the shore, the rich smell of salt in the air, the gentle blue of the sky and the deep green of the ocean. He tells me to listen to the waves, their rhythmic crashing just steps away. And somehow, better than any pill, I feel my spine loosen, my body relax into his. I fall into a syrup-induced asleep again. The only image in my mind is a single leaf drifting across a pond.
Just as Effie Trinket’s hand reached for the slips, a slight gust of wind stirred the air, and a spirit tinkled a wind chime—its ringing whispering a different fate into the breeze.
