“And may the odds -" He tosses a berry in a high arc toward me. I catch it in my mouth and break the delicate skin with my teeth. The sweet tartness explodes across my tongue. "- be ever in your favor!" I finish with equal verve.”

“May the odds be ever in your favor!”

“Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor.”

“Peeta opens his mouth for the first bite without hesitation. He swallows, then frowns slightly. "They're very sweet.""Yes they're sugar berries. My mother makes jam from them. Haven't you've ever had them before?" I say, poking the next spoonful in his mouth."No," he says, almost puzzled. "But they taste familiar. Sugar berries?""Well, you can't get them in the market much, they only grow wild," I say. Another mouthful goes down. Just one more to go."They're sweet as syrup," he says, taking the last spoonful. "Syrup." His eyes widen as he realizes the truth. I clamp my hand over his mouth and nose hard, forcing him to swallow instead of spit. He tries to make himself vomit the stuff up, but it's too late, he's already losing consciousness. Even as he fades away, I can see in his eyes what I've done is unforgiveable.I sit back on my heels and look at him with a mixture of sadness and satisfaction. A stray berry stains his chin and I wipe it away. "Who can't lie, Peeta?" I say, even though he can't hear me.”

“So I learned to hold my tongue and to turn my features into an indifferent mask so that no one could ever read my thoughts.”

“Greeting to the final contestants of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games. The earlier revision has been revoked. Closer examination of the rule book has disclosed that only one winner may be allowed," he says. "Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favor.”

“I raise my left arm and twist my neck down to rip off the pill on my sleeve. Instead my teeth sink into flesh. I yank my head back in confusion to find myself looking into Peeta’s eyes, only now they hold my gaze. Blood runs from the teeth marks on the hand he clamped over my nightlock.“Let me go!” I snarl at him, trying to wrest my arm from his grasp.“I can’t,” he says.”