Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins

last-ditch effort of the engagement, the president's indication that it hadn't been enough, my certainty that I'll have to pay.
    Gale never interrupts. While I talk, he tucks the gloves in his pocket and occupies himself with turning the food in the leather bag into a meal for us. Toasting bread and cheese, coring apples, placing chestnuts in the fire to roast. I watch his hands, his beautiful, capable fingers. Scarred, as mine were before the Capitol erased all marks from my skin, but strong and deft. Hands that have the power to mine coal but the precision to set a delicate snare. Hands I trust.
    I pause to take a drink of tea from the flask before I tell him about my homecoming.
    “Well, you really made a mess of things,” he says. “I'm not even done,” I tell him.
    “I've heard enough for the moment. Let's skip ahead to this plan of yours,” he says.
    I take a deep breath. “We run away.”
    “What?” he asks. This has actually caught him off guard.
    “We take to the woods and make a run for it,” I say. His face is impossible to read. Will he laugh at me, dismiss this as foolishness? I rise in agitation, preparing for an argument. “You said yourself you thought that we could do it! That morning of the reaping. You said—”
    He steps in and I feel myself lifted off the ground. The room spins, and I have to lock my arms around Gale's neck to brace myself. He's laughing, happy.
    “Hey!” I protest, but I'm laughing, too.
    Gale sets me down but doesn't release his hold on me. “Okay, let's run away,” he says.
    “Really? You don't think I'm mad? You'll go with me?” Some of the crushing weight begins to lift as it transfers to Gale's shoulders.
    “I do think you're mad and I'll still go with you,” he says. He means it. Not only means it but welcomes it. “We can do it. I know we can. Let's get out of here and never come back!”
    “You're sure?” I say. “Because it's going to be hard, with the kids and all. I don't want to get five miles into the woods and have you—”
    “I'm sure. I'm completely, entirely, one hundred percent sure.” He tilts his forehead down to rest against mine and pulls me closer. His skin, his whole being, radiates heat from being so near the fire, and I close my eyes, soaking in his warmth. I breathe in the smell of snow-dampened leather and smoke and apples, the smell of all those wintry days we shared before the Games. I don't try to move away. Why should I, anyway? His voice drops to a whisper. “I love you.”
    That's why.
    I never see these things coming. They happen too fast. One second you're proposing an escape plan and the next... you're expected to deal with something like this. I come up with what must be the worst possible response. “I know.”
    It sounds terrible. Like I assume he couldn't help loving me but that I don't feel anything in return. Gale starts to draw away, but I grab hold of him. “I know! And you... you know what you are to me.” It's not enough. He breaks my grip. “Gale, I can't think about anyone that way now. All I can think about, every day, every waking minute since they drew Prim's name at the reaping, is how afraid I am. And there doesn't seem to be room for anything else. If we could get somewhere safe, maybe I could be different. I don't know.”
    I can see him swallowing his disappointment. “So, we'll go. We'll find out.” He turns back to the fire, where the chestnuts are beginning to burn. He flips them out onto the hearth. “My mother's going to take some convincing.”
    I guess he's still going, anyway. But the happiness has fled, leaving an all-too-familiar strain in its place. “Mine, too. I'll just have to make her see reason. Take her for a long walk. Make sure she understands we won't survive the alternative.”
    “She'll understand. I watched a lot of the Games with her and Prim. She won't say no to you,” says Gale.
    “I hope not.” The temperature in the house seems to have dropped twenty degrees in a