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❝Do you mean you won't kill anyone?❞ I ask.
❝No, when the time comes, I'm sure I'll kill just like everybody else. I can't go down without a fight. Only, I keep wishing I could think of a way to...to show the Capitol they don't own me. That I'm more than just a piece in their Games.❞ says Peeta.
❝But you're not,❞ I say. ❝None of us are. That's how the Games work.❞
❝Okay, but within that framework, there's still you, there's still me,❞ he insists. ❝Don't you see?❞
❝A little. Only...no offense, but who cares, Peeta?❞ I say.
❝I do. I mean, what else am I allowed to care about at this point?❞ he asks angrily. He's locked those blue eyes on mine now, demanding an answer.
I take a step back. ❝Care about what Haymitch said. About staying alive.❞
Peeta smiles at me, sad and mocking. ❝Okay. Thanks for the tip, sweetheart.❞
It's like a slap in the face. His use of Haymitch's patronizing endearment. ❝Look, if you want to spend the last hours of your life planning some noble death in the arena, that's your choice. I want to spend mine in District Twelve.❞
❝Wouldn't surprise me if you do, says Peeta. ❝Give my mother my best when you make it back, will you?❞