He needed to get topside to join the others so they could take her down. He’d gotten a good lead on her-maybe a few hundred yards-but he had no way of knowing if he’d eventually run into a dead end. He got it switched on to see an ominous blob approaching from the right. Jack forced himself up onto his feet again, stumbling backwards and fumbling for the tracker. He pushed onto his knees, nursing what felt like bruised ribs and a sprained wrist, and then paled as an unmistakable sensation traveled up the arm he’d used to push himself up. He gasped as it knocked the wind out of him and gritted his teeth, his mind screaming at him to get up and run, run, run. Jack raced around one corner too sharply and slipped on a piece of dung, crashing hard on his right side. Icy claws of fear squeezed his heart with every breath as he ran, relying on the night vision goggles, the glimpse he’d gotten of the map, and his own instincts to figure out where to go. He didn’t dare look behind him to see if the dragon had risen from the ground yet, but the deafening hiss that assaulted his ears meant she’d woken up. Pieces of dragon dung flew off him and hit the ground behind him in miniature chunks. “His booted feet pounded out an insane, frantic rhythm underneath him as he raced into the cavern across from Baba Yaga’s den at a dead sprint. “You don’t have much competition anywhere.” And this time, it’s me who leans in.” It’s as if I can hear Haymitch whispering in my ear, “Say it! Say it!” I want to draw away, to close those shutters again, but I know I can’t. “Well, I don’t have much competition here,” he says. “You’re the one who wasn’t paying attention.” “I remember everything about you,” says Peeta, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. Why Peeta took a beating to give me the bread on that awful hollow day. there was one, a hand-me-down to Prim that got washed to rags after my father’s death. And I did sing the first day of school, although I don’t remember the song. But Peeta’s story has a ring of truth to it. Because we’re supposed to be making up this stuff, playing at being in love not actually being in love. For a moment, I’m almost foolishly happy and then confusion sweeps over me. So, in a way, my name being drawn in the reaping was a real piece of luck,” says Peeta. “Then for the next eleven years, I tried to work up the nerve to talk to you.” And right when your song ended, I knew-just like your mother-I was a goner,” Peeta says. And I swear, every bird outside the windows fell silent,” Peeta says. She stood you up on a stool and had you sing it for us. “So that day, in music assembly, the teacher asked who knew the valley song. It might be because it reminds me too much of my father. It strikes me that my own reluctance to sing, my own dismissal of music might not really be that I think it’s a waste of time. I’m stunned and surprisingly moved, thinking of the baker telling this to Peeta. “And I said, ‘A coal miner? Why did she want a coal miner if she could’ve had you?’ And he said, ‘Because when he sings. “What? You’re making that up!” I exclaim. “He said, ‘See that little girl? I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner,’” Peeta says. My father pointed you out when we were waiting to line up,” Peeta says. You had on a red plaid dress and your hair. “You said at the interview you’d had a crush on me forever.
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