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r a voice。
¨You here to finish me off； sweetheart？〃
I whip around。 Itˇs e from the left； so I canˇt pick it up very well。 And the voice was hoarse and weak。 Still； it must have been Peeta。 Who else in the arena would call me sweetheart？ My eyes peruse the bank； but thereˇs nothing。 Just mud； the plants； the base of the rocks。
¨Peeta？〃 I whisper。 ¨Where are you？〃 Thereˇs no answer。 Could I just have imagined it？ No； Iˇm certain it was real and very close at hand； too。 ¨Peeta？〃 I creep along the bank。
¨Well； donˇt step on me。〃
I jump back。 His voice was right under my feet。 Still thereˇs nothing。 Then his eyes open； unmistakably blue in th
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