Peeta’s hijacking from Darius’ POV.

I wish I still had a voice; I wish I could tell him that he has a friend here. They tie Peeta down to a chair and inject him with something that makes him scream and thrash and cry. I can tell he tries not to. When he’s weak and scared, they sit him in front of the large screen and play images of Katniss, one after another. A woman stands in the corner of the room and reads out events that never happened; horrible things that show Katniss as a murderer, a thief, a mutt. I can see the moment when he starts to believe; the precise second when love gives way to suspicion. I want to move from the corner of the room and clutch at his hand and tell him that I love her too; a different way than he does, but still love. And she’ll sit in our hearts whether the Capitol likes it or not. That night, I sneak out of my quarters and find an old magazine in the trash. There are pictures of Katniss in that awful wedding dress they wanted her to wear, and so I tear one out. When they send me in to take Peeta his food, I slip the picture under his plate. Something to hold on to. A piece of Katniss he can use to pull himself back. I know the Capitol can see what I’ve done, because the next morning they’re dragging me out of my bed and down into the cells. Death doesn’t come quick enough.