[For Clove, Capitol hijackings were whispered stories in the night. No one knew how or even who. Someone's cousin's sister's friend met someone who had endured it or knew someone who had. A lot of people waved them off as nonsense.

Clove had always regarded the tales with a healthy dose of skepticism. But her "life" as a Victor was fresh in her mind. She remembered President Snow, the quiet and serene malevolence in his eyes as he'd conducted the traditional District Two wedding ceremony done with all due Capitol pomp. She remembered the words of relief, congratulations, and caution whispered in her ears by other Victors. Emerging from the games in the throes of triumph and romance, evading the grasp that would have displayed her like one of his white roses. She could only be thankful they'd won together. Cato might never have submitted to Snow as a lone Victor, or he might have been broken completely.

Facing him together had saved them. And she could believe every horror story about hijacking now.]

It's weird. We... grow up with it, and they just... have no idea.

But... well. They talk about things I don't get, too.