He'll live. You said you yourself. He lives, and the Games end.

[She said that. The first day Clove was here, Twelve told her that.

Now, it's Clove's calm that is staggering. Maybe it's the rain that starts to fall. Very light, just a few drops here and there. But they start the ripples, disturb the surface of her placidity. Now, her voice falters. She's almost angry. Or maybe she is angry, just masking it. Or trying to.]

He'll live.

And we'll all leave eventually.

You'll go back. And he'll be alive.

[Don't call me lucky.]