“Prim!” The strangled cry comes out of my throat, and my muscles begin to move again. “Prim!” I don’t need to shove through the crowd.
wrapped the hunting jacket tightly about me, and walked swiftly away.
Note: a bread note
“What’s wrong?” Peeta asks. “Nothing,” I answer. We continue walking, past the end of the train, out where even I’m fairly sure there are no cameras hidden in the scrubby bushes along the track. Still no words come.
Note: the end is near