"Safe," I mutter. "Heard that one before." She's not making any sense— no Snow, no Capitol, alright, but the only place that's true is Thirteen. "How'd we get here? How'd you get here, I just saw you a minute ago?"

She looks fine. Healthy. Something's not right, and I'm starting to feel like everything's slipping away from me. Did I imagine Peeta raving and trying to kill her? I wish I could believe I had, but my insides still feel scraped raw, and I can't pretend I don't know why.

I need to sit down; I need a drink. There's a table close by and I slouch toward it, collapsing into a chair and looking up at her flat, unimpressed expression. "Wait," I say before she starts talking. I nod toward the bottles I can see behind the bar. "Bring me one of those, and a glass. Then explain."