suzanna-kollinz-acliq-oyunlari-1-hisse-eng

out guaranteeing an arrow in his brain. We stand like statues,
both of us seeking an out.
My muscles are strained so tightly, they feel they might
snap at any moment. My teeth clenched to the breaking point.
The mutts go silent and the only thing I can hear is the blood
pounding in my good ear.
Peeta’s lips are turning blue. If I don’t do something quickly,
he’ll die of asphyxiation and then I’ll have lost him and Cato
will probably use his body as a weapon against me. In fact, I’m
sure this is Cato’s plan because while he’s stopped laughing,
his lips are set in a triumphant smile.
As if in a last-ditch effort, Peeta raises his fingers, dripping
with blood from his leg, up to Cato’s arm. Instead of trying to
wrestle his way free, his forefinger veers off and makes a deliberate
X on the back of Cato’s hand. Cato realizes what it
means exactly one second after I do. I can tell by the way the
smile drops from his lips. But it’s one second too late because,
by that time, my arrow is piercing his hand. He cries out and
reflexively releases Peeta who slams back against him. For a
horrible moment, I think they’re both going over. I dive forward
just catching hold of Peeta as Cato loses his footing on
the blood-slick horn and plummets to the ground.
We hear him hit, the air leaving his body on impact, and
then the mutts attack him. Peeta and I hold on to each other,
waiting for the cannon, waiting for the competition to finish,
waiting to be released. But it doesn’t happen. Not yet. Because
this is the climax of the Hunger Games, and the audience expects
a show.
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