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

Peeta and I walk to a railing at the edge of the roof. I look
straight down the side of the building to the street, which is
buzzing with people. You can hear their cars, an occasional
shout, and a strange metallic tinkling. In District 12, we’d all
be thinking about bed right now.
“I asked Cinna why they let us up here. Weren’t they worried
that some of the tributes might decide to jump right over
the side?” says Peeta.
“What’d he say?” I ask.
“You can’t,” says Peeta. He holds out his hand into seemingly
empty space. There’s a sharp zap and he jerks it back.
“Some kind of electric field throws you back on the roof.”
“Always worried about our safety,” I say. Even though Cinna
has shown Peeta the roof, I wonder if we’re supposed to be
up here now, so late and alone. I’ve never seen tributes on the
Training Center roof before. But that doesn’t mean we’re not
being taped. “Do you think they’re watching us now?”
“Maybe,” he admits. “Come see the garden.”
On the other side of the dome, they’ve built a garden with
flower beds and potted trees. From the branches hang hundreds
of wind chimes, which account for the tinkling I heard.
Here in the garden, on this windy night, it’s enough to drown
out two people who are trying not to be heard. Peeta looks at
me expectantly.
I pretend to examine a blossom. “We were hunting in the
woods one day. Hidden, waiting for game,” I whisper.
“You and your father?” he whispers back.
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