"You were suffering," he says. "Because you had suffered. It is not your fault."

It was a simple fact. Ice is cold. Water is wet.

"And you know that's a lie, everything staying inside the arena." The light above him bathes his jacket, his hair. "I haven't slept either."

Another truth. Aunamee spends his nights tossing and turning and then wandering the tribute tower, lost, searching for human contact. But it's not remorse that keeps him awake. It's fear. It's the feeling of a metal claw gripping his neck. It's darkness.

He drops his voice.

"It eats at me evey night."