“Trust me,” I whisper. He holds my gaze for a long moment, then lets me go.
I loosen the top of the pouch and pour a few spoonfuls of berries into his palm.
Then I fill my own. “On the count of three?”
But what she doesn’t know, and what he does, is that the ax will return. And when it flies back over the ledge, it buried itself in her head. The cannon sounds, her body is removed, and the trumpets blow to announce Haymitch’s victory.