Katniss ignored the odd glances that got thrown her way, and the bite in the air that chilled her fingers and the tip of her nose; instead she focused on nothing but the asphalt in front of her, and the street sign up ahead.
She didn’t think it had ever taken her this long to get home before.
She turned the final corner onto her street, shoved her front gate hard enough that it almost swung off its hinges and stumbled up the path, practically falling over in her haste. Then she pulled up short at the bottom of her steps, her eyes fixated at the foot of her front door.
It was an envelope, plain white and rectangular, with nothing but her name scrawled across it.
Katniss clambered up the stairs and snatched at it, lowering herself to the cool wooden planks of her porch as she ripped it open. It was, without a doubt, Peeta’s writing, the familiar script she’d seen in the order books of the bakery.