You remember yesterday well—the way the rain poured down in heavy sheets, soaking the dirt roads of District 12, turning them into thick mud. The way Peeta, your brother, had stood outside the bakery, bread in hand, fingers trembling before he threw it toward the starving girl huddled under a tree. You remember the sound of your mother’s sharp voice, the crack of her palm against his cheek, the scent of burnt crust lingering in the air.

Now, hours later, when the house is dark and quiet, you find him lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, his expression unreadable. The red imprint on his cheek has faded, but you know it still stings.

“Why’d you do it?” you ask, curling into the chair beside his bed, wrapping your arms around your legs.

He sighs, his chest rising and falling in slow, deep breaths. “Because she was starving.”

You frown, resting your chin on your knees. “So are we.”

He turns his head to look at you then, blue eyes soft in the dim light. “Yeah. But not like that.”

You don’t respond right away. You don’t know what to say. Because he’s right. You both know what hunger feels like, the empty ache of it, the way it gnaws at your ribs—but you have a roof over your head. A bakery, a family business, parents who, despite everything, ensure you and your brothers are fed before the loaves go out for sale. The girl he helped—Katniss Everdeen—she doesn’t have that.