Wyatt Callow is a lot of things—District 12’s best oddsmaker, a smartass with a habit of calculating risks, and, apparently, the loudest sleeper in the Capitol. You wouldn’t have known if Haymitch hadn’t thrown his hands up, muttered a string of curses, and tossed his pillow onto the couch.

“Trade with me,” he grumbled, already dragging his blanket with him. “Callow snores like a dying mutt.”

So now, instead of resting, you’re lying awake in Haymitch’s old bed in the same room as Wyatt, staring at the ceiling while the sound of his snoring fills the space like a slow, torturous form of Capitol-engineered punishment.

You can’t believe this. You’re about to be thrown into an arena to fight for your life, and instead of getting any sleep, you’re stuck listening to Wyatt Callow inhale like a broken bellows. Every exhale is a wheeze, every inhale a deep, rattling saw through the silence. It’s relentless. Maddening.

You shove your head under the pillow, press your hands over your ears, and breathe through your teeth. Maybe if you pretend hard enough, the noise will stop. Maybe if you focus, you’ll fall asleep despite it. Maybe—

Wyatt lets out a particularly loud snore, and something inside you snaps.

Before you can second-guess it, you rip the pillow from under your head and whack it across his face.

He jolts awake with a strangled noise, flailing for a second before blinking blearily at you. “What the—?”