Everyone reacts differently.

Coin makes Katniss into a martyr for the cause, plastering her face up everywhere with some rallying catchphrase stamped across it. Plutarch walks around talking about what a tragedy it is to lose a girl with so much potential in the world of entertainment. I avoid them both.

My mother buries herself in her work. Haymitch dives into a bottle and doesn't resurface. The prep team cries… a lot. I avoid them all.

When I came back afterward, I didn't even have to say anything. Just one look, and Peeta had already read it on my face. The most horrible expression appeared on his face for a fleeting moment, and then he turned on his heel and vanished into his compartment, and, as far as I know, he hasn't come out since.

After they told Gale, he stopped hunting. And sleeping. And smiling.

And neither of them has said a word to me.

It's actually better this way, I think. If I talk to anyone else who loved her, I'll start crying. And once I start crying again, I'll never stop.

So I sit in my room. I ignore those who rap their knuckles on my door and call my name in loud voices. I ignore the food that they send up. And, somehow, I manage to ignore my heartache, too. It's all I can do to stare out the window, run an absentminded hand over Buttercup's fur, and try hard not to feel.

What time is it? What day is it? I don't have any idea. Everyone leaves me alone. Only my grief remains, burning as hot and as bright as the merciless sun.

Just like Katniss did before she died.

The girl on fire.

I'm just starting to accept that I'll be sitting here forever when one day, someone taps on my door. This time, the knock isn't impatient or commanding like the others; the sound is quiet. Tentative. And I know who my visitor is.

I get up to let Peeta in.

As I lie down on my bunk, Buttercup leaps up next to me, and Peeta sits down at the foot of the bed. We don't speak. Peeta pulls his knees up to his chest and stares at the floor, and I shift to face the cold gray wall. Even Buttercup's ceaselessly twitching tail falls still. The three of us are motionless for what seems like hours.

But then Buttercup stretches and yawns, and, if only slightly, the silence is broken. I am on my back again, staring up at the ceiling. Peeta lifts his head and turns his face toward me. When he speaks, it is calmly. "It's been two months. Did you know that?"

I don't respond.

"Prim," he says quietly.

I can't remember the last time I spoke. I never had a reason to. No one who tried to listen would possibly understand. Except, maybe, for the boy sitting in front of me now. He is a baker's son. He is an artist. He is one of the only people who loved Katniss as much as I did. So after a minute or two, I give him what is possibly my first word since my sister died.

"No."

To no one's surprise, my voice cracks.

He sighs. "Me neither. Not until recently."

We don't say anything for a while. Then, out of the blue, he asks: "Do you miss her?"

I sit up so fast that I get dizzy. "What kind of question is that?" I snap. It hurts to talk. My voice is rough from lack of use. My words burn my throat as they pass. "Of course I–"

He turns around so fast that his neck audibly cracks, but he pays it no mind. "Prim! Do you miss her?" he demands.

I'm silent. Waiting.

All of the anger falls off of Peeta's face, leaving only anguish behind. "Does it feel… like... your heart has been ripped out of your chest? Like... you'll never really be whole anymore? Like… you can't imagine how you could possibly go on?"

I bite my lip. His descriptions have hit home, stirring up emotions I'd rather not think about.

The passion behind his speech pulls him to his feet. "Prim, is it as though you'll never laugh again? Like all the good things in life have been taken away? Like no one has the right to smile, like the sun has no right to shine?"

Tears start to flow, but I don't bother to wipe my eyes. Peeta takes this as agreement.

"It's the same for me!" he exclaims. "It's the same for your mother! For Haymitch! For Johanna!" He pauses. "For Gale." He falls silent for a moment, but picks himself back up almost at once.

When Peeta speaks her name, his voice is so full of pain that it makes me wince to hear it. "Katniss..." He heaves a great sigh. "Katniss is... gone. We have to accept that. But, Prim, please understand what she fought for is still here. Everyone who fought with her is still here! I'm still here. You're still here." Peeta's eyes are burning bright blue. It's hard to look away. He begins to pace the length of the room. "So the question is: what do we do now? Are we going to sit here and feel sorry for ourselves? Or are we going to finish this?"

I'm not sure if he's trying to convince me… or himself.

Abruptly, Peeta turns back to me and drops to one knee so that we are face-to-face.

"Did she die in vain, Prim?" he asks quietly. He looks down at the floor and inhales sharply before lifting his gaze back to me. "Did Katniss Everdeen give her life for nothing?"

I see my own grief reflected in the crease in his forehead, in the bags underneath his eyes, in the way his mouth turns down at the corners, and this gives me the strength to reply, "No, Peeta."

I take a deep breath, knowing that I am about to put into words something that I know to be true. It has been the source of my guilt these past two months, but now, maybe, it can be the source of my resolve instead. I look into Peeta's eyes. They're on fire. Like hers.

"She gave her life for me."