The wind whipped my hair violently around my face. The metal surface of the roof was slippery, glinting tauntingly at me in the vague, dimmed moonlight—the only light I had to see by as I slowly, anxiously dragged myself toward the back.

This was difficult, and it was irritating.

I had to be both very careful and very stealthy, because if anyone heard me up here, I was dead. And needless to say, if I fell I'd be dead too. Because this train was going 200 miles per hour. And I was crawling along the roof of it.

My fingers had gone numb from the wicked bitter cold. I took a moment to bite down hard on my knuckles, to get some feeling back into them, before continuing to inch my body along the roof, very slowly, very steadily. One move off of center, and I'd fly off to one side and plummet to my death.

I forced my stiff hands to keep gripping the little bar running down the center of the roof, my lifeline, as I used it to inch myself forward, painfully moving ever closer to the back of the train.

Thank goodness there were very few curves in the path of the train tracks, or I'd be a goner.

The bitter wind ripped tears from my squinting eyes as I forced my muscles to keep moving, hand over hand, pulling my body across the roof until finally, finally I was near the edge of the very back of the train.

Now I had to time this right, or I'd throw myself to my death, far down into the chasm currently below the train tracks.

I waited, hoping the ground would be a little closer before I had to make my move.

Focus, I interally scolded myself. My vision swam erratically, the effects of my supposed narcotics still addling my head.

Then, in one swift motion, I threw myself forward, flipping over and letting go the moment I was parallel to the ground. I felt a couple of my fingers and my left arm get wrenched out of their sockets at the force of the motion. I whipped around in the air, completing a tight somersault through the chilled breeze, and I landed overly hard in a crouched position, stumbling and collapsing onto my stomach at the abruptness of the impact.

I took a moment. I shouldn't have, but I needed a moment. To breathe, to evaluate my injuries, to consider my next move. I was lying on thin train tracks. It was barely ten degrees out here. And I had just escaped captivity yet again.

I took a look at my stiff hands—they had a faint blue glow about them. Gritting my teeth, I deftly snapped the four dislocated fingers and then my arm back into place. It hurt, but I'd had worse. And I had to remain quiet.

I took another moment, simply holding my hands to my mouth and breathing on them, while listening to the tremors of the train fade away into the distance.

I was free. But I had to get a move on if I wanted it to stay that way for long.

Get up, Blaze.

Finally, I forced myself to get to my knees, and I sat back on my heels to look around. I was still high up—but nothing too horribly dangerous. I couldn't see exactly where I was: the moonlight was thin and didn't illuminate anything five feet below me. At least it eliminated any terrifying vertigo I might get from being up here. I had to get down there somehow, anyway, no matter what the stakes.

I carefully got to my feet, balancing on the train track, my head spinning. Only one thing to do now. I squinted in the dark, and located the closest tree I could find.

Jump.

And I jumped.

Instantly branches and twigs were whipping past me, slicing into my skin as I fell through the air, crashing through the foliage. The second I felt my momentum slowing, I grabbed hold of a sturdy tree branch. My momentum made my legs go flying over my head so I flipped over, and ended up dangling from the branch, only my arms hanging on.

My muscles screamed at me. They'd been misused for a while, first the agonizing crawl along the train roof and now this—weak, holding my dead weight aloft and my only hope of lifting up to safety. I gritted my teeth, and pulled myself up with a grunt of exhaustion. I half-collapsed, glad I had picked a sturdy enough branch that could hold my weight, and gingerly settled myself with my back against the tree trunk.

I nearly passed out, right there. I was fighting to keep my thoughts straight and alert, reeling from the remnants of their drugs still in my veins. But I wasn't done. I had to keep reminding myself that. I had to get out of these woods: there could be cameras anywhere. And I had to find out where exactly I was. What District? I had to get to the District headquarters and construct myself a fake identity before dawn, which was probably very soon.

I reached my hand inside my jacket, my fingers closing around a small knife concealed inside—a comforting habit of a gesture, by now. I had managed to retrieve most of my belongings during my escape, which I was glad of, though I didn't own much. My jacket, cold-resisting leather that contained a lovely array of knives. My belt, more like a weapon hangar, also holding an assortment of knives. And my one backpack, which I had had to empty most of since I didn't want too much dead weight on my back, but at the very least I had kept a bit of food and water along with some bandages and medicine in there. Basic needs.

After leaving my hand in my jacket until it had had time to defrost, I pulled out the knife from my jacket and absently twirled it around my fingers, breathing deeply as I took a moment to rest. My fingers were painful and stiff, frozen and discolored, but at least they were somewhat functional now, remembering how to move with this habitual motion.

I would worry about injuries later. I swung around, and began the task of climbing down this tree. My stiff, cracked, and now-bleeding hands protested, but I ignored them. I had to get down. Get down, avoid cameras, get to safety. I wasn't…out of the woods yet.

You're not funny either, Blaze.

I finally dropped to the ground, heaving a sigh of relief at having solid ground beneath my feet again. The air was thicker down here, not as clean and clear and easy to breathe. I had to be near a district. Which was both good and bad, considering I needed to find a district to blend in in, but I also wasn't quite ready to be seen in public. I looked like I had just fought my way out of a Capitol train.

I kept my footsteps swift, soft, and silent. Soon I could see a dim sort of light in the distance, but I still couldn't tell exactly where I was.

Suddenly, I sensed someone behind me. I whirled around, and in an instant, I had him pinned against a tree, knife against his throat.

"Who are you?"

His face was hard to see, since there was barely any light to see anything by, but I could tell he was raising an eyebrow at me.

"I don't think you should be the one asking questions around here, stranger. Take my advice and leave immediately before they see you and shoot you."

At least it'd be a painless death.

I didn't move a muscle.

"I intend to stay, actually. Where am I?"

"I said stop asking questions. I think I should be the one asking who you are."

I faltered. I hadn't thought of a new fake name. For the past several months, I'd been Maria Levette, but Maria had been captured and was now supposedly on a Capitol train to meet her sentence.

"I'm Violet," I managed to get out, my inner conscience telling me I needed to hurry up and say something before I looked suspicious. "And I'd like to know where I am."

"How did you get here?" His words were sharp.

"Look, man, I don't even know where here is. Would you mind telling me?"

"You're in District 2," he said haughtily, "And look, if you're not going to leave, you'd better come with me before they catch you out here and skin you alive."

I eyed him, my distrust evident in my face.

"Why should I trust you?"

"Well, being the son of the Head Peacekeeper…" His tone was cocky. "…And the top student at the academy, I could quite easily have you killed or worse. It's really a matter of obeying, not trust."

Nope. I didn't like this guy.

"In case you haven't gathered it so far, I'm not so great at taking orders," I said calmly.

"Well if you intend to stay here, I'm sure that will change."

Rude.

I could see the outline of his arm move, and I instinctively sprung backward. His sword slashed upward in the air where I had been standing just a moment ago.

I pulled out another knife for my other hand, and used both to block a strong, powerful blow. His eyes gleamed at me in the dark, glinting with a look that was more…mischievous than hateful.

Then I darted away, escaping through the trees, stumbling and crashing ungracefully through the foliage, my head pounding. As soon as I thought I could be far ahead enough, I turned around, and aimed and threw a sharp knife in his direction. I could hear it whistle loudly as it cut through the air, at an impressive speed for someone reeling from exhaustion and drug effects.

There was a muffled cry the moment the whistling stopped.

I ducked behind a tree, and peered out to see him biting his sleeve as he ripped the knife out of his thigh. He looked up and saw me, and in an instant he was running at me—before I could draw another knife, he tackled me to the ground.

His sword wasn't in his hand. I fumbled at my belt—I knew I didn't have the strength to last very long, if he intended to fight me without weapons. My fingers finally closed around a knife, and I used the hilt to bash him over the head. He punched me in the jaw, and caught my wrist before I could nail him in the side. I relaxed for a moment, my right hand pulling out another knife as he looked down at my face.

"You're surprisingly strong for a such a little thing," he mused. To my surprise, he was smirking, even with blood running down his leg. "Ever been trained in academy?"

I spat in his face, and then threw him off me, rolling away and getting to my feet to continue to run. I heard whistling and instinctively ducked, and a knife flew over my head.

So I wasn't the only skilled knife-thrower here. Rats.

I wove through the trees, but to my disappointment, I realized he must know these woods so much better than me—because he cut me off a minute later, probably knowing a shortcut. He tried to grab me but I punched him in the gut, and we became entangled in a brutal fistfight.

After several minutes, I knew I couldn't last much longer. I was weak from running away; he was highly skilled and strong. I took several hits in the face, stomach, chest—and returned the same to him—my frostbitten hands and exhausted arms and legs not serving me as well as they would normally, but I was still holding my own.

But then the forest clearing flooded with light. Voices, people, five or six people came running towards us, and in my moment of distraction I was knocked to the ground. My opponent had my arms pinned behind me before I could move.

Oh, no.

"Are those Peacekeepers?" I panted.

"Mm, not really. They're my friends."

No. Couldn't take them on right now. No…I couldn't. Not now. I let my head fall down against the ground's leaves, and let the threatening blackness consume my vision before they could reach me.