I'm running through the halls of the complex. Muttations are swarming behind me. I can't tell which ones, except that they're tall and furry and that if I try to get a better look at them they'll rip my head off. Everything in the complex is too smooth, too clean. There's no cover, nowhere to hide, no hoping that they'll give up and go away. I keep turning corners, opening doors wherever I can to try and slow them down. I don't bother going inside any of them. Too risky. I could get myself cornered quite easily, and then they'd have me. The doors aren't much of an impediment to anyway. The mutts tear them apart with nothing more than their arms. I can hear them rip from the hinges. I suspect that even if I could lose the mutts, they'd find a way to tear through the walls just to get that bit closer to me.

After countless doors and nondescript passageways I run into a dead end. I'm almost happy. If I lose, then I don't have to run anymore. I force myself to turn around, and finally put the muttations in focus. They're the wolves from the first Hunger Games, but they're not the same ones. They don't have the right eyeballs or the right colored fur. I avoid looking, but they walk so slowly that I have no choice. Cray's there at the front, silver-haired with orange underneath, staring at me lustily. Rooba's right next to him, smaller than the others, but stout, looking ready to carve me up. There's even Madge, bright but nondescript, acting aloof but clearly just as interested as everyone else.

They're pushed aside by four other mutts coming to the front. I know where this is going, and I force my eyes closed, but it's no use. They tackle me, pin my arms down, and force me to take a good look at them. Mom. Dad. My brothers. They all give me accusing glances, but that's nothing compared to what happens next. Black hair. Olive skin. Grey eyes. They got Katniss. She's one of them now. And I, I'm-

Asleep. I rustle weakly against my sheets. The nightmares were terrifying enough to begin with, but then I saw the patterns. My situation is hopeless and familiar. I survive far longer than I expect, then right in front of me, something horrible happens to Katniss.

A doctor from the Capitol explained to me that I'm lucky to have this kind of self-awareness when dreaming. He said that with practice I could control them, maybe turn them into something not so terrible. Plenty of other victors had managed this feat. I was making progress before we went to District Eleven, when Katniss and Haymitch finally admitted to me how much danger we were really in. After that, I lost control. It didn't matter whether I was dreaming or in the real world. Both were just as bad. My only reprieve was when I slept together with Katniss to help her with her nightmares. For that one brief instant on waking up, I could believe that we were in a happier place, that we weren't facing our impending horrific deaths in the real world. It wasn't much, but it was enough.

I check the time. 5:30. I'm up at least an hour early. I lie in my bed, quietly, trying to avoid thinking about anything while waiting for the day to start. I finally crawl out of bed and look around. Someone has helpfully taped instructions next to some device on the wall. The paper looks years old. It's heavily weathered and the ink looks dim. It nearly spooks me into not following the instructions, but I remind myself that if I'm to accomplish anything around here I need to follow the District Thirteen rules. I stick my arm in. It doesn't hurt- I hardly even feel it but I still wince at the feeling of general submission. I look to see what I need to do today. 7:00 – Breakfast.

After asking around I figure out where the mess hall and get some food. I realize once I'm out of line that I don't have the slightest idea where to sit. I awkwardly meander around trying to find some sort of opening when someone stands up, waving at me. It's Delly. Grateful for the excuse, I hurry over to take my seat by her. I realize only too late that Delly's sitting with Prim and her mother.

"So Peeta!" says Delly, apparently oblivious to the situation. "You said you were going to drop by yesterday. What happened?"

I abruptly realize that it's not Delly's fault she's ignorant. The way I told her to bring the bag to Prim yesterday probably made it sounds like I was the best of friends with Prim and her mother. I haven't even seen them since I got back. Whenever I think about them or look at them I can't avoid the feeling that everything that happened was my fault. Letting them have their pick of the supplies I scavenged from the Victor's Village only seemed fair. While I'm trying to think of a way to somehow avoid talking Prim suddenly pipes up.

"Oh, I'm sure it wasn't his fault," she says, very forgivingly. "I hear there's big plans for Peeta, about helping with the revolution. Isn't that right?"

"Right," I say, as gratitude rushes over me. "Lots of big, important plans. Of course, I have no idea what anyone actually expects me to do. It's a pretty big secret, all right."

"Well that's too bad," says Delly, immediately and hurriedly trying to change the topic, probably because there's no positive way to talk about the revolution. "You should have seen Butterscotch once he found Prim! He got so excited he was running around everywhere knocking things down right and left. It was a lot of fun."

I take a look at Prim, wondering why it is that Delly is continuing to use the wrong name for the cat. Prim gives no indication that this is the least bit unusual. I put this matter in the back of my head for now. Prim probably couldn't bear the thought of disappointing Delly by revealing that she failed to recall the actual name of the shining symbol of hope for District Twelve.

"Don't forget, Peeta," says Prim very deliberately, "you do need to come back to collect your things at some point. It would be very wasteful to just leave us with the suits. You might need them."

I nod. My room is unbearably bear right now. The next time the nightmares come I'm going to need something to feel and squeeze, just so I can reassure myself that I'm still alive, and that there's still hope for Katniss.

"Peeta," says Mrs. Everdeen very softly. I'm surprised to hear her speak so suddenly. So is everyone else- apparently until I showed up it was just Delly talking to Prim. "Do you still have it? The locket?"

I needed Mrs. Everdeen's help to make it. There wasn't any way for me to get all those pictures myself- particularly Gale's. It's hard to imagine what I would have said to him. "I'm worried about Katniss, please pose for this picture so I can convince her not to kill herself for my sake"? I nod in assent to her question. She holds her hands out. I take the locket and place it in her hands. For a few minutes she palms it, examining its physical features and looking through the pictures. The rest of us take this lull as a chance to actually eat. All this talking had distracted me, but I'm actually fairly hungry and need my strength to get through the rest of the day. When I'm finished, I see that she's still holding it, but there's this quizzical expression on her face.

"Mrs. Everdeen," I say, "you can hold onto it if you want." I realize that of course this is what the problem is. The locket reminds me of Katniss, but the pictures in there are of her family. It's a memento that should be in the hands of her relatives, not me.

She looks up. "Oh no," she says hurriedly. "I could never do something like that. It's your memento. You better keep it."

It's back in my hands before I know what's happened. Looking at a nearby clock, I see that it's almost time for the next duty shift. For the first time today, I decide to check out the entire schedule printed on my arm. Most of it is pretty mundane. 7:30 – Kitchen Duties. 8:30 – Education Center Room 18. More errands, more school, not much different than daily life in District Twelve. At that point I reach 2:30 – Prepare for Public Announcement.

For a very short period of time that morning, I had genuinely managed to forget the depth of the stakes involved in this conflict. But when I saw that tattoo on my arm, the reality of the situation came rushing back to me. Coin was dead serious about utilizing me. Here I am, barely getting back into the daily grind of life, and already I need to prepare for a spectacle. I don't know why they bothered giving me anything else to do at all. At a time like this, when I'm surrounded by people who I don't know, talking about abstract things I don't care about, there's only one priority my mind can hone in on. This is a war we need to win. I learned everything I need to know in the Hunger Games. The only rule is that at any given time I need to have as many battle plans floating in my head at once as possible.

This public announcement will be the first skirmish. I need to make it count.