The days go by as though in a deep, gray fog. Every day, I am simply existing—never actually living—and still, the dark shroud of what looms ahead for all of us hangs over me and dangles like the last, thinning thread of a string of yarn. The worst possible feeling in the world is knowing that someone you love will die, and not being able to do anything about it. The indescribable loneliness, though you see them and comfort them every day. The unbearable heartache that keeps you awake at night, screaming from night terrors.

That's the situation I'm in right now.

Peeta's house is unusually dark for this time of night. Usually, there is always some sort of dim light peering out of the window. Something is off about this night; the way the mockingjays call nervously in the air, the way the fog hangs thickly on the ground, the way the wet earth moves beneath my feet. Ignoring my hunter's intuition, I knock softly on the dark, smooth wooden door. My breath suspends as I wait to hear the telltale muffled thuds of Peeta's footsteps. Instead, I hear the slow, pensive steps of someone unfamiliar to me. The door swings open, and I let out an unexpected gasp at its opener.

Standing before me is a small, pale man with puffy, grayish lips and slick white hair. Standing before me is President Snow.

"Hello, Breelle," he says, a smile slithering across those revolting lips. My mouth opens slightly and a small choked sound comes from the back of my throat. "What a pleasant surprise!"

The hair on my arms and the back of my neck immediately rises as my defensive instincts kick in. "Um, hi."

He eyes me up and down and clears his throat. "Yes, well…please, do come in! My house is yours."

I don't bother pointing out that this house belongs to Peeta.

But then again, everything belongs to the Capitol.

I take a cautious step inside the door and notice that the portraits of Panem's presidents have been taken down, except for the one of Snow. He puts a petite, withered hand on the small of my back, guiding me to the living room where three Capitol guards sit.

"Where's Peeta?" I ask nervously, hand reaching inside my pocket to feel for the sharp letter-opener I had stolen from Mayor Undersee's desk. "Where's his family?"

"Out," he replies, picking up a printed coaster from the end table and setting it back down again.

I am furious. "What did you do to them?" I scream, drawing the letter-opener and holding it up threateningly. "If you hurt them, so help me—"

Snow laughs quietly and lowers my hand. "I told you, they are out. We are not going to harm Mr. Mellark's family…yet…"

"Yet?"

He breathes deeply. "When the time comes…"

"I won't let you!"

"Do you know why I'm here, Bree?" Snow says, voice slightly elevated. "Well? Do you?" I shake my head and he continues. "Because I know something. I know that your 'friend' Marvel is involved in something he shouldn't be. And I'm here to cease his involvement."

I know exactly what he's talking about. He's talking about the Rebellion. Marvel has had very brief and sly communication with other Districts through Madge's father's office. He goes there every now and then to check up on things, to incite Districts to rebel against the Establishment. At least that's what Gale's told me.

"How would you know?" I ask.

He blinks slowly and breathes; I can smell blood on his breath. "You don't think I'm that stupid, do you? Did you really have the audacity to believe that I would allow two tributes that have contact with the very people who started this all to live and simply be let free to do as they please?" Snow adjusts his lapel and presses something on the genetically-altered red rose pinned to it. Suddenly, a splitting headache pierces my brain.

"Make it stop! Please!" I beg, falling knees-first to the ground and clutching my head in agony.

He presses the button again and smiles. "Isn't it beautiful? The tracking device I inserted inside you both, I mean. If I press this button, I can locate you and Mr. Corvan."

I glance down at the blinking blue light inside the thin flesh of my arm. "No…" I mutter. This isn't possible.

"Haven't you wondered why you have those sudden headaches and impulsive urges? Like I said darling, the Capitol works wonders."

My head is swimming as I sit back on my feet. Everything is swirling above me. "Did Marvel feel it too?" I ask, still clutching my head.

Snow walks closer and leans over me. The sickening smell of blood on his breath is even stronger now. "He did, actually. And he's probably wondering what in the world is going on…"

I am hyperventilating, my mind racing faster than my heart.

"You, my dear," he says, yanking me up by my wrist, "are our leverage."

Leverage. They are going to use me against Marvel and Gale and Madge. And everyone else. They are going to torture me to get answers out of me; or worse, they will hijack my memories and turn me against everyone and everything I love.

I scream as the peacekeepers pick me up and carry me away by the arms to the dark car parked outside. My body thrashes about violently as I cry, "No! No! The Capitol will be sorry! You'll be dead, Snow! Dead!"

I survived the 74th Annual Hunger Games. I survived near-death several times. I watched myself die on television…But this is not the Hunger Games. No; this is something far more treacherous. This is the real world, and by eating the "poisonous berries" of the Rebellion, I have messed with the Game of Life.

This is President Snow's Game, and I am a tribute once again. As the Peacekeepers shove me in the back of the car, I realize that the real Games have only just begun.

End of Book Two