The next day she woke up to an empty bed. Where had he gone? She was exhausted, and would've preferred to stay in bed all day wallowing in self-pity, but she knew she couldn't.

She moved to get up and found that she was still in her dress. She didn't remember much from last night, just that she had told Finnick about her family. Shit. She had wanted to keep it a secret, to not give Snow the satisfaction. She blamed the alcohol.

She wondered where Finnick had gone to, and found herself getting angry at the fact that he had left her. She always seemed to be pissed off, and even knowing that that was no way to live, she still continued to be pissed each and every day. Usually it was at the Capitol, at Snow. But lately she found a lot of her anger being dispersed in the form of a Finnick induced rage.

She decided that she wouldn't seek him out, wouldn't engage in conversation except when needed. It was just too much drama, and Johanna Mason didn't have time for it.

She began her morning ritual with a shower, following it up by getting ready for the day. Her avox provided her with breakfast and she was out the door soon after, making her way to a public hall.

Haymitch Abernathy approached her from behind just moments after she arrived. She had never met him, but she had seen him at events in the Capitol during her games, and she knew of his story. He had won the 50th Hunger Games, and the second Quarter Quell.

"Hey darlin', think you could spare a minute of your time?" He leered at her. He reeked of alcohol, and it was only ten in the morning. How does someone even manage that?

"Anything for you, Mr. Abernathy," she was curtsying in sarcasm. He was shaking his head, frowning in what seemed like disgust, when he took her arm and began to pull her out of the hall. "What are you doing? Get your hands off of me." A million scenarios were running through her mind. Why the hell was he handling her like this? He dragged her up a flight of stairs that were hidden in a small room. They climbed for what seemed like hours, until they finally reached the top. He opened an adjoining door to a larger room. It was empty, except for a table in the middle that was surrounded by several chairs. She never would've even known that this room existed, had he not just shown her that it clearly did. Was it created for privacy?

"Sorry about that sweetheart, but we needed some seclusion," he winked at her, and she smacked him across the face.

"Seclusion for what exactly?" Her nostrils were flared, her eyes wide. Suddenly the door was opening and a larger man was walking through it. He had a suite on, and blonde hair covered his head. She definitely recognized him, but she couldn't put a face to a name.

"We needed an area that couldn't be bugged, couldn't be watched. We need seclusion because we are planning something a long time coming," now the blonde man was talking, and he was making his way towards the table. He took a seat and gazed up at Haymitch knowingly, nodding to the seat beside him. "So, let's get down to business."

"Johanna Mason, meet Plutarch Heavensbee, he's one of the game makers." He took the seat Heavensbee had been ushering him towards, turned his head, and ushered her to one as well. "Take a seat; we have a proposal for you. But first you need to swear to keep everything we say inside of this room. No one will know that we were here, no one will know what we talked about, is that clear?" Her curiosity must have been getting the best of her, because she found herself moving towards the chair and sitting in it across from the two men.

"But you know what they say, Johanna. Curiosity killed the cat," the girl from Eight was whispering in her ear. Great, now she was going to be having an internal conversation with a ghost as well. No one would know about that conversation, either.

"Alright, you've got my interest. I promise." She held up her hand and offered her pinky to Abernathy in mock.

"Enough of that, little girl. We are going to overthrow the Capitol," Plutarch bluntly stated. Now that was not what she was expecting. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting, but not that.

"I'm sorry? You work for the Capitol. You probably had a part in trying to get me killed less than a year ago," she spat out. She was glaring at him now; a look that could probably kill a kitten was etched on her face. "Besides, even if you wanted to, you would fail."

"I work for the Capitol, but I despise everything that they stand for. My position here will help us to achieve what you claim is impossible. We will succeed; we just need the right moment, the right weapon to use against them. Until that weapon comes into play, I will continue to work for the Capitol. I will gain insight into their plans, I will influence them, and I will follow all of that up by destroying them and everything that they hold dear."

"And this weapon? What is it? When does it come into play?" Her voice was taking on a slightly higher pitch, betraying her façade. She was interested, and now they knew just how much.

"We aren't sure. We just need something that can influence the Districts to join our cause; we need something that can instill hope where there is none. When it comes, we will know." Now he was sounding crazy. Haymitch just sat beside him quietly, staring at the table.

"So your plan is to wait out your years until something good enough comes along? Let's make one." What was coming out of her mouth? If she didn't know any better, she would have thought that she was actually entertaining this idea, even adding to it.

"Like I said, we will know when the time is right; we are just working on recruitment for now. Your name was provided to us as a person of interest, someone who may be willing to jump on board. So let's have it. Are you?" He raised his eyebrows in question.

"Yes."

"Okay then, until next time." He grinned at her and stood from his chair. "I'm a very busy man, so you'll have to excuse me." He did a slight bow and went to exit the room. Haymitch stood as well and began towards the door.

"Who told you to recruit me?" She was still sitting, her back turned to him, but she could tell that he had stopped walking and was still in the room.

"Finnick Odair." And he was gone. She sat in silence for a few minutes more. Finnick had brought her into the fold, and yet he was nowhere to be seen. Why had he done it? Why risk the whole plan by trusting her? She sighed and stood up, turning around and making her way for the door. She was about to open it when it opened itself. She lurched back in surprise, holding her hands out to protect her from whatever – or whoever – was coming through from the other side.

Finnick was walking through, his eyes widening when he saw her. "On your way out?"

"Yes, actually. Excuse me." She went to pass him but he wouldn't move out of the doorway. "Move, Finnick." He remained there, still as a statue. Now she was getting pissed. "Move."

She went to shove him out of the way but her arm had only just made contact with his chest before he snatched it and stopped her. "I'm assuming you joined the cause." His breath smelled like mint against her face. "I mean, if you're smart like I think you are, you did."

"Why did you tell them to talk to me?"

"Because of your family. Normally I wouldn't want to bring you into it – the risk is too great. It puts you in danger being involved. But then you told me about your family, and you deserve revenge. Against Snow, against all of them. It seemed selfish not to include you." His voice was gravelly and raw, he sounded like he was holding something back. A sentence, or an action, she wondered why.

"Okay, well thanks." She went to exit the room again, but he didn't let go of her arm. "Come on, what are you going to do, keep me captive in here? I want to go." Slap him, her mind was telling her. Be the ball-crusher, show him you mean business. But she didn't, and she hated herself for it. Instead she found herself moving forward until her chest was flush against his. She reached her free hand up into his hair and stared into his eyes for a long moment, before leaning in to kiss him.

It was light, but meaningful. It said 'thank you' in a way that she never could herself. She was truly grateful for what he had done, and she knew no better way to show her gratitude. It only lasted for a few seconds, before she pulled back. He let go of her arm and moved out of the way so she could go, and that was it. She looked up into his eyes one last time to see something like adoration reflecting in them, before she gently brushed by him and descended down the stairs.

That night she lay in bed thinking of all the possibilities that this new development brought. What if they succeeded? What would she do then? Live out her life in pure bliss? She knew that wasn't possible, not after the things that she had seen, the things she had done. The memories she had were a constant reminder of all the bad that had happened, and they were never going away. She somehow knew that the pain, remorse, and anger never would either.

"Good night," the girl from Eight whispered.

"Good night."