Sorry this took longer than I thought to post. The holidays have been hectic! Also, I saw Star Wars twice, and now I'm Reylo trash. :3

Thank you very much to ForeverTeamEdward13, Gigi, Primrose314, dleshae, EisForElephant, Ro-Lee, and my lovely nameless anonymous reviewers. Replies to guest reviewers are at the end.

Ten:

The ring taunts him. The way the diamond gaily coruscates is like a mocking laugh, upbraiding him for being so foolish and blind. Seneca watches Snow turn it around in his hand as if admiring it. "A lovely ring," the president comments, "if a bit old-fashioned."

"It was my mother's," Seneca replies by way of explanation. The ring isn't flashy and set with a huge, colorful gemstone as is the current fashion, but he likes the classic and timeless cut, the simple band of rose-gold, the minuscule sapphires elegantly arranged around the centerpiece.

She had liked it, too.

"All the more important I return it to you," Snow says, but he makes no move to hand it over. "I took the liberty of claiming it from its previous owner on your behalf. She neither wanted nor deserved it, as we now know."

No, she loves me, I know she does, Seneca wants to yell, but he bites his tongue. It's become clear over the last few days that he knows nothing at all.

"You have my sympathies, Seneca. Your fiancee maintained the ruse of being an upstanding citizen for years so that she could desecrate the Games, and she tricked you into believing she held affection for you so that she could use your power and influence to carry out her plans. At least her true character was exposed before you sounded the wedding bells."

She loves me.

(How often must a lie be told before it becomes the truth?)

Snow continues, "I must say, I liked your previous paramour—Drusilla, was it?—a great deal more, and we both know how ill-suited she was for you. And that scandal Miss Drusilla had with those Victors? Tsk, tsk. It seems to me, Seneca, that you're simply not meant for anything but the bachelor life."

He isn't meant for anything but life with her. Or so he thought.

When the president at last holds out the ring, it takes Seneca a moment to recognize the action, and he accepts the precious item with a mumbled "thank you, sir."

"I will not stop you if, despite my advice, you choose to pursue other relationships in the future," Snow says magnanimously. "But do take care to make sure that anyone else to whom you may give that ring is actually worthy of it."

Seneca feels many things for the president. Respect, fear, intimidation, a desire to please. For the first time, he feels hatred.

"I am sure you are wondering how your ex-fiancee is doing, since we took her in for questioning." Seneca's hands grow clammy. "Rest assured, she has not been harmed."

What? How can that be? Seneca is a Gamemaker, the Head Gamemaker; he knows how cruel the Capitol can be.

Snow's eyes turn even colder. "I demonstrate this kindness to her only because I like and pity you so much, Seneca. And only because you are so certain that the child Miss Abernathy carries is yours."

Seneca can't help thinking about those early mornings, as the rosy hues of sunrise seep through their bedroom window while they laze about in bed before they must get up for work. The light always bathes Rain in an unearthly halo, calling to Seneca's mind the angels that were featured in religions banned long ago. In the last few weeks—before the Games, and everything went to hell—he has taken to skimming his fingers, his lips, the tip of his nose along the gentle, growing curve of her usually flat abdomen. And every morning, though she laughs at him, though they both know it is futile for some time yet, he presses his ear to her belly, as if expecting to hear movement, a heartbeat.

All this, she gave up without a second thought.

His child. His daughter, according to the doctors. In the hands of Snow's men, who know that her mother is a traitor to the Capitol. Is Snow truly abstaining from harsher methods of interrogation for his child's sake? The president has proven in the past that something as inconsequential as a pregnancy does not deter him from getting what he wants. And Seneca is sure Snow wants to punish Rain for singlehandedly ruining this year's Games—perhaps even ruining all of Panem as they know it, although such a thought is itself treasonous.

"You are sure it is yours, Seneca?" Snow prods, as he has many times in the last few days.

"Yes, sir. I have no doubt." Indeed, he does not. Seneca may no longer trust Rain, no longer have faith in her loyalties. But he believes in her fidelity to him.

Seneca has known Rain for six years. He was twenty-four and the rookie Gamemaker, and still together with the aforementioned Drusilla. She was sixteen, still in school, and too young and naive and childish for his tastes. As the lowest in the Gamemaker hierarchy, he had been sent to meet Miss Lorraine Abernathy at the academy she attended, to interview and appraise her for potential as a future Gamemaker.

(It turns out that Snow had already decided long before that she would most certainly be one of them, and Seneca was sent as a mere formality.)

For the first few years of their acquaintance, then their friendship—during which Seneca, for many complicated reasons, broke it off with Drusilla, least among them being The Victor Scandal—he appreciated Rain's intelligence, creativity, and ingenuity first and foremost. It was only after she graduated from the academy, officially started apprenticing under him as Gamemaker, and began dating an utter moron who was far beneath her that Seneca had realized that first, Rain was no longer a child, and second, his affections for her ran deeper than he thought.

And it turned out that Rain had been infatuated with him for years already ("I was a teenaged girl. All it takes for a teenaged girl to think herself in love are a pretty face and sweet words. But what really did me in was the day you played my knight in shining armor. Remember that day?"), but had given up on ever catching his eye. Never in the three years they were together had he ever seen her batting an eyelash at another man—she told him she didn't find the artificial fashion of the Capitol attractive, and she thanked God that the most he did was style his beard strangely ("But don't change it just because my sense of style is so passe. It suits you. Very intimidating and fierce.")—and she'd had several opportunities to move on to men wealthier, more powerful than him. Every time, she rejected them immediately and never gave them a second thought.

No, Rain Abernathy has never cheated on him, and her child is undoubtedly his.

But adolescent puppy crushes aside, not cheating on your partner doesn't necessarily mean you're in love with him, a dark voice that sounds like Snow's whispers in his mind. She played you. She used you. You were a tool.

Rain Abernathy is a traitor.

Rain Abernathy is a liar.

Rain Abernathy has been acting the upstanding citizen all these years. Why wouldn't she also have been acting the woman in love?

Rain Abernathy chose her siblings over your child.

Rain Abernathy loves her family so much, how can there possibly be room in her heart for you?

"Just as well. I suspect beating Miss Abernathy would not extract any information, nor would any other physical methods," Snow says bluntly. "I pride myself on my ability to determine whether a particular course of action would be wasteful. Torturing Miss Abernathy would be wasteful. Her mental fortitude is, as you know, exceptionally strong. Add to that her motive for her actions—her love for her family—and she will not break. Besides, Plutarch is the one who fled the Capitol, not her, so we know which one of them possesses more information."

In spite of all his doubts concerning her affections for him, Seneca wishes it were Rain who escaped.

"And we still have uses for Miss Abernathy." Snow smiles, without any feeling. "Her mother, father, and youngest sister have fled with Plutarch, along with several other traitorous Victors. I wonder what her parents would do, how they would influence this rebellion, for the sake of their daughter and unborn grandchild. Especially if young Ember and Cedric are dead."

That startles Seneca. "They're dead? The tributes were killed in the arena?" He has never met Rain's younger brother, and he only met Ember that one time, during her illegal conversation with Rain. Ember Abernathy did not leave him with a pleasant impression of her (screaming at her sister for daring to be happy: childish, envious, begrudging), even less so after her training session (burning a dummy clearly meant to be her sister's stand-in: petty, irrational, borderline sociopathic). But Rain adores her younger sister, and his fiancee has spoken with him about Ember the most of all her siblings, even more than her own twin (the alcoholic addict; they'd argued over whether he would be allowed near their daughter after her birth). He gets the impression that, despite the six-year age difference, Rain and Ember were close before the elder came to the Capitol all those years ago, so it bewilders Seneca that Ember is the sibling who most turned against Rain. Hated her, if it is possible for anyone to hate Rain Abernathy.

And yet, despite it all, Rain loves Ember. Rain loves her family.

There is no room left for you.

"No, they're not dead," Snow answers, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "But they will be."

The ground trembles beneath our feet, and I fear the worst. The Gamemakers are somehow managing to cause an earthquake this far out. The Capitol is bombing us. The world is ending.

"That's a quarry," Cato says in disbelief.

I look to him. "A quarry? Like where you mine stone?"

"Yeah. We often use controlled explosives to clear away rock we don't want." He's still staring in the direction the great boom came from, and I catch the flash of emotion across his face before he masks it: longing. Homesickness. "We must be close to District 2."

"Ced did say Two was due south of our original route," I muse, "and we have gone south so we can stick with the river."

His gaze snaps toward me. "You knew Two was close by and you didn't tell me?" he demands.

My hackles rise automatically. "Sorry, did I sign some contract obligating me to tell you our precise coordinates? Do I need to look up our longitude and latitude for you?"

Cato glares at me, that homesickness still in his eyes. "You should have told me." Before I can retort, he orders, "Let's keep moving." I seethe, but I can always argue with him later, when everyone isn't watching.

For the rest of the day, I assume Cato is just stewing over not being told every little detail. In some ways, I get why he was upset. I'd want to know if we were near Twelve, and if we are co-leaders, then communication is key. But he definitely overreacted. It's not like I was hiding information that could mean the difference between life and death, or information integral to the group's functioning. Do I really need to tell him everything? Like, Hey, Cato, there's a hill exactly 10.2 miles ahead of us. Honestly.

As usual, we stop before sunset so we have time to hunt and hunker down before dark. But, unusually, Cato is holstering his firearms, instead of participating in setting up camp.

My brow furrows. "Cato, you're not hunting with us, are you?" Swords aren't conducive to hunting animals, and we agree that the guns should be saved for the most dangerous targets. We also don't want unnecessary gunshots to draw unwanted attention.

"No," he grunts, slinging on a backpack. "I'm going home."

The blood in my veins turns to ice. My voice is pathetically small as it utters, "You're...what?"

"Two is close. I should be able to find a town or other settlement in less than a day, possibly even the one my family lives in. You don't need to worry about me betraying you or whatever. I'll tell them we all split up after escaping the arena, and that I've been on my own."

Don't need to worry about betrayal. What does he call this? "You can't just leave!"

"Who's going to stop me?" Cato raises his eyebrows. "You?"

"Yes," I snarl. I will. I will stop him, the treacherous fuck. I'll make him stay. He's not going to turn his back on us. I won't let him.

He sighs in exasperation, as if I'm the one causing problems, and looks down at me like I'm some silly, gullible child who's throwing a tantrum. "Ember, let's not make this any harder than it has to be, okay? You didn't even want me here in the first place. We've had some surprisingly good times these last few days—"

"'Good times'? Is that what you call it?" I snap. "Fleeing through the wilderness from a Capitol that wants us all dead? That's what you call a good time? We're running for our lives, Cato! District 13 is our only chance. But you're jumping ship all of a sudden?" I don't...I don't get it. I just don't get it. I thought Cato and I, we...we had an agreement, didn't we?

"Ember, I never made any promises to go all the way to Thirteen. I said that I would work with you to help the pack survive. And I've done that. The first few days are always the most difficult, and I've helped you get through them."

I stare at him, then I shake my head slowly. "What a typical Career," I whisper.

Cato's eyes harden. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"You know, it's confounded me my whole life, how Careers can act like they're the best of friends at first, but once the going gets tough, it's everyone for themselves."

"I was always planning on heading home once—"

"There! See? Just like a Career. Plotting from the beginning how you're going to pretend to be friends, all the while thinking about how you can best stab the others in the back. Was that what you did, Cato? Set us all up to trust you—remember how you tried so hard to get me to trust you that first day?—so that you can see our faces at the moment we realize you were never really with us, and congratulate yourself for being so much better and cleverer than us. You make me sick."

Any vestige of sympathy or patience vanishes from his face. His fist clenches, and I brace myself for the worst. I remember how Dad pointed Cato out during training, said that Cato was the type who, after being in the Games long enough, is bound to snap like a guitar string pulled too tightly.

Cato doesn't snap.

He smiles. But it's not the smile he gave me when I told him he'd have to earn more kisses, or the smile when I teased him about being incorrigible. (What happened to that boy?) It's mocking, condescending, and more suited to the Career I feared and resented before the Games. The Career I thought would kill me one day. "Ember, did you really think I was going to stick around the entire way? Thirteen is a pipe dream. It's real, but it might as well be in another universe. Face it, there's no way we would make it there on foot. Everyone is better off coming with me to Two, but I know how stubborn you can get, sweetheart."

That last word, that endearment, sets me off. Only Dad is allowed to call me that, not this backstabbing little shit.

Before I know it, I've punched him in the face, clipping him satisfyingly on the jaw. Then, ignoring the fact that Cato outweighs me by about a hundred pounds of pure muscle and could easily snap my neck in my irrational rage, I launch myself at him. A few moments later, Thresh has to drag me bodily off Cato—who refuses to so much as give me the satisfaction of fighting back—kicking and scratching and screaming curses that I'd never use in front of Ced and the other younger kids in my right mind.

You have me, he said. You have me. Biggest, fattest lie ever told.

When the red fades from my vision, I can assess with grim satisfaction the damage that I inflicted. Cato's definitely going to have a bruise on that pretty face, to match the angry red lines I gifted him.

I hear Marvel speak. "Cato, man, where is this coming from?"

"What are you talking about, Marvel?"

"You, going to Two. It came out of nowhere."

Cato shrugs, rubbing his jaw. "Not really. I always intended to go to Two, if it were feasible. It's definitely feasible now. If you want, you can come with. I'll vouch for you."

Marvel hesitates, and then he shakes his head. "I'm staying."

"Suit yourself." Cato surveys the other kids, and I realize everyone has been watching our argument and fight. "Anyone else want to come?" Some kids fidget, but no one moves. Cato still scares some of the younger ones, and the older ones know better than to trust him. They were wiser than me in this. Not even Glimmer, when he looks her in the eye, moves to accept. He turns to his District partner. "Clove?"

She stares coolly back at him, face blank. "I'll pass."

"I didn't think your loyalty to this group was stronger than to Two."

"Please, Cato, I'm not in the least bit sentimental," Clove sneers. "There is nothing in Two compelling me to go back. Besides, I have no desire to be shot on sight. You can get executed on your lonesome."

"They won't execute us."

She snorts. "The hovercraft sent a damn strong message. And I think killing a Peacekeeper is punishable by death."

Cato narrows his eyes. "Whatever. It's your choice." He steps back and addresses the group at large. "I wish you all the best of luck in reaching your destination."

I laugh bitterly. That catches his attention. "At least try to sound sincere, Two."

His hand twitches. "I am being sincere."

"Right. And I'm sure you're sincerely abandoning us."

Cato looks angry. He has no right to be. None at all. You have me. Liar. "I could have split today, right after we heard the rock blasting. But I didn't. I made sure you all found a campsite first."

"Oh, how magnanimous of you! Hey, while you're at it, can you help me get this knife out of my back?" And it isn't one of Clove's.

He runs his hand through his hair, jaw set stubbornly. "I need to talk to you privately, Ember," he says gruffly.

I scoff. "You've got to be kidding me."

"I need to talk to you. I'll even let you get in a few more hits."

Only because I want to punch him again. Maybe break his nose this time. I shake off Thresh's restraining hand. "You have one minute before I let loose." I can feel twenty-two pairs of eyes on our backs as we retreat out of sight and earshot.

Cato rounds on me as soon as he's sure we have privacy. "Ember, I don't want to part on bad terms."

"Bad?" I chuckle mirthlessly. "Cato, this is beyond bad. This is so awful, I'm going to have to create a whole new word. Catostrophic? Yes, that sounds fitting."

You have me. Lies. Everything he ever said, lies.

"I'm serious, Ember," he snaps. "Don't tell me that if we were near Twelve, you wouldn't want to go home."

"Of course I want to go home!" I hiss. "But I wouldn't, and do you know why? Ced and I would be abandoning everyone else, and I will never abandon anyone who needs me. And let's not forget the fact we'll all be executed if our faces turn up in the Districts. You seem to be disregarding that very important detail, Cato."

He shakes his head. "They won't kill me."

"How do you know?"

Cato stares coolly at me. "My father is a Victor."

"Oh, yeah? So's mine."

"Mine isn't embroiled in a rebellion," he counters. "My father is the most respected Victor in District 2. He practically runs the Academy; he has just as much power as our mayor. Everyone in Two knows it. The Capitol knows it. If they want to keep Two tucked under their wing, then they'll listen to my father when he tells them I have no part in this rebellion."

"Clove seems convinced they'll shoot you on sight."

"Clove doesn't think much of family ties. She believes my father's loyalty to the Capitol will override his relationship to me."

"Are you so sure it won't?" I sneer.

"Very."

I throw my hands in the air. "Fine. Whatever. It's your funeral, literally. When you're dead, I hope you'll be comforted by the bullet in your brain." I turn to go, determined to let him moronically tromp off to his death.

"Come with me."

I must have something in my ears. "What did you say?"

Cato takes a step toward me. "Come with me. You and Cedric. I'll make sure you're both safe in Two, and we'll find out how to get you to your parents some other way, without risking your necks in the wilderness."

Some muttation must have killed Cato and taken on his appearance, because this doesn't sound like the admittedly intelligent brute of a Career I know. "Have you eaten something that's addled your brain? Did you not hear me when I said I won't leave the others?"

"Then convince everyone else to come."

"You're insane. You are. You've gone insane," I sputter. "The whole reason we're in the wilderness right now is to avoid attention. Twenty-four escaped tributes clomping into Two are going to get a hell of a lot of attention. And I'm pretty sure Ced and I are two of the most wanted people in Panem right now. In no possible situation is any of us, least of all Ced and me, going to Two a good idea." Addlepated. Yes, that sounds like a good word to describe Cato right now. That and fucking nuts. "Why would you even suggest as infeasible a plan as this?"

"Because I want to go home!" Cato bellows. He lowers his voice, but he speaks no less intensely. "Because I want to go home, but I don't want to leave you, and Cedric, and Marvel, and the others out here."

"Then stay!" My voice breaks.

"I can't."

"Why not? Are you so desperate for a shower and a bed and a cooked meal? I didn't take you to be so weak," I growl.

Cato grabs my wrists, but not tightly. "Do you think you're the only one who misses their family?" he demands. "Do you?" I stare at him, unable to speak. "You say you love your family. You say you'd do anything for them, for Cedric. You want to see them again. Do you think I feel any less strongly about my family? Your parents are waiting for you in Thirteen; mine are waiting for me in Two. Tell me, Ember, if it were your parents who were under a day's hike away, would you really pass up the opportunity to go back to them?"

I take a shuddering breath. "That still doesn't explain why you got it in your crazy head to invite the rest of us along," I say lowly, trying not to feel weighed down by the fact that he's not wrong.

Cato exhales. "Fuck," he mutters, and then he slams his mouth down on mine. His lips press hard, taking, demanding, greedy, wanting. I'm so shocked, so disoriented, so confused that I have no time to respond—if I even want to—before he pulls away as suddenly as he started. "Because you deserve better than to die in the woods," he rasps. "Your name says it all, Girl on Fire. You should go down burning the world with you."

I'm shaking. I can't contain it. I wrench my wrists out of his grasp and stumble backward. He takes a step forward, but I hold up my hand. "No." Yes. "Go." Stay.

"Ember?"

"Just go." Just stay. "That's what you want. Just leave us already, and don't come back. We don't need you. We'll get along fine without you."

"Ember—"

"GO!" I point. "Just go already!" Go. Stay. Help us. Leave us. I don't care about you anymore. I'll still worry. I refuse to look at him again, listening for his departing footsteps. But after some time, I don't hear them, so I turn back to yell at him again.

He's gone. No trace of him, as if he were never here.

My eyes burn. No. Stop. I refuse to cry over Cato. My tears are reserved for people I care about.

"Em?"

As if on cue, Cedric shows up a few feet away, hesitant. My baby brother looks so solemn, so sympathetic, so pitying. I manage a watery smile. "Hey. What's up?"

"Did he leave?" he asks quietly.

My throat sticks as I nod. "Yeah. He's gone." And I didn't even get a last look. As angry as I am with Cato, I also understand why he's leaving. And I honestly don't know if I wouldn't do the same in his place.

Still...it hurts.

And he just had to fuck everything up even more by assaulting my mouth. (I don't care what anyone says, that was not a kiss.)

"Did he make you cry?" Ced sounds upset, as if he'll go after Cato right now if I answer in the affirmative. Cedric versus Cato. The fight of the century.

I chuckle sadly and tousle his hair. "No boy has ever made me cry, and Cato isn't going to be the first."

"Well...good." Cedric nods to himself. "I wanted to let you know that since Ardi and Una can fish again, you don't need to hunt tonight."

Fantastic. I'd probably miss everything I tried to shoot in my current state. "Sorry I've been gone so long. Is there anything I can help with?"

"We've already got everything taken care of. Just come back and get ready to eat."

The others look at me strangely when I return. A few, namely Clove, Marvel, and Glimmer, look disappointed when they see I'm alone. "You couldn't convince him to stay?" Marvel asks.

I shake my head. "If persuading him to stay was your intention, it shouldn't have been me out there with him."

Marvel sighs. "Believe it or not, out of everyone here, you had the best shot."

Great. Refusing to look at anyone else, I nibble halfheartedly at some fish, not hungry but still determined to finish every bite. When I'm about done, Thresh sits beside me. "We need to set shifts."

I blink at him. "That isn't my forte."

He shrugs. "Someone's gotta do it."

Oh. Right. Cato usually sets the watch. "Okay. Um. First shift, Bartel and Franzi?"

"I had a shift last night," Bartel says.

I try not to bury my face in my hands. I guess we do need Cato, after all. But Thresh helps me figure out who can take a shift tonight, and somehow everything works out. It's still an ordeal that takes way longer than it did when Cato was around. Night falls, and I make to crawl into my sleeping bag, but something resting on top of it stops me.

Cato's sword. I pick it up—God, it's heavy, how does he wear this like it's weightless?—and turn it in my hands, wondering what he means by leaving it here. Just messing with my mind, I suppose. One last attempt at confusing the hell out of me. One last reminder of the boy who abandoned us.

The boy who abandoned me.

There are minimal supplies in his pack, but they're plenty for the trek to Two. Cato spent the night alone, wishing he'd left in the morning instead. After he left, he didn't get far at all before the darkness forced him to stop. He was still close enough to the others that he could have turned around and gone back to camp. Turned around and had to face everyone's accusing glares. Face Ember Abernathy's snide I-told-you-so.

No, Cato tells himself. They would be grateful if he came back. Should be.

But the thought of Ember Abernathy's blazing, furious, self-righteous eyes if he comes back with tail between his legs spurs him onward today.

He can still feel the touch of her lips on his, though "touch" makes their kiss sound a lot gentler than it actually was. He didn't even allow her any time to respond, and he's already craving more. But there won't be more. It was impulse that led him to grab her, kiss her. Just once. He needed to know what it was like to taste fire, if only for a few fleeting seconds. And now it's burning him inside-out. He wonders what it would be like to kiss her when she's not steaming mad at him.

Well, it's on her if she was so naive as to think he'd stay and die with the lot of them. Because Cato is convinced they won't make it to Thirteen, and now that he's gone, they've got a snowball's chance in hell.

But I have you, don't I?

Cato growls to himself. He should never have told her that. Never told her yes, she does have him. Now she's gone and become disappointed in him. In the beginning, she certainly didn't think highly of him at all—if only it had stayed that way.

(But...no, he doesn't actually want Ember Abernathy to think so lowly of him, as if he's barely human, like she did before she began to chip away at his walls.)

Too late. No turning back. Cato resolutely looks forward and thinks of his family. First to come to mind is little Laelia, his sister, whose last demand before he left for the Games was to buy her a pony with his Victor's winnings. He promised her six and a carriage fit for a princess.

("She thinks she can get away with anything, if she flashes a pretty smile and looks cute."

"But it doesn't affect you at all, does it?")

His other siblings he looks less forward to encountering. Vespasia has been unbearable ever since she became engaged to Sergius, the winner of the Sixty-Ninth Hunger Games, and she persists in shoving the rock on her hand in everyone's faces.

Tiberius will no doubt try to mock him for failing to even play the Games, as if not being selected to volunteer in the first place is any better. His older brother has always been bitter that their own father didn't believe him good enough to win and passed him over as a volunteer.

Attilus Wolfwood has never been the warmest or kindest parent, but he drilled good principles into all his children: honor, loyalty, integrity. All of which Cato is betraying now by leaving the group. He grits his teeth and forges on. However cold and distant, he knows his father loves him, as a father does all his children, and Attilus will do all he can to protect Cato from wrongful punishment.

His mother—Cato can't help smiling. Where Attilus was the disciplinarian, she has always been the nurturer, believing the best in her children, confident they can achieve whatever they put their minds to. When Cato was chosen to volunteer, she didn't for a second think he would lose. That was out of the question. Of course he would win and come home. There was no other possible outcome.

Cato senses the other man at the same time he detects Cato. Cursing himself for not paying attention to his surroundings, he whips out his gun and points it square at the Peacekeeper's masked face, just as the uniformed man aims at him.

To Cato's immense surprise, the Peacekeeper lowers his gun. "Cato!"

Cato tenses. "Who are you?" Slowly, the man reaches for his mask and tugs it off. Cato blinks. "Tiberius?"

His older brother smiles wryly at him. "Fancy seeing you here, kitty-cat."

Cato scowls at the hated childhood nickname and holsters his own weapon. "What are you doing out here?"

"I could ask the same of you," Tiberius retorts. "Shouldn't you be dead?"

"Should I be?" Cato parrots back at him.

"We were told not to expect you back. Ever."

Cato crosses his arms. "And what exactly were you told?"

"The world heard that rogue Gamemaker telling the Abernathy girl to run. Immediately after that, every screen in Panem went dark. As far as the average citizen is concerned, you and the other tributes are safely ensconced in the Capitol, waiting for the Games to restart."

"And the non-average citizen?" Cato presses.

Tiberius sneers. "I'm not authorized to disclose that information to you."

Cato rolls his eyes. "Then I'll ask Father." He makes to go.

"Wha—wait, Cato! Don't be stupid. I'll tell you."

Hook, line, and sinker.

"The Peacekeepers," Tiberius begins, "have been told to keep an eye out for tributes who have escaped. We're supposed to keep an especially close watch in the wilderness around Two, since it's the District closest to the arena. If we see any of you, we are to turn you in immediately." He pauses, then adds, "Lethal force is permitted if necessary."

Cato keeps his posture casual, but in truth he is ready to retaliate at a moment's notice. "Huh. So are you turning me in, then?"

"I should," Tiberius gripes, though he makes no move for his gun or cuffs. "But Mom will never forgive me if I arrest you."

"Then…" Cato jabs his thumb south, toward District 2 proper. "Are you going to turn around and pretend you didn't see me? Because I'd much rather be at home than here talking to you."

"No, Cato…" Tiberius sighs. "Look. For the last few days, I've been scouring these godforsaken woods for any sign of you. I used up my fucking vacation days for you."

Cato raises his eyebrows. "I have never seen you be so altruistic."

"Shut up, kitty-cat, I'm trying to tell you something. I've been out here because you're one of the few names on the list of missing tributes whom Peacekeepers are only to incapacitate, not kill. I think—I know, you're on the short-list because the Capitol wants something from you. If they got their hands on you, they'd take you back to the Capitol as a hostage so they can force Father to do what they want."

"And what do they want him to do that he isn't already doing?" Cato demands.

"For starters, increase the number of Peacekeepers going into the other Districts," Tiberius replies. "By at least double, if not triple."

Double? Triple? "That's not feasible. He would have to cut the duration of training at the Academy, and Father is very strict about the minimum age of graduation."

"He would cut it for you." His brother mutters, "You've always been his favorite."

Cato sighs. "Okay, so why does the Capitol need so many more Peacekeepers?"

His brother looks around warily, as if somebody is eavesdropping on them in the middle of nowhere. "Uprisings," he murmurs. "They're sparking in some of the Districts. Unrest has been stirring for a time, and the tribute break-out just catalyzed the inevitable rebellion."

Pieces fit into place. The recent revelation of the ongoing existence of District 13. The escape of the mentors from the Capitol. The fact that Rain Abernathy even dared to so publicly betray the Capitol. Now the uprisings. Ember said that there was a rebellion, but given how little she herself knew about it, it never truly registered with Cato until now.

"Cato," Tiberius continues, "I needed to be the first Peacekeeper to find you so that I can actually make sure you get home. And thank God that this is exactly what happened, and today of all days."

"What's so important about today?" Cato asks.

Tiberius's gaze shifts. "Are you by yourself?"

"You're asking that just now? Yes, I am."

"Were you...always alone? Since you left the arena?"

Cato narrows his eyes. "What are you getting at, Tiberius?"

His brother chuckles humorlessly and shakes his head. "Congratulations, Cato. You might be the Victor of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games, after all."

"What are you talking about?"

Tiberius eyes him lazily. "Well, it would only be by default, and not because you earned it. Just as the last remaining tribute alive. You see, kitty-cat, the Capitol doesn't care to expend any more of its resources searching for you lot, so they're just going to burn the forest down with you all in it. Except you, of course. You escaped in the nick of time. But again, the Capitol wants to either curry Father's favor or force him to their bidding, so they probably won't try to exterminate you after the fact to make the kill count an even two dozen. Just lie low at home and you'll be fine."

Cato stuns his brother by grabbing a fistful of his shirt. "What do you mean, they're going to burn the forest down?" he snarls.

"I mean they've estimated a huge chunk of the wilderness where they think you all might be now and they're going to turn it into ashes. Get your hands off me." Tiberius shoves him away.

"I thought they wanted the Abernathys alive as hostages."

Tiberius looks at him curiously. "Where did you hear that?"

Cato shoves aside the image of the butchered Peacekeeper. "Never mind that. Answer my question."

"I didn't hear one," Tiberius grumbles, but he complies. "Ember and Cedric Abernathy are also on the short-list of tributes to incapacitate rather than kill, but as with you, though preferable to have in their keeping, the Capitol doesn't require they have them. I've heard that the rogue Gamemaker is their elder sister, and if so, then the Capitol probably has her under arrest and in their keeping. They've already got one hostage. Two more would simply be bonuses. Expendable, in other words."

The horrifying scene plays in Cato's mind. Capitol hovercrafts darken the sky above the group and drop fire bombs. The world explodes into an inescapable inferno. The tributes scream as they catch fire, and the stench of burning flesh clogs the air. They try to run, but the flames are insatiable, and they burn, every last one of them. Marvel and his spears can do nothing. Glimmer's pretty face melts from the heat. Clove's knives cannot cut fire.

Ember dies with her brother, trying to protect him from a fiery grave, only to be buried with him. Nameless, faceless, forgotten.

"Cato, where are you going?"

He's already retracing his steps north. "Back to the others."

"The...other tributes? Cato, you'll die with them!"

Or he'll save them.

He has to save them.

He has to save her.

"Cato, just come with me, and come home! Am I supposed to tell Mom that I let you walk off to your death like a madman?"

"You can tell her I made you let me leave," Cato calls over his shoulder, though the thought of his mother's disappointment and fear for his safety causes a pang to cut through his chest. "She'll believe you."

"And what about Laelia?" Tiberius demands.

Will you buy me a pony, Cay? Cato clenches his fist. He doesn't respond, just keeps going.

"Cato, I can make you come with me."

"No, you can't."

Tiberius growls in frustration. "Come on, Cato! What do you owe them? You barely even know the other tributes. You owe them nothing!"

Now Cato pauses and looks back. "Actually, I do owe h—them something. I owe them a fucking apology. And I owe it to them to try to save them. Don't stop me, Tiberius. You'll regret it."

"You—I—ugh! What am I supposed to tell Father?"

Cato imagines his father's stern face, so easily disappointed, and closes his eyes. "Honor. Loyalty. Integrity. You can tell him that." He hears Tiberius starting to follow him, so without warning, Cato takes off at a run. He's always been faster than his brother, and Tiberius has no hope of catching up with him. His brother's yells of protests soon fade away.

The thought of Ember—everyone—burning alive spurs him even faster. You should go down burning the world with you. Fuck, he didn't mean it so literally.

(But maybe it's the very irony of such a death that encouraged the Capitol to choose this fate for the Girl on Fire.)

As he runs through the woods, determined to make much better time on the return than on his way here, Cato thinks about how a world without Ember Abernathy isn't much of a world at all. Girl on Fire or not, he really doesn't want her burning down anything if it means she'll go down with it.

Responses to Guest Reviewers:

Guest (first): I have never seen The 100, but that's actually on my list of Netflix things to watch (I only discovered Netflix very recently). But yes, "being co-leaders and leading a bunch of dumb kids into s***" does sound very much like Ember and Cato. :) I love writing the sexual tension between those two. I also kinda like writing angst, hence the situation going on at the Capitol with Rain and Seneca. We'll see what happens to them… Anyhoo, I'm glad you like the story! Thank you for reading and leaving feedback!

Gigi: "They clearly want to jump each other's bones." And there you have it, the summary for 95% of this story. LOL. Jk, there's a tad bit more to the fic than that. :P

If you haven't taken a look already, please check out the threeshot I've begun to post, "A Game Played Beautifully By Children." It's based on the prompt, What if Ember and Cato had played the 74th Hunger Games after all? I'm hoping to update that one soon as well.

I hope everyone had a nice holiday! If you at all enjoy this story, please leave a review (or a PM) and let me know what you think of this chapter—Seneca and Snow, Cato and Ember, Cato and Tiberius, anything and everything you have thoughts about. As you've probably surmised, there's quite an intense chapter coming up, soooooo the more you guys bug me about posting the next chapter, the faster I'll put it up. :D

Thanks for reading!