"Training," I say evenly.

"Don't do this," my mother says, looking pained. "Don't go marching into war."

"Too late," I say.

"This is exactly what I've been trying to protect you from your entire life!" My mother yells.

"But this is what I need to do!" I shout, suddenly angry that she can't get this through her head.

"Screw it!" My mother cries. "Screw that and stay safe! I never asked to go to war! I never wanted any of this! Why on Earth would you want to?"

"That's the problem isn't it?" I snap, furious. "I'M NOT YOU! I'M NOT YOU AND I WANT THIS!"

"I am your mother!" she screams. "I decide what you do or do not do!"
"Just like your mother did with you?" I snap. "When you ran off and got shot and shrapnel in your leg? I'm sure your mother was fine with that!"
It's a low blow and I know it.

"Stop it!" My mother shrieks. "That was different!"

"How!" I yell. "How is that any different from this? Aren't we all just protecting what we love?"

"That's what I'm trying to do!" My mother explodes.

"This is my choice," I snap. "You can't stop me."

"Try me," she hisses, furious. Her face is inches from mine. "I'm not about to let you die, Daie!"

"What makes you so sure I'm going to die?" I say, startled.

She pales slightly, but she's completely determined. "Nightmares," she says fiercely. "I've watched you die every night in my dreams. And I don't dream about something like that that often without it coming true."

"That's just dreams," I falter, terrified.

"Just like I dreamed about Rue dying? About Prim?" She says, her voice devastated. "I watched them die, Daie. And I dreamed about both of them dying before that. I have had zero reason to believe you would die until this war." She pulls a folded paper from her pocket. "Here," she whispers, her eyes full. "Peeta drew that. He paints or draws his nightmares, you know. Always has."

She presses the paper into my palm. Confused and worried, I quickly unfold it.

It's a figure lying on cobblestone, one arm flung above them, arced above their head over the stones. The other arm is flung to the side, the legs bent up slightly, the head facing upward. The eyes are closed, a tiny smile on the face. Blood pools around the person, soaking the familiar old hunting jacket and the cobblestone. It seems to be coming from their chest-a bullet wound.

My chest.

This is so clearly me, the long wavy dark hair, the features on my face, my clothes, the way my limbs ae bent. Dad has captured me perfectly in death. This cannot be anything but a premonition. This is too detailed, too perfect.

The paper slips out of my fingers and I'm running.

The woods flash by me, my legs fuelled by terror, my heart pounding, Fear creeps into my chest and explodes there. I could die. I may die. There is a very real chance that I will die.

I crash blindly through the woods, the pearly sky flashing through the leaves, lungs burning cold, clear air.

I stop at last, unable to orient myself, spinning desperately.

"Where are you?" I demand of myself. "Where are you?"

"DAIE!"

I whirl, and August is standing there, looking stricken. He races towards me and throws his arms around me.

"I'm not going to let this happen," he says fiercely. "It was just a dream, Daie. It was just a dream."

"How can you know that?" I say hopelessly. "My mother isn't wrong about much, August. She wouldn't have shown me that if she wasn't sure I would die in war. She wants to keep me safe."

"I want that," August whispers in my ear. "We'll keep you safe. I promise."

I shake my head. "I'm not going to watch this unfold in front of me. I'm going to war, August. This doesn't change anything."

"Why are you so stubborn?"

"Genes. And I just-I just have this feeling that I need to fight. I feel like I could make a difference, August. I can't let 12 go down. We're so fragile."

"The world is fragile, Daie."

"So let's make it stronger."

"I like that."

"Like what?"

"Making the world stronger. It's a beautiful idea. You're beautiful," he whispers in my ear again. "I'm not going to lose you."

"So you won't," I whisper back.

"You can't promise me that."

"Who can ever promise that, August? Life is a beautiful struggle. I intend to keep struggling, thanks."

He laughs bitterly. "Where do you get this stuff?"

"My head. My heart. Occasionally my pinkie finger."

"I'm sure that's a great source of comedy material."

"Like you wouldn't believe. I'll be fine, August. I promise."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

He leans down and kisses me for a long time, drawing out the one touch to last forever. My breath hitches in my throat. I'm terrified but determined, electrified, ready for this. Born for this. I feel as if I have met my purpose, my reason for being. I don't know how all my thoughts wound up hanging in the frosty air, but now that they're there, I feel strangely whole. This feeling is like being alive for the first time.

That's when the world explodes.

I whip my head around, staring. The fire reaches into the sky beyond us. Hovercraft fill the smoky sky, with the old Capitol seal emblazoned on their sides. Peacekeepers, bombing us. Again. 12 is under fire.

I'm running back through the woods, breathing smoke. The fire starts in the meadow, and this time, the Village was a target. Everything is gone, decimated, replaced by flames. The train station, the Square, it's all gone. The Justice Building is gone.

"The military," August breathes, ashen. "They were in the Square."

They were all in the Square. My parents, everybody. Screaming figures race from the flames towards us. The woods, and 13 beyond them , are a safe haven.

Aren't they?
Where is 13, our closest ally? They're bigger than we are now, stronger as the military HQ. Why haven't they stepped in?
It feels like it's too late.

Watching my world burn, I feel so hopeless. The incredible high I had in the woods with August is gone. I am watching myself lose everything and everyone I have ever known, and there is nothing I can do. I grip August's arm, feeling as if I may collapse.

"My family-" I start, crying.

"Run," Augusts says suddenly. I look up at him, startled. "What?"

"Run to 13. Take the road but stay off it. You can make it, you're smart," he says, his eyes fixed on 12. "There may be people in there. 12 still needs saving."

"I want to help!" I cry.

"They need you," he says simply, turning and facing me. "I see that now. They need you and they need you alive. Run. 13 can help us."

"Not without you," I say, knowing in my heart that he's right. He sees it now, that I need to help. That they need me. I feel almost relieved that someone finally gets it, gets me. And 13 may be my best chance. Completely killing off 12 doesn't help anybody, and August could be of use to them. They see me and they'll shoot.

My family is gone, almost definitely dead. I am the only one left. Who will stop the Peacekeepers from taking the rest of 12? Everyone is so desperate to avoid war that they are staying out of it, I realize somebody. They'll sooner watch 12 burn than wade into war. I have to make sure that doesn't happen.

I can't leave. It feels so wrong. And yet…and yet…

I have to leave. I have to. It's my only chance.

I look down. August has pressed something into my hand. It's my mother's pin, the famous mockingjay.

"I need you to run," he says desperately. "Please."

I grab his shirt and yank him in for a kiss. It's full of terror and desperation and smoke, but it's there.

"Don't die," I breathe, pulling apart.

"I can't promise that," he murmurs, tucking piece of hair behind my ear.

"Who can ever promise that?" I say, smiling slightly. I kiss him once more, fast, breaking my heart, then turn and leave a flaming 12 in ashes, and the only one I've ever loved.