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Eleven:

The dynamic in the group has changed drastically since Cato left last night, and everyone knows it. Thresh has been acting as a replacement, but I can already tell that he's just not the same. He doesn't act as swiftly, doesn't as effortlessly anticipate my need for help, doesn't know when I need him to take charge for a while, and instead waits for me to explicitly give him instructions or requests before acting. A disinclination to take over the group is by no means a bad trait, but it's not what I need right now. I need someone to help shoulder the responsibility, to be unafraid to have a heavy hand, to balance my shortcomings, to stand beside me in a united front.

(Whatever I told Cato about not needing him is utterly false. But I haven't admitted it to myself yet.)

We're less organized in the morning, and arranging the group's traveling formation, along with the rotation of sled pushers and pullers, is a hassle, to say the least. But I do my best not to let my frustration and stress show. Morale is already battered enough from Cato's departure.

Today's trek through the wilderness seems longer and more tiring than usual. I can't help but think about Cato's comment about how we're doomed to die before we reach District 13. How much truth was in that assertion? Was he right? What are our odds now that Cato is gone?

Cedric keeps looking at me askance, as if I'm going to have a meltdown at any moment. After the thirtieth side-eye, I can't handle it anymore. "What is it, Cedric?"

"Nothing." He stares down at his GPS.

"Spill, twerp."

Cedric chews on his lip. "I just...was wondering if you were okay."

"Okay? Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

He frowns. "You've been upset ever since Cato left."

I can't deny that. "Yeah, I guess. But on the bright side, now that he's gone, I don't have to deal with his temper anymore." I force a smile.

"Uh-huh. Right. Why are you carrying his sword?"

The giant sword that Cato chose as his signature weapon is strapped to my back. It's heavy. He made carrying it look so easy. I'm going to need a chiropractor when this is all over. "It's a good weapon. I don't see the point in letting it go unused."

"Em, you know you're not strong enough for a sword that big," my little brother chastises, sounding unnervingly like Dad. "You're likelier to hurt yourself than someone else."

As I start to refute Cedric's lack of confidence in me, I hear gasps and murmurs of shock rising behind us. I'm convinced I'm hallucinating when Cato rushes to my side. Without ado, he starts speaking. "Ember, we need to get out of here, all of us. The Capitol is coming and—"

I cut him off, heart pounding. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Isn't it obvious? I came back."

"Why? You made it pretty clear you think our quest is going to fail."

He growls impatiently. "The Capitol is going to bomb these woods, and we're all going to die if we don't go now!"

I stare at him. "How do you know this?"

"Long story short, I ran into my brother Tiberius and he told me. We need to get moving, now."

"We" again. As if he never left. "So you just randomly ran into your brother in the woods and he told you all about the Capitol's evil plans, and then, after you told us how we're all going to die and you left us, you ran back here to die with us anyway? How am I supposed to believe that?"

Cato groans. "Ember, twenty-four hours ago you would've trusted me on this."

"Twenty-four hours ago, you hadn't abandoned us yet."

He grabs my shoulders and turns me around so I'm looking at Cedric. "Look at your brother, Ember. If you don't listen to me right fucking now, he and all the others are going to burn to death. For just a moment, can you please put everything between us aside and listen to me and give us the chance to get to safety?"

"I think he's lying. I think it's a trap." I blink in surprise at Cedric, who's scowling deeply at Cato. "We're close enough to the nearest settlement in Two that he could've gotten there last night and met up with people. His father is allies with the Capitol, isn't he? And the Capitol wants us all dead or captured, don't they? It's probably a trick to round us up. And Cato made it pretty clear before he left that he's not on our side anymore."

Cato looks ready to punch something. Possibly my brother. It'd better not be my brother. "Ember, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I left. It was a huge mistake. You deserved better than to just have me split on you. Now I'm trying to rectify that. Will you let me?" When I say nothing, his voice rises. "I swear to God, Ember, I'm telling the truth. I know it sounds ridiculous, just happening to run into my Peacekeeper brother who knew about the fire-bombs, but that's what happened. And Cedric's mistaken: I am on your side. Yours, Ember, if no one else's."

I hesitate and look between the two. Cedric is still glaring with all the abhorrence he can muster in his little body; my brother's vehemence against Cato is unexpected, but not something I can devote the time to thinking about right now. Under almost all circumstances, I would trust Cedric's feelings and opinions. I should listen to him and push Cato away, Cato who left us, Cato who turned his back on us without looking back.

But Cato… He's right. Before he left, I would have believed him. Before he left, he'd earned my trust, by taking care of the Peacekeepers and helping defend the group against the mutts. Up until very recently, I trusted this boy, and that sense of trust in him still lingers.

And I can't help thinking about Cedric burning. Which is the greater danger, all of us being burnt to a crisp or being arrested by Peacekeepers? I do know that the former possibility is not something we'd be able to come back from, while the latter, although undeniably a terrible situation, wouldn't be entirely hopeless like the first.

"If you are telling the truth," I start, "what would we do? Where would we run to? It's either more wilderness or District 2 for miles around. Do we even have time to run? When are they coming?"

"I don't know when they're sending the bombers," Cato admits. "I ran before I could ask Tiberius, to make sure I got here in time. But we'll be able to hear the hovercrafts coming, and I don't hear them now, so there's still a chance. Not to outrun the Capitol—the blast radius is supposed to be huge—but to hide, to wait it out, to survive. Fire-bombs are designed more to burn than to explode, so if we get to the river, the water should help us, if the bombs don't get dropped too close."

"I'm telling you, Em, it's a trap!" Ced cries. "There are probably Peacekeepers or something waiting for us at the river."

Cato's jaw twitches as he glares at my brother.

I prevaricate between them, knowing that time is rapidly running out if Cato is telling the truth. Mom, Dad, what would you do?

Dad would get all aggro like Cedric is now and bully Cato about being a turncoat.

Mom would eye him with deep suspicion and feel uncomfortable ever turning her back on him.

They would both listen to their gut.

My gut tells me Cato is in earnest. It's telling me that Cato wouldn't work with Peacekeepers to capture or kill us. It's telling me that Cato is desperately trying to save our lives.

I raise my voice. "Everyone get to the river, ASAP!"

The pack just stares at me.

"If you don't want to die, move," Cato bellows.

Now they move their asses. Why can't I have that ability?

Cedric tugs on my arm. "Em, what are you doing?" he hisses. "How can you trust him?"

"Cedric, we're going to have a nice conversation about all this later, but right now, we need to not die. You stick with the other kids and run for the river. I need to help with the sled." We're going to need every able body we can to push and pull our supplies if we want to hustle. Time may be of the essence, but we've already half-killed ourselves getting the supply sled this far, so I'll be damned if we abandon it now. Ced's still-boiling fury surprises me—he's usually the cool-headed one—but I'll have to talk with him later, when we're not running for our lives.

Cato sticks beside me as we run toward the sled. Lothar and Franzi are trying and failing to get an organized, efficient formation around it. Although they look wary at Cato's approach, they're also visibly relieved when he takes over, barking orders. It's as if he never left.

"Wanna explain what the fuck's going on?" Marvel grunts, positioned next to me as we and several others push.

"Capitol's going to fire-bomb the woods," Cato replies tersely. "We can't outrun them, so we're taking shelter."

"River isn't going to do much against fire-bombs," Thresh points out.

"It's that or blindly running among the extremely flammable trees. Got any better ideas?" Cato barks back.

No one does.

Motivated by Cato's gentle encouragement, we reach the river in record time, just as we hear the distant hum of approaching hovercrafts. Undeniable proof that Cato is telling the truth, and undeniable proof that we're about to entrust our lives to hope and sheer luck. The other kids who weren't on sled-duty are already waiting by the river, huddling together on the banks. "We'll leave the sled on the shore," Cato says once we stop. "It'll take too long to maneuver into the river. But we'll all want to actually be in the water."

As everyone splashes in, I count heads and come up one short. I immediately realize who's missing. "Where's Cedric?" I turn to the closest of the younger kids. "Rue, where is he?"

"I don't know, I never saw him come with us," she frets.

Panic swells. I whirl around to face the trees. "CEDRIC!" I scream, just as the first bomb explodes in the distance.

"Ember!" I hear him wail from far away. Too far away.

I scramble for the woods, but someone grabs me around the waist. "Don't!" Cato orders.

"Let me go, I have to get him—"

"You stay here. I'll go." Before I can even blink, he's gone. Moments later, another bomb hits, this one much closer than the last.

"Ember, get in the water," Finch calls. I'm the only one still on dry ground. I shake my head, never looking away from the spot where I saw Cato disappearing into the forest, my ears pricked for another one of Cedric's cries. So I don't notice Thresh stomping out of the river until it's too late, and he's bodily picked me up and deposited me into the shallows. I glare at him, but he's unrepentant. No point continuing to glower at him. I return my attention to the trees.

Please, please, please don't let them die. My hand drifts up to the mockingjay pin on my shirt.

The long, painful seconds tick by with the pounding of my heart. Smoke billows above the woods, not close enough to affect our breathing yet, but close enough that I can hear Marvel somewhere behind me, murmuring about preparing wet cloths to cover our mouths and noses with. Every so often, a bomb drops like a stone from a hovercraft obscured by the clouds of smoke, and yet another part of the forest goes up in flames. Soon I can see flames crackling high above the trees everywhere I look, and dread builds and builds in my breast with every moment that Cato and Cedric are still gone.

Then there's movement. Human movement. Cato is sprinting back, and my heart soars when I see he's carrying Cedric. And at that moment, as I get my hopes up, a bomb drops, whistling, closer to us than any other has been this evening. Cato realizes at the same time I do that they're not going to make it.

"THRESH!" he shouts, and with all the adrenaline-fueled strength in his body, he throws my little brother. Cedric hurtles into Thresh's arms just as the world explodes.

In hindsight, I will come to realize that we were all extremely lucky, that we were at the very edge of the blast radius and that we would all be dead if that last bomb were any closer. Lucky that the Capitol chose bombs more for their ability to burn than to explode, because we would all be dead, dead, dead otherwise.

Right now, though, I'm feeling anything but lucky.

With surprising strength for her slight frame, Finch grabs me bodily and forces me down into the water as trees blow up in a fiery explosion and cast burning branches and splinters and other shrapnel in all directions. Some of the other kids are screaming, and at least one person is crying. It's too chaotic for me to identify who it is, to figure out if they got injured or if they're just terrified out of their minds. Like me.

I twist around until I can see Thresh, and more importantly Ced. My ashen-faced brother is curled up, trembling, in the bigger boy's arms. "Ced," I croak. "Are you okay?"

He nods. When he speaks, it's only one whispered word: "Cato."

Cato. I scramble to my feet. Massive flames lick the sky in the distance. In our immediate vicinity, some of the trees are on fire, but it doesn't look like we're in imminent danger of going up in smoke, as long as the Capitol doesn't drop any more bombs this close. I turn my attention to where I last saw Cato, and there he lies, face-down, unmoving on the ground. "Cato!" I run to him and crouch beside him. I check for a pulse, and relief washes over me when I find one. Alive. He's burned and bleeding, but alive.

Marvel and Thresh catch up, and they lift Cato. He begins to stir at the motion and hisses as they inadvertently jostle some injury or another. "Don't be a crybaby, suck it up," Marvel mutters, and Cato mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like "Fuck you, Marvel."

I walk alongside them as they carry Cato to the river. Finch quickly takes in his condition. "Put him in the water, but don't let anything else touch his burns. I'll see what medical supplies we have. Someone hold up his head while he's in the water."

"I'll do it," I volunteer. I sit in the shallows, and the boys carefully lower Cato so that his head is on my lap and in the open air, while his back, which sustained the most injury, is submerged, angled so that none of his burned skin touches the floor of the river.

Cato is teetering between wakefulness and unconsciousness, barely cognizant enough to recognize me. "Hey, Twelve," he slurs.

"Hey, Two. You just had to be a big damn hero, huh?" I jibe, throwing his words, from the night after the mutts attacked, back at him. And yet, despite my teasing, I'm fully aware that were it not for Cato's big damn heroism, Cedric would be a charred corpse.

Even in as much pain as he must be in, he manages a smirk. "Kiss it better?"

I manage to turn my stunned reaction—I can almost admire his persistence, even in this state—into what could pass for a snort of contempt. "I don't kiss invalids."

"I'll prove that I'm not an invalid," he mutters, then quiets when Finch returns. I concentrate on obeying her commands—"Lift his head" "Roll him over" "Hold his mouth open so he can take this painkiller"—and making sure Cato doesn't drown. That would be a horrible way to go after surviving fire-bombs.

Finch finishes treating him. "I can't put on his bandages until he's out of the water, and, well…" She nods toward the still-ravenously burning flames around us. "I don't think any of us should leave this river just yet."

"We're going to have to wait it out," I agree. "How does he look to you?"

"Stable, for now. But we'll have to hope he doesn't get an infection before we get him out of the water and cover his burns. No idea what's in this river. We could move him onto the riverbank…" As if on cue, several burning branches fall onto the shore. "But then we'd have to hope he doesn't get hurt again by debris. And there would still be a risk of infection, from the ashes flying all over the place. The river is the lesser of two evils."

I don't argue with Finch. "Do you know if anyone else was hurt?"

"A few minor burns and scrapes. Nothing nearly as bad as Cato. I'll see to them." Finch looks down at the unconscious boy whose head is in my lap; Cato passed out sometime during her ministrations. "Do you want someone else to take your spot so you can do other things?"

I hesitate, gazing at Cato's face, free for now from the pain he would certainly be feeling if he were awake. "I'd hate to jostle him and wake him up."

"True," Finch concedes. "He's best off sleeping."

"Can you let Thresh and Marvel know they're in charge for now?"

She nods and flits off.

I look at Cato's face again. It's covered in soot, as is his normally golden hair. For lack of anything else I'm able to do at the moment, I begin to gently wash the ash and dust off. As I finish, I feel someone watching me. "Come here, Cedric," I call out without looking up.

My brother shuffles to my side and squats in the water.

"You okay, Ced?"

He nods miserably.

My voice is soft as I ask, "What happened, Cedric? Why did you get left behind?"

His face scrunches up. "I'm stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I stayed behind on purpose," he mumbles. "I didn't want to listen to Cato. I thought he was lying and I wanted to… I wanted to prove…" He sniffs. "I didn't believe him until the first bomb, and by then it was too late to catch up. It was so, so stupid. I wasn't thinking clearly."

"Oh, Cedric." What do I say to that? There's no need to yell at him or scold him or call him an idiot. I'm sure he's already kicked himself enough.

"I'm sorry," he sobs. "But when he left us, he hurt you, a lot, and Dad says you don't trust anyone who hurts your sisters, ever. I wanted to protect you too, Em, and now—now—"

I lean over as best as I can with Cato's head on my lap and pull my brother in for a hug. I can sense his snot smearing on my jacket, but I don't care. "Cedric, I love you. But I never, ever want you to try to help me at the risk of your own life."

"I thought it was you who was putting yourself in danger by listening to Cato," he laments. "I thought I was the only one seeing through him."

My little twelve-year-old brother, already such a cynic. "Didn't you used to like Cato?"

"That was before he made you cry."

"I didn't cry."

"I'm your brother. I could tell you wanted to cry, and that's practically the same thing."

I run my fingers through his dark, dirty curls. "My little hero," I tease. "Ced, will it make you feel better if you talk to Cato when he wakes up?" He nods. "We'll see how he feels when he comes to, okay?" Another nod. "Now, wash your face and join your friends. I think Rue and the others are waiting for you."

I make sure Ced does a thorough job scrubbing his face, washing away not only his tears but also the soot on his cheeks. My sharp eyes scan his skin for injuries, but he's unmarred as far as I can tell.

All thanks to Cato.

He sleeps like the dead, and my fingers instinctively move to brush his hair, which is surprisingly soft. This close to him, without him distracting me with his smirks and his innuendo-laden comments, I can study his features unabashedly for once. His golden lashes flutter ever so slightly, as his eyes move beneath his eyelids, in response to whatever dreams are running through his head. My gaze travels downward, past his aquiline nose to his slightly open mouth. I gently tilt his chin so that his lips close. Don't want him getting a mouthful of the ashes flying around, after all. Even though I know he can't hear me, I whisper, "Thank you," and bend down to kiss his forehead.

Then, I get back to business and take a look around the river, trying to count heads but giving up when it proves too difficult because everyone is moving around. Since no one has yet to run up to me in a panic about another missing kid, I assume everyone is accounted for. Finch is finishing up her medical rounds. Lothar and Franzi are checking the sled on the shore, which seems to have survived our frenzied run in mostly one piece. Thresh, Marvel, and some of the older tributes are in deep discussion; I wish I could join them, but that's out of the question with a certain weight in my lap.

My ears pick up on quiet sniffling. I quickly identify the source as somewhere within the cluster of the youngest kids. It doesn't sound like Ced, but I can't pinpoint who exactly it is. But in the end, it doesn't matter. The other kids are all patting and murmuring comfortingly to the crier, and the whimpers soon fade away.

For some reason, I feel very proud.

Jaxon circles around offering water to everyone. I gladly take his proffered bottle but pause as he cautions me not to drink too much. "What's the problem?"

He gestures at the river around us. "Even with iodine and boiling, I'm not sure if this water will be potable again for a while. There's going to be ash and all sorts of contaminants falling in here soon enough, if not already. I know Cato is in charge of rations, but I thought…"

I nod. "You thought right. Thanks, Jaxon." My brow creases as he departs. We're back to a water shortage, and this time we don't have a backup river we can retreat to. Also, I observe with rising dread, with the forest charred as it is, there will be no more hunting or foraging until we're out of the Capitol's burn zone—which, as Cato said, is probably quite large. We'll have to dig into our supplies, which we were hoping not to have to use until much later in our two month journey.

I close my eyes and take a deep, calming breath. I think back to my nightly pre-bedtime ritual at home: I air out all my grievances of the day in my journal, but when I finish that, I then list everything that I'm grateful for. I had a really whiny, bratty stage several years ago, and Mom made me do this every day until I changed my attitude. But even after she stopped looking over my shoulder, I continued to do it. It's cathartic. I obviously haven't been doing it since I arrived at the Capitol, but right now, I could do with a bit of catharsis.

Grievances: oh, where do I even begin. On the run in the wilderness. The Capitol just fire-bombed us. Cato's been burned and the prospect of infection is nightmarish. Food and water will be a problem very soon. That's not even including my worries about my parents and Summer, about Rain, about Ashton and my friends back home.

So...blessings: Everyone is alive. My brother was not burned to a crisp. No one is going to be permanently maimed. At least we have supplies. And maybe now the Capitol thinks we're dead and they'll stop hounding us.

(And Cato came back.)

Sterile. That's the first word that comes to mind as Seneca makes his way down the hallway leading to his erstwhile fiancee. It's a steel-lined, windowless tunnel with fluorescent lights, seemingly bare of anything else, but his Gamemaker-trained eyes quickly spot all the hidden cameras.

Two Peacekeepers stand guard at the end of the tunnel. One turns around to unlock the door and allow him in. Seneca has to take a deep breath and square his shoulders before he sets foot within, though; he has no idea what he's going to find inside.

Enjoy Miss Abernathy's pretty smiles and eyes while you still can, the president told him before sending him here. There are a thousand possible underlying meanings to that comment, and Seneca fears nine hundred ninety-nine of them.

Relief washes over him when he spots Rain looking none the worse for wear. She's wearing a nondescript white uniform—prisoner garb, he thinks.

(Or, even more disturbingly, test subject garb.)

He recalls Snow's comment about her "pretty eyes" again as she turns them toward him, the cloudy gray of summer storms. Not long ago, some tawdry stylist had been irritatingly insistent about doing enhancements on Rain's eyes, and Seneca came very close to exploding in public, something he never does, very rarely even in private. Those eyes have inspired many a misty, haunting, tempestuous painting by his hand, and he'll be damned before some has-been stylist tries to alter them.

(Of course, it helps that Rain herself has no interest in artificial enhancements.)

"Seneca!" she cries out, and she stands up rapidly. Too rapidly, it seems, because she then sways unsteadily on her feet.

Years of easing her worries and seeing to her comfort propel him forward until he is by her side. "What's wrong?" Rain is a robust woman. It takes a lot to knock her off her feet.

"A little dizzy. The baby hasn't been treating me very well."

A glance at the still-present bulge, although not yet prominent, reassures Seneca more than the president's claims that he has no need to harm his and Rain's child. "Has anyone done or said anything to you so far?"

She shakes her head. "I haven't seen anyone since I was put in here after my interrogation, except the Peacekeepers who bring me food." On the table in the sparsely furnished cell is a tray of simple fare, which has been half-heartedly picked at by someone who knows she should eat but hasn't the appetite for it. The bed also looks like it's barely been slept in. Under normal circumstances, Seneca would be gently scolding her for not taking better care of herself, especially now that there's a baby to think of.

These are not normal circumstances, and he would do well to remember that.

"So you know nothing that has happened since you were escorted out of Gamemaker Headquarters." His voice is distant, different. Almost alien.

Rain can tell as well.

Her haunting gaze meets his unwaveringly. "You're angry at me," she says calmly.

"Furious," he corrects in just as even a tone. They both know that they are being watched and eavesdropped on. The more they can keep their true emotions at bay, the better. They're Gamemakers: they prefer to control the show, not be in it. "You lied to me. For years, I'm sure."

Rain purses her lips, and Seneca futilely wishes that the cameras would short out. He knows she would tell him more if others weren't watching.

(Or would she really? He doesn't know anything about her anymore.)

Finally, she speaks. "You're an only child, Seneca, and your parents are dead. You have a different understanding of the world than mine. Family means everything to me."

Rain is one of the most intelligent people he knows, and they have spent many an occasion secretly mocking and chortling over the stupidity of others. That condescension, now that it's directed at him, cuts him. "So what, just because I have no siblings and no living parents, I can't understand the importance of family? Do you really think so little of me?"

"That's not what I mean," Rain responds, frustration seeping into her tone. "I have so many loved ones, Seneca. So many people I could lose. So many people I'm constantly in fear for, I was doing my best to protect everybody. You've said so yourself in the past, Seneca, that you've only ever deeply cared for a few people in your life. You don't know what it's like for your love to be torn in so many different directions and stretched so thin that you have to make decisions that could hurt those who matter most, because it's impossible to hurt no one."

"And I'm the one you chose to hurt," he says quietly. "Because you didn't trust me? Because after expending all your affection and care on your parents and brothers and sisters, what was left for your fool of a fiance?"

"It wasn't a matter of trust! And if you think it was a matter of deciding whom I loved more, then you are a fool. It was a matter of protecting you, Seneca. Don't you see that it's because I told you nothing that you're still a free man? If you knew nothing, then you were guiltless, and no one could blame you for anything."

"Oh yes, I'm sure the interrogation that I endured a few days ago meant that no one suspected anything of me at all," Seneca says sarcastically. "Honestly, I'm shocked I haven't even been fired, considering all the unauthorized access I gave you via my ID and passwords to the arena and to the Gamemaker interface. You left my digital fingerprints everywhere you went in your quest to break out your siblings, you do realize that? It's only because you so successfully made me into a gullible ignoramus that I'm not occupying the cell adjacent to yours."

"Seneca, I—"

He doesn't let her get a word in edgewise, though. His normally close to nonexistent temper is demanding to be heard, and all the stress and worry that's built up because of recent events has reached its boiling point. "I've always known you were a great actress, Rain. I suppose I should've realized that meant you were a talented liar as well. Congratulations, you're one of the few people who have ever successfully conned me, and it's all the more impressive considering how long you must have been planning this with your family and fellow rebels. It makes me wonder how long this all has been going on, and to what extent. What else have you lied to me about?" A question that has been haunting him the last few days comes to the forefront. "Do you even really love me?"

"Oh, Seneca." Rain takes his hands, and it takes all his willpower to force them to remain stiff in her grasp, to not cling to hers in turn. "You can doubt anything else I've said, anything else I've ever told you, but I have never lied about loving you."

He hears the earnestness in her voice, and he so desperately wants to believe her, because despite everything, he is still madly, head-over-heels in love with her, and the thought of her affection for him, of the last few years they've spent together, not being real rips him to the core. But how can he just take her word for it? How can he believe her on this one point, when so many other things she has proclaimed have been falsehoods? How does he know that she isn't going to make a fool of him again?

Instinct to emotionally protect himself compels him to withdraw his hands from hers and step away. He needs distance. He needs time. He needs to think.

"Seneca?"

And he needs to do what the president sent him here to do. Seneca has already wasted enough time. The last thing he wants is for Snow to grow impatient and interfere, to potentially come here himself and fulfill the assigned task with more cruelty than Seneca would. "Before I forget," he says hollowly, "I must offer you my condolences."

Rain stares at him. "What do you mean? Condolences for what?"

Seneca can't look at her. "The Capitol fire-bombed the wilderness that your siblings, Ember and Cedric, and the other tributes were hiding in. There were no survivors."

Her already pale face is further drained of color. "No. No, that can't be. They were supposed to… They're supposed to be safe. Please, please tell me this is some cruel joke, Seneca."

Judging by Snow's pleased expression when he told Seneca to pass on the information, it isn't a joke. "I'm sorry, Rain."

She turns away from him, shoulders shaking. Rain almost never cries, but he's seen her the rare few times she does, and he knows how it works: she does her best to hide away from the world, and then she silently weeps, until she can compose herself and put back on her unaffected, uncaring mask. She isn't a pretty crier, but it's when she cries that he feels most compelled to pull her close and hug her until her sobs subside.

Now is no exception. But the president is waiting—and watching. So Seneca forces himself away and exits the room without another look. When he returns to where Snow sits, the president's congratulatory "Well done, Seneca" makes him sick to his stomach.

His mother is crying. "Why didn't you come back, my love? You could have come home to me. Do I matter so little to you?"

He tries to answer. He tries to refute her. No, Mother, you mean the world to me. I wanted to come home. I did. I tried. But his lips feel like they've been sewn shut.

"I gave birth to you. I nursed you. I raised you. I soothed your nightmares and sang you to sleep. Yet you turned your back on me, for what? For children you would have gladly killed in the Games? For a girl you've only known for several days, a week? I mean nothing to you anymore, don't I?"

No, Mother, you know that's not true. Please, let me explain… But his mother and her tears vanish.

"Oh, my silly little brother." Vespasia smirks at him, her obscenely large diamond ring sparkling on her finger. "And I thought I was the romantic in this family. Did you really think she'd have you, after the way you betrayed her? Did you really think going back to her like a lost little puppy would win her over? Did you really think she could ever forget that deep down, you're truly a monster who thinks nothing of murdering children? You know monsters never get the girl in the end."

Shut up. You don't know anything. Shut up. His sister laughs and twirls away.

Tiberius appears in a blood-spattered Peacekeeper uniform. "And to think, Father chose you for the Games, but not me. Bring pride to our district, psh. You've brought nothing, done nothing, accomplished nothing. What, you wanted to save them, kitty-cat? You wanted to save her? How did that work out for you? I mean, look at what you made me do. All that screaming is still echoing in my ears. And I'll have to get this uniform cleaned."

No. Stop lying. I saved them. I saved her. You're a liar, Ty.

"You keep telling yourself that, kitty-cat."

Liar.

"Cay?" Laelia stands there, chin wobbling. "Cay, did you buy my pony? Are you coming home yet? I miss you. When are you coming back? You're coming back, right? Do you not love me anymore?"

Of course I still love you, Lae. I'll come home. I'll come home one day.

"Where are you, Cay? Why can't you come back now?"

I'm sorry, Lae, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…

His baby sister disappears, and he feels the foreboding presence of his father. "I am disappointed in you."

He is frozen. Speechless.

"I thought you would bring pride to our district, to our family. But my faith was misplaced. You're weak."

I'm not. I'm not weak. I'll prove it—

"No son of mine would throw everything away and betray everything he knows for the sake of a useless girl from a family of traitors. What can she give you? Love? Love is for children. Did I not purge those naive sentiments out of you years ago? Have you learned nothing?" His father shakes his head. "I am ashamed of you." He turns and walks away.

Father. Please.

Then everything is burning. The world is on fire, flames everywhere he looks. Pain blisters across his body, as smoke fills his lungs and screams his ears. Horrible screams, teeming with agony and fear.

But I thought I saved them. I saved them. I saved her.

"Cato."

He knows that voice. He feels a gentle touch, and he savors the sensation, allowing everything else to fall away as he focuses on just that touch.

"Cato, it's okay. Everything's okay."

Where is she? He can't find her. Ember, where are you?

"Cato, wake up. It's time to wake up now."

He wakes up.

So does everyone like Cato again?

Disclaimer: I know things. How bombs work is not one of those things. Neither is burn treatment. You know what, from this point on, y'all should really just suspend your disbelief in anything concerning science/medicine in this story.

In case you haven't been keeping up, I finally uploaded Part Two of the threeshot I wrote for the first oneshot contest last week. If you're interested in reading about what if Ember and Cato had played out the 74th Hunger Games after all, check out "A Game Played Beautifully By Children."

NEW ONESHOT CONTEST. For the first oneshot contest, I promised that if the total review count on Sweetest Mockery reached 20 (the count was at 13 when I posted the contest announcement) by the time I next uploaded a chapter, I would randomly pick one of the reviewers as the contest winner.

For THIS contest, let's be a little more ambitious (read: greedy) and aim for a total of 53 reviews by the time I post Chapter 12 (we're currently at 43). If we hit at least 53, then shortly before I next update, I will randomly pick one reader who reviews between now and Chapter 12 as the new winner, who will give me a oneshot prompt of their choosing based on the Sweetest Mockery universe. You are, of course, free to submit multiple reviews if you want to increase your odds of winning. ;) Just like last time, there are very few limitations on what the winner can give me as the prompt, and the few rules there are will be PM'd to the winner. Yes, that's right, the prompt can be about ALMOST ANYTHING YOU WANT. And who knows, I might get carried away again and write something a little longer than a oneshot. :P

So yah, if you want a oneshot that's all about the U.S.S. Farvel (Finch/Marvel), or a oneshot looking at Rain and Seneca's lives together before the events of Sweetest Mockery, or an AU where the rebellion pulls through and evacuates all the tributes and Rain from the Capitol (with Seneca as their unwitting hostage) after the arena is hacked (#wishfulfillment), or pretty much anything else, this is your chance!

(Can you tell yet that I'm desperate for reviews?)

Thank you for reading, and please review! May the odds be ever in your favor. :3