Damn, okay you know what? Forget weekly schedules. I never ACTUALLY post a chapter on Friday. I'm just going to start posting whenever I get the chapter done. I'm too excited to hold onto them anymore.

Yes, that's right, I'm too excited. This has been my favorite chapter to write so far (YES I AM TELLING THE TRUTH) and I think it's because there is a lot more plot in here than just "Oh poor Peeta and Katniss, falling in love while he is getting ready to fight in a televised death match boo hoo." IT IS JUST ALL SO DIFFERENT AND IT MAKES ME HAPPY. YES. CAPS LOCK YAY.

Anyways, tell me what you think? I love hearing all of your guys' opinions! Special shout out to Funkypurplerhino for reviewing every chapter and putting awesome little ideas into my head for what's to come in this fic. I love you I love you I love you.

Wow, Taylor, long enough AN?

Pfft. No.

ENJOY THE CHAPTER! :D

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Fourteen: Katniss

I giggle as I set the empty glass down, which I don't think I've ever done in my life. I know that I shouldn't be happy and Haymitch really isn't being that funny. It could be the white liquor I've just slammed back for the third or fourth time. It could also be the part of me that's freaking out so much I can't function correctly. I don't care to analyze it close enough to figure it out.

Haymitch raises an eyebrow at me and it only makes me giggle more. I know I need to stop but I'm afraid that if I stop that I'll start crying. And as bad as it is to giggle in front of Haymitch, it will be even worse to cry.

"I think you're done," he says as he reaches for my glass and pulls it away from him. I don't fight it; it's probably for the best.

I sigh and drop my chin onto my folded arms that rest on the table. Machines beep at us and somewhere in the background, Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith are chattering quietly on all the District 12 screens about the likelihood of survival of each tribute.

The Games will be starting sometime within the next ten minutes and I'm not near ready to see them. I'm so afraid for Peeta. I don't want him to die; if there's one thing I can't stand the thought of, it's that he does not exist. He's much too good—the best thing that's been able to come out of Panem as long as I've been around.

Cyress enters the room and it's the first time I've seen him since we got here an hour ago.

"Where have you been, boy?" Haymitch asks, raising an eyebrow and flourishing with his flask.

"None of your business," Cyress snaps. He leans against the table where I am and I feel his eyes staring into the top of my head. "I need to talk to you."

When he says this, I remember what he said earlier about Vesna and my interest is immediately piqued. It wouldn't take much though; I'm desperate for a distraction. I'm not even sure I want to see the bloodbath at the Cornucopia. "Sure," I say.

Haymitch takes a swig of his drink and gives me a pointed look. "Don't be too long, sweetheart, or your boyfriend might not be alive when you get back."

"Thanks for the tip," I remark bitterly before following Cyress out of the room. He leads me down a corridor and I look inside the rooms we pass curiously. District 11. District 10. District 9. After a few rooms I can't stand to look in anymore and see the anguish and anxiety written on the faces of the companions. I'm feeling enough of that myself.

Cyress pushes open a door almost near the end of the hall and reveals a large room filled with beds. This must be where mentors and companions are set to sleep throughout the Games. I see a few that are already occupied by shivering masses and I look away quickly. It is embarrassing to intrude on such a private moment, those snippets of weakness that all of us are too afraid to show while the cameras watch.

"The bathroom is usually quieter," Cyress murmurs as he heads toward a door near the end of the room. I immediately translate this into no one will hear us in the bathroom so I follow without a word.

Once inside, he locks the door and turns on all the faucets until whispering is safe. I sit on the ridiculously lavish couch lining the wall and he perches next to me stiffly. My lips are pursed. He knows what he promised me; I'm not going to push him into talking even if a part of me is screaming at him to spit it out. I'm not really at my best when I get impatient. It's better to hide that away with the hopes of getting more information than I would otherwise.

I'm rewarded almost instantly. "Vesna isn't my sister," he says in a low, rushed voice as if he's hurrying to get it out. "My mother never had a girl after giving birth to me and Thom, so we adopted from the district kid's home."

I take this in with cool calmness, though my mind is reeling. "So who is she really?"

Cyress shrugs and meets my eyes for the first time. "I don't know. But she wasn't born in District 12."

My hands find my face and rub at my eyes. "What is that supposed to mean?"

He shakes his head. "Mom's papers say that she's what they call a Cap kid."

"Cap kid?" A part of me wonders if he's making this up just to throw me off guard and earn my trust. Another part of me hears the truthful ring in his voice and sees the sincerity in his eyes and I can't doubt him. Even if this stuff isn't real, he believes what he's saying whole-heartedly.

"Yeah." He looks around the room conspiratorily and then barely moves his lips. "A child born from the games in the Capitol. You know. Between victors and the highest bidder."

I stare at him blank-faced. "How do you know all of this?"

"Papers. Eavesdropping. Does it matter? Point is, Vesna has the traits of a killer and of a stuck-up snob. It's not a good mix."

"Do you know who the parents are?"

"No." He shakes his head. "That part was never disclosed in the adoption. Everything else was kept under wraps. If Panem as a whole ever knew about where the kids in the district homes come from, things wouldn't be pretty."

I take a deep breath to steady myself and then rise from the couch. "So if Vesna's lineage is ever exposed, things could get crazy in the districts." I see why. The Capitol thinks they can pawn off accidental children on the districts who already struggle to feed their families. As if we can afford any more hungry mouths. It's disgusting really. If the trafficking of victors was stopped, they wouldn't have this problem, wouldn't have to send away poor innocent infants to a world where they will be reaped and killed for simply being a mistake.

I didn't think I could hate the Capitol more for what it has done to Peeta—what will probably become of him if he wins—but I do. Anger suddenly rears up in me so hot and heavy that I'm gritting my teeth against it.

"I wish there was a way to throw this back in their faces," I say heatedly and much too loudly. Nothing could ever change the hate I harbor for Vesna, but she can't help who she is, where she comes from. Everyone knows that victors don't always maintain their sanity after winning the Games; Vesna probably has some sort of mental illness that gears her towards destruction. It wouldn't surprise me. Doesn't mean I want her to live, but still.

Cyress ignores my rant and keeps his voice much lower than mine. "I don't know what Vesna will do if she wins this thing, but I can tell you right now, it won't be pretty."

I look at him stonily. "Why did you even get on that train for her?"

He rolls his eyes. "I didn't do it for her; I did it for Peeta. I figured he needed someone to look after him. He deserves it; after all he's done for District Twelve, I thought it would be nice for him. For a change."

All my misconceptions about Cyress disappear in an instant. Those irritable things he's said, the way he's acted—throwing things against Vesna's favor without outright stating it as demonstrated by his unwillingness in the interviews—have all pointed toward where I am now, listening to him confess that he just wants to protect Peeta.

"My father used to be friends with his mom," he continues, staring at the running water in the sinks. "We could always count on him and Gale to bring by meat when things were tough in the winter."

Looking at Cyress right now, I wonder how many other people back in 12 feel this way about Peeta, how many others see his generosity and goodness. My anger softens because I suddenly look at Cyress and see a friend where before there was only Haymitch and Effie—and neither one of them would be my first choice.

"Thank you," I say softly. I know that he will be on Peeta's side throughout the Games. I see it in the way he's sort of smiling.

He nods and rises to his feet as well. "We should probably get back; I'm sure the Games start anytime now."

I help him to turn off the faucets and then we are both making our way back to the District 12 compartment, though my feet are reluctant the entire time. The only thing that keeps them going is thinking that avoiding the bloodbath is a weak choice. I am not weak. I am strong.

Haymitch lounges about in his same chair when we return, but I feel a shock go through me when I see a tall, familiar man propped up in my chair, his feet on the table. Cyress enters the room easily and sits in a vacant chair near a cluster of screens at the far end.

Haymitch spots me and then begins to scold. "'Bout time, sweetheart."

The man looks over his shoulder and I'm struck again by how attractive he is. I wouldn't be the first. A blush eats up my face as I remember our last encounter. "Hey, Katniss. Fancy meeting you again."

I nod my head a little. "Mr. Odair."

He laughs at my formality. "Do I look old enough to be a mister? Don't answer that. Call me Finnick."

"Finnick."

"Come sit down, girl," Haymitch says with mild exasperation as he gestures to the screens where shots of the arena—still empty of tributes—are starting to be aired. It's a vast place, but there are trees, which means that Peeta will be in his element. In this aspect, at least, the odds are in his favor.

"I don't feel much like sitting," I say. My stomach is alive with nerves and I find my hands shaking. It's true; if I sit now, I'll only be right back on my feet again. Better to not waste the energy.

"Leave her alone, Haymitch," Finnick says playfully as he stands up. I'm a little wary of him; someone so comfortable on the starting day of the Games with two tributes in the arena isn't on my list of people to immediately trust. "I need to go see Johanna before the bell rings."

Haymitch rolls his eyes. "Thanks for the play-by-play, kid. Do I look like I care what you do?"

Finnick grins. "You love me and you know it, you old geezer." He starts my way and winks at me with a dazzling grin. Nope; even after he saved me from that sponsor Talik on opening night, I still can't trust him. "I'll see you later, kitten."

"Yay," I deadpan.

He laughs as he leaves and a sharp pang of sadness goes through me. My father used to call me kitten when I was younger, which progressed into Kat as I got older. I wish he is here now, to hold my hand while I'm forced to watch Peeta endure this torture.

Haymitch grumbles as he takes a drink. Surprisingly enough, it looks like water. Not that that's saying anything. "Just ignore him, Katniss," he says. "But seriously. Sit down. You're making me nervous, hulking there like that."

"I'm not hulking," I snap, though I try to take a seat. I manage to stay down as long as I tap my foot. There is silence in the compartment for a few moments and then a Peacekeeper sticks his head through the door and tells us to prepare for the commencement. My stomach turns at his easy words and then he's shutting the door. The only light in the room comes from the wall of screens and buttons that are connected to dozens of cameras in the arena, which Haymitch has told me will specifically follow Peeta and Vesna.

My heart jumps into my throat when I see the tubes dispense the tributes, but I keep my expression stoic as I take in Peeta's intelligent gaze, which flicks around quickly, calculating. Vesna isn't looking quite as sharp, but I'm chalking that up to strategy rather than personality. Just looking at her makes me angry. I hope Peeta remembers what I said.

The minute countdown is grueling and all of us in the compartment hold our breaths as we watch the clock tick, watch Peeta and Vesna and the other tributes get poised to run.

I seem to take things in with blurry eyes as the gong rings. My heart pounds as if I am standing next to Peeta. When an arrow barely whizzes past his head, missing him, I'm choking on fear. It is the first real indication that tells me I don't know if I'll be able to make it through the next several days, waiting for him to die. Hoping that he won't.

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"What the hell, Peeta?" He can't hear me, and he's lucky. Because if he was anywhere near close enough to hear me yelling at him, he'd be in trouble. I'm standing, leaning so close to one of the screens that my nose is almost touching it. Vesna is meekly offering up a bow and a sheath of arrows. He's taking them from her. He's trusting her.

That's exactly opposite of what I told him to do.

"The hell, Haymitch?" I demand, whirling on the old victor to see him leaning back in his chair, squinting at a screen. "What kind of strategy is she playing at?"

"Shut up," he growls, not even bothering to glance my way. "I can't hear them over the sound of your big mouth moving."

"So you make any friends at the Training Center?" Peeta asks Vesna as he draws away with the bow in his hands. I keep murmuring at him to shoot her, but he stands as steady as ever, no betrayal in the intensity of his shoulders.

Vesna shrugs. "I thought about it, but after that first day, I kind of lost interest. I work better alone. We should be pairs!"

I roll my eyes and grit my teeth against her stupidity. My anger grows every second. I guess it doesn't matter if Peeta makes it out of the arena alive because soon after that he's going to be dead. "How do I know that I can trust you?" he says.

She pouts. "Honestly, Peeta. I know you love Katniss and I'm not trying to change that. I just. . .I just want to make sure you're safe."

I grunt loudly in frustration and kick the console before I'm slamming my fist on the table. I want to punch something. Namely her. Haymitch scolds me for acting like a five year old but I'm not listening to him because I'm too busy being furious.

"That's really nice of you, Vesna," Peeta says carefully. He must know how insane this is driving me and he's doing it anyways. He's definitely a dead man.

"Right?" she says happily.

"How do I know I can trust you?" That's more like it. Although, I don't like the way he's pitying her. Did he not hear me when I clearly told him to stay away? Does he not understand English? I scowl more deeply at the screens and my fingernails bite into my palms as I clench my fists.

"I thought you might say that." She bats her eyelashes as she looks up at him. Does he notice? A hot wave of something crashes through me. Why didn't she die at the Cornucopia? "What can I do to prove it to you?"

"Don't you dare," I hiss at the screen like he can really hear me.

"We sleep separately," he says eventually. "Divide the rations evenly. Keep quiet. You stab me in the back and you'll find an arrow in your heart. Got it?"

I suck in a breath and slam my fist against the top of the console, jostling the buttons that connect us to the Avoxes and Peacekeepers. "Damn you, Peeta!" I scream.

"Calm down, sweetheart," Haymitch bellows as he slumps down farther in his chair. "He's playing up the strategy too."

I whirl on him, fire in my eyes. "You don't know Peeta like I do. He's too good for his own good. He gives every damn person the benefit of the doubt; he believes her. She's going to get him killed!"

Cyress looks at me evenly from his chair across the room. "You should probably take a walk, Katniss."

"That's a good idea," Haymitch agrees as he picks up his glass (I've learned that it is water) and swirls around the liquid inside. "You'll only get angrier if you stay."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I demand.

He rubs his face tiredly. For a moment, it's clear that he's done this far too many times than is healthy. "It means that our tributes might get cozy. Go take a walk. Get something to eat. Whatever you do, shut the hell up."

"Fine!" I exclaim. The door swings shut behind me with a resounding slam and I stomp off down the hall shamelessly. A Peacekeeper standing watch at the elevator doors notes my expression as I storm past.

"Are you okay, miss?" he asks stiffly.

"I'm fine," I snarl in a very unladylike fashion. Wherever Effie is now, she wouldn't be pleased with my manners. Well, I don't care. What are manners when Peeta is shacking up in the arena with a psychopath? If he's going to be blatantly trusting her then the Capitol knows his preference. They can have each other for all I care.

Honestly, Peeta. I know you love Katniss and I'm not trying to change that. Vesna's echoing words suddenly begin to cool my anger and my strides get less urgent the closer I get to the Games Center dormitory. I know you love Katniss. I reach for the doorknob and step inside as a seed of guilt begins to blossom at the sight of the companions in mourning. Those who have already lost their loved ones. Those who will be sent back to their districts tomorrow with a wooden casket and the bloody pieces of people who belonged to them. My head spins and I turn away from their grief for an empty bed made up with white linens.

You love Katniss. I bury myself into the blankets and pull them over my head, trying to block everything out. Trying to make sense of my own thoughts. Of Peeta's actions. Nothing will make me not feel anger toward his easy compliance, but maybe Haymitch is right. Maybe I'm being too harsh.

I mean, is it true? Can he possibly love me? Me? What have I ever done to him to earn that level of affection? I don't know. Nothing, I guess. I've never even talked to him until just before the reaping. I barely know him, really. There's so much that I might never know and I think that's the hardest thing for me to grasp. The fact that I want so badly to have him for as long as I want, knowing that I'll never truly have him. If he wins, he will be property of the Capitol first and foremost.

I stay under the blankets for at least a good couple hours. I'm not worried about Peeta dying while I'm away; he's got his bow and arrows and as stupid as he is for trusting Vesna, she seemed weaponless. The bloodbath will have satisfied the Capitol for the day. Maybe even the next couple of days. Peeta is as safe as one could get in the arena for the night.

Honestly, I should be going back, but I feel ashamed and I don't want to face Haymitch. After a few more moments of deliberation, I just make up my mind that I won't talk to him. That solves everything.

I'm leaving the dormitory and the snuffling companions behind me when the door opens and a weary figure leers in the door way. I blush again because it's Finnick Odair. Just my luck.

He notices me instantly, but he doesn't seem quite as cheery as he had earlier. "Haymitch sent me after you," he says, which is the last thing I'm expecting.

Immediately, I'm assuming the worst. I push past him, my heart pounding frantically as bile rises in my throat. I've never been this terrified. "Is Peeta okay? What happened?"

He rushes to my side. "Whoa there, kitten. Lover Boy is alive and well. Nothing happened."

I sag a little as he grabs my wrist. As the urgency vanishes, I'm left feeling exhausted from a lack of sleep and the stress of the day. "Don't scare me like that."

He puts another hand on my opposite shoulder and begins to guide me back down the hallway. I don't know him at all and I don't trust him, but I do realize that he's lost two tributes aged twelve and fourteen today. "I should have known better, you're right. However, it's not my fault that you are automatically geared to expect the worst."

"If you grew up in District Twelve, you'd understand," I grumble.

He laughs even though we both know I shouldn't have said that out loud. The door to our District 12 room is wide open and when I enter, Cyress is missing, but Haymitch is nodding off in his chair. He straightens as Finnick and I come in and he rubs at his face.

"You look like you've cooled down," Haymitch remarks pointedly. "Thanks for rounding her up, Finnick."

Finnick salutes the older victor. "Anytime, old man." He plops down into the chair that I had been using and twirls around in it a couple times. Though he puts on a good show, I can still tell the bloodbath affected him.

In that case, the bloodbath had affected everybody. It's the starting point of the Hunger Games; of course it has an effect. But it's more than that. Since we are District 12 and both of our tributes had made themselves scarce for the most brutal part of it, all we could do was watch the console screen—not the one that connects us to sponsors, but the second one that shows the Games live on television. Watch as the tributes were murdered, listen as the screams tore through the air and the blood stained the ground.

I remember my anger when Vesna snuck up behind Glimmer, murmured something that hadn't been clear to us as the viewers. Remember as a tribute from 6 or 7 came charging at Vesna and struck the butt of a knife against her head. Remember watching Vesna scamper away with the bow and arrows, remember as Cato ran the stray tribute through with his sword. Letting Vesna go. Watching her go.

Out of twenty four lights on the console, below the screens, only twelve remain glowing. Though both the District 12 lights are gleaming, it is the dead District 4 lights I stare at now. What must it feel like, I wonder, to spend two weeks preparing two young children for a deadly game that you know in your heart will never win?

"What were their names?" I say quietly, suddenly needing to know. Finnick must understand because he looks at me and offers a faint smile.

"The girl was Alaya and the boy was Trist," he says. I meet his gaze and I wonder if he remembers the name of every single District 4 tribute who has died under his mentoring in the past nine years.

"I'm sorry," I tell him.

He shrugs me off and twirls again in the chair. "It's life." And the sick thing is that dying at the age of twelve—no, not even that. Being murdered on a televised show at the age of twelve really is life. It's our reality, here in Panem.

"Katniss," Haymitch says roughly, "leave it be."

I glare at him, but I can't muster much malice because I don't think I'll ever be able to look at Haymitch the same after this. And he's trying to keep Peeta alive. How can I be angry with someone who's just as concerned as I am with getting Peeta home with a heart beat?

Cyress strides back into the room with an Avox in tow, pushing a cart of food that is quickly placed on the table. I sit down in a new chair and find myself anxiously staring at the screen trained on Peeta while I eat. Though it is hot, and I suppose just as delicious as any other meal I've had, it's tasteless and tough as it goes down.

I watch while Peeta and Vesna go their separate ways, as he watches the sky for the dead tributes, as he stares into the dark with so many of his thoughts in his eyes. I'm a ball of knots whenever I remember just what exactly he's going through, but I also feel an unexpected rush of pride that I will probably never admit to.

After the food has been cleared away and Finnick has left, Cyress says that he'll take the first watch. I tell him that if anything happens—and I mean anything—he will come get me immediately. Haymitch has already left the room, and I'm just about to, when Cyress calls my name.

"Wait," he says.

I turn around. "What?"

He pushes out of his seat and approaches the screen that's trained on Vesna. "Someone's coming."

I rush to his side and follow his eyes. Sure enough, there is the soft sound of footsteps as Vesna sits around a small campfire she's started. I feel a surge of pity rush through me because she's about to die, but I don't hate her any less. I'm only sorry because she's never met her real parents, because she's a product of the Capitol.

Cyress and I watch the screen intently, waiting for her ambushers, but when she starts to smile I know that I've been mistaken.

"I was starting to wonder what was taking you so long," she says in a haughty, snotty voice. My stomach curls in on itself. So that's what she'd been doing, lingering at the Cornucopia to get the bow.

"Careful, Twelve. You forget who you're talking to."

She was sealing a deal with the Careers.

Cato comes to stand beside her with a hand resting on the hilt of his sword, tied through the belt loops with some cord. He smirks down at her as Glimmer, Marvel, and Clove surround Vesna, who appears unafraid.

"What the hell?" I mutter.

"Shhh," Cyress hisses.

"Where is Lover Boy?" Clove asks with a vicious sweetness that makes Vesna seem sugary and sincere in comparison. "You said you'd have him."

Vesna shrugs, but I notice that she doesn't meet their eyes. The first sign of a lie. What is she up to? My head hurts trying to figure her out. "I think I overestimated his kindness," she says. "He won't sleep near me and I don't know where he set up camp."

This is a lie. I saw her watch him as he climbed into his tree and settled down. He didn't notice it, of course, but I certainly did. In fact, I was about to go crazy over it. She knows where his camp is in the trees. She can easily kill him. Right now.

The Careers start to argue and Marvel even demands that they should just kill Vesna now for wasting their time, but Cato tops them all and smiles down at her.

"No. This is a good thing," he says.

Glimmer gives a flirty laugh, but it's clear she doesn't agree. "Good?"

Cato turns to her with that smirk of overconfidence. I decide that sometime tomorrow I will find out who his companion is. I will find out who all of their companions are. It's bad that I haven't taken the time to learn who my fellow companions are or how much of a threat they pose to me and Peeta. I think Cinna or Effie must still have a program booklet left over from the opening ceremonies; surely the companions and their tributes should be listed in there.

"It means that tomorrow we can have some real fun," Cato says. He crouches down next to Vesna who stares straight into the fire. It's the first time I've seen her face so exposed and terrified. Can any of the other tributes see that right now? "No funny business, Vesna. Tomorrow you'll lead us to Lover Boy or Clove here will introduce you to her friends. You have seen her work with knives, haven't you?" He chuckles darkly and rises back to his feet.

Clove smirks and flashes a knife out for good measure. "I call this one The Dicer."

Cato nods his head back toward where they came from. "Come on. Let's head back to camp." He turns and strides out of the clearing quickly with Marvel behind him, clearly playing the role of the right hand man.

Glimmer laughs at Vesna. "You are so dead," she flounces, and then prances off.

"Between you and me," Clove says with a sadistic glint in her eye, "I really hope Lover Boy doesn't show up tomorrow. I haven't had time to play with any of my new friends." She sneers once more and then she's gone too.

Cyress and I watch in silence as Vesna curls up on her side, eyes wide with terror as the tears start to fall down her cheeks silently. I'm struck speechless and as much as I hate her, her pale complexion and blonde hair bring me back to Prim. To see Vesna show this much emotion makes me feel guilty about everything I've ever said about her. Not enough to erase the hate, but still.

"She knows exactly where Peeta is," I whisper, turning to Cyress.

He drops his head into his hands and mutters. "Vesna. Damn girl. What are you doing?"

I rub at my face and back away from the screens, glancing towards the one baring Peeta's sleeping form. I've never been more confused in my life than I am right now.

"Did she just save his life?" I ask. My voice is strangled. I refuse to grasp the concept.

Cyress looks up at me in the dimness of the room. The only lights seep from the console board and the screens. "I think so."

Damn.

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Peeta stands in front of me. He smiles easily, just like he always smiles, with just the right touch of sweetness that sends a flood of warmth through me. I run toward him with my arms wide open, ready to wrap around him and never let go. He's here! God, I can't believe he's here!

Just before I can reach him, however, some unseen force stops my forward process and I'm jolted. My fingers brush against Peeta's chest as his smile disappears.

"Katniss," he says gently, and then he's screaming my name. "Katniss! Katniss!"

"I'm here, Peeta!" I try to say, but no sound comes out. Peeta convulses in front of me, his body shaking and then he grows cold and still, his eyes glassy as blood begins to seep out from his scalp, his nose, his eyes.

"Peeta!" I scream, trying to thrash my way toward him. It's no use, I don't move.

He falls forward on his face and disappears, but my anxiety and horror remain. Prim stands there, lovely and innocent as she's always been. My favorite paint from back at home is smeared across her cheeks, her hands stained red.

"The Games will never end," she mumbles.

"Prim, they will! Peeta and I will be home soon," I tell her. Still, no sound leaves my mouth.

"The Games will never end. The Games will never end. The Games will never end." She repeats over and over without stopping to breathe or blink. Her red hands stretch toward me.

"Prim!" I scream at her over her chanting. "Prim!"

"Katniss!"

I shudder into awareness to see Finnick and Cyress leaning over me, looking troubled. "Must have been quite the nightmare," Cyress grumbles a little harshly.

Finnick silences the sarcastic statement I'm about to throw out. "Not now, Katniss," he says, pulling my arm heftily and towing me out of bed. "We have some quality entertainment kicking our butts right now."

It's all he has to say before I've forgotten my dream and I'm running down the hall past them, past the other district rooms, and darting into the 12 room. Haymitch's leg bounces up and down as he taps the table. The tall glass of water at his elbow hasn't been touched.

"What's going on?" I demand smoothly. I'm impressed that my terror doesn't show in my voice as I take in the screens, most of which seem to be clouded over with some sort of film. Only shadowy figures can be seen through it.

"Peeta's got the Careers behind them," Haymitch says as Cyress and Finnick—who I guess has now "taken it upon himself to make sure we are fed"—puff into the room.

I frown at the images, and the muted sound of ragged coughs and heavy breathing. Shouts of chaos filling the air. "And what's behind the Careers?"

"Fire, I think," Haymitch replies in a low voice, leaning forward and covering a hand with his mouth. I think he might be muttering to himself but I'm too busy watching Peeta run for his life. He's a fast runner, and if he's ahead of the Careers then he's probably not in too much trouble, but the irony is not lost on me. I bet the Gamemakers are getting a laugh out of this one, chasing the boy who was on fire with the very thing that helped to make an impression in the Capitol.

The four of us are so caught up in the screens and my heart is beating so loudly that no one hears the door open. Or the footsteps scuffling on the marble floors.

We do, however, hear them when they speak.

Two Peacekeepers, both with their guns held securely in their hands. My guard is up immediately.

Haymitch rises to his feet. Finnick grins at them.

"Can we help you, gentlemen?" he says easily.

One Peacekeeper nods. "We're here to take Katniss Everdeen under temporary custody."

I'm immediately outraged. I jump to my feet and Cyress catches my wrist before I can push myself too far into the Peacekeepers' space. "Temporary custody? What does that mean?" I demand.

Haymitch cuts in. "Under what terms?"

The second guard's hands twitches around his gun. "That is unauthorized information."

The first Peacekeeper nods. "Sorry, rules are rules." He turns to me with a sort of smile that is gentle. The smile of a father. I look at him with dread. "President Snow wants to see you now."