In the fifteen minutes it took Peeta to arrive at the mansion, it was clear the rescue had begun. He'd known it from the way the communicator on the dash of the town car had started squawking, from the way a thin, clear barrier had risen between him and the driver.

And something told him that the way the lights in the city were abruptly shutting off all around them, plunging the Capitol into darkness, had everything to do with what was going on in the Arena.

My name is Peeta Mellark, and I am 22 years old. I am a Capitol citizen, fighting with the rebellion to change Panem for the better.

And I'm worried I've just been caught.

The car pulled up to the curb, and he waited for the door to open, for arms to yank him out and drag him up the stairs. But they didn't - instead, he was led to the entrance of the mansion - which was still brightly lit - with a guard on either side of him; which, in usual presidential fashion, was general protocol when visiting. Even so, it did nothing but fill him with dread, fill him with worry.

He vaguely wondered if he would die tonight.

The carpet was thick and plush under his feet, the scent from the dozens and dozens of roses filling vases down every hallway cloying and heady. They smelt sweet, almost artificial, and he imagined he was drowning in them. The mansion itself was almost deathly quiet - all he could hear was the nasal breathing of the guard to his left, the scuff of the shoe of the guard on the right against the carpet, the faint hum of what he assumed was an alternate electricity source that was keeping the building powered.

They turned into Snow's quarters, and for the first time, there was no lavender haired woman waiting there to take him to the Presidents' office - instead they walked straight through the thick wooden doors unannounced. Snow was seated at his desk, eyes firmly fixed on the holograph that was streaming above it. His eyes flicked over to Peeta as he walked in the door.

"Mr Mellark," he greeted sharply. "I apologise, but the matter of your request to come to the mansion tonight is no longer necessary."

"The dinner is over?" he asked innocently.

"Yes it is," Snow said bluntly. "Because this is what is currently happening in the Arena." He shifted the holograph base slightly so that Peeta could see the image, and his eyes widened.

The Arena was ablaze. The water was an eerie electric blue, while the section he knew Katniss and the others had been in was slowly being devoured by licks of fire; orange and red and yellow swallowing up the green of the jungle. There was one limp body in the water, another on the shoreline, and a huge hovercraft was situated just below a gigantic hole in the slowly crumbling roof of the Arena.

"What's going on?" He asked, lacing his voice with confusion. "What's happened? Who won?"

"No one has won," The President snapped. "From the looks of things, I've been betrayed."

"What? What do you mean?"

"That hovercraft, Mr Mellark, is not one that was sent in by our Gamemakers."

Peeta frowned. "Then what...who has betrayed you?"

This time, Snow's eyes locked on Peeta, and they were icy, angry. Venomous. "I'm sure I'll find out soon enough."

Snow turned back to look at the holograph, and Peeta followed suit - they watched as a retrieval claw lowered from the base of the hovercraft and claimed a body, before something else caught Peeta's eye.

Another hovercraft was lowering through the hole in the destroyed roof.

There was another hovercraft?

"And it's about time," Snow hissed, his fingernails tapping on the wooden desk angrily. "You'd think if I request something it would happen a lot quicker than this. Heavensbee wasn't answering his comm - I had to get one of those useless Executors to make the call."

"I'm sorry?" Peeta asked dumbly.

"I ordered a hovercraft to go and intervene the moment we were advised of the rogue ship being in the vicinity," Snow bit out through plump lips turned firm and bloodless in anger. "Whoever this is, and however they've gotten Thirteen involved, they need to be stopped."

This time, Peeta's surprise was genuine.

"Thirteen, Sir?" he echoed. "But Thirteen doesn't exist."

"Yes it does," Snow snapped, and threw his arm out in the direction of the hologram. It was the most uncontrolled Peeta had ever seen him. "That hovercraft? It's from Thirteen. The District seal is obvious."

Peeta's mind whirled with every conversation he'd ever had with Plutarch, with Cressida. Thirteen had never been mentioned, only that they had allies who were helping. He'd always just assumed they were secret pockets of Capitol citizens, people in high enough departments that could easily get them access to things like hovercrafts and comms and a place to station themselves while they planned to overthrow the Capitol itself.

But it wasn't. It was Thirteen. Thirteen, a place that was meant to have been destroyed, that was meant to have been wiped off the map over 75 years ago through war. But the seal was obvious, and the closer he looked at it, watching while it retrieved another body from the Arena floor, the more he realised it wasn't the mid-sized one that he'd seen shoot off into the sky from the roof of the Control Centre. This was one huge, and a lot older looking than the current models from the Capitol.

It was Thirteen.

"I don't understand," Peeta started, then was interrupted as a compartment on the smaller Capitol hovercraft opened, and a stream of ammunition shot out towards the larger one. It jolted, and shuddered, but stayed upright and steady, then jerked and shifted as more shots were fired towards it. Suddenly, rather than returning fire, the hovercraft began to lift and headed back towards the large gaping hole in the roof. There wasn't a sound in the room - not from Snow, not from Peeta, not from the two guards that stood sentinel at the doorway - as they watched it disappear from sight, as the Capitol hovercraft shot one final stream of ammunition out through the gap towards it.

"Dammit!" Snow snapped, the tapping quickly becoming a thumped fist against the desk. He turned to Peeta, and the look on his face terrified him down to the bones. "Who didn't they get?" He barked, to no one in particular.

A small tinny voice sounded from a communicator on the desk. "Abernathy, Latier, Odair and Everdeen's trackers were dismantled the moment they left Arena airspace. Gulverson is dead, Carver is on the way out too. Mason is alive and well and with her tracker intact. She's still in the Arena."

"Then get the three of them retrieved immediately - and get me access to Mason!" Snow snapped, slapped a hand on the comm to turn it off. Then he turned his fiery eyes on Peeta.

"I think I'm going to have to have a little talk with our Tribute from Seven."

It was cold.

It was her first thought as her eyelids slowly began to flutter open, that the ground below her back was hard and unforgiving and...cold.

Katniss spread her fingers out beside her, expecting to feel coarse, moist soil and grass under her palms. Instead, it was smooth like glass, and solid, its temperature nothing like the damp heat that had permeated the Arena.

Her eyes flew open.

She wasn't in the Arena anymore.

Her mind fought to remember, but it was hazy, a jumble of memories and sounds and voices. Haymitch, encouraging her as she climbed the tree, as she situated herself in one of the highest branches. Glancing through the leaves and the darkness, just able to view Beetee as he carefully sat and pulled apart his end of the wire, re-twisting the brightly coloured thin streams until he was satisfied with how they were connected. Finnick, leaning against a tree and hissing at Johanna to not wander too far. The sudden faint outline of Enobaria and Brutus creeping onto the beach.

She'd risen as best she could, balancing on the wide branch, and nocked her arrow just in case, kept her eyes narrowed so she could focus on them in the darkened night.

Then they'd stepped into the water, and a minute later the deep blue fluid had lit up, fluorescent and shimmering and sparking. And while Brutus' body had jerked and spasmed and dropped to the water, Enobaria had sprinted for the beach.

Katniss had had no choice but to shoot.

She'd watched, a small glimmer of relief coursing through her as Enobaria's body had collapsed on the edge of the shore, her body half slumped on the sand.

Then the world had exploded.

Swinging her eyes first to the left, then the right, Katniss studied her surroundings - the silvery-grey walls, the thick reinforced door, the faint and almost indistinct hum of electricity and movement. With a start, she suddenly knew where she was. She was in a hovercraft.

She'd won.

Her heart somersaulted, disbelief and shock and joy rending her speechless. She'd won. She could go home. To Prim. To her Mom. To Peeta. To Hay-

No.

The grief was instantaneous and sharper than she'd ever expected. If she'd won, it meant Beetee and Finnick and Johanna were all dead.

Along with Haymitch.

The tears welled, and she didn't stop them as they began to track down her cheeks. She didn't care who saw them - one of the few people who got her, who knew exactly what she was going through, who had never felt the need to pander to her, was gone. And-

"Well. Look who's awake."

Katniss' head whirled as she turned to face the other direction, her mouth dropping open. There, framed in the doorway and as alive as she was, a smirk on his face, his arm in a proper sling and a drab grey beanie tugged down over his limp black hair, was Haymitch.

"Haymitch?" She muttered, struggling to pull herself into a sitting position.

"In the flesh."

She squinted at him in disbelief. "Wh-what's going on? I thought...I thought you were dead. I'm on a hovercraft and the Arena exploded and...I thought you were dead."

"Nope," he said bluntly. "Those bastards ain't getting rid of me that easy."

Katniss wiped at her cheeks, swallowed heavily. "But...How...Did we both win?"

Haymitch chuckled, folded his good arm across his chest. "In a matter of speaking. The rebellion got us out, sweetheart. They rescued us."

Katniss blinked. "What?"

"The rebellion got us out," Haymitch repeated. "We're headed to Thirteen as we speak."

This time her jaw dropped, and she dragged herself to her feet, fury setting her blood on fire. "Thirteen doesn't exist. This is bullshit. Who are you and what have you done with Haymitch?" She demanded.

He laughed. "I love your cynicism, sweetheart. I assure you it's me, we're all alive and well, and so is Thirteen. In an underground bunker no less, but they're alive. And they've been waiting for you."

Katniss rubbed at her face in confusion, pressing her fingers into the corners of her eyes to hold at bay the headache that was starting to burn. It was too much, too soon. How could she comprehend this? How could she take in everything he'd just said? They were all alive? They were on their way to Thirteen, a place up until 5 minutes ago she'd believed to have been obliterated? The rebellion had worked-

"The rebellion," she snapped, dropping her hand to her side as her heart began to thud like crazy. She couldn't help the nerves that wavered her voice. "The rebellion means Peeta. Is he here? Will he meet us there? Can I see him?"

The smirk on Haymitch's face slowly faded, and he shifted awkwardly on his feet.

"Yeah. About that, sweetheart..."

"How do you stay so positive about it all?"

Peeta smiled, threaded his fingers through hers as they walked through the woods, back to her house from the rotunda.

"Sometimes it's hard," he admitted. "Especially when I feel like it's becoming too overwhelming, having almost a double life. Pretending to be one thing to my family, something that isn't entirely myself. Pretending to be loyal to the Capitol and to Snow, when all I want to do is break him. Pretending that I don't want to be with you, when it's the only thing I want. So sometimes I like to remind myself of all the good things in my life; I like to remind myself what I'm doing and why. And it helps put it in perspective."

Katniss eyed him curiously, shoved her free hand in the pocket of her pants. "How do you do that?"

"Well," he began, kicked at a rock in the roughly hewn path. "I have a…saying."

"A saying?"

"More like sentences that I repeat to myself."

"Like what?"

Peeta blushed slightly, and cleared his throat. "You really want to hear it?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Okay. It, um, kind of goes like this." He took a deep breath, focused his gaze out in front of him. "'My name is Peeta Mellark, and I'm 22 years old. I am a Capitol citizen, fighting with the rebellion to change Panem for the better. One day, President Snow will not be in power and the Hunger Games will no longer exist. My girlfriend is Katniss Everdeen, and she's the best person I know."

Katniss rolled her eyes, even though Peeta referring to her as his girlfriend warmed her in a way that made the fear that had embedded in her the past weeks ebb away. "Shut up, Peeta."

"It's the truth," he said with a laugh, letting go of her hand and wrapping his arm around her waist instead, drawing her in close. He pressed a kiss against her temple. "I wouldn't lie to you. Anyway, that's basically it. Sometimes it changes, but that's what I've been reminding myself of lately."

"Does it help though?"

"It does. If you ever feel like things are just getting to be too much, do it. See if it helps. Just make sure I'm on your list."

She snorted, but didn't say anything in reply, simply moved in even closer to him.

Of course he would be.

My name is Katniss Everdeen. I'm 17 years old, and a survivor of two Hunger Games. I'm from District Twelve, and I've discovered it no longer exists. I'm in District Thirteen, which I thought didn't exist. My family is safe. Haymitch is safe.

Peeta is not. Peeta is in the Capitol.

Peeta is going to die.

It wasn't exactly what he'd told her to use it for, that warm afternoon they'd spent together, her impending trip to the Arena only weeks away and her worries beginning to weigh heavily on her. But right now it was helping to keep her tethered, even while her mind was whirling, and everything inside of her felt like it was going to break.

Haymitch had told her that Peeta had been left behind, that he hadn't made it onto the hovercraft, that they weren't sure what was happening to him. And she'd whirled on him so fast that he'd barely had time to take a step backwards before her hands were slapping out towards him, one cracking sharply against his cheek. Others had come in then - she didn't know who, or where from - but they'd grabbed her by the arms, pulling her away roughly before she'd felt a sharp prick against her neck.

And then she was out cold, and didn't wake again for another 48 hours.

Her first impression of Thirteen upon waking had been of grey. Grey walls, grey floors, grey bedframe. Even the lights had a faint grey tinge to them, so the entire room felt gloomy. Only the crisp white sheets of the bed broke the monotony.

And the yellow and purple bruise that had ridden high on Gale's cheek.

He'd been perched on the side of her bed, staring out into space, his left leg swinging slightly against the bedframe. It hadn't been until she'd shifted that he'd looked down at her with the realisation she was awake; he'd covered her hand lightly with his own calloused palm before he'd begun to speak.

The conversation they'd had was burned into her memory, and she was fairly certain she'd never forget it.

"Hey Catnip."

His voice was quiet, quieter than she'd ever heard it. Even out in the woods, he'd never been able to lose the gruffness in his voice, a gruffness that she'd heard Hazel affectionately refer to more than once as his 'Father's grumble'.

But there wasn't a shred of it this time, and that alone scared her.

"Where are we?" she whispered, her throat hoarse and achy; from what, she didn't know, or couldn't remember. Why had she been asleep? Why did her body feel like it was made of lead?

Gale clenched his jaw so hard the muscles spasmed in his cheek. "We're safe. Your Mom, Prim, my family. We're safe..." he trailed off.

Katniss frowned. "Why wouldn't they be safe? Of course they're safe. They're at home."

He shook his head slightly. "No, they're not. They're here."

"Where's 'here'?"

He ran his free hand through his dark hair nervously. "In Thirteen, Katniss. Haymitch told you already, remember? In the hovercraft?"

And in a rush of memory, she did.

She felt her heart race, felt the anger and the worry build up inside her until the two conflicting feelings merged into a convoluted mess inside of her. The Arena exploding. The feeling of a cold, whirling breeze as she was lifted into the air. The sterile hovercraft. Haymitch, his face downcast as he shoved his hand in his pocket while he explained.

Peeta.

"Peeta is still in the Capitol," she finally muttered, her voice cracking, and he nodded. "And we're in Thirteen." He nodded again. "And why…" She struggled to sit up, but with every effort, she felt like she was drawn back to the bed. She was so weak, so tired, her limbs feeling limp and wobbly. In the end she raised herself on her elbows as best she could. "Gale, why is my family here? Why aren't they still in Twelve? What's your family doing here? And you?" She watched as his Adam's apple bobbed, and he looked away from her. As his face shifted, the lights from above glanced off his cheek, and she caught a glimpse of scratches across his temple, and another deeper one that cut sharply under his jaw. "Gale? What's going on?"

"They can't be in Twelve," he finally muttered. "No one can."

"Why not?"

It was moment before he answered her, the silence heavy and sombre. "The Capitol sent hovercrafts filled with firebombs within 3 hours after you were rescued. I tried to get everyone to the fence, to the woods, but I could only get so many to come. And so many didn't make it. We walked for 12 hours straight before they picked us up…" he trailed off, and finally he looked back at her, his olive skin ashen, but his eyes stony and grey. "It's gone, Katniss. It's all gone. There is no District Twelve."

In the day following the conversation with Gale, she went through the motions. Let them do the tests they wanted to do, let them ask endless questions she gave no answers to, let them inject her with whatever drugs they needed to make her stop screaming and crying and yelling herself hoarse every time she managed to fall asleep. Because whenever she did, all she saw was a long line of burned, mangled bodies - and she was responsible for every single one of them.

District Twelve was gone.

And it was her fault.

It was another two days before Haymitch crawled into the supply closet she'd ensconced herself in, trying to hide from everyone and everything. He didn't say anything at first, just sat quietly, before he silently handed her a thin tablet.

"What's this?" She muttered listlessly.

"You've missed a fair bit, sweetheart," he said gruffly. "Figured you should be brought up to speed." He reached over, pressed a finger to the screen, bringing it to life. "Coin would have my head on a platter if she knew you were seeing this right now."

Katniss stared at it blankly. "Who's Coin?"

"The fair President of this dirt hole," Haymitch replied, flinging out his arm in an over-exaggerated gesticulation. "She says you're too fragile. Hawthorn and I think you should see it, so here I am."

"Gale? What's he got to do with this."

Haymitch shook his head, pressed the screen again. "Just watch."

The vision popped to life; what looked like to be a meeting room appeared, with a large table in the middle, and the surrounding walls displaying large screens with varying images and text playing across them. Some of the faces gathered around the table were completely foreign to her.

There were those who were familiar - Haymitch, slumped low in his chair, his skin sallow and his eyes tired. Gale, eyes trained ahead on the screen at the front of the room. Plutarch Heavensbee - his appearance alone astounded her - his robust belly barely contained within the clothing that appeared to be the uniform for everyone in District Thirteen.

Finnick was there, seated in the corner of the room, almost obscured from view, his eyes blank and unfocused while he twisted a thin length of rope between his hands. The Capitol playboy was gone, and in his place was an empty shell.

But there were the others - a bald, dark skinned man with serious eyes and broad shoulders, a woman with a shaved head and intricate green tattoos across her scalp, dancing down her neck and disappearing under the collar of her shirt. Then there was the woman at the head of the table, her face expressionless, and her shoulder length hair a thin grey curtain. That must be President Coin, she thought.

She looked as grey and bland as her District.

Katniss listened as they discussed the final hours before the rescue, as they talked about the rescue itself. Heavensbee shared how Peeta had been detained, and had sacrificed himself to let Plutarch go. They talked about Mags, about how Chaff lost a battle with Brutus so close to the end. And abruptly, Katniss tapped forcefully at the tablet to stop the footage before looking at Haymitch.

"You knew they were all allies," she muttered.

"Yes."

"And you knew they were going to rescue us."

"Yes."

"And you knew about Thirteen."

At this, he shook his head emphatically. "Thirteen was a surprise to me too."

She ignored the answer. "But you didn't tell me. None of you did."

Haymitch sighed. "We couldn't risk it. And let's face it, sweetheart, you're not the most skilled of actresses. You would have spent all your time looking to the sky, waiting."

"No I wouldn't have," she said sullenly, but even she wondered if he was right.

"Look, be pissed at me if you want - but save it for another time. I was doing what I thought was right. And even though I knew, I still had to run from that psychotic fog and scared myself shitless with the Jabberjays. I'm guilty, but I'm a victim too." He absently scratched at his head, then pressed the tablet again, effectively ending the conversation.

Katniss was angry, no doubt. But even she had to admit that he was right. There were no Victors here. Only victims.

She looked back down in time to see a movement in the corner of the screen, and Finnick suddenly springing to life.

"And you were supposed to save Annie!" Finnick was yelling. It was the first he'd spoken during the entire meeting, and every set of eyes had turned to look at him. He leant forward in his chair, pointed a finger around the group. "She was meant to be here, and she's not. In all likelihood, she's with him."

"We don't know that for sure," Plutarch said soothingly. "I can't call back to my contact in the Capitol until tonight - he'll advise me then of any updates he has."

"That isn't the point!"

"Look, Finnick," the tattooed woman started. Katniss studied her carefully, intrigued by who she was, and why she was there. "We tried. We went to the Tribute Centre, told the guards she was wanted at Control. We called up, she wasn't there. We even went up to the apartment; no sign of her."

"Then you were too late," Finnick said despondently, then dropped back so that he was slumped down again.

"We don't know that," Plutarch reiterated.

"Then what do you know, Heavensbee?" Haymitch demanded. "Because all I'm hearing right now are a bunch of damned platitudes."

"I know we got our allies out of the Arena, with, regrettably, the exception of Miss Mason. I know we're in Thirteen, and we're making the necessary precautions to go to war. We…"

Haymitch grunted in annoyance. "He waffles on for about ten minutes, and none of is nothing I don't already know. Press that button on the side to skip through to where Finnick stands up."

Katniss pressed the button, the footage zipping through until she saw Finnick stand, slap his hand on the table.

"And not only is Annie missing and Johanna likely to be in the hands of the Capitol, but so is Peeta. Or have you all conveniently forgot that the man who's been doing most of your dirty work for months is very likely being tortured as we speak!"

His voice grew louder and louder, until it all but reverberated through the small speakers, and Katniss' heart pitched.

Tortured.

On screen, Plutarch shook his head calmly, his voice firm and modulated and unruffled. "Until they realise I'm gone and they come looking for me, they won't have any reason to suspect Peeta; hopefully he'll be far away from the mansion by then. Snow had no inkling the rebellion existed - trust me, I would have known if he had - and therefore no reason to think Peeta was an informer. The only thing-" he glanced at President Coin before looking at Katniss again. "The only thing Snow suspected Peeta of was legitimately having feelings for Katniss."

Katniss blanched as she watched it, swivelled her gaze to Haymitch again. "What? I thought..."

"Just watch," he sighed.

"There are some things Peeta is very, very good at," the tattooed woman was saying. "But keeping his feelings for her hidden was not one of them. He tried, very well, and most of the time he succeeded."

Plutarch stepped in. "But over the last few days, Snow came to me, suspicious. I told him it was possible, but that Peeta's loyalty to the Capitol could not be shaken. That even if he had warmed to Katniss, it was likely nothing more than hormones."

On screen, Haymitch snorted. "Kid's 22, not 15 with fucking pimples. If Snow suspected Peeta of being more...whatever for Katniss, then whatever you would have said to him wouldn't have swayed him. He might be safe from being suspected as a rebel for now, but not from this. If Snow thinks Peeta's feelings are genuine, he thinks they're genuine. The end."

"Enough. How long until they realise you're gone, Mr Heavensbee?" President Coin interrupted smoothly. Even her voice was kind of boring.

"A drone is answering any incoming calls and rerouting them to a specially formulated comm that can't be traced. I pick them up within minutes, prepare a response, it gets sent back via message. It's set up for another 12 hours, so that's still going to be more than enough time for Peeta to get to a safe house. One of my replies to Snow advises him that I took an emergency hovercraft out to the Arena the moment things began to happen. Helps explain the unscheduled hovercraft leaving Control," he said proudly.

This time, when Katniss switched the tablet off, Haymitch didn't stop her. "When was this meeting?" She whispered, closing her eyes.

Haymitch shifted awkwardly. "2 and a half days ago."

The Capitol would know Plutarch was gone.

Screaming. Crying. Begging. Whimpering. The sound of blunt objects jarring against flesh, of threats, of hissed promises of retribution.

Peeta had heard it all in the two days since he'd been locked in the cell.

He held his head in his hands, and wondered where it had all gone wrong.

He thought he'd gotten away with it that night, when Snow had said his focus was on speaking to Johanna Mason. He'd thought he'd be able to get away immediately to one of the few safe houses he knew were located in the Capitol, to make whatever plans he needed to get out and join the rebels.

But he hadn't.

Snow had told him to stay, to keep his camera handy in case they decided to capture this side of the Games. Peeta had blanched at the thought, but had to agree. He didn't have much choice.

He'd stayed in the mansion for over 48 hours, had been made to photograph while they interrogated Johanna, while they shaved her head and injected her with needles that made her hiss and curse and thrash wildly on the thin silver table she was strapped to. And every time he was released from duty, he would return to the room he'd been appointed, and vomit until he would dry retch. And he knew the longer he was there, the less chance he had to get away.

And by the time he was finally able to leave, he'd been so emotionally wrought that he'd stumbled almost blindly through the streets, looking for the closest safe house. And that, there, was where it had gone wrong. He'd made the biggest mistake he could.

He hadn't even thought about Snow tailing him. Hadn't even considered that he'd get someone to follow him.

But when he'd woken up, a foul taste in his mouth, and his vision blurry, he was no longer in the bed in the safe house. He was in a cold, damp cell, and Johanna Mason was shivering across the other side of the room from him, her body bruised and bleeding, but her eyes still fierce. It wasn't the sight of her that hurt the most, though.

It was the echo of Annie desperately sobbing Finnick's name down the corridor.

The sound of a door swinging open captured his attention, and he slowly lifted his head to see President Snow walking towards him, his guards flanking both his sides. He didn't even spare a glance towards Johanna or Annie, his focus on Peeta and nothing else.

"Mr Mellark," Snow greeted, folding his hands at his waist. "I must say I'm disappointed to find myself having to keep you here."

Peeta shook his head. "Then why are you?"

Snow tsk'd. "Now, now, we both know the reason. Your friend, Mr Heavensbee is gone, disappeared into thin air. And it doesn't take much to figure out where. I can't say how disappointed I am to find out he was betraying me right under my nose, and the rest of his crew. Which, by the way, includes you. So unfortunately, while it seems like while everyone else is gone, you've been…left behind."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Peeta spat.

"You do, Mr Mellark, and I will get you to admit it. Just like I'll get you to admit your broken promises to me."

"Broken promises?"

Snow nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, and of those there were plenty. But there's one that strikes particularly deep. And that is what I want you to admit. And you will, I promise you."

"What, you'll try and beat it out of me like you're doing to Johanna?" He didn't care how he spoke to Snow anymore. It was obvious whatever trust Snow had had was gone – and he was glad. Finally, he could speak freely.

Snow laughed, though it was more of a cackle that slowly denigrated into a bitter cough. "Oh no, that's not for you. No, we have something better in mind. Something, I think, that will affect you more than a little bit of physical punishment."

"You can't do anything to me," Peeta replied bluntly. Katniss is safe, and alive and well. That's all that matters.

Snow smiled, and it was bitter and twisted and sinister. "Oh, I think we can. In fact, I know we can. Tell me, Mr Mellark. What do you know about mind manipulation?"

One week in Thirteen slowly became two.

Katniss was released from the medical ward, into Compartment 307 with her mother and Prim, though the bracelet that was firmly wrapped around her left wrist informed her she was still considered an outpatient. She'd wake, and dress, and stick her arm in the weird contraption in the compartment that printed a schedule on her arm - a schedule she paid little attention to, other than for meals. And instead of fulfilling kitchen duties, or attending an education class, Katniss would disappear. Wander the halls until she found a hidden corner, a rarely used room, an air duct, the supply closet she'd been huddled in when Haymitch found her.

And wherever she was, she'd curl herself up in a ball, and echo Peeta's words of encouragement to herself over and over again. To pretend he was there, to pretend that his fingers were linked with hers. To stop the images of Rue and Marvel and Enobaria and Mags and the thousands of people from Twelve that she knew weren't alive. The baker and his entire family, the teacher she'd had since she was 14, the cobbler and Ripper, the woman who'd kept Haymitch in liquor more often than not over the years. Madge.

Madge.

And then as week two became week three, as she'd unwillingly come to terms with the fact Peeta could very well be dead, she finally saw him again.

A/N - Thank you, as always, for reading, for your follows, favourites and reviews. They genuinely make my day.

You can find me on tumblr under sponsormusings, where I spend a lot of time procrastinating ;)