The crash of lightening striking the tree at twelve sends our bodies apart. The others wake too, listening to the twelve bongs and watching the electric storm. Johanna angrily covers her face and rolls over. Finnick remains seated, staring out at the night with dead eyes. I assume he dreamt of Annie, a ghoulish nightmare filled with the discord of jabberjay screams. He rises to his feet and walks over to us on the beach.

"I can take over if one of you wants to get some rest," Finnick offers.

"Katniss, why don't you go lie down?" Peeta says. I've slept much less than he has, and I'm sure whatever is going on inside my body will appreciate the rest. I nod and rise to my feet. Peeta walks me over to the mat and I find a spot next to Johanna. Peeta rests his hand on the side of my face, sweeping his thumb over my cheekbone. His eyes are pale under the moonlight, and for a second he looks like an apparition, a figure visiting me in a dream rather than a tangible boy right in front of me. "You'll make a great mother someday," he whispers, kissing my cheek and turning back toward Finnick.

The line could not be more perfect. He's playing for sponsors, which will help us stay alive, but it also folds perfectly into kindling for the rebellion. It incites the people who think the Capitol has killed my child to rise up. It offers a moment of mourning between two almost-parents, a loss that is familiar to many in the districts too starved to carry their child to term, who have felt their child wither and die in their bellies. It also has a double meaning for me alone – that I can have a life with Gale when this is all done. Peeta knows I've never wanted children, but he's saying I have a choice. He's offering me a choice.

I squeeze my eyes closed, hoping the cameras have not captured the tears welling up. After a short while, though, I can feel myself drifting under. When I wake in the morning, everyone else is already up watching another parachute descend from the sky. I assume Peeta earned us this one with his performance from last night, but when we open the silver string, it's another gift from Beetee's district – twenty-four bite-sized rolls. I imagine, though, that the bread is not an unintentional offering to the baker's son. We each take five rolls, leaving eight in our reserve, including the leftovers from last night. No one says it, but eight will divide perfectly after the next death.

I sit on the sand and stare at our Allies as we all eat our bread. Finnick pops the entire roll in his mouth, while Beetee nibbles at it like some kind of rodent. Something grates in the back of mind, and I wonder how long we can keep this alliance up. It was more obvious after last night's tribute recap. The numbers are too low to stay together much longer. The five of us together should be able to take down Brutus and Enobaria, but then what? We turn on each other? If we split up, they are more likely to be killed in a confrontation with the Careers. Of course, so are we.

"Come on, I want to teach you to swim," I say to Peeta, tugging his shirt.

"I already know how to swim," he replies with a grin,

"You call that swimming?" I smile back.

"Just go with her. Your flirting is going to make me puke," Johanna says, shoving Peeta away from her on the mat. He stands on his feet and follows me to the water. To keep up pretext, we both wade in and I tell him how to do a couple different strokes. He improves quickly, and after a few minutes he doesn't look quite so much like a soaked rat. At first I catch Johanna watching us, but eventually she retreats to the shade for a nap. Finnick is focused on weaving more fishing nets, and Beetee is fiddling with his wire. I know the time has come. After a triumphant lap, Peeta surfaces right next to me, smiling widely.

"That wasn't bad, right?" he says.

"That was great," I say with less enthusiasm than he was hoping for. "Look, the pool of tributes is down to eight. I think it's time we took off," I say under my breath. He keeps his face steady, although a flicker in his eyes tells me he's recognized what I said. I can see his brain churning through my proposition.

"I think we should wait until Brutus and Enobaria are gone. Beetee is planning something, some kind of trap, and if we leave now it might become a trap for us, too," Peeta replies.

"The second the Careers are dead, they're going to turn on us," I reply.

"What if they don't?" Peeta asks.

"Don't be naïve," I jibe back, although it digs at the back of my mind. I can't see Finnick turning on us. I close my eyes and remember he didn't play defensively in his Games. He captured and skewered his opponents. I have no reason to think he won't do the same to us. Except that as I stare up the beach at him, I don't see a ruthless killer. I don't see a playboy from the Capitol. I see a complicated, tired man who cares more than he should. Peeta watches my face.

"I still think we should wait until the Careers are dead. We help with whatever Beetee is planning, and then we take off," he says.

I nod slowly. If we take out the Careers, I can help Peeta survive in the woods. I have the spile, so we'd have water and food. He could outlast them. I drop my hand unconsciously to my stomach. I, on the other hand, won't survive the long game, but it's the best case scenario I could leave Peeta with.

"Okay," I say. I notice I'm mindlessly scratching at a scab, and it starts to peel off at my fingers. Peeta picks up a handful of wet sand and runs it over his skin, which rubs away the dark, stained crust and leaves behind fresh, baby pink skin.

"Hey Finnick!" I bellow up to the beach, and he throws his eyes our way. "Come here! We figured out how to make you all pretty again!" I call out. The three of us exfoliate our skin with the wet sand. When we finish, I apply the gray ointment anyway. Maybe it will help protect these delicate spots from the sun.

Beetee calls us over and it appears Peeta was right, he has been scheming. "I think we all agree our next move is to take out District Two," he says, looking around at our group. We nod in consensus. "It's not likely they'll mount an attack again being so dramatically outnumbered. We could hunt them, but that would take a significant amount of time, energy, and resources."

"Do you think they know about the clock?" I ask.

"I'm not sure if they understand the clock, but they've certainly figured out the jungle is full of danger. They may have even figured out the sectors or the circular motion of the attacks. It's hard to know what they've been able to deduce," Beetee replies. "Surviving this Arena is more than battling one another until no one is left. It's about claiming earth. Normally the Careers take the Cornucopia, but since we know that's under the control of the Gamemakers, they'll likely leave it alone. What is the next place they'd try to claim? The next safest place?"

"The beach," Johanna replies. "But we've already taken the beach."

"Precisely. So if you were the Careers, what would be your next move after that?" He looks out as us as if we are a class of children, prompting some kind of response.

"I'd stay where I knew I was safe but out of sight. Somewhere where I could keep an eye on us," I reply.

"The tree line," Finnick adds.

"Excellent," says Beetee. "Here's what I propose. At noon the electric storm will begin and lightening will strike the tree. After the event ends, we have twelve hours to run a wire from the tree down to the water. When the lightning strikes the tree at midnight, anyone in the salt water or on the beach, which will still be soaked from the ten o'clock wave, will be electrocuted." His voice is certain. Confident.

It all seems kind of fantastical to me, but it could work. It's just like one of the snares Gale sets, but with a more scientific element to it.

"And where will we be when this happens?" Finnick asks.

"Far enough in the jungle to be safe," Beetee replies.

"Then the Careers will be safe too, if they are in the jungle," Peeta replies.

"That's true. Which is why we have to surrender the beach to them and hope they take it," Beetee adds. That seems like a lot to hope for.

"Won't that eliminate the sea as a source of food?" Finnick asks.

"Indeed it will, but Katniss has found food in the jungle. We're not dependent on the salt lake, but they may be," Beetee says encouragingly, offering me what I think is a smile but more looks like a grimace.

My mind churns. Peeta and I should leave after this plan is executed, regardless of its success. Taking out the seafood will cripple all the tributes I'm not with, and in the end, I only want to be with Peeta.

"I say we try it," Peeta says. "It's better than hunting them down in the jungle."

Finnick looks at Johanna. He doesn't want to move forward without her. All of us agree, or we aren't doing it. "Fine," she mutters.

Beetee wants to inspect the tree before noon, so we break down camp and head to the twelve o'clock wedge. Beetee is still too weak to traverse the jungle on his own, so Peeta and Finnick alternate carrying him. I let Johanna lead. It's a straight shot, she can't get us too lost. I load my bow and guard the rear. As we near the top of the wedge, Finnick insists I take the lead.

"Katniss can hear the forcefield," he explains.

"Hear it?" Beetee questions, his eyebrows raised.

"Only with the ear the Capitol reconstructed," I say with some feigned confidence, but he's clearly not buying it. He doesn't give me away though. I gather a handful of nuts to toss toward the forcefield, but I don't need them. I can clearly see it humming fifteen feet or so above the lightening tree.

"We'll be fine if we stay below the tree," I instruct, and everyone drops their things. Beetee immediately begins assessing the tree. We divide the remaining duties. Finnick guards Beetee, trident at the ready. Johanna taps a tree for water. Peeta gathers nuts. I move down the segment slightly and hunt. When I hear the rush of the ten o'clock wave, I head back to camp. I squat in front of Peeta to clean my kill, but when I lean forward to grab a blade, pain shoots up my side and I drop to my hands.

"Katniss? Katniss?" Peeta calls as he rubs my back. I'm on all fours, hunched over. I try to breathe through the pain, pulling air through my teeth. It radiates out and shoots into my shoulder and down my arm. Everything just seems confused to me, and for a moment I can't quite remember what I'm doing. Focus. Focus. I open my eyes and stare at the ground. I find a twig and keep my eyes on it. Focus. Nausea churns my stomach and I swallow hard. I don't know how long I stay like this, but the pain starts to ease and I drop to my elbows, pressing my forehead into the earth. My body gleams in sweat. I wish Haymitch would stop sending us stupid bread. I need salt. I'm sweating buckets of it out of my body.

"Are you okay?" Peeta whispers, and I nod. I look over and Finnick has a worried expression on his face, but when he catches me staring he starts cleaning the tree rat. He's not really accustomed to land creatures, but he's making due. More waste than if I'd done it, but I was busy digging my fingernails into the dirt and trying not to vomit.

We roast the nuts and cubes of meat. Peeta tries to get me to eat but the idea of food turns my stomach. I rest my head on my knees and wrap my hands around my ankles. Underneath my fingers, I notice my skin is puffy and swollen. I press my hands into my legs and my fingerprints stay for a moment before the spaces fill with fluid. I stop. I'm careful not to mention this to Peeta.

Next to us, the insects start clicking again, the volume swelling as the hour presses on.

"We should move," Johanna insists. "We have less than an hour."

We don't go far, only to the blood rain segment. We sit and eat our food, chatting quietly and waiting for the electrical storm to start. Beetee asks that I climb above the canopy and watch for any pertinent information. I oblige, although my stomach screams as I reach for the first branch and hoist myself up. At twelve exactly, the bongs begin and the tree blazes white and blue as the lightning thrashes the core again and again. I drop down and report my findings to Beetee, who seems satisfied with my detailed albeit unscientific description. I sit next to Peeta, but the pain in my abdomen sears. Unlike the previous episodes, it doesn't seem to ebb. I shouldn't have climbed the tree. I bury my face in my hands and try to wait it out.

When the storm ends we take a meandering route back to ten o'clock, where we intend to stay until late tonight. Beetee essentially gives us the afternoon off, and we sit on the beach as he plays with the wire some more. We take turns napping. I sleep longer than everyone else and don't take watch. I'm insatiably fatigued. When I wake I'm disoriented, and it takes me a minute to realign myself – where I am, what I'm doing.

Finnick decides to have one last feast before we lose the seafood. He collects armfuls of oysters and vibrantly colorful fish. Peeta and I clean the loot, sitting side-by-side in the sand as Finnick sprawls out on the beach. Peeta cracks open an oyster and gives a light laugh.

"What?" I ask, looking over. Inside the oyster is a pearl – tiny and iridescent and delicate and dark like the sea. He pulls it out with his fingers and drops it in my hands. "For you," he says, smiling. I roll the smooth treasure in my palm. It reminds me of the stone from the lake that I left in our train car. It reminds me of the pearl nestled in my ring. It reminds me of promises made in the dark of the night, in the early morning light, under blankets and in secret and at the kitchen table over breakfast. "Hey," Peeta nudges my knee, trying to wipe the serious look from my face.

"Thank you," I whisper. I meet his gaze and I find myself staring down my greatest opponent. The greatest obstacle keeping Peeta alive. The smile evaporates from his lips.

"The locket didn't work, did it?" he murmurs.

"It worked," I reply.

"Not how I wanted it to," he mumbles, and he stares at the oysters as he shucks them open, not speaking to me. A parachute drops, delivering another two dozen rolls from 3 and a spicy red sauce for the seafood. Everyone gorges themselves until they can't hold another bite, but I can't seem to swallow anything. I have a hard time following the conversation. I listen but forget what we are talking about or who was speaking. I try to focus, but it only lasts a sentence or two and then I'm lost again. I'm not sure anyone notices but Peeta. There is leftover food, but raw fish won't keep so I suggest we toss it back in the sea so the Careers won't take advantage. I'm not feeding my enemies.

Peeta knows I didn't eat, but he coaxes some water in me. He can read the signs. So can I. I'm deteriorating. I tuck the pearl in a pocket of my jumpsuit. I want the pearl collected with my body. I want to have it with me underground.