Out in the hall, I find Paylor standing in the same exactly spot. "Did you find what you were looking for?" she asks.

I hold up the white bud in answer and stumble past her. I must have made it back to my room, because the next thing I know, I'm filling a glass with water from the bathroom faucet and sticking the rose in it. I sink to my knees on the cold tile and squint at the flower, as the whiteness seems hard to focus on in the stark fluorescent light. Though my consciousness seems to be teetering on the edge of the abyss, now is the time to debate what I just heard and see if it fits with what I already know.

There are two possibilities, although the details associated with them may vary. First, as the rest of the country believes, that the Capitol sent in the hovercraft, dropped the parachutes, and sacrificed its children's lives, knowing the recently arrived rebels would go to their aid. There's evidence to support this. The Capitol's seal on the hovercraft, the lack of any attempt to blow the enemy out of the sky, and their long history of using children as pawns in their battle against the districts. Then there's Snow account. A Capitol hovercraft manned by the rebels bombed the children to bring a speedy end to the war. But if this was the case, why didn't the Capitol fire on the enemy? Did the element of surprise throw them? Had they no defense left? Children are precious to 13, or so it has always seemed. Well, not me, maybe. Once I outlived my usefulness, I was expendable. Although I think it's been a long time since I've been considered a child in this war. And why would they do it knowing their own medics would likely respond and be taken out by the second blast? They wouldn't. They couldn't. Snow's lying. Manipulating me as he always has. Hoping to turn me against the rebels and possibly destroy them. Yes. Of course.

Then what's nagging at me? Those double-exploding bombs, for one. It's not that the Capitol couldn't have had the same weapon, it's just that I'm sure the rebels did. Gale and Beetee's brainchild. Then there's the fact that Snow made no escape attempt, when I know him to be the consummate survivor. It seems hard to believe he didn't have a retreat somewhere, some bunker stocked with provisions where he could live out the rest of his snarky little life. And finally, his assessment of Coin. What's irrefutable is that's she done exactly what he said. Let the Capitol and the districts run each other into the ground and then saunter in and take power. Even if that was her plan, it doesn't mean she dropped the parachutes. Victory was already in her grasp. Everything was in her grasp.

Except me.

I recall Boggs response when I admitted I hadn't put much thought into Snow's successor. "If your immediate answer isn't Coin, then you're a threat. You're the face of the rebellion. You may have more influence than any other single person. Outwardly, the most you've ever done is tolerate her."

Suddenly, I'm thinking of Prim, who is not yet fourteen, not yet old enough to be granted the title of soldier, but somehow working on the front lines. How did such a thing happen? That my sister would want to be there, I have no doubt. That she would be more capable than many older than she is given. But for that, someone very high up would have had to approve of putting a thirteen year old in combat. Did Coin do it, hoping that losing Prim would push me completely over the edge? Or, at least firmly on her side? I wouldn't even have to witness it in person. Numerous cameras would have been covering the City Circle. Capturing the moment forever.

Most people would say that I'm crazy, or at the very least paranoid. Too many people would know of the mission. Word would get out. Or would it? Who would have to know besides Coin, Plutarch, and a small, loyal, or easily disposable crew?

That is the conundrum that I find myself in. I need to tell this to somebody, but who? Boggs and Cinna are dead. Finnick is either with Annie, or working with 13. Prim is always at the hospital. There's Peeta, but he couldn't do any more than speculate, and who knows what state his mind's in, anyway. And that leaves only Gale. He's far away, but even if he were beside me, would he even believe me? I don't really care about the fact that it was his bomb that almost killed Finnick, Prim, and myself. People would think I'm crazy, that I'm letting Snow getting to me, but how? Snow and I attempted to kill each other, and all Coin did was kick back, relax, and drink…whatever they drink in 13.

Ultimately, there's only one person who might know what happened and might still be on my side. To broach that subject at all would be a risk. But while I think Haymitch might gamble with my life in the arena, I don't think he'd rat me out to Coin. Any problems we have, we prefer resolving our differences one-on-one.

I scramble off the tiles, out the door, and across the hall to his room. When there's no response to my knock, I push inside. Ugh. It's amazing how quickly he can defile a place. Half-eaten plates of food, shattered liquor bottles, and pieces of broken furniture from a drunken rampage scatter his quarters. He lies unkempt, and unwashed, in a tangled of sheets on the bed, passed out.

"Haymitch," I say shaking his leg. Of course, that's insufficient. But I give it a few more tries before I dump the pitcher of water in his face. He comes to with a gasp, slashing blindly with his knife. Apparently, the end of Snow's reign didn't equal the end of his terror.

"Oh you." he says. I can tell by his voice he's still loaded.

"Haymitch," I begin

He takes a swig from a bottle, and then notices his disposition. "Why am I soaking wet?" I lamely drop the pitcher behind me into a pile of dirty clothes.

"I need your help," I say.

Haymitch belches filling the room with liquor fumes. "What is it, sweetheart? More boy trouble." I'm too incense by Haymitch's comment to saying anything. It must show on my face, because even in his drunken state, he tries to take it back. "Okay, not funny." I'm already at the door. "Not funny! Come back!" By the thud of his body hitting the floor, I assumed he tried to follow me, but there's no point.

I zigzag through the mansion and disappear into a wardrobe full of silken things. I yank them from hangers until I have a pile and then burrow into it. In the lining of my pocket, I find a stray morphling tablet and swallow it dry, heading off my rising hysteria. It's not enough to right things, though. I hear Haymitch calling me, but he won't find me in this condition. Especially in not in this new spot. Swathed in silk, I feel like caterpillar in a cocoon awaiting metamorphosis. I always supposed that to be a peaceful condition. At first it is. But as I journey into the night, I feel more and more trapped, suffocated by the slippery bindings, unable to emerge until I transformed into a something of beauty. I squirm, praying that when I wake that this was all a bad dream. But when I wake, I'm still in my silk bedding.

The encounter with Snow opens the door to my old repertoire of nightmares. It's like being stung by the tracker jackers again. A wave of horrifying images with a brief respite I confuse with walking—only to find another wave knocking me back. When the guards finally locate me, I'm sitting on the floor of wardrobe, tangled of in silk, screaming my head off. I fight them at first, until they convince me they're trying to help, peel away the choking garments, and escort me back to my room. On the way, we pass a window and I see a gray, snowy dawn spreading across the Capitol.

A very hungover Haymitch waits with a handful of pills and a tray of food that neither of us has the stomach for. He makes a feeble attempt to get me to talk again but, seeing it's pointless, sends me to a bath that someone has drawn. The tub's deep, with three steps to the bottom. I ease down into the warm water and sit, up to my neck in suds, hoping the medicine kicks in soon. My eyes focus on the rose that had spread its petals overnight, filling the steaming air with its strong perfume. I rise and reach for a towel to smoother it, when there's a tentative knock and the bathroom door opens, revealing three familiar faces. They try to smile at me, but even Venia can't hide the shock at the deterioration I had suffered since the fall of the Capitol. My physical body is fine, but they can tell that, given that I have dark circles encompassing my eyes, that I haven't been sleeping well. "Surprise!" Octavia squeaks, and then bursts into tears. I'm puzzling over their reappearance when I realize that this must be it, the day of the execution. They've come to prepare me for the cameras. Remake me to Base Beauty Zero. Not exactly sure why Octavia's crying. I wasn't directly in the blast zone, but unless…

They kept their emotions under wraps as I rinse and dry myself off. Flavius has a robe waiting for me as I step out of the bath. In the bedroom, I find another surprise. Sitting upright in a chair. Polished from a metallic gold wig to her patent leather high heels, gripping a clipboard. Remarkably unchanged except for the vacant look in her eyes.

"Effie," I say.

"Hello, Katniss." She stands and kisses me on the cheek as if nothing has occurred since our last meeting, the night before the Quarter Quell. "Well it looks like another big, big, big day ahead of us. So why don't you start you're prep and I'll just pop over and check on the arrangements."

"Okay," I say back to her.

"They say Plutarch and Haymitch had a hard time keeping her alive," comments Venia under her breath. "She was imprisoned after your escape, so that helps."

It's quite a stretch. Effie Trinket, rebel. But I don't want Coin killing her, so I make a mental note to present her that way if asked. "I guess its good Plutarch kidnapped you three after all."

"We're the only prep team still alive. And all the stylists from the Quarter Quell are dead," says Venia. She doesn't say who specifically killed them. I'm beginning to wonder if it matters. She gingerly takes one of my hands and holds it out for inspection. "Now what do you think for the nails? Red, or maybe jet black?"

Flavius performs some beauty miracle on my hair, managing to even out the length while putting the shine back in my hair. My face, since it was spared from the flames, presents no more than the usual challenges. Except for the dark circles. Once I'm in Cinna's Mockingjay suit, Octavia secures the Mockingjay pin over my heart and we all step back to look in the mirror. I can't believe how normal they've made me look on the outside when inwardly I'm such a wasteland.

There's a tap at the door and Gale steps in. "Can I have a minute?" he asks. In the mirror, I watch my prep team. Unsure of where to go, they bump into themselves a few times and then closet themselves in the bathroom. Gale comes up behind me and we examine each other's reflection. I'm searching for something to hang on to, some sign of the girl and boy who met by chance in the woods five years ago and had become inseparable. I'm wondering what would have happened to them if the Hunger Games had not reaped the girl. If she would have fallen in love with the boy, married him even. And then sometime in the future, when the brothers and sisters had been raised up, escaped with him into the woods and left 12 behind forever. Would they have been happy, out in the wild, or would the dark twisted sadness between them have grown up without the Capitol's help?

"I brought you this." Gale holds up a quiver. When I take it, I notice it holds a single, ordinary arrow. "It's supposed to be symbolic. You're firing the last shot of the war.'

"What if I miss? Does Coin retrieve it and bring it back to me? Or just shoot Snow through the head herself?"

"You won't miss." Gale adjusts the quiver on my shoulder.

We stand there, face-to-face, not meeting each other's eyes. "You didn't come to see me in the hospital." He doesn't answer, so finally I just say. "Did you know that the 13 drop the bombs?"

"Who told you that? Snow?" he asked.

"I Snow is trying to mess with me, but I hate to admit it Snow's got a point here. 13 didn't do any of the heavy lifting while we were taking the districts back." I said.

"What's your point?" he asked.

"I understand that it's a very real possibility that the Capitol could have developed a bomb like that, but we both know that's not the case. I don't care that you developed the bomb because I know that your intentions for developing, it was not to be used against either us, let alone Prim, were in the blast radius. What I'm asking is if you knew if 13 dropped the bombs?" I asked.

"What makes you think that Snow didn't drop the bombs?" he asked.

I have a feeling that Gale isn't going to admit that Coin was wrong. Even if Gale did admit Coin was wrong, the rift between us would beyond repair. So be it. I thought.

"Because I know Snow. If he had hovercraft he would have escaped instead of dropping the bombs, let alone drop them on his own people." I said.

"That doesn't disprove that he didn't dropped the bombs." he said.

"True, except for the fact that the air force was station in the Nut." I said.

"That doesn't mean he didn't have a spare." he said.

"If Snow had an escape plan, he would have left. Snow isn't the type to sit around for no reason." I said.

"Maybe you got it wrong." he said.

"Or maybe you don't want to admit that President Coin isn't as clean as you think she is." I said.

If looks could kill, I would be dead. I also see a look in Gale's eyes that tells me that he thinks I might have a point, but I don't get a response. "Shoot straight, okay." He touches my shoulder and leave. I don't have much time to contemplate anything because the day's events beckons.

Effie comes into to usher me to some kind of meeting. I collect my bow and at the last minute remember the rose, glistening in its glass of water. When I open the door to the bathroom, I find my prep team sitting in a row on the edge of the tub, hunched and defeated. I remember I'm not the only one whose world had been stripped away. "Come on," I tell them. "We have an audience waiting."

I expect a production meeting in which Plutarch instructs me where to stand and gives me my cue for shooting Snow. Instead, I find myself sent into a room where seven people sit around a table. Peeta, Johanna, Beetee, Haymitch, Annie, Finnick, and Enobaria. They all wear the gray rebel uniforms from 13. No one looks particularly well. "What's this?" I say.

"We're not sure," says Haymitch. "It seems to be a gathering of the remaining victors."

"We're all that's left?" I ask.

"The price of being a celebrity," says Beetee. "We were target from both sides. The Capitol killed the victors they suspected of being rebels. The rebels killed those thought to be allied with the Capitol."

Johanna scowls at Enobaria. "So what's she doing her?"

"She is protected under what we call the Mockingjay Deal," says Coin as she enters behind me. "Wherein Katniss Everdeen agreed to support the rebels in exchange for capture victors' immunity. Katniss held up her end of the bargain, and so shall we."

Enobaria smiles at Johanna. "Don't look so smug," says Johanna. "We'll kill you anyway."

"Sit down, please, Katniss," says Coin closing the door. I take a seat between Annie and Beetee, carefully placing Snow's rose on the table. As usual, Coin gets right to point. "I've asked you here to settle a debate. Today we will execute Snow. In the previous weeks, hundreds of his accomplices in oppression Panem have been tried and are awaiting their deaths. However, the damage in the districts has been so extreme that these measures appear insufficient to victims. In fact, many are calling for the complete annihilation of those who held Capitol citizenship. However, in the interest of maintaining a sustainable population, we cannot afford this."

Through the water in the glass, I see a distorted image of one of Peeta's hands. The burn marks. If it wasn't for Finnick, I would have been caught in the explosion as well, and Prim would be dead. My eyes traveled up to where the flames licked across his forehead, singeing away his eyebrows but just missing his eyes. Those same blue eyes that used to meet mine and then flit away at school. Just as they do now.

"So, an alternative has been placed on the table. Since my colleagues and I can come to no consensus, it has been agreed that we will let the victors decide. A majority of five will approve the plan. No one may abstain from the vote," says Coin. "What has been proposed is that in lieu of eliminating the entire Capitol population, we have a final symbolic Hunger Games, using the children directly related to those who held the most power."

All eight of us turn to her. "What?" says Johanna.

"We hold another Hunger Games using Capitol children," says Coin.

"Are you joking?" asks Peeta.

"No. I should also tell you that if we hold the Games, it will be known that it was done with your approval, although the individual breakdown of your votes will be kept secret for your own security," Coin tells us.

"Was this Plutarch's idea?" asks Haymitch.

"It was mine," says Coin. "It seemed to balance the need for vengeance with the least loss of life. You may cast your votes."

I'm sorry, are you telling us that you will use the victors as a shield to protect yourself from any political fallout down the line if this event were to back fire? Not cool. I thought.

"No!" bursts out Peeta. "I vote no, of course! We can't have another Hunger Games!"

"Why not?" Johanna retorts. "It seems very fair to me. Snow even has a granddaughter. I vote yes."

"So do I," says Enobaria, almost indifferently. "Let them have a taste of their own medicine."

"This is why we rebelled! Remember?" Peeta looks at the rest of us. "Annie?"

We rebelled because we didn't like how the Capitol was treating us. The Hunger Games were punishment for that rebellion. I thought.

"I vote no with Peeta," she says. "I'm certain Finnick feels the same way."

"I vote no, and that's all I'm saying." Finnick said.

"After all you've been through, and you're going to spare the brats of the people who harmed you?" Johanna asked.

"My vengeance started when I ousted Snow as the snake that he is. And I will get it in full when he dies today." Finnick said.

"I vote no," says Beetee. "It would set a bad precedent. We have to stop viewing one another as enemies. At this point unity is essential for our survival."

"We're down to Katniss and Haymitch," says Coin.

Was it like this then? Seventy-Five years or so ago? Did a group of people sit around and cast their votes on initiating the Hunger Games? Was there dissent? Did someone make a case for mercy that was beaten down by the calls for the deaths of the districts' children? The scent of Snow's rose curls up into my nose, down my throat, squeezing it tight with despair. All those people I loved, dead, and we're discussing the next Hunger Games in attempt to avoid wasting life. Nothing has changed. Nothing will ever change now.

I weigh my options carefully, thinking everything through. Keeping my eyes on the rose, I say, "I vote…" I pause for a moment. I think of the truth on the matter, and then say, "No."

"Haymitch," Coin says.

Peeta give me a pointed stare and nods his head, but I feel Haymitch's eyes on me. His vote doesn't matter because I was the majority, but I have a feeling on which way Haymitch will go.

"I vote yes," says Haymitch, which is no surprise. He lost family to the Capitol.

"The lot of you have spoken. We will not be holding the Hunger Games involving the children of the Capitol," says Coin. "Now we really must take our places for the execution."

As she passes, I hold up the glass with the rose. "Can see you that Snow's wearing this? Just over his heart?"

Coin smiles. "Of course."

"Thank you," I say.

People sweep into the room, surround me. The last touch of powder, the instructions form Plutarch as I'm guided to the front door of the mansion. The City Circle runs over, spills people down the side streets. The others take their places outside. Guards. Officials. Rebel leaders. Victors. I can hear the cheers that indicate Coin has appeared on the balcony. Then Effie taps my shoulder, and I step out into the cold winter sunlight. Walk to my position, accompanied by the deafening roar of the crowd. As directed, I turn so they see me in profile, and wait. When they march Snow out the door, the audience goes insane. They secure his hands behind a post, which is unnecessary. He's not going anywhere. There's nowhere to go. This is not the roomy stage before the Training Center but the narrow terrace in front of the president's mansion. No wonder no one bothered to have me practice. He's ten yards away.

I feel the bow purring in my hands. Reach back and grasp the arrow. Position it, aim at the rose, but watch his face. He coughs and a bloody dribble runs down his chin. His tongue flickers out over his puffy lips. I search his eyes for the slightest sign of anything, fear, remorse, anger. But there's only that same look of amusement that ended our last conversation. It's as if he's speaking the words again. "Oh, my dear Miss Everdeen. I thought we had agreed to not to lie to each other."

And then I remember Coin's words about holding the Capitol Hunger Games. "It was mine. I should also tell you that if we hold the Games, it will be known that it was done with your approval."

He's right. We did.

The point of my arrow shifts upward. I release the string. President Coin collapse over the side of the balcony and plunges to the ground. Dead.

A/N: Down to the home stretch, with the final chapter and epilogue. It's been four and half years since I started writing this story.