Morning came too soon.

I hadn't even bothered with trying to sleep, knowing it would be a futile effort. The nightmares, long since switched from watching as Prim, Peeta and Rue were torn to shreds to visions of myself, dressed like Effie, standing proudly beside Snow as the chariots bearing the tributes poured from the tunnel, smiling as twenty-three more children faced their slaughter, had consumed my nights ever since Effie revealed the president's plans for me.

One by one they would approach the dais where Snow and I stood and proclaim how honored they were to be selected. Then the president would lean down and whisper in my ear: "I promised you no more lies. See how eager they are to die for their district's honor. If only you had demonstrated the same . . . resolve."

But I had. I had thrown myself into the arena with no expectations of winning. I was a half-starved girl from the poorest part of the poorest district. And while I was capable of handling myself out in the woods, the arena was a different game.

I killed because I had to. I spent years of fighting back against the system, struggling to survive after my father died. Even knowing I had no chance of winning didn't prevent me from fighting to come out on top every time I was faced with another teenager trying to kill me. My worst fear had been that Prim would have been watching me die on live television when it finally happened, when one of the Careers bested me.

I had never imagined that surviving was the worse option. Consumed by the misery of living in the poorest part of Panem's poorest district, concerned only with finding enough food to survive another day, I hardly had the energy to care to care about the Games outside of tesserae, the Reaping, and Capitol mandated viewings. We all cursed Haymitch for being a worthless drunk—it was safer to blame him rather than the Capitol—unable to create another Victor, but everyone living in District Twelve knew the truth. There was nothing Haymitch could do when presented with scrawny, unfit, starving kids who were taught as soon as they were old enough to understand that to be Reaped was a death sentence.

Six months since Peeta and I had been crowned as the first ever dual Victors, and I sometimes felt like I was living in a nightmare. Clearly, they were stepping up a notch, as a personal visit from President Snow was something that should only occur in nightmares. After all, the man never left the Capitol.

And yet the monster had been in my house, just down the hall from Prim, far closer than I ever wanted. Unknowingly threatened as a means of controlling me, forcing my cooperation in becoming the Games newest mouthpiece.

Haymitch's warning had come true. The-Girl-on-Fire, the girl the Games created, would continue to be a part of them.

So, no, I didn't sleep. I listened numbly as Effie, dressed in her favorite pink monstrosity, scolded me for the dark bags underneath my eyes, tutting about making the stylists work harder. I sat in a haze as they went through the familiar grooming process from arrival at the Tribute Center, only coming back to myself when Cinna stood before me.

Dark rimmed eyes, kohl he called it, met mine with frightening sincerity. "I'm sorry for what I've done to you."

I gaped at him like a fish struggling to breathe. "You didn't do anything."

"I was responsible for District Twelve's style. I'm the one who sparked the fire."

I surged forward, latching onto the hands he held tightly folded in his lap. They trembled briefly beneath me. Working my jaw, I struggled to put my emotions into words. I had never blamed Cinna. In all my bitter rage I had cursed Snow and his Games. Haymitch and Effie. Even Peeta at points, before I realized his love was more than just a gimmick. Not once had I blamed Cinna.

"You kept me alive," I said.

Cinna reversed our grip so that he cradled my hands. His fingers trailed over mine, gently caressing where my fingers formerly held calluses, developed from years of pulling back the bowstring. They had been surgically removed upon arrival to the Capitol, like everything else they considered an unsightly blemish. Six months later and they had yet to rebuild.

"It's Snow's fault. Not yours," I repeated. "You saved me. If not for you and Peeta, I would have died in that arena."

I had been angry. Brash and hotheaded. After my stunt with shooting at the Gamemakers, I had truly signed my death warrant. The eleven they gave me had nothing to do with my skill at archery or even my chances of winning. Quite the opposite, in fact. It was a target painted on my back that had the Careers hunting me once the initial bloodbath was over.

I defied them. I showed them no respect or fear. I was a loose cannon aimed at them. The Gamemakers had done everything in their considerably large power to eliminate me.

And they failed.

Not because I was too stubborn to die. The only reason I walked out of that arena alive was due to Haymitch, Peeta, and Cinna making me desirable. Cinna completely transformed me from the dirty Seam Girl people put up with because I was good with a bow and could put meat on their tables if they were willing to trade, to The-Girl-on-Fire who made up half of the Starcrossed Lovers. He made me noticeable. Forced everyone to look at District Twelve. And then Haymitch had capitalized on it.

I thought I had gotten past blaming Haymitch for my situation. He did what he had to, to keep us both alive. It wasn't that I was ungrateful. Confused. Angry. Humiliated. I had gone through plenty as a slowly worked out that being Haymitch's ploy didn't prevent Peeta from having genuine feelings.

But there were moments, especially recently, where I sometimes wished I had been brave enough to swallow the nightlock berries.

Cinna's grip grew firm, drawing me out from my maudlin thoughts. "You're alive because you refused to give up, Katniss. And you need to keep that fire burning."

The stylist withdrew, crossing the room to fetch the garment bag labeled District 11. In the manner of true Capitol excess, I had a different outfit for each district, designed to represent that district's contribution. Eleven produced all the food, and even knowing Cinna's style wasn't as extravagant or flamboyant as most Capitol fashion, I was still concerned about what he would reveal. Would this dress somehow grow crops? Maybe it would be beaded with grains of rice instead of actual beads.

Cinna held the dress aloft, draping it over one arm so I could see every detail.

"Rue." I bit down on my lip to prevent a sob from escaping.

The style was precisely what I had come to expect from Cinna, simple but elegant. It had clean lines, just a bodice and skirt with a decorative bow on the backside where the two met. Lining the hem and neckline were flower, as well as the sleeves, which looked to be just a ring of flowers. The flowers, combined with the color, a deep cocoa-brown—the color of Rue's skin—this dress was a tribute to her. Not the district she hailed from.

"Cinna—"

He cut me off with a gentle smile. "No need to say anything, my dear."

My heart, and good mood along with it, plummeted at the subtle reminder that Snow could be listening. I let Cinna dress me like a doll, obediently stepping out of the clothes I wore and raising my arms above my head so he could drop the dress over me. I would probably never be comfortable wearing a dress. They were impractical things only meant to make girls look or feel pretty, two things that never ranked high on my concerns. But this was a whole new level.

Usually, I appreciated Cinna and his style. If I was to be forced to dress up, I would pick one of his creations every time over whatever else was offered. But I almost wished he had given me something more like what Effie wore. Such a garish dress was easy to hate, in turn making it easier to separate myself from Victor Katniss Everdeen. Instead, the silent homage to Rue ramped up the guilt I felt. It was my fault she had died. I had been too slow to take out the Career's supply. Too slow to get back to her. Too slow to kill Marvel before his spear sank into her tiny body.

Cinna finished the ensemble with a winter cloak. White this time, a nod to the outfits Peeta and I wore for the promotional posters for the Victory Tour. It was supposed to represent innocence and purity and the power of young love.

But we all recognized if for what it truly was: a claim of Snow's ownership.

A knock came at the door. "Katniss, dear, are you ready?" Effie's voice sounded. "They're waiting on you. I understand the need to be fashionably late, but we are on a very tight schedule. Twelve districts in twelve days."

Cinna's arms wrapped me in an embrace. "Remember, Katniss, I would put my money on you," he whispered directly into my ear.

Once more his words fill me with confidence. I may only be sixteen and in over my head, trapped in a game of political intrigue with President Snow, but I'm not alone. I have Cinna who was willing to let me claim his work as my own. I have Haymitch who could have stopped coaching me, stopped caring if my mouth got me into trouble, as soon as they laid a Victory crown upon my head. I have Prim who I will continue to protect, no matter the cost. I will take whatever Snow throws at me if it keeps my sister alive and safe.

The automatic door to my cabin slid open with a quiet woosh, revealing Peeta, resplendent in a cream colored suit trimmed in brown and a dark chocolate shirt to match, a perfect compliment to my own outfit.

And I had Peeta, of course. The man who convinced me love didn't have to be curse. We've struggled in the last six months. Nightmares and arguments and misunderstandings. Harsh words, locked doors, and avoidance. But there were quiet moments, sleeping in each other's arms to ward off the memories, his fingers tangled in my hair. Baking lessons at four in the morning when the faces and blood are too strong to ignore. Peeta exposing him, physically and emotionally, when the pain and frustration of his missing leg overwhelmed him and allowing me to take care of him.

Those were the moments where I felt Peeta and I were more equal. He had unknowingly saved my life when he tossed me a loaf of burnt bread, and had done so even more deliberately since his name was drawn. It felt good to return the favor, to lessen the debt between us. Regardless of what Cinna believed, I did owe my life to the boy with the bread several times over. I was alive because of Peeta.

The last time we were on this train he told me he would take whatever I could give him, so long as it was real.

Ironically, Snow's visit, his insistence on only truth between us, and the sleepless night that followed, had given me the push I needed. Snow offered an ultimatum disguised as a choice. Play up the lovesick girl act or bear with the consequences of his disproval. He wanted a lie so strong it appeared to be truth.

But I was tired of the lies.

I stepped forward and tripped over the hem of the heavy skirt. I caught myself on the arm he held extended. He twirled us with the momentum, transferring me upright into his other arm like it was natural. It was the sort of move we reserved for the cameras. We had a similar slip and fall during Caesar's interview, where I had pretended to lose my footing due to ice and Peeta swept me off my feet and then we gazed at each other adoringly like the rest of the world didn't exist.

Unrealistic, I know, but that was what the Capitol wanted. They ate up our displays of affections like I had the lamb stew, and it left them craving more.

I gifted Peeta a kiss on the cheek, secretly delighting in the way his mouth fell open in surprise.

"Snow visited me last night. Did he say anything to you?"

His arms stiffened, and it was only because I was already watching that I saw how his face closed off. "No," he said, shortly.

"There's been unrest in the districts. He warned me I need to be more convincing."

"I understand," he bit out.

I fisted my hands into his suit jacket, uncaring that Effie would scold us for wrinkling the material right before we went on stage. "Listen, please. I spent last night thinking about his warning, how I could make our story more believable, and I realized I couldn't." Blue eyes gazed at me, pained, no doubt afraid of what I would say next. "Not because I'm a terrible liar," I joked, earning a weak parody of a smile, "but I realized acting the part for the camera would solve nothing. The districts, Snow. Neither cares what's true and what's a lie. But I do."

I studied his face, praying he could see my earnesty. My hands drifted north, sliding up his back to curl over his broad shoulders. "We both want this to be real. We both wish the Capitol wasn't involved. I learned long ago that wishes weren't reality. It's too late to keep Snow and half of Panem from caring about whether we're truly in love or faked it to cheat the system. But I realized last night Katniss The-Girl-On-Fire and Katniss-the-girl-you-love don't need to be two separate people."

"Katniss," he said, voice low and desperate.

I closed the distance between us, mashing my lips to his. It was sloppy and rough, but passionate. I kissed him harder, hoping he would understand what I was saying.

Effie cleared her throat loudly. I ignored her, keeping my hands around his shoulders to prevent Peeta from pulling away. Peeta's strength was more than a match for mine. The fact that he didn't step out of the kiss meant he wanted to be here as much as I was.

Not that I had ever needed proof that Peeta loved me. He said it often enough and took it a step further with his actions. Now, I had finally caught up.

"You love me." Peeta's expression was a mixture of dazed and blissed.

"Yeah, I think so."

"Congrats on finally figuring out your feelings, sweetheart, but you could have picked a better time," slurred Haymitch. The man had gotten into his drunken character about halfway through the train ride. District Eleven, responsible for the nation's food production, was easily the largest district, and thus it was several hours even by train to reach the main city where the mayor and town building dwelled. "Crowd's waiting for your speech."

"Haymitch is correct, my pearls." Effie looked physically pained by the admission. "We really must get a move on, if we're to keep on schedule."

Peeta threaded his fingers through mine. "Together?

I could see the Peacekeepers outside the train, waiting to escort us to the town hall. Public speaking would never be my strong suit, and it was made all the worse knowing the speech I was expected to give, thanking Rue's and Thresh's families for providing worthy competitors. District Eleven was the only other district besides two with managed to get both tributes into the top eight and thus qualified for the special rule change. It could have been Rue and Thresh in our place.

I didn't feel ready for this part at all, but in this matter, I had no choice.

"Together," I agreed.

We were a team and we would get through this together, one district spectacle at a time. Then all we would have to worry about was mentoring batch after batch of kids doomed to die, but that was a future problem. Right now, all my focus was on making my Capitol approved—because it was Capitol written—speech sound real and convincing.