TRIGGER WARNING: ATTEMPTED SEXUAL ASSULT

Haymitch appoints Peeta as a deputy, which allows Peeta to carry a gun. Peeta has a permit to carry a gun. We got ours together when we were younger, and I'm surprised that he had renewed it all this time as he was never much of a hunter. Perhaps he keeps it for protection.

Peeta and I head in the direction of Snow's Rose farm. We ride together in my car, and there's a nervous energy around us. After my talk with Haymitch, I've realized he's right. Perhaps this is my second chance with Peeta. Perhaps I was sent to Panem to fix the friendship we let die.

I also knew one thing for sure. I have to keep my heart away from Peeta Mellark.

Falling in love with Peeta again would only complicate things. His life seems set in Panem. His bakery is thriving so much that he has time to play cop with me.

I'm not interested in a relationship. I haven't been interested for a while. My last fling ended right before I joined the Justice Killer's task force. Work has always come first. I'll be an official agent soon, and I can't let anything keep me back. Who knows where I will be stationed or what kind of work I will do. This life is dangerous, but I live for it.

Peeta hums lightly to the radio as I drive. It's a sunny day with mild weather, and I feel content. I feel happy for the first time in a long time. I let out a satisfied sigh.

Peeta glances over at me. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," I tell him with my eyes on the road. "I just feel..." I trail off.

"Happy?" He finishes for me.

I nod. "Is that wrong? We're search for missing people, and I'm happier than I have been in a long time."

"Panem has that effect on you. You're miserable when you leave, but you're pleased when you come back."

I raise an eyebrow at him. "Or I'm happy to be back in the field. It's been a while since I've investigated anything that wasn't already in a case file."

"Or," he says in an exaggerated fashion. He gives me a cheeky grin. "It's seeing me again."

I roll my eyes at him, but I feel the blush that moves swiftly across my face. "No, never."

Peeta continues to smile. "Well, I've miss you." We fall into a silence. Peeta smiling like he's woke the lottery, and me keeping my scarlet face away from him. The silence is disturbed when Peeta asks, "So tell me about this person of interest. I wasn't aware we had one."

"His name is Cornelius Snow," I tell him, turning on my FBI brain." The FBI was looking into him years ago. He was a former superintendent of District Twelve School and accused of embezzling money. He was smart and covered his tracks, but the FBI was suspicious. I can't shake a note that I found in one of his files. It accused him of making poison from a rare flower."

Peeta nods in agreement. "Well, he had the means to do it. His family has owned a rose nursey for generations."

"He just fits the profile so well," I say eagerly. I would love for this case to be so simple. That rarely happens though.

"You made a profile?" Peeta asks in disbelief.

I nod. "Haymitch and I came up with it last night and sent it to the FBI in an official request for back up. We believe the suspect is a white male between the ages of forty and sixty. A narcissist who is used to having power. From the area or fits in enough with the people of Panem to not cause suspicion." It's not much, but its a start.

"What makes you think he is a male?"

"He's strong enough to abduct the victims. Some of which were strong men."

"He could have an accomplice," Peeta suggests.

Haymitch and I toyed with this idea after dinner last night. "The abductions were over such a long period of time that it seems like two suspects are unlikely. They could have had a falling out or one could have died. Two suspects means more room for error, which we have not found."

"Okay, I can understand that," Peeta tells me. "What makes you think he's forty to sixty years old? That seems pretty old for a murder."

"He would be fifty to seventy now and not when the abductions began. You see, he had to be at least twenty when he started. He would have had to be self sufficient enough to have a place to take the victims and hold them for long periods of time. The first abduction was nearly twenty years ago."

"You're pretty smart, Everdeen," Peeta tells me with his signature smile. The one that would make all the girls in high school swoon. "I've never questioned someone before. What do I do?"

I laugh at the nervousness in his voice. "Leave the talking to me. You're more like a... silent and intimidating partner."

Snow's mansion is nothing short of picturesque. Rolling hills and a white picket fence. The mansion itself used to be a plantation home with tall columns and white bricks. Perfect rosebushes and weeping willow trees make up the landscape. We stop at the gate and have to be buzzed in by a voice through an intercom. One flash of my badge, and we're in.

I stop the car at the top of the circle drive and climb out. I stand beside Peeta as a man in a grey suit makes his way down the staircase to us. I can tell that he is butler before he even opens his mouth. "Hello agents, what can I do for you today?"

"We'd like to speak to Mr. Snow," I reply in the most intimidating voice I can manage. I call it my FBI voice.

The butler gives us a single nod. "Mr. Snow is very busy today. Can you schedule another time to come back?"

"No," Peeta says before I have the chance to. "We're very bust conducting an investigation. We have a few questions to ask Mr. Snow, and we'll be on our way." His FBI voice isn't half bad.

I watch the butler gulp. "Very well," he says. "Please come inside while I gather Mr. Snow."

We're lead into a foyer with tall ceilings and numerous crystal chandeliers. I roll my eyes at how cliché it is. Snow had all of this luxury and excess while I was collecting herbs in the forest with my father to make ends meet. The house we lived in was only on the nice street because my grandparents left it to my mother when they died. Our lives could not be more different.

We sit on scarlet velvet chairs as the butler leaves us in the pristine room. I send Peeta a glare and cross my arms. "So much for a silent partner."

"Have you seen this place?" Peeta asks with raised eyebrows. "They're obviously old fashioned and that involves misogyny." In a joking tone, he adds, "You should add that to your profile."

Before I have the chance to reply, the sound of footsteps fills the air. The butler has returned. "Right this way," he says in his proper tone. We're lead down a long hallway with floor to ceiling windows that curve at the top. The sun shines in on us and the marble floors, but I don't feel it's warmth.

The butler stops by an opened door, and Peeta enters the room first. I shouldn't be surprised by how immaculate the room is, but I am nevertheless. The left and right walls are floor to ceiling bookshelves, and I doubt half of the thousands of books have ever been touched. A mahogany desk the size of my bed sits in the center of the room. Off center, a bouquet of a few dozen white roses sits in a ruby red vase. On the wall behind the desk, a painting as tall as I am depicts the same exact bouquet. Behind the desk is a black leather chair. In the chair, Mr. Snow sits with his back to us.

I come to a stop beside Peeta. I don't want to sit in another velvet chair, and the uneasy look on Peeta's face tells me that the feeling is mutual. This is all too much. Too showy. Too perfect.

Too perfect indeed. The room is completely void of dust or papers or any signs of real work. The room is smaller than I would have expected for a powerful, mysogenistic man. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

Mr. Snow turns to face us with a playful smirk on his puffy lips. His main of white hair looks freshly styled and not a hair is out of place. His skin is pale and smooth like milk. There's not a single wrinkle on his aged face. "Hello, agents. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Peeta answer, and I have to hold back the urge to tackle him. "Hello, Mr. Snow. We're investigating the disappearance of Panem citizens."

Snow outs his hands together and leans his elbows on his perfect desk. "I don't see how that has led you to my door."

My heart stops beating. Peeta is a wild card. We barely covered interviewing a person of interest. He could very well reveal our entire hand and piss off our one and only lead.

Instead, Peeta surprises me. "We're looking for someone around your age. Since you were once the superintendent of District Twelve, we were hoping you could give us insight as to the feeling of town."

Snow's eyes flicker to me and then back to Peeta. "Yes," he clicks his red tongue. "I had a lot of connections in town back then. My family was absolutely horrified when I became a superintendent instead of taking over the family business. Made a lot of enemies and a lot of surprising friends. I'll answer your questions."

For once, Peeta looks at me to continue. "We've had trouble connecting the victims. So far, they've been a range of ages and backgrounds. Did anything stick out to you during your time as superintendent?"

Snow's red tongue wets his puffy lips. It reminds me of a snake. "No. There was chatter and rumors among the teachers but nothing I found to be creditable. Unfortunately, her disappearance was overshadowed by my sudden departure from the school corporation."

"This is a nice farm you've got here," Peeta says without missing a beat. He looks around the room like he's taking it all in for the first time.

Snow's eyes narrow a fraction, but I see it. "Yes, it has been in my family for many generations."

"My mother loved getting Snow's Roses. Her favorite were the pink ones," Peeta tells Snow smoothly, but I know its a lie. Mrs. Mellark was a wretched woman and hated gifts, especially flowers that served no purpose but to die. Her least favorite color was pink.

"Yes," Snow says smiling. I can tell that Peeta has used his charm to win the old man over. "Pink and white are some of our most popular roses."

My phone beeps, and all the eyes in the room turn to me. I give Snow a quick smile and reach for my cell phone. Peeta and Snow continue to converse about how vibrant the colors of Snow's Roses are. Meanwhile, I receive a text from the forensics scientist in the FBI lab. She's got my results. Her text reads: All three samples are positive for lethal doses of A. obesum.

My heart drops in to my stomach, and my throat goes dry. I was right. The other FBI agent was right. Someone with access to A. obesum, also found in the desert rose flower, has poisoned our last three victims. The FBI agent in me returns. Who cares if I am a female? This man could be out killer.

I clear my throat. In my most authoritative voice, I say, "Mr. Snow, we're going to need to you to come with us to the Sheriffs office." Peeta shoots me a look, but I don't have time to answer his questions. Instead, I reach for my handcuffs in case Snow resists.

Snow's face gets paler, if possible. "Is something wrong?"

"The higher ups would like the interview to be moved to more of a professional setting," I tell him while Peeta continues to bore holes into the side of my head. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see him studying me, trying to figure me out.

I don't move. Peeta doesn't move. Snow doesn't move. Just as I am about to ask him again, the door to the office slams shut. It's enough to make Peeta and turn to see what the problem is. That's our mistake. I turn back around to see that Snow is putting on a mask... a gas mask! A hissing noise fills the room, and a thin, white glass pours out of invisible places.

I reach for my gun and try to hold my breath, but it all happens too fast. I've inhaled enough to make the room spin. I stumble forward, towards Snow. If we burn, he burns with us. I fire two shots, but my aim is impaired. I miss. My first shot hits the ruby red vase on the desk. The second puts a hole in the beautiful mahogany desk. Suddenly, everything is not beautiful anymore.

I refuse to close my eyes and sink into oblivion. My legs spasm, and I can't walk. Slowly, I sink to the ground. A sense of Deja vu spreads through me when I notice how shiny objects in the room have become. The smooth desk begins to bubble like a children's bath. The bubbles are... orange. No, that's not right. I'm seeing things.

Then, it hits me. The same thing happened when the Justice Killer's task force was knocked out and taken captive. Could this be the same gas? If it is, then that raises more questions than it answers. I'm lying on the floor when it the dread sinks in. Before everything goes dark, I mumble, "Again?"

~Age Eighteen~

Is it my imagination, or are Cato's eyes darker than they were before? His grin isn't so sly, and it sends shivers down my back. In a smooth voice, he tells me, "Party doesn't start for at least another half an hour. We shouldn't be too early in case Finnick and Annie are getting it on."

It makes sense. I've heard the rumors about what happens on prom night. "Hm," I hum while trying to think of something to say. I'm nervous, uncomfortable no, and all I want to do is leave Cato's house. I suggest, "We could wait outside."

Cato stalks towards me like I'm his prey. "Or we could do other things."

I immediately take a several steps back and run into his dresser. Trapped with no where to go, I freeze. "Or we could just go."

Cato ticks his tongue. "Oh, Everdeen," he says with a smirk. "Always a tease. Don't be so pure, it's prom night. Have a little fun."

"This isn't fun," I tell him on a deadly tone.

Cato places his hands on both of my arms. "It could be," he says. "Show me why Peeta Mellark is so protective of." He leans in to kiss me on the lips.

I push his face away roughly. "No, Cato." I'm dead serious.

"No?" He asks in astonishment. He cocks his head to one side. "No one's ever told me no before."

"Well I am," I tell him and move to push past him. That's it, I'm getting out of here. Cato grabs me by the waist and throws me onto his bed in one swift move. I'm lucky that I found the landing or else that would have been a hard fall onto the wooden floor.

Instead, I find myself staring up at his ceiling. I'm so caught off guard that I don't know what to do. I'm just about to reach for my phone in my back pocket when Cato comes into my view. He takes my hands and puts them above my head. His leg wrestles with mine and wins. He's so much bigger and stronger than I am.

I'm kicking, thrashing, and screaming profanities. "Get the fuck off me, Cato! Help! HELP!"

"No one can hear you, Girl on Fire."

I gather my spit in my mouth and aim for his face. Bullseye. Pissed, he removes one of his hands and wipes his face. Then, he punches me in the face.

I see white and red. My lip and nose sting from the force of his fist. As I lick my lip, I can tell that one of them is bleeding... or both. I continue to struggle against him and manage to free one of my hands. It's my turn to watch as Cato gets punched in the face.

It does nothing but piss him off more. Cato frees my hands, but his hands automatically go to my neck, crushing it and the air I desperately need. Gasping for air, I do everything I can think of. Kicking him where it hurts most. Pulling his hair. Punching him in various sports. Choking him. It doesn't work. Nothing works.

The corners of my eyes begin to go dark and I know that when I lose consciousness, it'll all be over. Cato will rape me. The look in his eyes makes me think that he might even kill me. I can't let that happen. Desperately, I try one more thing. I take my nails, that have been sharpened into coffins for prom, and dig them into his eye sockets.

Finally, this works. Cato jerks back and releases my neck to protect his eyes. In that split second, I roll away from him and prepare to jump off the bed.

But Cato is quicker than I am. He grabs my leg mid jump, and I fall face first onto the floor. The room spins, and I'm sure that I've acquired a concussion. I can feel my warm blood running down my face from where I've hit it on the floor. There's no time to think about that though because Cato has recovered, and he flips me onto my back.

"You stupid fucking bitch," he yells into my face. Both of his eyes are bloodshot and releasing watering. "You're gonna pay for that."

He pulls back his fist to punch me again, but I dodge it. The punches nothing but the ground. I take my nails and drag them down his face, taking the skin with me. He screams in pain and frustration. I do the same as I continue to rake his face and neck with my nails over and over. My legs kick at his stomach. Surely he has to have some broken ribs by now. Cato is thrown off by this, and he collapses onto the floor beside me.

I've seen enough true crime shows and mysteries to know that this isn't over. If I run now, Cato will come after me. I need to finish him off or make sure he is unconscious. I choose the second option.

I'm not very big. My physic is small and lean from years of hiking and exercising, but I'm quick. I roll myself onto Cato and sit on his stomach. I throw punch after punch at him until his face bleeds and his screams lose power. His hands try to grab at me, pull my hair, and do the same trick that I did with his eyes, but I'm better. There's too much blood in his eyes. I have the upper hand now. It isn't until I land the perfect punch that Cato's body goes limp.

I take a second to breathe, and then I sprint out of his room and out of the house. I don't have much time to escape. A guy like Cato doesn't let you just get away. No, he'll come to finish me off, pissed that I won the first round.