Chapter 1: One Last Lottery

Reaping Day dawns cloudy and overcast this year. With the light of our bedroom still gray, I steal out of the bed I share with my husband of four years. Slipping into the adjacent bathroom, I bathe in the washtub, scrubbing my skin with the lye soap until it is baby pink before dousing myself with the water I drew from the ground well out back. Our little shack in the Seam is just down the road from my mother and sister. It's a subsistent existence we live; we're poor as church mice. But Peeta and I agreed when we married that we would have each other in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer. Plus, with my husband's sunny disposition, sometimes he's even able to make me forget how financially miserable we are.

Sighing as I feel the fabric of my blue Reaping dress – a hand-me-down from my mother – settle over my body, I sashay back out into the master bedroom, glancing to the clock. 8:45 in the morning; the Reaping in the Square doesn't start until 10. Combing my fingers through my chestnut hair to do up the single braid running down my back, I am drawn to the slumbering form of my lover in the reflection of my vanity mirror. Peeta gave me this vanity as a wedding present, after getting it for a steal in the Hob.

I smile tenderly as I think over all he was done for me – for us – in just about four years of marriage and five, five and a half years of courtship (the finer pinpoint of when exactly we became romantically involved is a humorous dispute between me and him). I almost float over to our marriage bed, gazing down at him lovingly. Dipping my head, I press my lips feather-lightly to his, before running along to his earlobe.

"I love you," I whisper. Peeta grunts and stirs, but does not wake. I smirk, relieved for him that on one of only two holidays of the year in District 12, he'll get to sleep in. Though I expect him not to dawdle for too much longer.

Flitting down the stairs, I enter our meager kitchen, setting the teakettle to brew some herbal tea. Coffee grains drive a high price both in Town and in the Hob, and we ran out of our last beans two weeks ago. Maybe Peeta and I will be able to save enough so we can drink coffee on our fourth wedding anniversary the end of this month.

As the simple clock on our mantle begins to strike the hour, I hear the clopping of my husband's heavy tread on the stairs. I don't turn around, though I bite back a smile, and within moments, I suck in a breath as I feel a warm pair of lips dip a kiss into the curve of my neck.

"Hmmm…. Good morning, Mrs. Mellark…" The husky rumble in my Peeta's voice makes my core throb and ache with want. We had woken up in the middle of the night to make raw, hot love. The act of copulating was a comfort for us both, since I'd been shaken out of slumber by a nightmare. My dreams always turn dark on Reaping Eve.

Peeta's burly arms curl about my slim waist, while he continues to lap at the pulse point on my neck, causing it to race. Giggling, I spin about in his arms, my hands resting lightly on the planes of his firm chest. Giggling, I lean in and kiss my handsome baker.

"Hmmm… Good morning, Mr. Mellark." Humming curiously, I capture his lips with mine again and deepening the kiss, my mouth petaling open to greet his tongue. After a minute of breathing heavily through my nose, I finally dance away to come up for air. "Mmmmm…. Just as I suspected: you need to brush your teeth, mister."

Smirking sheepishly at being caught, Peeta pulls me tightly into him with one arm, while with the other, he reaches around me with a toothbrush in hand and rinses the paste under the tap. I get a front row view of him scrubbing while being held against him. Once Peeta's through, both his hands grope lower to fondle my ass through my skirts and he kisses me deeply. We break apart dreamily, my grey eyes lidded, the lashes fluttering.

"Better?"

"Much," my smile dimples.

Our mouths crash together furiously now, tongues battling for dominance. Peeta grips my buttocks in his fists and lifts me effortlessly onto the countertop next to the stove. Pausing to suck in a gasp, I grab him by his collar and drag his lips back to mine to resume our making out.

EEEEEEEE!

I squirm, squealing a little into my spouse's unyielding lips. "Hmmm!... P-Peeta! The tea!" I wriggle past him off the counter and fretfully take the kettle off the boiler, pouring each of us two generous cups. We get a hold of ourselves enough to take our seats at the kitchen table. As partners, as lovers and especially as best friends, we talk here best, asking each other about our days over dinner.

"Sleep well, my darling?" I wrestle with an amused smirk as I think of how our shagging tired him out.

"Very," Peeta sets his mug down carefully. The second he says it, he winces guiltily, before reaching across the table to take my hand. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be saying that when I know how you always lose sleep the night before the Reaping."

I shrug, taking another sip. "Maybe this will be the last time. And after that… you know…"

Peeta grins. "I'll drink to that." We smile at each other and chink mugs. I exhale shakily, prompting Peeta to round the table and kneel next to me, tucking me into him.

"Don't worry, Katty girl…."

I peer up into his face, stricken. "Please tell me she's going to be all right."

His easy, smoldering smile still never fails to make my stomach do flip-flops. "She's going to be all right. Just like she was last year. And the year before that. And the year before…."

Cupping my hand around his neck, I pull him down to me, kissing him soundly. When I draw back, my eyes are shining gratefully. "Thank you," I croon.

We kiss yet again, and I stand up into him, swaying onto my tiptoes as I loop my arms about his neck, my fingers weaving into his curly, golden hair. Peeta's hands are back to feeling up my ass, and when his palm grips the underside of my thigh and lifts it, I don't hesitate to hook my leg around his torso. The intimately fluid motion, as graceful as a dance and arousing as… well, making love opens up my hips to his, so I can cradle his hardening desire for me. Peeta grunts into my teeth as he rolls his hips forward. Taking his buttocks in my fist, I furiously rutt my hips back, purring.

"Hmmm…. Mmmmmmm…." I take, suck his tongue deeper into my mouth, my one hand snaking between us to grip him in my fist. I feel my husband jerk up into my touch, and my mouth curls around his, pleased. I am just slipping my fingers past the elastic of his trousers I freshly pressed on the ironing board the night before, when –

"OH, SNOW'S ROSES, ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?!"

Peeta and I jerk apart, our arms still about each other, still frozen in our deeply compromising position. Turning about in my husband's arms, the creamy skin of my hoisted thigh in full view when my blue skirts bunched up towards my hips, I half-cringe, half-smirk at the sight of my baby sister in the open doorway of our Seam home. Though, I have to concede, my little Primrose is not such a baby anymore. A young woman of eighteen, Prim is now gawping at us with her one hand coming up to cover her eyes. I'm ashamed to say that Peeta looks more embarrassed than I do at being caught in the act. He releases my leg, unhitching it from his waist and I smooth my skirts down.

"Sorry, Primrose."

Prim doesn't move a tick. "Peeta Mellark, are you at least not still attempting to corrupt my sister?"

I wince at her rather pointed wording. "Little late for that…" I mutter.

Prim gasps in dramatic horror. "I heard that, Katniss Magenta Everdeen!" Yet she still lowers her hand from her eyes.

I scowl. "It's Katniss Everdeen Mellark now," I correct her loftily. "And has been since you were fourteen, little missy."

Peeta gets between us. "I apologize for our lack of decency, Primrose. It won't happen again."

Prim frowns, but accepts the apology. Sauntering over to our kitchen table, she lifts the teakettle, weighs it. Peeta dutifully lunges for the counter and procures a clean mug so his sister-in-law can pour herself a cup.

I sink back into my chair, watching my little sister closely. "Where's Mother?"

"She was just getting into the washtub when I left. I told her she can either meet us here, or we'll rendezvous in the Square with her." Too late, she catches her own wording, and whispers, "Oh, gross!"

Peeta fails to tamp down a chuckle. "Your sister brewed that tea, Primmy. Is it really that bad?"

Prim turns to him and cocks an eyebrow. "You know perfectly well what I meant."

I decide it's long past time for me to regain the upper hand in this game of wits, though I admit Prim's unfortunate turn of phrase did her no favors. "While I can appreciate your aversion to all things…. sexual," I land on the word after a moment. Prim lifts her head out of her mug in horror.

"Please don't…."

I grin impishly. "…. I can imagine Rory Hawthorne will be very disappointed to hear of it."

Prim's jaw drops. "Katty!" Her whine is pleading. It's her face that gives her away, blooming into a bright pink.

"Prim, you are a young, eligible woman about to survive your last Reaping. Haven't you ever given any thought to what you'll do now that you're done with school?"

Prim pushes back her chair, hands on her hips. "Apprentice with Mother until I inherit the Healing business. What else?"

I tip the teakettle to refill my mug, face placid. "So you've never thought of having a Toasting then?"

"Never," Prim turns up her nose as she sniffs. "And you're one to talk! You never considered marriage until you met Peeta!"

"Well, I fell fast, and I fell hard, and by the time Peeta and I were your age and done with the Reaping, what was the point in waiting? In case you've forgotten, I was one who proposed." I grin. "I'm just saying you might not think a wedding is so bad once your whole future is open before you."

"And what if it's not?" Prim bites back. "What if I'm less than an hour from being bound for the arena?"

The air seems to get sucked out of the room, and I suck in a gasp along with it. Setting the tea kettle down deliberately so that it clatters, I glower at my sister, even as I fight back tears. "Don't. Don't you dare even think like that." I let out a breath. "Your name is in there only seven times, Prim; the chances of…"

"It could happen," Prim points out quietly. "Teacher says in Hunger Games History that an eighteen-year-old gets called…."

"It won't happen," Peeta interrupts. "All right? It won't happen. And even if it is an 18-year-old their last year, it won't be our little flower. Right, Katty girl?"

I glance up at my husband, smiling weakly. "No, of course it won't be." A sudden knock on the door mercifully pauses the conversation.

"That's probably Mother." Prim beats us to the door, but when she pulls it open, she backs up, blinking in surprise. "Rory! What… what are you doing here?"

Rory Hawthorne, little brother of my hunting partner, Gale, has a red flush to his skin and is panting hard. "I…. I figured I'd find you here, Prim…. C-Checked with your mother, and she said you'd come…" He can't finish while needing to take in a gulp of air; bracing on his knees, he lifts his head to wave lamely in our direction. "Morning, Katniss. Peeta."

Peeta grins. He and Rory have always gotten on ever since we married. It had always been a fear of mine that not everyone in the Seam would accept my husband – born a Merchant – when we Toasted the bread. Circumstances were bad enough when Peeta's mother and many of his neighbors in Town disowned him when he chose to take me as his bride, his wife. The last intra-class marriage before we wed was actually that of my own parents, so needless to say, Peeta's and my nuptials caused quite a scandal in the district's upper crust.

"Good morning, young Master Hawthorne. Are you well?"

Rory rises back to his full height. "Nervous," he huffs out honestly, before turning back to my sister. I can tell his fear isn't just in his voice. It's in his body language as well; the lad's hands are shaking as he quite sharply grips Prim's fingers. "Prim, I… I…"

Prim is still blinking dolefully. "Yes?" she asks sweetly. Peeta and I surreptitiously glance at each other. Rory is still trying to get his air back. "Rory, what is it?"

"I've… I've been thinking… it's our last year, and I know we've never needed it, but just in case worse comes to worse…." He flushes cherry-red. "Can I give you a Reaping Kiss?"

My grey orbs expand, shifting to see Peeta's mouth thin into an intrigued line. The Reaping Kiss is one of the oldest superstitions in District 12. A tradition that some value as sacred as the Toasting itself. No one knows who started the practice or when or why, but legend has it that if two people age-eligible for the Games share a kiss on Reaping morning, both are guaranteed not to be picked.

Just to be clear: no, Peeta's and my first kiss wasn't a Reaping Kiss. I survived all seven of my Reapings without a Reaping Kiss, though I have no reason to believe that the good luck charm doesn't work.

For Prim's part, her sparkling blue eyes are wide with astonishment, blinking rather rapidly. There is silence for a moment.

"May I please give you a Reaping Kiss?" Prim correct him. I smirk around the lip of my mug while draining the last of the tea. I taught Prim her grammar well. Another, uncertain pause. "I… I…."

I have to admire Rory's chutzpa. He goes right for it, pulling my sister close and causing her to gasp in shock. Dipping her back a little, Rory kisses her earnestly, right on the mouth. I grin wetly, trying not to cry. I had always wondered if I would get to see my sister's first kiss, and now that it's happened, I am just glad it occurred when she was old enough.

My husband, ever the gentleman, dutifully turns his back to give the embracing couple some privacy. But to my intrigue and ever-hopeful glee, I observe as Prim's lashes droop shut and her fingers start to curl against the starch of Rory's pressed dress shirt. At long last, the pair who has been best friends since diapers break apart, my sister looking utterly gobsmacked. Rory's grin is hesitantly triumphant, hopeful.

"I love you, Primrose."

I gasp sharply, eyes fixating on my sister expectantly. She still seems to have lost the ability to speak. Finally, she lifts her eyes shyly.

"Oh, Rory… I…. I love you, too."

I nearly squeal, but refrain. In a way, it is payment in kind. Prim was quite the little matchmaker when Peeta was first wooing me.

Rory looks beatific in his relief. "Well, in that case: Miss Everdeen…. may I escort you to the Square?"

Prim smiles shyly, amused. "You may, good sir."

Peeta spins back around and dashes up to pump Rory's hand. "Now that's the way to do it, my boy! Hurrah!" Prim turns into her… her new boyfriend (I can't believe it. My Primmy has a boyfriend!) blushing furiously.

The young couple glides arm-in-arm out onto the front porch. I float to the front door, collecting my shawl as we embark on our long walk to the Square. Peeta offers me his hand. "Madam: shall we?"

I appraise him, teasingly chiding. "Well, it wouldn't hurt you to use some manners too."

"What do I need manners for?" Peeta grins dopily. "I already got me a wife!"

I throw back my head and laugh at that, accepting his chaste kiss before we set off at a brisk walk to catch up with my sister and her new paramour.

We catch up with Mother at the edge of the Square. Aged in the years since the death of her husband, my daddy, in the mines when I was 11, she has still somehow managed to maintain her beauty, if not quite her grace. When I was a teenager, she was quite depressed for a time, but has started to get better in the years since Peeta's and my wedding. Seeing Prim and Rory with their hands clasped, Mother raises an eyebrow, but the twinkle in her deep blue eyes tell me she is pleased.

"Primrose, get in line, dear. Rory…. Good to see you as always."

Rory grins sheepishly. "Yes, ma'am." He gallantly lets Primrose ahead of him in line, where we can see the teenagers moving forward to be processed by having a pinprick of blood drawn.

I turn to my husband as I feel him touch my arm. "Katty…."

I nod wordlessly, gripped with a paralyzing fear that behooves me to hug Prim tightly. Kiss her temple. "Good luck, Little Duck."

"May the odds be ever in your favor, dear," Mother is right behind me in embracing her youngest.

Taking Peeta's hand, I allow my husband to lead me to an open space at the edge of the Square. We manage to claim a bit of shade under a Merchant awning, Mother right behind us, and we scan the sea of young faces being herded into the cobblestoned Square anxiously.

Rory and Primrose will be with the eighteens, in the very back. Girls in one column on the left, boys in a column on the right, forming a center aisle. As the clock tower above the Justice Building, our district's government seat, begins to strike the hour, Mayor Undersee and our assigned Hunger Games escort emerge through the oaken double doors.

Mayor Undersee begins by reciting his rote speech, one that has not changed in wording or length since I was Prim's age and younger. Then he mercifully moves on the list the names of past District 12 Victors. In nearly 80 years, we have had exactly two, neither of whom are still alive. The most recent champion, Haymitch Abernathy, won the Second Quarter Quell – a special edition of the Games held ever quarter of a century, hence the name. I've only been alive for one Quarter Quell – the Third, which happened the summer before I was married. Haymitch and his mentor, a little old lady named Lucy Gray Baird, were forced back into the arena to compete again opposite fellow Victors. That was a particularly brutal year: at 81 years of age, Lucy Gray, the Victor of the 10th Games, died in the Cornucopia bloodbath. Haymitch, a peer of my mother, made a good run of it, having clearly weaned off the booze. But it wasn't enough. He went down to the man from Two and eventual Victor, Brutus, earning a bronze medal in a respectable third place showing.

It doesn't matter now. Dead is dead. And the statues of our only two winners that have stood in the school courtyard since my parents were students have only increased in meaning. The district train station is named for Lucy Gray. Our largest mine is known as Abernathy Mine, even though Haymitch never worked down its shafts a day in his life.

Effie Trinket, our Capitol escort, finally steps forward. She's had the same grating, fake lilt to her voice since I was first of Reaping age. "Welcome, welcome! The time has come to select one young man and young woman for the honor of representing District 12 in the 80th Annual Hunger Games. As always, ladies first!"

I suck in a breath as I feel Peeta's hand squeeze mine, and I squeeze back. Effie is at the bowl, plucking the first slip her fingers come in contact with. Please… don't let it be….

"Primrose Everdeen."

Shit. …. Shit!

Next to me, I hear Peeta make some sort of choking sound. Aside from that, the Square is deathly quiet.

"Primrose? Come on up, dear!"

I watch, hardly daring to breathe, as my little sister steps into the center aisle and begins to slow death march up to the stage. My body is crackling like a live wire, and I suddenly have the overwhelming urge to dart out from the crowd and throw my body between the Capitol and my sister, damn the rules that say I'm too old to volunteer for her! But then I feel Peeta's fingers slide up from my palm to clinch my wrist. I fretfully turn to him, only to see him shaking his head imperceptibly. It's a testament to how much he loves me, and I him, to observe the pain swimming in his own eyes… eyes as blue as a summer sky….

Prim is on the stage now, and Effie is asking for volunteers. I glower menacingly at all the girls assembled halfway across the Square, the heat behind my gaze attempting to coerce someone into stepping forward to take my sister's place. One of you, speak up, damn you! No one makes a sound, though, and I shouldn't have expected anyone to. District 12 has never had anyone volunteer for the Games – ever.

"Splendid! And now for the boys!" Effie crosses to the boys' bowl, and whips out the slip with a flourish. "Ornam Silversand!"

I'm almost relieved when Ornam Silversand turns out to be a twelve-year-old Seam boy. But he doesn't even get to the stage before a strong and hale youth is emerging from the back and I nearly scream.

"I volunteer as tribute!"

With his grip still on my wrist, I can feel Peeta teetering dangerously, swaying into me. "Snow's Roses, Rory, what have you done, boy?"

But he has. And a strange admiration, clashing horribly with despair, fills me as Rory sacrifices his own life so he can stand with Prim, the woman who has his heart. If I had any doubts that the boy doesn't love my sister, they're gone now.

So it makes me even more despondent to study Primrose expression and clearly detect the anger, hurt, disappointment and betrayal there. She is forced to shake hands with the boy who was her first kiss not even an hour ago, and then the tributes from District 12 are taken into custody.

The doors haven't even closing before Peeta is shoving Mother and me towards the doors. "Run…. RUN!"

The three of us are some of the first people in line to sign in for visitor registration. Crude signs indicate the girl tribute is a holding cell to the left, the boy to the right. It is only right and just that my mother, my husband and I end up at the head of the line to see Prim. What is shocking is how rapidly the line is filling up behind us. I always knew how much my sister is adored in this district, even by some Merchants. I remember how Dannel Mellark, my father-in-law, used to sneak Prim a cookie when she was little, on those days she would drag me to a stop in front of the Bakery to oooh and ahhh over the cakes in the window.

The Peackeeper on duty opens the door for us, and our little trio dashes inside. I fling myself to my knees and hug Prim around the middle, clutching her as though she is still twelve years old despite how she's sprouted to be nearly as tall as me. She's blossomed into a fine young woman, and now it doesn't matter at all.

I'm sobbing, clutching at her skirts so tight that it must be painful, for I feel Peeta's gentle arms encircling me, trying to hold me, lift me to my feet.

"Katty… Katty, girl…. don't…."

Sniffling, hiccupping, I shakily start to rise off my knees, and hold in a watery chuckle when I see the corner of Prim's white blouse peeking out. "Wh-What have I told you about tucking in this tail, Little Duck?" I adjust it for her.

Prim's giggle turns into a heaving sob, and she leans out of our embrace, smiling wetly at me as we lift our joined hands between us. Sisters, first and always.

Finally getting a hold of myself, I bore my gaze into hers to make sure she hears me and listens. "You're smart. You're great at healing, which means you can treat your own words if not necessarily somebody else's. But I don't want you fighting unless you have absolutely no other choice. Hide first and foremost; fight only as a last resort." When Prim says nothing, I search her face frantically. "Primrose, do you hear me?!"

Her head bobbles as she nods. "Yes. I will, Katty. I promise!"

"I want to hear you say it. Say: I will hide as long as possible."

"I will hide as long as possible."

I smile, strained. "There's a good girl." Cupping her face in my hands, I kiss her on the forehead.

"Katty?"

"Hmm?"

"Will you promise me something in return?"

"Anything."

"If…. if I don't make it…." She bites her lip. "Will you and Peeta have a baby for me?"

If it's possible for my heart to plunge any lower, it does, sinking from my stomach and down towards my feet. When I proposed marriage, I made it very clear to Peeta that I would never become pregnant. My sister's selection for death is a perfect example of why: babies are something to lose only to become something to lose to the arena. It is nearly unbearable to watch the girl I helped raise carted off to the slaughter. Should I ever one day bear my husband's child, a child we made, only for it to also be plucked for damnation… I wouldn't survive it. I would end up like my mother – emotionally defeated and drained.

And yet, because this is Prim asking it of me, I have to breathe out a "Yes." How could I deny her anything, even if it goes back on my principles? I can feel Peeta watching me, and do my best to ignore it.

"Moth… Mother deserves grandchildren."

"And you deserve to live!" Peeta steps into me, leveling Primrose with a pointed look. "Come home alive first, young lady, and then your sister and I will discuss giving you a little niece or nephew."

Primrose stares him down. "And you take care of my sister, no matter what happens!"

"I promise." Peeta doesn't even have to think about it.

Prim's lips quirk up. "You're a good man, Peeta Mellark. My Katniss married a pot of gold in you." I can't help but agree, turning to gaze up at my husband adoringly.

We stand aside to let Mother have a few moments alone with her youngest. As our fifteen minutes slip away like sand through an hourglass, I dash forward, unpinning with shaking fingers the little pendant I clipped to the bodice of my blue dress this morning. The pin, forged in the shape of a mockingjay, was actually a small engagement present from Madge Undersee, the Mayor's daughter and one of my closest girlfriends.

"You get to have one token in there. Wear this for me, for luck. It's a mockingjay pin. As long as you have it, nothing bad will happen to you. I promise."

Prim whimpers, nodding furiously as she flings her arms around my neck. I hold her close, murmuring how I love her over and over until the Peacekeeper has to drag me away.

Peeta, Mother and I then cross the hall in a fog to Rory's holding room. The line for him is shorter, mostly Seamers and friends of his from school. A few colleagues of his brother in the mines. When we're finally admitted, I cross to my sister's love interest in three quick strides and hug him around the neck. This is followed by me lightly slapping his face. Rory appears satisfyingly flummoxed by my bipolar reaction.

"You are a brave, stupid, noble boy, Rory Hawthorne!" I admonish.

Rory smiles guiltily. But to his credit, he shows no fear, shoulders back. Now drawing even in height with his older brother, he is carrying himself very much like a man. "I love Prim, Katniss. And I couldn't leave her to face this alone. I'll protect her in there. You have my word."

I smile softly. "I know you will." Floating onto my tiptoes, I peck him on the cheek. Then, on an impulse, I whisper in his ear, "I was hoping we'd be in-laws by marriage one day." Rory looks immensely touched that I would openly voice my approval.

"I'm mighty glad to hear that… because… I was going to give her this after the Reaping." Pulling a bulge from his pocket, he lifts back the lid to reveal that it is a ring box with a diamond inside it.

Mother draws both hands to her mouth with a gasp. I beam admiringly, even as my eyes well up. "It's beautiful, Rory…"

"I should hope it is. I spent years saving up for it!" He sighs. "For all the good it did us. What am I supposed to do with it now?"

"Use it as your token." I turn back to my husband, blinking at his suggestion. "Carry it with you, for luck. Hell, even wear it."

The face Rory makes is almost adorable, were it not for the context. "But this is a girl's ring!"

Peeta doesn't even blink. "I know."

"Peeta, I can't wear it; I'll look silly!"

"So try and keep it in full view, then! Even if you don't wear it, people in the Capitol who see it will know what it means! They'll know you have a sweetheart, likely waiting back home – that's something you can play up on!"

It would be a good plan… if Rory's sweetheart wasn't also going into the arena with him. My hunting partner's kid brother still looks unsure, stowing the engagement ring back into his pocket.

"OK…. But I don't know what good it'll do."

Mother wraps Rory in a hug. "While I would have preferred you came and asked me for my daughter's hand first…" (At this, Peeta smiles fondly, recalling how he and I got engaged) "…. You still have my blessing."

Rory blushes, thrilled. "Thank you, ma'am."

Peeta is last, holding out his hand to shake. "Fight hard. Come home to us."

"I will, Peeta. I'll fight hard!"

The Peacekeeper finally ushers us out. As we exit the Justice Building and trudge down the stone steps, I keep my eyes peeled for the rest of the Hawthornes, but they're nowhere in sight.

My arm looped through my husband's, I lean my head heavily on Peeta's shoulder as we begin our funeral walk back to the Seam. Not a word passes between any of us until we let Mother of on her porch.

"Mama, are you sure you don't want to stay over with us tonight?" Peeta asks gentlemanly.

"No, thank you, dear," Mother declines her son-in-law. "I… I think I need to lie down."

I frown, leery. "Mother."

"I'll be fine, Katty, dear. Don't you worry." She smiles unconvincingly and disappears into her house.

Peeta and I trudge back to our own ramshackle abode. I'm sick to my stomach, my insides are churning, and I barely make it into the bathroom before I'm retching into the toilet. Peeta dutifully rubs my back, and even goes so far as to carry me to our bed. Neither one of us feels like eating, and we for damn sure aren't about to light any candles in the window, as is tradition for households who were spared in the Reaping. Prim might not live with us, but our household has been darkened this night.

As the shadows lengthen along the walls of our bedroom, eventually giving away to moonbeams, Peeta and I hold each other in the darkness.

"Oh, darling…." I finally moan out behind a sharp, sudden sob. "The State preserve us…. what are we going to do?"

Peeta merely turns me into him and kisses my face, my damp eyelids, my lips, everywhere.

"I don't know, sweetheart…. I just don't know…."