Chapter 9: All is Lost

"Errrm….. Huhhhh….. Uhhhhh…. Mmmmm….. Hmmmm... Faster…. Faster…."

As Peeta moves between my legs, I try to muffle my moans by biting into my hand, though I'm not sure it matters. We are in the Meadow, where I've rarely if ever seen anyone else venture, and we had moved a ways farther from where we used to meet, the tall grass and flowers surrounding us helping to conceal our frenzied movements. My blue skirts have been shoved up around my hips, and his pants are around his knees, open just enough to free his cock, which he is driving into me mercilessly. My shirt is pushed up as well, and he had wrenched my bra cup out of the way so he could lavish my left breast with his tongue and his teeth.

On one particular stroke of my clit with his fingers, I yelp loudly – "OHHHH!" - my attempt at relative silence forgotten. He hastily covers my lips with his, licking his way into my mouth. He swallows my moans as I frantically buck my hips in time with his thrusts, forcing his hand to bear down harder between my thighs. I feel the momentum of my orgasm barreling through me, and I can't fucking stand it any longer—I wrench my mouth from his to dip my head back and cry out as I cum.

When Peeta finishes, he rests his head on my chest as he catches his breath. Then, groaning, he crawls out from between my legs and pushes the hem of my blue dress back down for me, smoothing the skirt down. I feel boneless, relishing in the euphoria of my orgasm, trying not to think about anything other than the satiation of my body. Peeta flops down on his back beside me, his breathing labored, and I watch as he removes the condom and dumps the contents on the ground, stuffing it back into its pouch. His arms drop to the ground after he's buttoned his pants up, and he lets out a huff, staring up at the sky.

"Fuck," he mutters, and I sigh, turning my gaze to the sky.

"Fuck," I agree. I'm still not sure why I seem to lose all rational thought in his presence, why I can't stop. Why I am seeing him, fucking him, behind my mother and my sister's backs. I only feel marginally less guilty knowing that Prim and Rye are still off on their Victory Tour, launched by the Harvest Festival, and won't be back for a few days. All I know is that, at least in this moment, it feels right, like being with Peeta is what I am meant to do, that's where I'm supposed to be.

Today is the first time we've made love since that fateful evening in his pigpen. We had tried to resist, meeting in the Meadow just to talk, then, just to kiss, then, just to touch, to reduce each other to quivering messes with our hands, as if somehow that wrong is less egregious—but ultimately, we were just delaying the inevitable. We both knew where it was heading; we both knew we wanted more (why else had he brought the condom?). So, when his hand had danced teasingly between my legs, under my panties, I realized what I wanted was his cock filling me up, not his fingers, so I pulled him on top of me and freed him of his trousers. Peeta quickly got the hint.

We're both quiet for a moment, and a cool breeze rustles my hair, cooling my face. I close my eyes. It's starting to get colder these days. School is going to start again soon, and then I won't see Peeta as much—if at all. With how busy the last year, year and a half of Upper School is, we will have no time for secret rendezvouses in the Meadow.

I can stop seeing him then, I tell myself, cut all ties. I just want a little more time with him until then, just another taste of the happiness I've found, writhing underneath him, before I have to let him go again.

Fingers smooth over my brow, and I open my eyes to find Peeta watching me. He has rolled onto his side, and he is caressing my forehead, my cheek. I can't help herself; I smile. The corner of his mouth curls up, though his eyes are a cloudy blue. He shifts closer to press a kiss to my temple, but he rests his forehead on mine, his mouth brushing my ear. I can feel his warm breath, and it makes me shiver.

"I know I shouldn't say this," he starts, his voice low, "but what I wouldn't give to be able to strip you naked and worship your body the way you deserve so you can scream as loud as you want."

No, he mustn't say that. But I love to hear it all the same. Biting my lip, I curl against his chest and tuck my head under his chin. "Me too," I whisper, and he wraps his arm around me to hold me close.

After only a few moments of companionable silence, I suddenly start, pushing up against my lover's chest. "Oh, no."

I feel Peeta stir beneath me. "What is it...?"

"Mandatory Attendance... we're going to be late!" I refuse to let what happened to me the day of our siblings' Reaping happen again! Peeta and I hurriedly redress and we duck under the fence (probably right before it would be electrified) and we begin a mad sprint down to the Square.

We arrive just in time, without suspicion.

"I heard Thom Borden is looking to make application to be Miner Foreman," Delly gossips to Madge at our usual lunch table.

"Coming right out of graduation? That's a little presumptive, don't you think?" Madge smirks in amusement. "Dex Stalag probably loves that…"

"Well, it's not like Thom doesn't have just cause – his father was Miner Foreman. His father before him was Miner Foreman…."

"It doesn't matter! You start in the mines, you have to pay your dues and work your way up!..."

I keep mum as I focus down on my lunch plate. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Peeta grant me a tiny smile. I grin gently back, picking at my sandwhich, absently listening to Madge and Delly gossip. I like my girlfriends, but we don't share similar interest in matters of substance…. or really, lack of it. I let them have their fun, though. The end of term is always hard, not the least because the Reaping is once again bearing down on us. And for a Quarter Quell, no less!

It might be my second-to-last one – there would be just a single Reaping to go before Peeta and I are free – but I am still trafficking in the not-so-unfounded paranoia that Peeta and I might have our names drawn.

Underneath the table, I feel Peeta's fingers drifting towards mine. I drum my fingertips along his, but don't lace our fingers together; someone could glance down and still see.

As far as I'm aware, neither Delly nor Madge know that Peeta and I have been romantically involved for the past six months. My affair with the Baker's son has been kept a total secret. I know we should probably just come out with it and announce we're together, but I'm slightly afraid of what others might say. Not ashamed – I could never be ashamed of wanting Peeta – just afraid. Not necessarily over what Madge or Delly might say (on the contrary, I'm sure they'd be thrilled), but some of our other classmates. Our teachers.

Peeta's mother….

Add on top of all this emotional turmoil the looming presence of final exams, and I'm about ready to crack from the stress. I glance at the clock: we still have a good forty minutes to go in our lunch period. Madge and Delly are still chattering away, and I suppress an eyeroll. I decide to risk temptation just this once, and grab for Peeta's hand as I stand.

"Let's go," I mumble, dragging him deliberately out of the lunch hall.

"Katty! Where are you going?" I hear Madge call after us. I ignore her.

I drag Peeta up the deserted stairwell and into the library. We'll have much more productive time studying during the free hour than listening to our friends yammer on about whether or not Thom Borden will be Miner Foreman within the next five years.

Dropping Peeta's hand, I flounce into a chair secluded behind some bookcases, pull out my schoolbooks and begin to copy over notes. I sense Peeta sagging into the chair across from me, but I don't look up. I need the quiet. I can feel his impossibly blue eyes on me, waiting to see if I will say hello, or ask him how his day has been. I finally get my head out of my assignment and frown in his direction.

"Quit looking at me like that!" I hiss. "I mean... we study together in class."

I feel Peeta smiling, and I know he has taken my gentle chastisement to mean that I am happy he is here with me.

Even as a gaggle of Merchant girls passes by, and make a point of voicing their disapproval of seeing Peeta and I together. It is delivered in hushed tones, but barely.

As much as I can try to pretend that these Merchants' judgment and prejudice doesn't sting... it does. It is not as though I am not accustomed to it; Seam hatred runs deep in Town. Rather ironically, the Baker's wife - Peeta's mother - is one of the ugliest perpetrators. When I have been unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of her vitriol during trades with the Bakery (the Baker has a guilty pleasure for my squirrels), I have tried to ask Mother why the Witch is the way she is. So far, I have never received a satisfactory answer.

I must give away too much on my face, for Peeta feels the need to break our calm silence for the first time all afternoon. "They're idiots, Katty - the whole lot of them."

I shrug. "What else can they say when they see Merchant and Seam together? People talk."

"Most people are fools," Peeta dismisses, his voice firm despite the gross generalization. Even so, he's not entirely wrong. If most of us weren't fools, would the Capitol still have power over us so easily? Control what we watch, what we eat, what we read? Control everything in our lives except perhaps who we love, who we marry and who we fuck?

"You shouldn't let them get to you," Peeta's voice is bringing me out of my thoughts.

I sigh. "But how am I supposed to respond? They're right - I'm just the poor daughter of a dead Seam miner."

I am shocked by Peeta's vehemence as he hisses, "I don't want to ever hear you say that again about yourself!" And as if to be patronizing and make me recant, he suddenly lifts my book out of my hands and snatches it across the table.

"Give me back my book, Peeta."

He shakes his head, clearly waiting for me to say something, even if I don't know exactly what he wants me to say. I know the general gist, but really, what's the point? If this is his way of trying to help me boost my self-esteem, his methods are rather unorthodox. Huffing, I stand and prissily march around the table, stomping my feet into the carpet. But Peeta is already standing, and being taller than me, is able to hold the book above both our heads, out of reach.

"Give me back the damn book, Peeta."

I jump, trying to pluck the book out of the air, but I just end up knocking Peeta off-balance instead, so that he falls back into his chair with such force that it nearly tips over, leaving him no choice but to grab my wrist on reflex, pulling me down onto his lap.

Peeta and I freeze, our faces suddenly inches apart, neither of us saying a word. It is as if the air between us has become electrified, a phenomenon not exactly unknown to either of us.

"Peeta," I breathe slowly. "Give me the fucking text-"

He suddenly leans forward and shuts me up with a kiss right on my lips. Instantly, I feel all his strong muscles relax underneath me, and he moves his hands to my waist, bringing me closer.

To the surprise of us both, I actually let out a small moan and wrap my arms around his neck, my hands fisting the top of the chair's backrest. "Hmmm..."

Peeta slides his tongue along my bottom lip, and when I don't pull away, slides it all the way into my opening mouth, exploring the warm, wet cavern with abandon. He tangles one hand in my hair, undoing the pins that Mother did up this morning so that my brown locks soon cascade down my back in waves. His other palm is still resolutely at my waist.

Pretty soon, Peeta and I are very involved, our hands rummaging up and down each other's backs as we make out. I shift ever so slightly in his lap, so that my blue skirts move up my legs, exposing more of my creamy skin to his touch. Peeta takes advantage of this by sliding his hands up my thighs, letting out a low groan.

Peeta's mouth is hard and demanding against mine, but his calloused, baker's hands are gentle, caressing my chest, my sides, my face...

I suddenly remember where we are, and start squeaking and whimpering into Peeta's mouth, trying to push off of him. After several minutes, we break the kiss, panting and very, very aroused. At least, I am. But I'm also terrified that someone saw us!

"This is so wrong," I say, rising gracefully off of him, but not really moving away.

Peeta shrugs. But his voice is anything but indifferent when he says softly. "I disagree."

"Peeta, we can't just go around locking lips in the library! You know how careful we've been in school since we got together! If someone saw us, the whole campus would go up, and word would get back to your mother…."

I gasp as Peeta's lips descend on mine again roughly, almost violently, and once more, for an instant, I freeze, just absorbing the sensations - the hand in my hair, the gentle lips slanting along my own...

And then I gasp again as Peeta's hand firmly grips my right thigh and hoists my leg upward where, to my horror, it twines instinctively around his waist. After a long moment of surprise at his gall, I try to remove it, but to my chagrin, he just grips onto me even more tightly, and I shiver... before I allow my eyes to flutter shut as my hands move of their own volition, sliding up his chest and coming to rest on his shoulders. I can feel his hand trailing lazily up my thigh, causing me to part my lips slightly...

Peeta takes it as an invitation, and I tremble as I feel his tongue slide lightly across my lower lip before entering my mouth.

How can his kisses make me forget myself so acutely? It is a question that irks me, as I come to remember anew that we are openly kissing in the middle of the library, where our classmates could walk in on us at any moment. His cavalier attitude regarding the need for discretion makes me feel nothing but astonishment, which quickly boils into fury. But instead of using that fury to try and disengage from the embrace, I use it to now kiss him back, and the tone of our kiss changes to one of battle, our tongues grappling for dominance. I gasp for a third time as Peeta pushes me back into the desk, his lips diving into my neck and I moan, until, finally, I shove him off me.

"Mmmm... No, Peeta! We mustn't! If anyone saw us, word would get out to your mother... and my mother... and we... you..."

I'm rambling my worries, of course, but Peeta is just shaking his head with a small smile. "Come here," he says.

I eye him warily. "Why?" I ask, my voice suspicious.

"First, you have to close your eyes. It's a surprise."

Against my better judgement, I trustingly do as he asks. Peeta takes my hands in his and I feel him leading me out of the library. Even when plunged into a darkness of my own making, I could walk these halls blindfolded, and I hear the door opening as we enter one of the building's two, now long-deserted stairwells.

"Can I open them?"

"No, not yet."

We hit the landing, and I feel the cool air conditioning. "Now can I open them?"

"All right... now."

My eyelids have barely fluttered open, enough for me to register that we are standing at the window behind the erected statue of Haymitch Abernathy (one of District 12's two Victors in the Hunger Games), away from nosy people, before Peeta tilts my chin up and kisses me full on the mouth, each of his hands gently framing my face.

"Mmm!" I squeal in shock, for I hadn't had the time to realize what he was doing even as he was doing it. My eyes are wide open, but Peeta's are tightly shut. Then...

My arms suddenly go up behind Peeta's neck as I audaciously kiss him back, clutching him towards me, pulling him closer and closer until I forget how to breathe and don't care if I ever learn again. Peeta's lips are softer than I remember and his gold-spun hair smells like sweet honey.

It is the best kiss I have ever had in my life.

A couple weeks later, we're back at our usual spot, mid-morning on the bakery back loading dock, kissing breathlessly. I break apart tenderly, grinning shyly.

"I can't believe we took over Rye and Delly's spot without much more of a fight."

Peeta smirks. "He's moved to having her out front by our pigpen most days, ever since he came home for first Parcel Day."

I lean back, blinking owlishly. "You mean… your brother knows?"

Peeta chuckles. "I didn't say anything as such, but he figured it out on his own. Delly had taken to wondering, and she can be a bit of a gossip… in moderation, of course. Don't worry," he coos at the dismayed look on my face. "She wouldn't tell anyone else in school."

We lean back in to capture one another's lips again, the soft smacking and squelching of our mouths all that can be heard in this alleyway. My grey eyes flutter closed in happiness.

"Did… Hmmmm…." Kiss. "….Rye say…. Mmmm…." Kiss. "…. anything to you….. Ohhhhhh…." Kiss. "…. about us?"

"Just that I should give you a, and I quote, 'good pounding.'"

"Uggh!" I giggle, twisting away from his lips playfully, face scrunched up like I've swallowed a lemon. "Your brother's a vulgar idiot!" My nose wrinkles prissily. "And we're not that crude! We've been…. discreet."

Peeta laughs. "We at least know how to control ourselves. Rye and Delly do it in their mansion or right up in the loft and they can get loud…"

"OK, enough about your idiot brother's sex life!" I gawk, half-laughing. Smiling into each other's eyes, we melt into another long kiss for several minutes, until I pull away abruptly.

"Our neighbor's having a baby," I prattle. "Her contractions started this morning, but Mother said it should be a long labor. She and Prim may be gone all night."

I bite my lip, smiling conspiratorially as I search Peeta's eyes, which widen once he gets it. They'll be gone all night…

"Oh. You… wanna hang out?"

I nod shyly, and he kisses me again. "When?"

"After dinner?"

Peeta smirks devilishly. "I'll be there."

"Excellent." Beaming, I flirtatiously loop my arms about his neck. "Now: deep breath…. and…."

We sink into another deep kiss, and don't come up for air for at least five more minutes.

Mother and Prim are already gone by the time Peeta arrives at our Village mansion at sundown. I let him in furtively.

"Did the Peacekeepers catch… ? – Mmmmmm…" I moan as Peeta suddenly divebombs my lips, his hands already bracing my hips and sweeping lower. I twist away, giggling musically, but when he reaches for me again, aching, I playfully prance away. "Patience, my handsome Baker. Come to me later."

I flirtatiously lead him upstairs to the bedroom and we are soon falling back on Prim's and my cot, kissing ferociously. Braced under him, I groan as I invitingly spread my legs for him, allowing my lover to shove his erection up against my thigh. We rut against each other, moaning pathetically.

"Huhhhh… Uhhhhh…"

Sultrily, I am bold enough to slip my hands into his pants and cup him tightly. Peeta chokes in pleasant shock at how I'm taking the lead, tightening as I begin to stroke him, pumping up and down.

"Sn-Snow's Roses, Katty…."

"Sssssh…." I whisper, before I quite gallingly shove the bodice of my blue dress down to reveal my bare breasts, guiding Peeta's hand to cup one of the mounds. His finger twangs along my stiff nipple, and I hiss, deciding it's not enough and I bring his mouth down from mine to nestle it against my boob.

"I want you to taste them," I rasp, my voice husky, and Peeta groans around my nipple, suckling on it so tightly that I let out a shuddering gasp and arch against him, nearly levitating off the bed.

Bunching my skirts up over my hips, I shiver when I feel Peeta's hand palm my sex, the cool breeze and my wetness letting me know that I purposefully did not wear any underwear tonight. He whines in thrilled pleasure and begins to frantically hump against my leg, imploring for mercy.

I grant it.

Once he is inside me, I choke on my breath. My nails dig into his buttocks as we jerk against each other, the creak of the bedsprings sharp, loud and apparent. Peeta's tongue is down my throat, and he's still fondling my boobs.

"Mmmm…. Huhhh… Snow alive, Katty girl, I'm close! I've gotta…."

He means to pull out like a gentleman, just as he's always done when we've made love. But this time, I'm not having it. I clamp my quivering thighs around his torso.

"You're not going anywhere," I growl as I buck. "You're going to cum deep inside me. And you can stay in there as long as you like once you're done fuckingme. Mother… Mother gave me a preventative…."

Peeta grunts piteously and cums hard inside my fluttering walls. He's barely sagged against me before I'm suddenly flipping us, slamming him flat on his back on the mattress and swinging one creamy thigh over his pelvis as I move to straddle him. My lover stares at me in awe.

Dipping my head, I kiss him softly, while my hands guide his, so he can help me undo the ties of my dress. Pausing to tug it over my head, I let the garment fall with a soft rustling to the floor and then I push my bare body against his, kissing him again. Once I've mounted him, I gently place both hands along his chest. Sitting astride him, I begin to ride him, jerking my hips so that my breasts jiggle nearly in his face.

"Errmmmm….. Hmmmmm….. Mmmmmm….. Uhhhhhhh! OHHHHHH! Yes, Peeta! Fuck me now, or I'll scream!" I yelp as Peeta digs his nails into my hips and pounds up into me. "I'll scream! I'll – Ohhhhhh… OHHHHHHH….. OHHHHHHHHHHH!"

With a plaintive wail, I cum all around him, my toes curling. My entire body vibrates as I collapse on top of him. Collapsing on top of him, we cuddle close and come down from our high kissing languorously.

We are just slowly starting to rock against each other again for another round, Peeta hardening inside me, when I suddenly hear a foot on the stairs in the second before the door opens… and my sister walks in on us.

I shriek, pressing a sheet to my breasts to cover myself. "Primrose!"

Primrose yelps and turns her face away. Peeta looks so shamefaced, it's almost cute. He pulls out of me, but I can tell he is grasping at straws for how to slough off something so brazen: being caught with me in bed.

Prim clears her throat weirdly. "We… we had to come back early because there's Mandatory Viewing tonight, and the McFaddens don't have a holo. The birth's some time off yet. Moth… Mother says programming starts in 15 minutes. Something to do with the Quarter Quell."

Peeta and I share a look. A Quarter Quell – a version of the Games held only every twenty-five years with a preconceived twist - will be a remarkable time for my boyfriend to be a first-year mentor. "What will they do? It isn't for months yet."

"Just get dressed, and come downstairs…. please," Prim grits out tightly, still resolutely staring at the wall. She practically flies out of the room.

Peeta and I hurriedly redress both pink in the face. He offers to jump out the window, but I decline. While I'm fairly confident Primrose won't tell on me to Mother, I also know it will be better for us both if we don't hide, at least from my family. Peeta's mother is an entirely different story. Nevertheless, my cheeks burn when both Peeta and I come downstairs, hand in hand, trapped under the disapproving, protective stare of my mother. The holo is already going on the kitchen table.

Gathering around, we watch as President Snow takes the lectern. "This is the 75th year of the Hunger Games. In the charter of the Games, it was decreed that every twenty-five years, there would be a Quarter Quell, to remind us of the horrors of the Dark Days and to prevent anything like them from ever happening again."

The President begins by reading out the past two Quarter Quell twists.

"On the twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the districts that it was their choice to initiate violence, each district was made to hold a special election, and vote on the tributes who would represent it."

I wonder what that would have been like: picking the kids who had to go. It is worse, I think to be turned over by your own neighbors than by the whims of the Reaping Ball.

"On the fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder that two rebels died for every Capitol citizen, the districts were required to send twice as many tributes."

I imagine myself, or Peeta, facing a field of forty-seven instead of twenty-three. But Haymitch Abernathy did, and he alone came home alive the Victor. Snow's Roses… no wonder the man drinks…

"And now we honor our Third Quarter Quell." A pageboy steps up to the lectern carrying an ornate, wooden box. Opening it, President Snow removes an envelope labeled with a 75 from rows and rows of similar envelopes. Centuries of yet un-commenced Hunger Games planned. Lifting the flap, the President doesn't even pause before reading: "On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes are to be Reaped from their existing pool of Victors."

Mother lets out a choked "No!" Primrose whimpers, burying her face in her skirts and Buttercup's fur.

Eyes wide with terror, I turn to my lover, only to see a blur dashing through our front door. Lifting the skirts of my blue dress, I pelt after him, tears clinging to my cheeks.

"Peeta, wait!"

We're halfway to Victors' Hill before he pauses to let me catch up with him. When he turns to face me, I launch myself into his arms and kiss his lips desperately.

"No…. Hmmm…. we won't….. Mmmmm…. We won't let them take Prim or Rye from us again….. Hmmm….. not when we've just gotten them back…."

Taking me by the shoulders, Peeta leans me away from him. I whimper and reach for him again pleadingly. "Katty…."

"NO!" I cry, scream. "I won't let them have Prim! Not again!"I break down in wracking sobs. Though I feel his eyes on me, Peeta waits, silent and steadfast, knowing by now I will come to him when I'm ready.

"He never came back…." I sob. "My…. my father…. He went down into the mines, and he never came back. They took him away from me…. I won't let them take my sister – or your brother - away from me too…"

"Katty girl…."

I twist away from him, my body language glowering, even if my expression is broken and helpless.

"I CAN'T WATCH THEM DIE! Not again! Peeta…." I gaze at him hopelessly. "…. Please…"

Weeping, my cries still when Peeta's palm cups my cheek, lifting my grey eyes to look at him.

"What do you suggest? We run away together? Spirit our siblings out of the district?"

I nod defiantly. "Yes. That's exactly what I'm suggesting. We could do it, you know. Run away together into the woods. You and I and Rye and Prim, we could make it."

"And the rest of our families?" Peeta counters, as I almost knew he would. "Delly? Gale? Madge? What would happen to them?"

I shake my head, futilely holding onto the hope where there is none. "It's not too late…"

Peeta just shakes his head. "Yeah, it is."

Sighing, I melt into his arms. "Hold me!"

And he does, his chin on my head, which is nuzzled against his chest. It's several long moments before we disentangle and hike back up the hill to the Village.

We enter to find Haymitch Abernathy's door open, light flooding out onto the green as well as raised voices. Looking at each other, Peeta and I dash inside to find the drunk, the Baker and both of Peeta's brothers in the middle of the heated argument/rant. Father and son lock eyes first, the Baker merely jerking his thumb in Haymitch's direction, by way of explanation: he invited us.

"…. This Quell twist is fucking illegal!" Rye is practically spitting with rage.

"It's only illegal if the Capitol says it is, boy! They make whatever rules they want, and the only choice we have is to follow them!" Haymitch turns almost disinterestedly to find Peeta and I, our hair mussed and our clothes still rumpled from our little rendezvous. "Oh…. look who finally decided to show up…."

Rye bears down on his baby brother. "Peeta… tell this washed-up fool the Quell twist can't stand!"

Peeta blinks, perplexed. "What makes you think it can't?"

Rye splutters. "Because... because they said if you won, our names would be taken out of the Reaping Ball permanently. Mine's and Prim's. That was the deal, right?"Behind him, I can see Delly, Rye's young wife, a handkerchief to her face as she cries hysterically. As I run back over the rules of the Games in my head, few as they are, I come to realize Rye – fool though he might often be - has hit on one crucial point. The Capitol adheres to little in the way of promises, but the Hunger Games traditions have always been considered sacred. Tributes have jockeyed to become the Victor on the promise (always fulfilled) of a life of privilege, riches and safety. The chance to never be eligible for the Games again. Rye is right – that's the deal if you win. It's the only solace I've received from watching Prim run the gauntlet of the arena and lose her innocence – that she would never have to face the Reaping stage again. For Snow to now yank that all away... not only is it bad optics, but according to the Charter of the Games...

"… the Quell is illegal," I breathe, hope bubbling in me again.

I catch Haymitch shaking his head at us, mocking what he must think is our naiveté. "You young-ins beat all. You don't think the Capitol will just go forward with the twist anyway?"

I stare, the ice back to strangling my heart. "They…. They wouldn't. They can't."

Haymitch just smirks sadly, lifting the flask to his lips. "They can and they will, Sweetheart. They need 24 tributes, and 24 tributes they shall get."

The day of the Reaping that summer dawns hot and sultry. I desperately wish I could go across the green and have one last moment alone with my Peeta, but I know the Peacekeepers will be watching his brother, my sister and Haymitch closely.

Just before the appointed hour, Mother, Prim and I dress sullenly and wait for the Peacekeepers to arrive. Mother and I both cry when she is ripped away from us, to be the tribute once again and have no choice in the matter. As the only living female tribute from District 12 (Lucy Gray Baird disappeared decades ago), Prim has to go back in.

When Mother and I walk into Town and gather with the rest of our neighbors in the Square, Haymitch, Rye and Prim are up on the stage before the Justice Building alone. Clad in a golden wig, Effie Trinket lacks her usual verve. She selects Prim with little fanfare, and then moves on to the coin toss that is to be Haymitch or Rye's selection. Perhaps the drunk and baker-in-training have already decided amongst themselves who it will be. Whoever is picked first will have the option to volunteer in the other's place. Yet, somehow, looking at these two men separated by twenty-three years in age, I am inclined to doubt that any volunteering will take place. Neither Rye nor Haymitch has ever been known to be altruistic. And for Rye in particular, I imagine he would sooner feed Haymitch to the wolves then possibly be separated from his young bride – likely for good this time. I'm sure he and Delly are now very, very glad they got married.

"The male tribute for District 12... Haymitch Abernathy," Effie's voice trembles breathlessly, twinged with fear.

What happens next shocks me.

"I volunteer as tribute."

There is a brief kerfuffle as Haymitch tries to object to his own replacement.

"I can't let you do that."

"You can't stop me, old man."

"Rye..."

"Let go, Abernathy." And as Rye crosses to join my sister, I realize, watching him looking at her, that there is one person other than Delly whom Rye would willingly risk his life for.

I do it without thinking. Pressing three fingers to my lips, I hold them aloft. Mother and Delly soon copy me, starting a chain reaction until everyone's fingers are lifted on high, across the whole Square.

Screams and cries go up as Peacekeepers move into the crowd. I try to fight upstream, yelling for my sister as hands seize both her and Rye and drag them into the Justice Building.

"Prim! ….. PRIM!"

I muscle through and break into a run, but not fast enough to reach the oak doors before they close. I am left to pound on the doors, screaming and crying and wailing until I collapse and Peeta's arms catch me, but they won't open to me, nor anyone else.

And my heart breaks as I realize: this time, I won't get to say goodbye…. I didn't even get to say goodbye…