A/N: The characters and events of the Hunger Games series belong to the wonderful Suzanne Collins, but this story is my own. I have incorporated some quotes directly from both the books and the films - I'm sure you'll be able to spot them.


Peeta

At this point in my life, I feel like I should be able to tune out Caesar Flickerman's voice. I remember my mother watching his nightly program when I was growing up, and then listening to him host the Games almost twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, for each of my seventeen years. I was sixteen when I met the man, and despite facing my imminent death at the hands of the Hunger Games, I was actually impressed with how genuine Caesar seemed as he interviewed me. Don't get me wrong, he knows how to work a crowd – how to put on a good show and get everyone feeling comfortable with the spectacle they're involved in - but he cares about the tributes he speaks with; right up until they're slaughtered.

Caesar's been on the screens of District 13 almost nightly since the Quell, rattling on about the rebels causing mayhem and flaunting propaganda that supports the Capitol. It has been weeks of showboating and veiled references to the mess that took place on the last night of the 75th Games, but no mention of the victors, no discussion of the battles being fought in the streets of the districts, and no invocation of the Mockingjay. So, tonight at dinner when I hear him starting up again, I'm not inclined to pay much attention because I assume it is going to be more of his predictably biased rundown of the goings-on in war-torn Panem.

"Hello and good evening! A big welcome to all in Panem. I'm Caesar Flickerman, and whoever you are, whatever it is you're doing... If you're working, put down your work. If you're having dinner, stop having dinner. Because you are going to want to witness this tonight."

I don't think it has ever occurred to anyone in District 13 that food should have flavor, I think to myself as I run my fork through my serving of mashed…something.

"There has been rampant speculation about what took place during the Quarter Quell. And here to shed a little light on the subject is a very special guest tonight…"

I assume Caesar is about to welcome another of Snow's officials to slander the rebellion, when I hear a sharp intake of breath from further down my table. Delly Cartwright is staring at the screen with wide eyes and is covering her mouth with her hands. I follow the direction of her gaze to the large screens that encompass one of the walls of the District 13 cafeteria and my own mouth drops open in shock.

I immediately push myself up to stand next to my table. On the screen…. It's Katniss.

Odds, she's alive.

We've heard nothing - not one whisper or rumor - about her status since we were pulled out of the arena over two months ago. But she's alive, and she looks healthy. The dark circles under her eyes that got progressively more pronounced throughout the Quell are gone; her cheeks are flushed and the sharp angles of her face look to have filled out. She's wearing a dress that's tailored to show off her figure, its soft golden color shining brightly against her olive skin. I run my eyes over every inch of her that I can see on the screen, checking for any sign that she's hurt or in pain, but nothing is immediately apparent. I feel something release in my chest that could easily be mistaken for a sob. She's okay.

Haymitch and Plutarch Heavensbee didn't think she was dead, that both her life and her death would be too significant to both the Capitol and the rebels to keep either fully concealed. Mrs. Everdeen has remained mostly silent on the subject whenever it is broached, while Primrose has worked to maintain a level of optimism that has been admirably consistent. Gale Hawthorne has barely spoken a word to me, even though our daily schedules are nearly identical at this point. When he does deign to acknowledge my existence, he seems to have no qualms letting his feelings about me be known – the man hates me with the rage of a thousand mutts. I represent all that has gone wrong; I am here, and Katniss is not.

I have spent every moment of every day since they pulled me out of that jungle wondering what was happening to Katniss. Snow would tell us – tell the whole world – if he killed her; I know this, truly I do. But what the hell have they been doing to her instead? My fear for her situation knows no bounds. Snow was always fixated on her, and I can't imagine he would hold back in making her pay for the crime of showing him up. Katniss can take pain; she's always been brave beyond measure. But I have no doubt that Snow's operatives are more than capable of tearing into her with a ferocity that is unmatched. What will be left of her when they're through? How much of that purity she used to scorn will still be salvageable, when she's made to look into that kind of darkness day after day?

"Hello, Miss Katniss Everdeen - our Girl on Fire! How are you my dear?" Caesar's smile is so wide it may split his face in two.

"Good evening Caesar. I'm well, thank you," Katniss's reply is sickly sweet and demure, a complete contrast to the moniker Caesar has just bestowed on her.

"Now my dear, I want to talk with you about the Quarter Quell. Particularly, about the end." The camera cuts back to Katniss's face and she doesn't let her small, placating smile drop at all. Odds, even though I can tell something is off in the way she's acting, I cannot seem to tear my eyes off her. I can't get enough of her face after so many weeks without even a hint of her. "Tell me Katniss," Caesar continues. "Did you know what would happen when you fired that arrow at the dome of the arena? Were you trying to signal the rebels?"

"No, no Caesar, not at all." She shakes her head to emphasize her disagreement with this statement. "I had no knowledge of the rebels' plans, neither Peeta nor I did in fact. We went into the Quell trusting only one another; and as you saw, we were planning on separating from the rest of the tributes at midnight whether Beetee's plan worked or not. I shouldn't have let myself be separated from him. I just got wrapped up in playing allies. Neither of us knew there was a bigger plan in place. We didn't know what we were doing!"

"You had no idea?" He interrupts, and I can tell he's trying to keep Katniss from getting too worked up.

"No," she answers firmly. "We had no idea."

"Well Katniss, I believe you. I do," Caesar is quick to assure her, reaching out to lightly place his hand on hers for a moment. She had begun to fidget, picking at her cuticles while she spoke, but his touch put a sudden end to this. Katniss immediately tucks her hands underneath her thighs to stop herself from squirming. "But many people out there find your actions suspicious. Can you explain what happened? Were you and Peeta Mellark part of a rebel plot?"

"No!" her voice has risen significantly, and I can see Katniss glance quickly beyond Caesar. "I'm – I'm sorry Caesar. I just…I don't want anyone to mistake my actions for treachery," she continues in a softer tone.

At the word treachery the cafeteria breaks out in displeased murmurs.

"Of course, my dear. Please continue," he encourages her.

"I truly don't know what I was hoping for when I aimed that arrow, Caesar," Katniss admits. "Beetee's plan was so complicated, so far above me, that I had trouble following his directions. I just wanted to take out the rest of the Career pack and I thought that I would try to hit the lightning to electrify the wire. Obviously, I was wrong, and I am so sorry for that. Peeta and I did not know anything about a rebel plot. If we had, would I have let Johanna knock me senseless? The blow she landed on my head muddled me so thoroughly I couldn't see straight or even stand up for days!"

I've seen footage of this confrontation between Katniss and Johanna, and every time I do, it fills me with dread. To see Katniss in the moments before everything fell apart – she truly did not know what was coming. Enobaria and Brutus cutting the wire was the only warning she got before Johanna slammed her head with the wire spool. I remember the weight of that spool, the heft of it is a ghost in my hand. I can't imagine how hurt and confused she was. The steady stream of blood pouring out of her arm as Johanna cut into her pains me every time I watch the footage, even though I've since learned that she was trying to help by cutting out Katniss's tracker; Finnick cut his and mine out before we were scooped up by 13's hovercraft.

"Of course not, Katniss dear," Caesar placates, his words and his tone both serving to calm Katniss. "Now, I had wanted to speak with you about the rebels, but I fear you may be too upset."

"No! No, please. I'd like to," Katniss protests, taking a deep breath that appears to center her. She brings her hands back to her lap and folds them together, interlocking her fingers and lifting her eyes to meet the camera head-on.

It's like she's here. It's as though she is sitting here with me, speaking directly to me.

Odds, I miss her with everything that I am.

"I want everyone who's watching to stop – to think," she states clearly and confidently, never once dropping her gaze. "I want everyone to think about what a civil war could mean. We almost went extinct once before, and now our numbers are even fewer. Is this really what we want to do? To our districts – to our families? Killing each other is not the answer! I am proposing a cease fire, to end this senseless violence between us. Please! Please listen to me and lay down your weapons. I want everyone to lay down their arms."

"Thank you for that. Well said, dear," Caesar concludes. "Once again, Miss Katniss Everdeen with a strong message for all of Panem tonight." The camera cuts away from Katniss, focusing once again on Caesar's face alone, before fading out to the Capitol seal.

My heart aches with the loss of her all over again as soon as the program ends. Ever since I found out she was left behind while Finnick, Beetee, and I were rescued from the arena, I feel like I have been existing in a fog. Katniss has never trusted easily or freely, but I know it down to my bones that she trusted me. And I left her behind.

Towards the end of the Quell, after she and Johanna left for the beach, things seemed like they may just play out like we had planned. I remember the sick anxious feeling in my stomach getting worse the closer it got to midnight; and then suddenly all hell broke loose. The wire that connected me to Katniss went slack, and we heard muffled yelling off in the distance. Finnick took off without a word, leaving me to guard Beetee on my own as he finished attaching the wire to a spear. I was about to ask him what in the Odds he was doing, when I heard someone crashing through the trees nearby. Katniss didn't make that much noise even when she ran full-tilt through the forest, and I could hear Johanna's profanity-laden war-cry further down towards the beach as she fought with someone. The last thing I needed to be doing was watching Beetee's back in addition to my own while fighting off a Career. I jogged after the unknown noisy runner, secretly hoping they'd lead me to Katniss, and then she and I could abandon this alliance as quickly as possible.

I stumbled upon Brutus as he was circling back around towards the lightning tree, presumably to take out Beetee in my absence. I guess I can thank the Gamemakers in the 74th for the loss of my leg; if I still had it, Brutus would have taken it off when he threw a spear at me. The fact that it merely bounced off my Capitol-made prosthetic gave me an advantage; with him weaponless he was forced to fight me with hand-to-hand combat, and I wasn't my school's runner-up wrestling champion for nothing. I hated it, but I did end up killing Brutus. I suffer his death over and over in my dreams every night since.

I heard Katniss screaming for me, and I know - I know – she heard me before the arena was destroyed. After the explosion, I literally stumbled over Finnick once I managed to get back on my feet. I couldn't hear his voice over the ringing in my ears, but I could understand that he was telling me to stay put. He ran off into the foliage and returned a minute later with an unconscious Beetee slung over his shoulder. Come on, he told me, we need to move. I'm sure I asked about Katniss, but he pulled me along with him like I was an errant child. I should have fought. I should have kept calling out to her; but I was stunned and disoriented and deaf and I allowed myself to just follow my fellow victor's lead. After all, victors are survivors, if nothing else.

Finnick cut the tracker out of my arm - Beetee's too - before digging his own out with the same bloody knife. When a cage was dropped from a hovercraft, Finnick told me to climb in. The rebels, he said with a smirk. They finally showed up. Haymitch and Odds-damned Plutarch Heavensbee pulled us out of the cage and into the craft, and I remember looking around for Katniss. I realized I could halfway hear again when a voice called over the loudspeaker, telling us that another hovercraft was inbound. Capitol, Plutarch murmured pointedly, his gaze directed at Haymitch. I watched Haymitch turn to Finnick, who answered some silent question with a small shake of his head. Let's go, the old drunk announced. When I realized we weren't sticking around to retrieve the rest of the victors, that we weren't going to save Katniss, I lost my ever-loving shit. I know I punched Haymitch; I'm fairly certain I bit Finnick when he tried to hold me back. Plutarch ended up injecting me with something to keep me from jumping back into the arena, as he so dramatically put it.

I woke up in 13 and I hoped, Odds I hoped, it had all been some sort of mistake. Maybe I was wrong, and Katniss had gotten to this underground resistance hideout by some other means. But things only seemed to get worse with each new piece of information that was revealed to me. The Capitol had destroyed District 12; they set fire to my childhood, killing every member of my family and most of my friends; and Katniss, Johanna, Enobaria, and Annie Cresta were all missing, and remained so up until this very moment. Seeing Katniss on the screen ignited the first spark of something I had felt since arriving in this rabbit warren.

"She's alive!" I hear Delly gasp excitedly nearby.

In hearing her words, I'm tuned back into what's going on around me in the cafeteria. Angry murmurs and harsh whispers are gaining traction amongst the citizens of 13 as they process what Katniss has just said. A ceasefire - a call to lay down arms. I know that Katniss never wanted a war, that all she has ever wanted was to exist under the radar, but I know that siding with the Capitol is not something she would ever willingly do after everything we've been put through.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I'm out the door and jogging towards Command. The special meeting room designated for President Alma Coin has never been someplace I feel comfortable, but Haymitch tends to haunt its dark corners rather than show his face someplace he's expected to interact with others at any level of social competency.

And whether I want to or not, I need to speak with my former mentor.

I end up throwing the door open with enough force that it knocks against the wall behind it. Plutarch jumps at least a foot out of his chair, while I swear President Coin doesn't even bat an eyelash. Commander Boggs and Haymitch are both seated at the center table with their arms crossed in front of them. The only acknowledgement I get out of either of them is the arch of an eyebrow at my noisy entrance from the latter.

Well, Katniss always did complain about how loud I was, even during the most clandestine of activities.

"Did you see it?" I spit out the second I cross the threshold.

Haymitch nods and only says, "Told you she was alive."

I want to roll my eyes and possibly toss the old drunk out of his chair, but I have a feeling my dramatics, as Plutarch has taken to calling them, will not be welcome.

"Where was she? Was that the President's mansion?" I ask Haymitch. I've only spent a few hours inside Snow's residence, and I'm hoping Haymitch's many years around Capitol society will provide some insight. "It didn't look like the same stage where we had our Games interviews."

"It looked like the mansion," Plutarch steps in to answer my question. "They wouldn't risk giving too many people access to Katniss by bringing her to the Interviews Stage."

"Well then we know where she is!" I shout, not caring that my volume and tone are probably unappreciated by everyone I'm trying to convince. "When are we planning a rescue mission?"

I know I'm not mistaken when I see President Coin attempt to stifle a smirk at my outburst. In a tone that is usually reserved for a unruly child, she tells me, "Soldier Mellark, we cannot authorize a rescue mission at this time. We have no way of knowing if Miss Everdeen is being held in the mansion, only that she was brought there for her interview. Without that level of intel, there is no way I can sanction risking sending in soldiers to retrieve her, no matter how much we wish it were otherwise."

Right.

I would bet every loaf of bread I've ever made that it's no skin off Coin's nose whether we save Katniss or not. Coin has made excuses every time I bring up launching a rescue mission, and it has become increasingly obvious through her inaction that I was her priority when retrieving the victors from the arena. The loss of Katniss and the others doesn't seem to register as anything more than a slight inconvenience to her at this point.

One of the times I visited Finnick in the infirmary, I was complaining about my lack of progress with Coin after yet another failed appeal to organize a mission to the Capitol, and there is a chance I took advantage of his diagnosis of "mentally disoriented" to bend his arm for information. He let it slip that District 13's president was not someone who appreciated being challenged and expected everyone to simply fall in line with her decisions. Obviously, Katniss did not fit this description - she was always one to cause all kinds of trouble and rarely listened to anyone's directions. But me…well, I always appeared to do what needed to be done; Finnick seems to think that of the two of us, I was always the more appealing of the Star-Crossed Lovers to Coin. And while Katniss's actions were more revolutionary than any of my own, it may be that Coin feels Katniss would better fill the role of martyr for the resistance.

I'm beginning to agree with Finnick on all counts, regardless of his mental disorientation.

Gale chooses this moment to enter the Command room; I'm sure he'd even knock politely if I'd thought to close the door behind me. He nods respectfully at President Coin before turning his attention to Commander Boggs.

"Sir, I just saw the footage aired from the Capitol," he informs the commander in a calm and even voice.

Haymitch smirks at me, his amusement at the different tact's taken by Gale and I barely warrants my acknowledgement at this point – it has been this way for weeks now: Gale is the consummate obedient soldier; I've become so ornery, one could almost mistake me for Katniss.

"And what were your impressions, Soldier Hawthorne?" Coin asks, turning her attention fully to him.

Gale shifts from foot to foot, as though he's reluctant to say what's about to come out of his mouth. He takes a deep breath before starting, "Well Madam President, I believe that Katniss's words are going to be very detrimental to the Rebellion's efforts. Her call for a ceasefire is worrisome, and her apparent loyalty to the Capitol is going to undermine the Cause."

I wonder how much trouble I could get into if I punch Gale Hawthorne in the face…

"I agree with you, Soldier," Coin replies brusquely before turning back to Plutarch. "We'll need to figure out how to counter the damage she's caused."

"Something is wrong," I take the chance I'll be ignored and interrupt this absurdity before it spirals out of control. "Katniss would never talk like that on her own volition. The things she said and the way she said them – that's not her!" I take a deep breath and voice the observations I made while I could see her face up on the screen. "She was too practiced, too poised. When she's really passionate about something, she's raw and emotional. Haymitch, back me up here! On the Victory Tour - think of how she was when she spoke in 11 compared to what she was like later on when she read Effie's cards!"

My former mentor has been observing the exchange going on in front of him but withholds his own commentary. At my beseeching, he leans forward on to the table and rests this weight on his elbows. "Peeta's right," he admits. "Katniss doesn't have any love for the Capitol, and she's downright useless when she's coached. Effie and I pretty much threw our hands up and left her to her own devices most of the time and relied on the Boy do the talking. I'm not sure what she's thinking."

He's lying - Haymitch knows Katniss better than anyone because they're so similar. He just doesn't want to show his hand.

"Do you think she's drugged?" Commander Boggs asks, tapping his fingers on the table in front of him.

Haymitch shakes his head. "No," he drawls. "Sweetheart isn't particularly skilled at lying. I don't think she'd get any better at it if she were under the influence." He pauses and meets my eye for confirmation on this assessment.

"It's true," I concur. "But she was fidgeting. Did you see her hands? Something was wrong with her - she wasn't comfortable with what she was saying. She was fidgeting and she looked off-camera when she got too worked up. I think she was nervous…like she was afraid of getting in trouble."

All I get from Haymitch is a quiet noise of agreement. Thanks Abernathy, immensely helpful.

Gale at least has the decency to look chagrined for his cold assessment of Katniss's interview. Good. No matter how much righteousness one possesses, being under the direct threat of the Capitol can make someone do whatever needs to be done to survive - something Gale has never experienced. "Maybe she made a deal?" he poses thoughtfully.

"Maybe," Haymitch agrees, but he sounds non-committal at best.

"If she did, then she's still trying to protect us," I murmur. After a beat I say, "It's what we do," looking over to my mentor.

"We? Is protecting others something only victors do?" Gale spits out, his stoic soldier-mask dropping for a moment.

This time I can't hold back my knee-jerk reaction to his pettiness and let out a scoff. "It's something Katniss does," I reply, bringing my hands to the back of my neck. I link my fingers together and turn to leave the room. The pressure in my chest that had dissipated when I finally glimpsed Katniss's face has returned full-force. I call out as I walk away from Command, "She won't stop protecting us until she's dead."


The schedule on my arm says that I'm supposed to be participating in Reflection in my compartment.

Since leaving Command an hour ago I've instead taken up residence in one of hiding places I rotate between; today it's the abandoned supply closet on Level 25. It's one of my favorites because it has a stash of forgotten graphite pencils, which when combined with the stack of recycled paper I scavenged from the room of abandoned desks on Level 53, means that I get to pass some of my time sketching.

Let's face it, I can reflect just as well in here as I could in my room. The people of District 13 seem to believe that any inclination towards the arts is an unproductive waste of time, so I've taken to indulging when it's less likely that I'll be stumbled upon. I'm drawing Katniss as she appeared today, if only to remind myself that what I saw was real - that she's alive and healthy.

Since I woke up in District 13, I've tried to throw myself into the structured day-to-day routine that rules this underground city. I figure that if I do everything they ask, then perhaps they'll start to thaw towards my pleas to rescue Katniss; and if they don't listen to Peeta, maybe they'll listen to Soldier Mellark. So, I've gone to physical training every day, along with military strategy and weapons development, trying to build up my mind and body in preparation for a fight that feels inevitable at this point. But as the weeks turned into months, I've realized that the higher-ups in Command have been getting restless. While the spirit of resistance is holding strong, the rebel ranks have continued to deplete as people die in the fighting. I have to worry how Katniss's sudden appearance will tip the scales that the Rebellion has been balancing on for weeks now.

The loud beeping noise that precedes the Capitol broadcasts pierces the quiet I've been enjoying, sending a shiver across my skin and immediately making me sick to my stomach. The only times I've seen multiple required Capitol programs in one evening, it's always been bad news; the last time this happened was when the Quarter Quell announcement was read after Katniss's wedding dresses were shown to the Capitol citizens. Call me superstitious, but I don't trust that whatever is being transmitted to our screens is going to be much better.

I make sure to tuck away the paper and pencils, carefully folding my rough sketch of Katniss's full face and slipping it into the pocket of my coveralls. Crawling out of the closet, I make my way down the empty corridor to the closest screen so I can find out what's happening; better to find out sooner rather than later, I figure. The television screens closest to this particular hiding spot happens to be in the intake room of the infirmary, which is thankfully empty as I jog through the swinging doors.

Caesar Flickerman is back on the screen, introducing his guest. My heart goes to my throat – I'm half expecting Katniss to be back for a second interview.

"…Tonight, we welcome the victor of the 71st Hunger Games, and a tribute reaped for the Third Quarter Quell - Miss Johanna Mason!" Caesar's tight grin is firmly in place as he welcomes Johanna to the interview. She's in the same room as Katniss was for her interview; so wherever the victors are being kept, there's a strong chance they're together. Johanna looks the same as she did before the Quell started: incandescently pissed off.

"Jo…" the quiet croaking voice behind me just about gives me an apoplexy. Even in his crushing despair, Finnick can't seem to shirk his athletic grace. I swear he's almost as silent as Katniss when he's sneaking up on someone; I was lucky to have him as an ally rather than an enemy.

The two of us stand side by side as we watch Johanna with Caesar. He's mostly asking her the same questions that he asked Katniss, trying to get her to admit that she's involved with the Rebellion. Despite her thick stage makeup, I can see that she's starting to get angry as the skin on her neck and cheeks slowly turns a mottled red. I'm honestly expecting her to blow her top and admit to treason, just to get Caesar to back off, but she holds strong to her denial.

"She's lying," Finnick states quietly, his fingers almost a blur as he frantically ties knots in the rope he carries everywhere nowadays. "She was in just as deep as I was."

"I figured," I murmur, refusing to take my eyes off the screen for more than a moment just in case I can glean any more information about Katniss from Johanna. "Looking back on it now, the two of you weren't exactly subtle when we were in the arena." I try to soften my words with a smile so as not to worry him.

Finnick makes a soft sound of acknowledgement, keeping his own eyes locked on Johanna's face.

"Now Miss Mason, I have to ask you something." Caesar looks as though he's going to reach out and touch Johanna the same way he did with Katniss, but he pulls back at the last second as he thinks better of it. "I spoke with Miss Katniss Everdeen, your fellow victor and tribute, earlier this evening. How well do you know her?"

I can actually see Johanna working hard to stop herself from rolling her eyes, and it's clear why. All of us who were there in the days leading up to the Quell are aware that no small amount of love was lost between the two girls. Johanna manages to hold back on the impulse though, and clears her throat before responding, "As you said Caesar, we're both victors. I spent some time with her in District Seven during her Victory Tour, but we weren't able to spend much time together before the Quarter Quell. Though when we were in the arena, I really got to know the Girl on Fire. She's extremely sweet, and she's become a good friend."

What?

I'm conscious of the fact that my jaw is somewhere in the vicinity of the floor; shooting a look to my right, I can see that Finnick has a smirk on his face.

"What the hell, Finn?" I sputter incredulously.

"I don't know, but she's trying to get our attention," he replies softly. This is the first time since we left the arena that I've seen this level of clarity in Finnick Odair's eyes. He's fully here with me right now.

"Well that is just wonderful to hear, Miss Mason. Tragic that the two of you did not find friendship until you were in the Games, but any type of closeness should never be overlooked," Caesar exclaims with a kind smile.

Johanna looks like she wants to spit in his face.

"Now Johanna, my dear…. What do you think of Katniss's actions at the end of the Quarter Quell? Do you believe she had any connection to the rebels who are currently making trouble in the districts?" he asks gently.

"No," she answers firmly. "I don't believe that Katniss knew anything about the rebels or was a part of their plan. I think she wanted to help Beetee take out the Careers, just like the rest of us. Unfortunately, in doing so, she destroyed the arena, and it got our allies killed. She's dealing with a lot of guilt and devastation over the loss of Peeta, as well as Finnick and Beetee. Katniss didn't want this."

Again, what? I'm dead?

Finnick takes the words right out of my mouth when he says, "We're dead?" He looks down at his hospital gown and says, "Huh. Well, that explains the quality of the food."

"Katniss thinks we're dead?" I ask him, looking for clarification. Worse than that, Katniss thinks she killed me, however inadvertently.

"Sounds like it," Finnick mutters. "Johanna must not be sure. Or at least she doesn't think we're all dead, otherwise she wouldn't have said what she said about Katniss to catch our attention. She could have easily told the truth, and no one would be the wiser."

I know that Johanna isn't fond of Katniss, but I can only hope she's playing nice and has passed along her suspicions to her. If I can't be there to comfort Katniss myself, I hope that someone is trying. Because if Katniss thinks she's killed me…. I can't even imagine how poorly she's holding up.

Johanna has continued denying Katniss's rebel involvement to Caesar, and as she is wrapping up her statements, I see her flick her eyes to the camera, speaking directly into it as Katniss did earlier. "Katniss doesn't know. She doesn't know what's going on. She's innocent."

Caesar's smile has tightened and no longer looks genuine. In fact, he looks worried. I've seen this before; he looked exactly the same way when the Capitol audience responded to my declaration of Katniss's pregnancy. Something's wrong, but he can't address it openly. "Thank you, Johanna. Katniss is lucky to have you as a defender and friend."

Johanna nods resolutely, and the screen quickly cuts to the Capitol seal before fading to black.

"That was for us," Finnick states. "That last part was for us."

My mind is racing as I put together Johanna's clues. She doesn't know what's going on.

Oh my Odds.

What if Katniss wasn't lying in her interview? What if she genuinely believes what she's saying?

"I have to go!" I call out to Finnick as I sprint out of the infirmary. The words echo through my head every time my feet hit the ground. She doesn't know. She doesn't know.

I don't even bother with the elevators; Command is a few flights down and I don't have the patience to wait.

For the second time tonight, I burst through the doorway to Command, interrupting whatever meeting that was taking place.

"Soldier Mellark!" the president exclaims. It's the closest I've ever seen her to being out of sorts. "I have to insist that you observe the practice of knocking before entering the Command Meeting room -"

"She doesn't know!" I interrupt whatever reprimand Coin was about to issue me.

"Who doesn't know what?" Commander Boggs asks evenly, still sitting in his same seat from before.

"Katniss!" I spit out, slightly winded from my haul throughout the corridors. "Katniss doesn't know what's going on! That's what Johanna was saying in her interview!"

"Soldier Mellark, what are you talking about?" Coin asks, her own patience obviously wearing thin.

"It was a message! Johanna was sending us a message," I try to explain, but I can see immediately that she doesn't believe me.

"Nothing I saw in Miss Mason's interview appeared to be a message," Coin resolutely states.

I turn to Plutarch; I know I'm beginning to appear desperate, but someone with power has to believe me. "I know the footage of tributes before the Games begin isn't ever released to the public, so you wouldn't understand, Madam President. But Plutarch, you were there. Haymitch, you too," I turn to look at my mentor. He must have picked up on this as well, it couldn't have just been Finnick and I. "Katniss and Johanna are not friends. Not before the Games, and certainly not during. Finnick thinks she said that to get our attention, so we'd know she was trying to communicate something to us."

"Mr. Odair is mentally disoriented," she replies curtly. Evidently she's digging her heels in on this. Well, two can play that game. I learned stubbornness from Katniss fucking Everdeen.

"Finnick Odair and Johanna Mason were involved with the Rebellion before the Quell. And you left her there. She is trying to talk to us - to let us know what the captured victors are being told. Plutarch, I know you saw the training sessions. Did Katniss and Johanna ever get along? Were they ever friends?" I turn to my last option seated at this table. "Gale, would anyone ever – ever – describe Katniss as sweet?"

Loathe as he is to agree with me, he does shake his head. "No," he concedes reluctantly. "That was an odd statement."

Don't hurt yourself trying to help me, Hawthorne.

But I'll take what I can get. I pivot my attention back to Plutarch and Haymitch; these two men are the only others that President Coin may actually listen to.

"You're right Mr. Mellark," Plutarch finally agrees. "Katniss and Johanna were never close, and I doubt that there was much opportunity for that to change off-camera."

Haymitch nods. "It was a message. Sweetheart ain't really sweet, and certainly not to Johanna Mason." He looks up at me and arches an eyebrow. "So Boy, what do you think the message was?"

I let out a huge breath I didn't know I was holding. Thank the Odds. They're listening now. "Katniss thinks the other victors are dead - or at least some of us. Not only that, she also thinks she killed us by destroying the arena. What do you think that's doing to her?"

Haymitch is the only one to reply; he's really the only one who can – the only one who knows. "She's ruined," he mutters.

I catch the grimace that dances across Gale's face before he settles back into his normal countenance of reserved disinterest whenever I speak.

"Exactly. If Katniss thinks she's killed me – or, hell even Finnick or Beetee - she's got to be devastated. Especially if she's being imprisoned with Annie Cresta – the guilt of getting Finnick killed will be tearing her apart." I let that point set in before coming around to my main point. "But most of all, I don't think she knows anything about what happened to District 12."

"What?" Gale practically erupts. "Why the hell wouldn't she know?"

"Think about it," I explain. "She's imprisoned, and I bet Snow has likely kept the television screens away from her so she can't have seen any Rebel transmissions. If she still believes she's protecting Prim and her mom and you, she's going to do whatever Snow tells her to. She still thinks your lives hang in the balance. Either Snow outright told her you all were still in 12 or he just inferred it. Regardless, Katniss is in the dark."

I look over at President Coin and she has narrowed her eyes as she taps her fingers on the table in front of her. While she's still looking at me, she doesn't really seem to be seeing me. Finally, she nods and stills her fingers.

"Well then, let's shed some light on the situation for her." She locks her gaze firmly on me now before continuing, "I'll need your assistance Soldier Mellark."

"Anything," I reply without hesitation. Out of the corner of my eye I see Haymitch press his lips together in a frown.

"I need you to step in as a face of this Revolution," she informs me. "I need you to be in front of the cameras - to help me rally the troops, as it were. Plutarch has been working on some propaganda pieces, and I believe it is time to start deploying them. Part of this will be to show Katniss that you are alive, but we also need to show the districts that Snow is continuing his lies. We will need to show Panem what Snow has done to District 12, and hopefully in doing so, Miss Everdeen will drop the façade of Capitol support and endorse the rebels. Can you do this Soldier Mellark?"

"I can, and I will," I commit. I need to make sure she understands I won't yield on my objectives though. "But I need your assurance – your public assurance - that District 13 is actively devising a plan to rescue the victors; all of the victors – Katniss, Johanna, Annie – Odds, even Enobaria if she'll come. And when you save them from the Capitol, your government will pardon them. All of them. They're saying whatever they need to in order to survive. I understand that you are a president in your own right, but you have never met President Snow; you do not understand the kind of horrors he is capable of subjecting them to."

I can tell that Coin is taken aback at my rebuttal. I doubt anyone has ever attempted to negotiate with her. She looks at Plutarch, who gives her a self-satisfied smirk. He's just happy that he gets to start using his propagandas. She finally drags her eyes back to carefully regard me.

"You have a deal, Soldier Mellark."