Chapter 39: Normal Reshuffled

It is so quiet, I can hear the crunch of gravel underfoot as my boots carry me through District 12.

Or, what's left of it.

Recalling what District 13 looks like aboveground from when I arrived at the rebel stronghold two weeks ago, I would be forgiven for an inability to make a distinction between the two. Just a little bit ahead of me, in a gray tunic and pants, Katniss is also wandering about in a daze as we take in our former home.

Cartwright's Post Office. Donner Train Station. The Bakery. Mama and Daddy's candy shop…. Even the Justice Building. All of it, razed. Flattened. Blasted to smithereens.

Chillingly, the only structures left standing, the only sign that there ever was civilization here, are the empty mansions of the Village on Victors' Hill. I have to belief that such little mercy was intentional. A warning shot to anyone who dared try and come back here. Like me. Like Katniss. Snow is still watching us.

I am entering past the gates of Victors' Village now. Katniss has sunk to her knees beside the center fountain, head in her arms. Her body is still, but I know she is sobbing, though it's quiet.

A screech of static directly in my ear makes me hiss with discomfort.

"Maysilee can you tell your…..?!" Plutarch's volume plummets several octaves as his tone also abruptly shifts. "… wonderful goddaughter to please turn her earpiece back on?"

"I'll try," I respond noncommittally before turning right around and clicking my own earpiece off. I should have done it a while ago. Now I know how Daddy has felt in his older age, when he had to use that hearing aid – medical equipment I paid for out of my Victor's pension. I am glad Plutarch is learning how to be a little nicer when giving out orders. He's been flinging them out ever since we arrived in Thirteen, much to the consternation of the District's high military command, who actually give the orders. The turncoat Gamemaker was probably absorbed into Security Council meetings and given the highest clearance just to get him to shut the fuck up.

And, of course, Plutarch has taken it upon himself to be the official handler of the Mockingjay. That would be the rebel title conferred upon my strong-willed goddaughter. I fought him hard on this appointment – I am her mentor. I am her godmother, for Panem's sake; I held her right after she was born! I look after her, so if you want to share, Plutarch, I'd be happy to, I told him. Heavensbee seemed displeased with this, but it was either that or nothing, so he acquiesced.

Even then, I don't how much of my counsel Katniss will take. My best friend's child hasn't spoken to me since we arrived in Thirteen. The whole admission that the Games were rigged to stop early, that nearly half of the tribute Victors were in on keeping her and Peeta alive and breaking them out of the arena, came to light on the hovercraft ride to Thirteen, courtesy of Finnick, Johanna and Cecelia. Annie provided small tidbits of information when and where she could, but really, the finer details of the plan were just as unknown to her as they were to Katniss and Peeta. Not that any of that matters. In Katniss's mind, she believes I betrayed her, by keeping her ignorant. I think she suspects that I knew more about the rebel plot than I actually did. Truth be told, I knew about as little as Annie did. Although I was aware of the broad brushstrokes of Beetee's machinations, the bigger picture didn't become clear to me until it unfolded. I learned much of the details as it was happening, in the arena on live television. What I knew and didn't know is a microcosmic reflection of just how not too deeply involved I was in the rebel cause as a whole. Sure, I traded intelligence with Chaff (a sharp jolt courses through me as I think of him) when there wasn't much risk involved. Sure, I attended Plutarch's meeting that night on the roof. But I was always a tentative rebel. Not because I don't want to see the Capitol fall as much as anybody, but because my proximity to Capitol government, even back here at home, was too strong. Being related to the Mayor of Twelve through marriage, I didn't want to bring anything down on Merle, or Kaydilyn, or Madge. I had – still have - a vested interest in protecting my family, so I always stayed on the periphery of rebel plans.

My family…. are they buried under these piles of ashes? Are their bones scattered here? The commanders in Thirteen had received reports that the Capitol sent in hovercraft and dropped firebombs after the Quell was cut short. A tsunami of grief had coursed through me, only to be replaced by a glimmer of hope soon after. There are rumors – still unconfirmed – that a subset of District 12 managed to run for the fence and make it to the forest beyond.

I turn my head to glance out at the wilderness in the distance. The weapons of mass destruction that were dropped here managed to burn away much of the greenery of the beautiful trees that were here. Only the white shells of trunks remain. But even without their flora and fauna, the woods in Twelve are vast, stretching for hundreds of miles. Is it possible that a group of survivors are hidden in there, living off what little is left somehow? Cressida, a sweet-faced woman who heads Thirteen's digital operations, is pretty convinced that a group of District 12 survivors will eventually make their way across the no-man's land to Thirteen. Others, like Pollux, the sweet and shy Avox (those are people who have had their tongues cut out as punishment for various crimes committed against the Capitol) who works under Cressida as a cameraman, believe that even if a group of survivors did outrun the bombs and reached the woods, they won't ever survive, or be found alive. He and Cressida (who understands Pollux's sign language) say there is historical precedent, pointing to an old historical legend from over a thousand years ago called The Lost Colony.

But I have to hold out hope, right? After all, rebellions are built on hope! I have to believe that my family – my husband, my sons, my sister and brother-in-law, my niece, even my father (though he is up there in years) – managed to get out.

Katniss is still strewn prostrate along the fountain, weeping. She is probably mourning for Peeta, her lost love. She hasn't spoken of him since she learned he was left behind, and anytime someone has mentioned his name, she has taken to either bursting into tears, fleeing the room, or both. Believe me, I am just as mad and wracked with grief. What are Snow and his minions doing to him, back in the Capitol? Is he even in the Capitol? Is he alive?

I shake my head to clear it. I can't let the darkest thoughts of my imagination carry me away. I have a job to do. Leaving Katniss by the fountain, but making sure that I periodically check out the window to make sure she is all right, I cautiously enter my old mansion.

Everything is just as I left it the day of the Reaping for the Quell. The day I kissed my husband goodbye after we spent most of the night before making hot, raw love. My trusty naginata and blowpipe are both still perfectly balanced on their racks mounted on the far wall. I take them both down with care, and strap them to my belt. In the war that District 13's President says is sure to come, everyone will need to be ready and armed. And although I haven't been in combat, fought with any kind of weapon, for years, I resolve that I will do my part.

I move on to the second floor. The whole mansion is eerily quiet, save for my footfalls. I find myself softly calling for my loved ones:

"Danny?... Jonadab?... Rye?" No answer.

I enter Danny's and my bedroom. The bed is perfectly made. Opening the armoire, I find that all my clothes are still here, though most of them are Capitol fashions that I've never worn in my life, and mean nothing to me. I am starting to close the wardrobe in disgust, when one hangar, cloaked in a garment bag, catches my eye.

Pulling it out and setting it gingerly on the bed, I unzip the front. Mother's wedding dress. My wedding dress, and also the one Kaydilyn wore to her Toasting. I have been hoping to someday pass it down to Madge, my niece, since I never had any daughters of my own. Zipping the thing back up, I fold the garment bag over my arm. Madge did survive the District 12 bombing, and she will arrive safely in District 13. And when she does, I will give it to her. Kaydilyn had never let on if Madge was seeing anyone here, but perhaps that will change. Perhaps she will meet somebody.

I turn back to my bedside table, and open the top drawer. Inside, I find my Victor's Crown and gold medal, both covered with a decent layer of dust. I pluck them both out and blowing on them carefully, clear the cobwebs away.

At that moment, the sunlight filtering in from the window catches on something that was hidden beneath these trinkets. A silver medal, the shine of it having faded with time.

My azure orbs glistening with tears, I pick it up. Haymitch's medal, the one that I gave to his mother and then later took off the body of Rhona Abernathy oh so long ago. Sniffling, I stuff both medals and my old Crown into the folds of my sweatshirt. We aren't allowed much in the way of personal belongings in District 13, but I refuse to part with any of these. Besides, the odds of me ever coming back to my homeland again are slim to none, so I might as well take what matters now.

Oh, wait! Thinking back to lying here in this bed, with my husband after we made love, I cast my eyes over to Danny's nightstand, where he always kept that picture of me on our wedding day…. only to find that the frame is gone.

I frown, a chill overtaking me, and suddenly the house's silence is way too spooky. I turn my earpiece back on, just to feel like I am hearing something.

Just in time, too, for a second later, Plutarch's voice comes over the line.

"Maysilee? I have eyes on the Mockingjay. Get her and get out of there."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, but we are being recalled back to base, on orders from the President. A batch of refugees has just arrived and been granted asylum….. their leader says they are from Twelve."

Heart pounding, I dash out of my mansion, run to the fountain and shake my goddaughter, who seems to have cried herself into a light doze.

"Katty? We have to go."

"What's happened?"

"I'll explain on the way." These are probably the most words she and I have spoken to each other in two weeks.

The hovercraft ride back to base is brisk, Plutarch willing the pilot to go as fast as he is comfortable. When Katniss hears that a band of District 12 survivors are believed to have crossed the no-man's land, she begins shaking with hope and excitement, but otherwise doesn't say another word to me. We pass the rest of the trip in awkward silence.

When we arrive in the hangar bay, I am floored to see the sheer size of the crowd. Of people with rucksacks, the clothes on their backs and little else, waiting to be processed and assigned apartments.

Cressida and Pollux dash up to us. "They're from Twelve, all right," the digital media coordinator whispers to us, breathless. "This crazy hunter guy managed to lead out about 800 people."

Even as the number thrills me, my face still goes as ashen as the wasteland from which we just left. That means only about a tenth of District 12's total population managed to survive. Even so… "Can we absorb that many?"

"Coin seems to think so."

"Hey, Brainless. Candyland. Welcome back." Johanna Mason comes jogging up, staring around us to take in the new arrivals. She's probably just come from visiting Beetee – the only Victor from the Quell still in the hospital. He is on the mend slowly, but he is as astonishingly alert as ever, and has been cheered by visits on rotation from Johanna, Katniss, Finnick and Annie. Annie still feels really bad for the accident she caused; Beetee's forgiveness of her only lifted her spirits marginally. I remind myself that I will have to drop by the District 3 man's sickbed soon.

Johanna is still staring around us to the District 12 refugees, her fierce gaze fixated on one person in particular. "Who in the name of Panem is that?"

A tall, strapping man is at the front of the group, talking in low tones to Proximo, the man seated behind the check-in desk. Just off my old trainer's shoulder stands Paylor, the general from Eight.

My goddaughter follows Johanna's sightline. "Oh, that's Gale."

"Gale? I like Gale." Johanna's mouth is twitching up in approval as she appraises the handsome miner's son. "You know him?"

"Vaguely," Katniss mumbles. "He sometimes haunted the same hunting grounds where Auntie used to teach me. He's an acquaintance."

"Acquaintance?" Johanna's big, brown eyes nearly pop. "He looks like he could be your cousin!"

Katniss smiles softly. "Most Seam folk look like they could be related." My goddaughter is starting to notice how Johanna still can't stop gawping at Clay Hawthorne's oldest son. The tiny smile creases into a smirk. "Would you like me to introduce you? I don't know him that well, but…"

"I can introduce myself, thanks." And Johanna marches forward. We watch her approach Gale just as he is turning away from the desk, stick out a hand and introduce herself. Gale seems taken aback to be in the presence of such a famous Victor, but soon the pair is lost in conversation while the rest of Gale's people get registered. Taking in the sight, I can't help but also smirk. I lean over to murmur in Katniss's ear:

"If we can make an honest woman of Johanna Mason, we can do anything!"

"Like winning this war?" my goddaughter quips.

"Especially that."

"And…. getting Peeta back?"

My breath hitches, but I manage to get out: "You can bet your hard-earned sesterce we will."

She and I approach the front-desk now, where it seems like Proximo and Paylor are starting to become a little overwhelmed.

"Need a hand?" I offer.

"I think… we've got it, Maysie, thank you," Proximo's ruggedly handsome face sends a twinkling smile in my direction. "Next, please."

The preceding miner stands aside and Katniss and I both scream in happy relief.

"Belley!"

"Mother!"

We both fling ourselves into Belle and Primrose's arms, sobbing. Over my best friend's shoulder, I watch Gale pause in his deep conversation with Johanna to take in the reunion and nod, satisfied. 'Thank you,' I mouth to him.

When we all finally break apart, Primrose and Katniss begin chittering to each other the way that sisters do. "Gale was amazing, Katty! He got us all out! And look – I even saved the cat!" And she holds up the ugliest cat I have ever seen. I laugh at how Katniss's face falls – I've heard stories of Buttercup, or as my goddaughter refers to it, "The Devil Cat." In the next second, Katniss manages a tight grin, for she would never dare to hurt Primrose's feelings. "That's awesome!"

I'm not so sure. I may not have anything against the cat the way that Katniss does, but I have learned that there are no pets this deep underground. Coin might order that Primrose turn the cat loose in the world above to fend for itself, which would be like telling Prim that Katniss was going back into the Games yet again. Apparently, for reasons that Katniss cannot fathom, her little sister adores this cat.

Meanwhile, Belle has stepped forward to register with Proximo. "Belle Everdeen. I have my two daughters with me – Katniss and Primrose."

"Everdeen….." Proximo is making notation on the paperwork, then pauses, glancing up to study my best friend more closely. An intrigued, admiring smile comes over his aging face. "So…. you're the mother of the little lady who started this revolution."

Belle blinks, but then straightens herself. Carries herself a little taller. "Yes, I am," she beams proudly. Slightly overhearing them, Katniss glances over her shoulder, apparently in shock that her mother would be so pleased with her. I know she and Belley didn't agree on Katniss's volunteering to go into the Games, which Katniss took to mean that Belle would have preferred to see her youngest die. Nothing could be further from the truth, of course, but their relationship has been a little strained since Katniss first came home from the arena.

Proximo is still studying Belle with a winning smile. "Are, um…. are you hoping to move in with your daughter? Katniss already has an apartment."

"If that's possible," Belle floats.

"Of course! I'll see to it straightaway! That would be three young ladies, yes?"

"And a cat," Belle supplies.

Proximo's smile dips ever so slightly, as he glances around Belle to take in Buttercup. The Devil Cat hisses at him. Proximo purses his lips diplomatically. "Well…." he states mildly. "I'm not so sure about the cat….but I will take it up with housing authorities and see what I can do."

Belle beams gratefully. "You're very kind."

Proximo's smile only broadens, if it is possible. "What are you hoping to do while in Thirteen, Mrs. Everdeen?"

"I'm a Healer. I can work in the hospital, if the need is still there. My youngest, Primrose, has also been trained, she can help me."

"But I'm leading the Medic's Unit!" Proximo cries, thrilled. "Part-time, of course. Madame, you are the answer to a prayer! We are still in desperate need of Healers."

My best friend flushes pink at the praise. "Well…. thank you, um, Mr….?" She glances to me.

"Oh," I introduce them. "Belle, this is Proximo, my former coach in the Training Center, back when I was a tribute. Proximo, my best friend, Belle Everdeen."

The pair shake hands.

"Belle…." Proximo tries it out on his tongue. "A lovely name…."

Belle smiles softly. "I've always thought so."

Behind the two, someone clears their throat. The line is backing up. Paylor tapes Proximo on the shoulder.

"Proximo, we still need to process the others…"

He ignores her completely, standing from the desk and gallantly holding out his arm. "May I direct you to the medical registration office, Belle?"

Belle beams. "I'd be delighted, Mr. Proximo." She takes his arm. "Excuse us, Maysilee. Primrose!" she calls over her shoulder. "Come along, dearest!" Prim scampers after her mother, and Paylor is left in the lurch to take over refugee registration. As the group departs, I hear Proximo telling my best friend, "And then after we get you and your daughter submitted for basic training, I'd be happy to point the way to Katniss's apartment…."

Katniss and I stare after them, my goddaughter frowning in deep befuddlement. "What the Snow was that?"

I have the tiniest suspicion I know…. but I'm uncertain whether to be elated, or wary like Katniss. Before I can answer her, though, I hear a shout:

"Maysie! Maysilee!"

I spin about and my mouth drops open. For there, squirming out of line, Jonadab and Rye tumbling after him, is my husband. He looks banged up, but his smile is untarnished.

I clap a hand over my mouth to hold in the happy sob and I fly into his arms. Mashing his face in my hands, I slam my lips against his in a heated kiss and keep them there. Tongues soon push through until Danny and I are making out in the middle of the hangar bay. Somewhere far, far away, I hear a person wolf-whistle; it's probably Johanna. I lift a middle finger in the general direction of the sound, and am answered with a snort. Yup. Definitely Johanna. If she's really that flabbergasted, though, she can go stick her tongue down Gale Hawthorne's throat and see how it feels. My husband is alive and back in my arms, with me, and I can kiss him however I damn well please.

When we break apart at last, I giggle at how Jonadab, Rye and Katniss (and a few other strangers as well) are all staring at us, open-mouthed. I don't think I've ever been this publicly passionate, but I am too happy to care. I throw my arms around Danny's neck, reaching out to bring my other sons into the group hug.

When we finally disentangle ourselves, Danny is buoyant. "Well, all that's missing is Peeta. Where is he anyway?" His smile lifts over my shoulder as he directs the question mostly at Katniss, figuring if he isn't with her at this moment, he must be somewhere close by. In response, Katniss whimpers and flees from the bay in tears.

My husband's face falls. "Trouble in paradise?"

No, darling, it's worse than that, I think. I gently lace my fingers through his. "We need to talk." And I tell him about Peeta's capture.

Danny looks anguished. Then his jaw clenches. "Don't worry…." He strokes my cheek. "We'll get him back."

"Of course we will," I smile weakly. "Now: where is my sister? And Merle and Madge?"

Now it seems it is Danny's turn to be gentle with me. "We need to talk," he throws my words back to me.

And I listen, horrorstruck, as Danny proceeds to tell me how Merle, Kaydilyn and Madge were forcibly removed from the Square after the Quell halted. Apparently, Merle had been trying to protect his constituents from advancing Peacekeepers.

"They were executed, right there on the steps of the Justice Building," Danny sniffles. "I saw it happen. Everything was chaos. The boys and I managed to get out of the Square before the firebombs hit, and we made it back to the Village and packed what we could. Out the window, we saw the Hawthorne boy leading people to the fence, and we decided to follow them. We got out just ahead of…." He can't finish, and I wrap him in a hug. We hold each other as we sob. My fierce sister….. no doubt she also tried to stop the guards as she witnessed the revolution she had always wanted to take hold at last. My niece, Madge…. now who will get to wear the family wedding dress? Merle….. All he ever wanted was to make District 12 happy and safe. I also learn that my father also perished in the blaze, as did an elderly Barnabus Foley, Belle's father. Her older brother is also not among the survivors.

Stepping out of the embrace, I wipe at my eyes with my sleeve. "Go…. Go register with Paylor at the check-in desk. Tell them you're married to me, and they'll assign you and the boys to my apartment. I…. I need to go…. see someone…." And I hurry away, my sympathetic husband staring after me.


The jailhouse where prisoners of war are held is at one of the lowest levels of District 13's hive of facilities. Though not the lowest, it is still pretty far down there on the lifts, and when I step out, the lady manning the front desk has almost albino skin, it is so pale after seeing such little sunlight.

"I'm here to see a prisoner," I state.

"Name?" the secretary drones.

"Soldier Maysilee Donner."

"No, the prisoner's name."

"Oh…. Brutus Barsetti."

The secretary nods, and selects a keycard from the rows of them on the wall behind her. "We only allow one visitor at a time," she tells me. "Some lady is already in there with him. She's been by every day."

I wonder who that could be? ….. I think sarcastically.

The cell door clangs and creaks open, so that the light that shines in casts on a chained prisoner and a young woman wrapped in a close embrace. Their lips are fused together, the woman's arms draped about Brutus's thick neck. When the couple sees they have company, Cecelia pulls out of the kiss with a startled yip.

I blink, though I shouldn't be so surprised. I haven't seen Cecelia since a day or two after we arrived in Thirteen, when the general from her district, Paylor, took her aside and told her I'm so very sorry, ma'am, but District 8 was bombed and we lost your husband and three children in the fighting. The young mother was utterly distraught and disappeared into the bowels of the district after that. I should have guessed she would be here, visiting the prisoner…. and the only living connection to her old life. After all, only Cecelia's youngest son, Milo, biologically belonged to her husband, Bert. Aaron, her middle child, was actually sired by Brutus, apparently in a night of passion while Finnick Odair was first marching his way to the Victor's Crown. Cecelia's second pregnancy, and the identity of the father, caused quite a scandal in Victor circles. Cora Shutter, her mentor, had been furious, even going so far as to attack Brutus at the opening of the 66th Games a year later. Brutus and Cecelia's on-again, off-again relationship from those days faded after that, trickling to a stop completely after Cecelia got married. Apparently, now that she's widowed, it's back on again.

As for Brutus himself, he looks like he's being well-fed. He is being confined round the clock, and I have heard that Coin and her advisers don't trust him. That sounds a little counterproductive, as it will only ensure that Brutus doesn't trust them.

Having interrupted them, I glance down at the floor. "I…. I can come back later…"

"That's all right, little darling…"

"Don't call me that!" The snap in my voice echoes through the cell. Cecelia drops down from her tiptoes, disengaging from Brutus's arms. She is biting her lip, and glancing awkwardly between her lover and his former protégé.

"I'll…. I'll wait outside, Brutey." She quickly pecks his cheek and shuffles out of the cell, head bowed. When the door clangs behind us, I glance back at Brutus, allowing myself the most miniscule of smirks.

"Brutey?"

"Not another word," Brutus growls. "You don't want to be called by your nickname, the least you can do is not refer to me by mine. That's for her only."

"Fair enough," I nod. I step closer, slowly circling him. He is devoid of a shirt, the muscles still lean and strong. His arms are lashed above his head by electro-coils suspended from the ceiling. I point to the technology with interest. "Do they hurt?"

"Only if I try to wiggle my wrists out of them or pull too hard in a certain direction," Brutus grunts. A pause, and then, "The first time I tried to hold Cecelia, they shocked me until I got knocked out. It's hella embarrassing to drop unconscious like an idiot when you're trying to make out with a sexy girl."

I tamp down a chuckle. "I'm sure," I note wryly. Another long silence reigns.

"So…." Brutus rumbles. "How's life for you, Maysie? How's the Freaky Bird?"

I scowl. "She's called the Mockingjay, and my goddaughter is as well as can be expected, considering your side has her true love hostage…"

"Splendid. I hope they treat him as shittily as your new rebel friends are putting me up here…."

I step right into his personal space and close my hand around his windpipe. "How dare you even speak of my son! I'd be happier if Plutarch had saved him and not dilly-dallied rescuing your ungrateful ass! Keep running your mouth like that, and I'll vouch for a prisoner exchange. I'd rather Peeta was here than you!"

"Oh, joy. Do me a favor – when you get on that, can you insist that Cecelia goes with me?"

I bark out a bitter laugh. "So you can have free sex on your list of privileges? Fuck off!" I shake my head in disgust… and maybe also a bit of sadness. "When did you become… one of them?" I stare at him, truly wanting to know. "You're just another lackey for Snow and his goons…"

"You think I give a damn about Snow?" Brutus yells. "I hate the smelly motherfucker!"

I snort. "I find that hard to believe." A brief beat, and then: "You certainly hated my son, though Panem knows why."

"Oh, come off it, Maysilee – you know why!"

"And what are you going to say next? 'Sorry, little darling, it's nothing personal.' Brutus, you threatened my son! You were ready to kill him too!"

"Damn right I was," my old mentor snarls.

"Why? Because he supposedly cheated you and Cato out of a win? You were the first to believe in Glory With Honor! About sportsmanship – though, frankly, we're talking about a fight to the death, so what the fuck does sportsmanship even mean?" My voice softens into something more gentle, though it is no less earnest. "You've lost tributes before – granted, it never was at the hands of any of mine until Peeta and Katniss came along; usually, my kids died in the Bloodbath. More often than not, I lost my tributes at the hands of yours, and you didn't see me hold a grudge! What is it about Cato that's gotten you so….. twisted? Bent of revenge?..."

"HE WAS MY SON!"

Dead silence in the jail cell. I stagger back in shock. I knew that Brutus had had Aaron with Cecelia, but another son….

"Cecelia isn't his mother, is she?"

"No, of course not! Come on, Maysilee – think! He would have been raised in Eight if that were true! Cato… Cato was born after a fling I had with a lady who ran the quarries. We never saw each other again after that one night, though she mailed me a picture when he was born. I later heard she enrolled him in Boudicca's Academy the second he was old enough." A tear actually slides down his cheek. "I was so proud when he was handpicked for the Games his last year, and that I was assigned to mentor him. Those five days we had…." He lets out a shaky breath. "They were some of the best I've had. And I was so sure after he won that we would get to spend so much time together in the Victors' Village. But…."

My expression collapses in sympathy and maybe a little guilt, tears also swimming in my eyes. Not only did I have my own child conscripted into the Games, but come to find out, Brutus had as well. And they had to face each other. "Oh, Brutus…. I'm sorry…"

"Don't," he cuts me off, eyes burning. "Don't you dare come to me with your apologies. I want to hear it from him." He spits out the word.

I soften. "He did tell you he was sorry. Just before the forcefield blew."

"Yeah, but did he mean it?" Brutus grumbles bitterly.

I gape. "Peeta is the most sincere person I know. Of course he meant it." Slowly, I take his hand; Brutus starts to pull away, but doesn't. "Did…. Did Cato know?"

Something akin to a sob frees itself from Brutus's throat. Squeezing his eyes shut tight, he shakes his head. "No….. I was going to tell him the night of the final interviews."

I step back, head bowed. "I'm sorry," I mumble. Even though he said he didn't want it, he doesn't answer me. I turn sadly away for the door, to go out and readmit Cecelia.

"Goodbye, Brutus."