My mother arrived on the train late that evening. When she reached in Victor's Village, however, she didn't join me and Peeta. She asked if she could stay with Ruth.

"I think some of the lessons will be easier coming from me," my mother advised. She's probably right. Everything is new to Ruth and Maya. They've never cooked food. Never done laundry. Never washed dishes. Never darned clothes. They don't know how to sanitize a cutting board after butchering an animal. They don't know how to shop in the market or what they'll need when they get there.

What Ruth can do, however, is garden.

"You'll never be able to grow anything in that," Finnick told her one morning as she dug a bed in the yard outside her house. "There's too much sand in the soil."

She didn't respond, she just stoically continued to dig, then unwrapped the bundle next to her. A dozen shiny silver fish lay on the cloth. She buried the fish next to the vegetable seed she'd planted before she stood and wiped her knees clean. Finnick just stared at the ground, puzzled.

"Are you growing a fish bush? There are plenty in the sea," he joked.

Three days later the ground was covered with happy green sprouts.

"How did you do that?" Annie asked as she ran her hands gently over the seedlings. The people of District 4, while wealthier than those in 12, also had their struggles. There were hungry bellies at night. Generations had tried to grow food and failed.

Ruth started explaining about nitrogen and soil and phosphorus, but she sensed she's lost her audience. "The plants need something to eat," she said simply. We all nodded in wonder.

"Maybe you could show some others in town? The Capitol supplies are scarce in Four. Other districts have more need…" Finnick asked softly.

A small smile crept up on her face.

She's not as useless as she feels.

Each day she and Maya grow more comfortable. They're more open. Their smiles come easier.

"I'm going to be a vegetarian," Maya announces at dinner, pushing the meat aside on her plate. I can feel my jaw hang open. People from the districts don't reject food.

"What's a vegetarian?" I ask.

"It means I don't eat animals," Maya states. "Killing animals is wrong."

I scoff. Audibly. My mother shoots me a stern look. Finnick starts laughing uncontrollably. He tries to bury it. Annie shoves an elbow between his ribs, to which he exclaims "ow" through his continued snickering.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he wheezes. "But did you see Katniss's face?"

"But if the plants eat fish, aren't you in a sense still eating fish?" I ask. This gives Maya pause. She stares at her plate.

"Katniss," my mother scolds under her breath.

Luckily I'm saved by Jo, who starts fussing and drawing everyone's attention away. I watch Maya, though, as she straightens her napkin. Cleans up dinner. Talks like she's one of the adults. The whole point of bringing her to District 4 was to let her imagination run free, and instead we've drilled into her how to wash dishes. Instead I've mocked her.

That night we all sit around a fire in the backyard. Maya is off by herself, sketchpad in her lap.

"Can I sit here?" I ask. She nods without looking up. She keeps her eyes trained on the paper, but I can see them stinging with tears. I sit beside her. I feel rotten over hurting this sensitive girl, like my skin might revolt and slink away from my body. "You aren't like your mom, huh?" I say. She doesn't react. I scoot closer. "I'm not like my mom either."

"Nice?" she asks pointedly.

"That's fair," I answer. Maya's eyes shift and I can tell she's watching me in her periphery. "I've never been particularly nice. But I've always been good with kids. I think the issue, Maya, is that you're not a kid anymore."

At that Maya sets down her pencil and looks at me with her dark brown eyes. It feels like her father.

"I think you stopped being a kid a long time ago. You had to grow up too soon. So did I," I say. A breeze off the sea catches her hair, which moves gently in the wind. "When I lost my dad, I had to grow up real fast. But things are different now. Your dad died so you can be a kid as long as you want. He'd want you to be happy. He'd want you to let this burden go."

"I don't want to be tiptoed around," Maya says. "You all treat me like I might break at any moment."

"I don't," I respond, and Maya pauses. She realizes I'm right. I'm not censoring myself around her. I know what it feels like to be "handled." No one likes that. Her anger toward me melts a little. I seize the opportunity. "What are you drawing?"

Maya leans over and lets me look at her sketchpad. She shows me yesterday's drawings too. She's actually really good for her age and lack of experience. Peeta drops down beside us and she shows him too. He points out some things – try shadowing here with the side of your pencil, try drawing this in perspective to that. Maya does as he says and even I can see her sketches taking shape.

"You're a very talented girl, Maya," Peeta says. She blushes and he squeezes her shoulder with his hand before looking over at me. "I'm tired. I'm heading back to the house for bed."

"I'll come," I say back, leaving Maya to whatever her imagination has to offer. Finnick jumps to his feet and walks us back. We end up lingering in the kitchen, but eventually Peeta gets too tired and he heads upstairs. Finnick and I sit on the kitchen stools and drink herbal tea.

"Can I ask you something?" I start, my tone more serious than the carefree conversation we were having a moment ago.

"Yeah," Finnick says, clearing his throat and turning on his stool so he can face me.

"When I went to prison, Haymitch and Peeta were sent to Twelve," I start.

"Kicking and screaming," Finnick adds, a smirk on his face.

"How is it you stayed?" I ask.

"Oh we lied. Had one of the doctors say Annie couldn't travel while pregnant," he says, a devious half grin on his face.

"But why would you do that? You didn't know I'd be getting out," I say.

"I promised Peeta I'd stay," Finnick says.

"He would never ask you to do that," I respond quickly. Not with the baby.

"He didn't have to," Finnick says. I look at him. "I don't know, Katniss. I just… We couldn't leave you there alone. Peeta and Haymitch weren't really given a choice. The public didn't want either of them in the Capitol. There was still a lot of suspicion from Thirteen about their involvement in Coin's death. And when Peeta was caught on camera leaving Paylor's office, the media went crazy, like Paylor was part of the plot or something," Finnick explains. I remember Haymitch telling me Peeta wouldn't leave Paylor's door after my imprisonment. That it was almost a month before she finally let him in to talk, to plead for mercy. To beg her to free me. "Paylor asked him to leave. That she'd only consider his words if he did. But Annie and I… after everything… We couldn't leave you there alone."

"You didn't have to do that," I say quietly.

"It was the only way Peeta would leave. Haymitch literally had to drag him to the train," Finnick says. I can picture it. "I still can't believe Paylor let you out. I think she knew what happened to you was wrong, and she had to do the right thing regardless of the consequences. It drew a lot of negative attention in the press, but then her favorability ratings went up eight points nationwide. No one in the districts was happy about your verdict. Everyone else still thought you were the savior of Panem," Finnick says.

I'm quiet for a while, contemplating my tea. Paylor let me out even though it meant near political suicide. Finnick and Annie lived in a place they hated because they knew somewhere behind cement walls, I was there too. Peeta threw himself at the mercy of a government he couldn't trust.

"I think Paylor was pretty surprised when the rest of the country called her a hero," Finnick says, watching my face. I look up at him.

"Really?" I ask.

"Yeah," he says, his smile soft. I fold my arms on the counter and rest my head, facing Finnick. He mirrors me. I know I brought it up, but the talk of my imprisonment forces it to the forefront of my memory, and when I close my eyes I see the darkness of my cell. I feel pain when I breathe.

"One night Peeta and I hatched a crazy plan to break you out," Finnick whispers. He gets me to smile.

"Oh yeah?" I whisper back.

"Yeah. I mean, what could possibly go wrong?" he teases.

We talk for hours, long after the fire has died down in the backyard and the rest of our family has gone to bed. Finnick talks about Jo, about Annie. About a boat he's building. About showing Maya the best places to find sea glass. I tell him about Haymitch's geese. About hunting. About the service we had for my sister after my mom got back.

"It was small, just me and Mom and Peeta and Rye," I say. "In Twelve, when you lose someone you love, you write them a goodbye letter and you put it in their pocket. When Gale died, Posy didn't know how to write yet so she drew him a picture. But I just… I couldn't do that for Prim. I couldn't say goodbye to her. It's not like she was there anyway." My voice catches in my throat. Her body wasn't recovered. There wasn't enough. The grave was for us. "Peeta stayed up with me all night and I just told him stories about her. Finally, I scribbled I love you on a piece of paper. But it was okay, because there were a million words behind it, and Prim knew that. We had the service. It was quiet and pretty. Rory dug up a bunch of wildflowers and buried them at her stone. My mom made it through the whole thing. Peeta dug a hole and we buried our notes."

"And then what?" Finnick asks. I just stay quiet. I don't know why, but I suddenly remember that night in the apartment, during the War. When he comforted the Leeg sister. She had no body to bring home to their father. When confessed Finnick lost his brother to the sea.

"What was it you told Leeg?" I ask.

"You heard that?" he replies.

My face burns red in shame. "I'm sorry. I couldn't sleep."

He gives me a lopsided smile. "It's okay, Kat. I said…" He thinks. "Your sister died doing what she believed was right. And it's not diminished by the fact that you can't bring her home. It just makes her sacrifice that much more noble. You should be proud of her."

"Right," I say. "I miss Prim," I add plainly.

"I know," Finnick says.

"I miss her more here. It's harder for me. At home it's like she's everywhere and sometimes it's too much, but at least I get a little piece of her. She's not here at all," I confess. Finnick's eyes get sad, but he reaches his hand out and squeezes mine.

"I think it's time you went home."