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So... I kinda like all these cliffhangers... I hope you do as well!

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Haymitch stops in between the two of our cells, waiting for a response.

"Uhh... Long story, but I'm sure if you turn on a television, you'll figure it out soon enough," I say sarcastically. I don't know what his intentions are, but I don't appreciate his tone.

"Good one, sweetheart. Unfortunately, I've already seen that much. What I'm trying to figure out is why you ran after the girl like some crazy lunatic... What were you planning to do with her once you rescued her? Disappear?" he asks sarcastically. "Tell it to me straight. I don't have much time to waste on you two and all your... issues, but I need to know what happened."

I don't really know what I was planning to do once I got to her; I just knew I had to do something. I wasn't thinking that far ahead.

Peeta speaks up for me: "I'm not sure what happened, really. Katniss has been having these dreams about her future children being killed in the Games, and I think it just became too real. It was like she was sleepwalking or in a trance or something. She mixed up dreams from reality... Right?" he asks, turning toward me.

"I guess. I don't even know. I was just so... angry and overwhelmed by everything," I say, looking down.

"Well you two better buckle up because the Capitol won't let you off easy. Your defiance was on live television for the whole country to see, and I know first-hand what they do to people who make them look bad," he sighs sadly. "They won't kill you because that's too easy. They'll want to make an example of you so that Panem will see what happens when you oppose their Games."

"What does that mean? What will they do?" I ask desperately.

"I don't know, but I would prepare for the worst," he warns. Something about the expression he wears makes me think he knows more than he is leading us to believe.

And what is "the worst"? What does that even mean? What could be worse than dying? My imagination begins to run wild, and I am forced to battle with myself until my thoughts shift back into the present. What have I done? I need a distraction to keep me from breaking, so I bite my lip and keep the conversation moving:

"Why are you even here? Shouldn't you be taking your little tributes to the Capitol?" I ask, frustrated.

"They're in their visitations right now, and I wanted to figure out if this whole outburst had and meaning behind it. I'm sure this won't be the last we hear of it. The Capitol will want answers, so I came to get them. Turns out, it looks like there's nothing much to it besides two overly-emotional, idiot teenagers..." he sighs again. "Look, I'm sorry, but you two just opened a door that won't be shut easily. Life is about to throw some major crap in your face, and you need to be ready to deal with it. If I were you, I would start trying to form some kind of plan..." he hesitates. "You should know, Twelve isn't going to calm down any time soon, especially not after y'all's little act," he adds before turning on his heel to exit the prison. I find his hesitation a little strange, like he's really trying to say something else but can't. Maybe he's telling us to run? I don't know. I haven't been quite right in the head lately; I wouldn't trust my assumptions at this point.

"Wait!" I shout after him.

"Now what?" he asks impatiently.

"Who—who is the male tribute?" I ask, concerned.

"An older man named Flint Taylor—don't know him personally, but he seems like a fighter," Haymitch informs us.

"Oh," I say, looking down, ashamed of the feeling of relief spreading throughout my body. I shouldn't be okay with Flint being chosen, but I can't help feeling relieved that it's not Peeta or Gale or anyone else that I know. "Thank you... for telling us."

"No problem, sweetheart. Whatever you two do, stay alive." At those words, he opens the door at the end of the hall-where I'm sure several Peacekeepers are standing guard-and leaves us alone with our thoughts. Silence follows his absence. I think we are both trying to wrap our minds around what "the worst" is. I still feel incredibly stupid and guilty, and I have to swallow back my own tears. I can't believe this. Of all the places to lose my composure... the Reaping!?

"Katniss, stop blaming yourself. You couldn't have done anything differently. You didn't know what was happening," Peeta says, trying to reason with me. It's not working. If I would have just stayed put, Peeta and I would be at home right now, eating dinner with our families. He continues, "You thought she was your child. If you just stood there, then you would have something to be concerned about. But you didn't. And that says more to me about your character than anything else that happened today."

"But we wouldn't even be here, Peeta! What if they hurt you or our families or turned us into Avoxes or locked us up forever? How can I live with myself if something like that happens?! Would you be able to?"

He thinks for a few seconds, and then explains, "Yes, I would be able to live with myself because I would know that I did what I thought was right at the time, and I fought for the people I love."

I don't say anything. I just try to see from his perspective. Did I really do what I thought was right? What else could I have done? I don't think I'd feel any better if I just stood there. I couldn't have volunteered for my own child. Those rules do still apply, even during the third Quarter Quell. I guess if I had to do it again, I'd probably do the same thing.

He continues, "I'm proud of you, and I still love you no matter what happens. Whatever the Capitol dishes out at us, I will be there by your side the whole time. I promise."

We are kept in our cells for what seems like forever. The only human interaction we receive apart from ourselves is the occasional Peacekeeper that comes to check on us. Since there are no windows and only a few lightbulbs dangling from the ceiling to keep the darkness at bay, we have no way of determining the time of day or the number of hours we have been imprisoned. I'm really regretting my decision to skip breakfast and lunch earlier today. Who knows when my next meal will be? My growling stomach does nothing except remind me of the extent of my hunger. Eventually, the growls become loud enough for Peeta to hear them. He chuckles. I scowl.

"When was the last time you ate a meal?" he asks.

"I don't know. Yesterday at some point," I say. "I didn't think I could stomach anything today."

He sighs. "I didn't eat much either..." He pauses, thinking. "When do you think they will make their move? The Capitol, I mean...?"

"Well, the victors should be making their way to the Capitol by train, so I would say any time now. I don't think they would want to
interrupt their precious Games for us."

"What do you think they'll do?" he asks, trying to hold himself together. I can tell that he is afraid.

"I don't know. I've been trying not to think about it... We should probably get some sleep, though," I say, ending the discussion.

Not long afterward, mere exhaustion grips me in its clutches and relentlessly pulls me into a deep, dreamless sleep. I don't have enough time to enjoy it, however, because almost as soon as fall asleep, the door at the end of the walkway bursts open, and several Peacekeepeers file in to administer the Capitol's form of "justice"—whatever that means.

I look at Peeta one last time before they take us away. I can tell that he didn't sleep at all. His eyes are tired but filled with a mixture of anger and fear. I try to comfort him and communicate all my love for him with my eyes in those last seconds before we face the unknown. I hope he understands them.

Wasting no time, they blindfold us, bind our hands, gag us, and drag us towards wherever they plan to carry out our punishment. No one tells us anything. We move forward, and my heart beats faster and faster as adrenaline begins to pulse through my veins. I wish I could see so I could find Peeta's hand one last time before we are forced to face whatever lies before us.

Several stairs and turns later, I feel fresh, cool air on my skin, and sunlight fights to break through my blindfold. It must be morning. They kept us overnight. We don't walk far before I feel them tie my body to a wooden post. I can't figure out what they are planning. I want to see what's going on.

Where's Peeta?

My heart is about to explode with all the weight that is pressing upon it, fighting for relief, for breath, for peace.

I hear footsteps and shuffling and a frustrated grunt a few feet to my left. That must be Peeta. I feel a tiny bit of weight lift off my chest. He's still here with me, just like he said. They didn't take him from me.

Now, I gather strength to face what's ahead. Most likely, we are on television for Panem to watch as we learn our lesson. Like Haymitch said, they'll want to make examples of us. I will not break. I will stay strong. They will never see me falter.

Then they pull the blindfold off.

It takes a few seconds for my eyes to fully adjust to the morning sunlight. I turn to focus on seeing Peeta, making sure he's okay. Finally, after he, too, struggles with the brightness of this new setting, he finds my eyes, and we just take each other in for a few moments, unwilling and afraid to face whatever lies before us. I make my eyes speak to him once again, and I can tell he does the same because I can feel his love deposit energy and strength and life into my heart. I can do this. I can do this.

I turn around, and find myself looking at the same stage I leapt toward hours ago, when little Iris was chosen as tribute. This time, however, there are no Reaping bowls or tributes or important people from the Capitol. This time, I am staring up at several blindfolded people. It takes me a moment to recognize them with the fabric of the blindfolds and gags concealing their faces, but when I do, I am struck lame at the realization of what the Capitol is planning.

Now, I'm not so sure that I will be able to stay strong.