Sleep has been elusive these past few weeks. Every time I lay down in a soft warm bed, even if it is small and even if I do have to share it with Prim, I think of Peeta having to lay on the cold hard ground in the Arena and I am overwhelmed with feelings of guilt. That's not what's keeping me up tonight, though.

I've got a lot on my mind.

We were all watching earlier this evening when the confrontation came between four of the five remaining Tributes. Clove is dead—she never had a chance, since she was unconscious when the Tracker Jackers attacked. Rue is dead, too. She fell from the tree trying to fend off the attack of a couple of stray Jackers. Everyone had cried for her, but at least it happened quickly. She didn't suffer.

Peeta and Cato are both alive. Cato was stung twice. Currently he's lost in a sea of hallucinations and pain, but Claudius Templesmith has assured us that his vital signs indicate he will recover. Peeta's survival is not as certain. He took four stings, and we're told it will be eighteen to twenty hours before we know if his body will be able to fight off the effects of the venom.

The moment I heard that I knew.

Peeta has to survive. He has to. I don't know what I'll do if he doesn't. I need him—he belongs to me just as I belong to him and no amount of self-delusion is going to change that. I just can't believe I've had to come this close to losing him to finally realize it. Only now, when he's literally on the verge of death, do I come to my senses.

As I lay here staring at the ceiling, I know it didn't all just start with that kiss, either. No, it started with the bread. All the kiss did was make me wake up and start noticing what had been there all along. The stolen glances. The blushes. The not-really-an-accident accidental brushes in the hallways at school.

I remember what Peeta had said, about him knowing me better than I thought, and I realize I know him, too. I've been watching him as surely as he's been watching me. I know what classes he takes, who his friends are, what he's like—in public, anyway. He's kind, and funny, and an eternal optimist. And now I know he's apparently a hopeless romantic, too.

The thought makes me smile despite myself.

Watching him in the Games has only reinforced this knowledge. The way he charmed the audience in his interview, his inability to kill Cato and his anguish over Ana, his improbable friendship with Rue-all of it points to a boy who is exceedingly compassionate, moral, and good. Too good for me, in fact. If I was a better person I would have noticed all of this long before he was at death's door.

I've made a few feeble attempts to save myself—to retreat back into my shell where no one can touch me, but I find I don't have the strength. Pandora's Box has been opened and I'm just going to have to endure the consequences, as painful as they are probably going to be.

And the consequences are going to come swiftly, because Peeta unintentionally revealed my identity just before he lost consciousness. As far as I know, I'm the only Katniss in District Twelve. Most likely the only one in all of Panem, matter of fact. I fully expect a knock on the door first thing come morning, announcing the arrival of Capitol people there to interview me, the Sweetheart of District Twelve. I'm sure it's going to be pretty awful—I'm not exactly the bright, bubbly type that usually makes for good television. The people of the Capitol are sure to be disappointed with me.

Besides, what am I supposed to say? Confess my feelings for Peeta to the entire nation before I've even had a chance to tell him? It's unthinkable. Equally unthinkable is denying my feelings for Peeta before the entire nation. But I can't refuse the interview, can I? I'm sure the Capitol wouldn't tolerate that.

I'm also dreading the looks I'm going to be getting everywhere. Just enduring my family's reaction was bad enough. I refused to talk about it with them, which my mother seemed to accept, but Prim is all agog, pestering me with questions and dwelling on the romance of it all. At least it's pulled her out of the funk she's been in since Ana's death.

And at least I had already talked to Gale about this—I would have hated for him to find out this way. It's funny—I had always assumed that if I were to ever change my mind about love and relationships, Gale would be the guy for me. Now I know it doesn't work that way—I didn't decide to fall for Peeta, I didn't change my mind about anything. It had just happened, and I had been powerless to stop it.

I hope Gale's going to be okay with all of this.

I glance at the clock—it's almost two in the morning. I need to sleep—I'm going to need it to get through tomorrow. But how can I sleep when Peeta is out there, possibly dying? Maybe dead, already?

My morbid thoughts are interrupted by a sudden banging at the front door, followed by a loud, deep voice announcing, "Peacekeepers, open up!"

I, Prim, and our mother all simultaneously sit straight up in bed. We stare at each other, scared.

"What do we do?" my Mom whispers, and I'm suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to fly across the room and slap her. She's the adult! She should be telling us what to do! As always, I am forced to take up her slack.

"We answer it," I say sharply as another loud rapping comes at the door. I swing my legs around and stand up, trying to act braver than I feel for Prim's sake. I walk into the next room, Mom and Prim following closely behind. I open the door to see two Peacekeepers standing there. I don't know either of them.

"Can I help you?" I ask, fighting to keep my voice steady.

"We're looking for Katniss Everdeen," the one on the left says. He's the older of the two—mid-thirties, I'd guess. His partner barely looks older than me.

"I'm Katniss," I say, and I hear Prim whimper behind me. I can't blame her—I feel a bit like whimpering myself. I don't know why they've come for me, but when two Peacekeepers come calling in the middle of the night, you know it can't be for anything good.

I rack my brain for any offenses I've committed lately, and immediately come up with too many to count. Going through the fence. Poaching. Trading on the black market. Criticizing the Capitol out loud. Turning my eyes away from the most brutal scenes of the Games. It could be anything.

"You need to come with us, Miss," the Peacekeeper says.

"Where are you taking her?" Mother finally speaks up behind me.

"To Headquarters," the younger man answers.

"Don't worry, Ma'am," his partner adds quickly. "We'll have her back to you before you know it."

"Can I get dressed?" I ask. All I have on is an old pair of my dad's pajamas.

"Sorry, no time. We need to go now."

I shrug. At least I have pants on, and the night is warm.

Mom and Prim both immediately hug me like they're never going to see me again.

"It's okay," I whisper. "Don't worry, I'll be back soon." I can only hope it's not a lie.

Next thing I know I'm walking through the dark streets of the District, my official escorts on either side. None of us talk—I figure they probably don't even know why I've been summoned, and if they do they're not going to tell me, anyway. At least I'm not in handcuffs.

Yet.

Much too quickly we arrive at the Peacekeeper Headquarters in the middle of town. They walk me straight in, down a hallway and through a door into an office where a third Peacekeeper waits.

"Miss Everdeen?" he asks.

I nod.

"You have a phone call," he says, gesturing to the phone sitting in the middle of the otherwise empty desk. Then he walks out and closes the door behind him.

That's it? They drag me down here, scare me and my family half to death, for a phone call? Why didn't they just say so? A string of curses runs through my head as I pick up the handset.

"Hello," I snap.

"Is this Katniss Everdeen?" a vaguely familiar voice asks.

"Yes. Who is this?"

"Hello Sweetheart. This is Haymitch Abernathy. Sorry for the late hour, but you and I need to talk."

I don't know how long it's been. Hours? Days? I don't know.

I recall the nightmares, or hallucinations, or whatever they were, with a shudder. Visions of my mother, looming over me, ten times more horrifying than she's ever been in reality. My brothers, tortured and wracked with pain, while my father turns away unwilling or unable to help. Katniss as a child, dead, her body little more than a skeleton lying abandoned in the mud and the rain. It was endless, a purgatory of helplessness.

At some point, though, the visions had gone away and I had woken to horrible physical pain. Somehow I managed to half-stumble, half-crawl my way back to the protection of the cave, where I passed out again, exhausted from the effort. More time lost.

Now the sun is going down as I lie next to the stream near the cave. I had woken with a terrible thirst and dragged myself out here, but now all I can do is rest, taking small sips from the canteen as I try to recover and make sense of it all.

I can't be sure if it was real or just another hallucination, but I remember hearing two cannons. Something within me tells me that part was real, so who were they for? One of them had to be for Clove—she would have had no defense against the Tracker Jackers, whose nest had fallen practically on top of her unconscious body. I suppose her death can be laid directly at my door, but I can't let myself think about that right now.

The other cannon, though—there are really only two possibilities, unless by some outrageous circumstance the redheaded girl from District Five had been killed at that same moment, somewhere else in the Arena. No, it had to be either Cato or Rue, and deep in my heart I know it wasn't Cato. If it had been Cato, she would be here with me now, taking care of me. I bet she'd know some remedy for these swollen, painful stings. But I'm alone and in pain, and I have been for what I'm pretty sure has been days.

Rue is dead.

When Ana died, it had been at the beginning of the Games, when I still had the strength to keep on a mask of composure. But now…now, I am weak. My body is emaciated, beaten and bruised. My mind has been tortured, my heart exhausted. I have nothing left with which to fight the grief, and I give myself over to the sobs which wrack my body. I don't care that everyone in Panem will see this and know how weak I am. I don't care that Cato might hear and come to finish me off. I just don't care.

Rue…that sweet, innocent little girl. My partner, my friend, is gone. Dead. Murdered by the Capitol, and I was as always powerless to help her.

It is nearly fully dark when the tears finally start to fade. I lay there, spent. I know I should move back to the shelter of the cave, but I can't find the energy or the desire. It is as though I've lost the will to fight, to live.

Suddenly I hear a soft clunking sound, followed by a strange rustling. Curiosity raises my head. There…a few feet away from me is a small bottle attached to a parachute.

A gift from a sponsor? For me? Now?

I scoot my way over and pick up the bottle to find a small note attached. I unfold it and read:

"Hang in there, Boy. K.'s still waiting for you to come home."

I inhale sharply. Katniss. How could I have forgotten? But how…

I never told Haymitch about her. He would have seen that silly conversation I had with Rue, of course, but I never gave a name.

Or did I? I've been lost in a world of illusions and dreams—isn't it possible, even likely, that at some point I had said her name without realizing it?

Oh, Katniss. I'm sorry. I know she's going to hate the attention that's going to bring on her.

So does this mean Haymitch has spoken to her? Did she tell him she was waiting for me? Surely not. That's a conversation that's entirely too bizarre to imagine. He must just be bluffing, assuming.

It doesn't matter, though, I realize. The note has done its job—she's the reason I've made it this far, and she's the reason I need to keep going.

I quickly examine the glass bottle the note had been attached to. It's tiny, and all it contains is some sort of clear liquid. I have no idea what it is or what it will do, but I have to trust Haymitch. I quickly open it and pour the liquid down my throat.

It doesn't do much—I know that this late in the Games gifts are a hundred times more expensive than they are at the beginning, and I know my sponsors are probably few and far between. Either this is all Haymitch could afford, or else he's saving up in case I need something more substantial later on.

It's enough, though. The liquid warms me from the inside, and while it doesn't erase my pain, it certainly numbs it quite a bit. I feel a renewed strength and vigor, and my head feels clear. I am overcome with a new sense of determination.

Food. First I need food, then sleep.

I get up and walk down the stream a ways to where Rue and I had set up a trap to catch fish, and sure enough, I see two medium-sized fish waiting for me, splashing around. I eat them raw, not wanting to waste energy building a fire.

While I eat, the seal of the Capitol suddenly shines in the sky, and the anthem blares out. I am given no new information. I still don't know if it's Cato, District Five, or both I'll be facing in the end. I hope it's just Cato—the girl has done nothing to me and I don't want to hurt her.

I will, though, if I have to. Katniss is waiting.