Nich's POV

After the cannon, I knew that the pieces were falling in place. The packages kept arriving, but I ignored them. Every once and a while, Elvatroix would lean down and try to pick one up, but I quickly blocked her. Neither one of us would be using what we inside those packages.

We continued to fight. Everything was working out perfectly. Rayne had taken my place in the death-sleep, Lystra had the letter, Mother was dead, and Elvatorix and I were fighting to the death.

Next I would die.

It was for the best – being reincarnated in 50 years was much better – and hopefully I would be far, far from the Capitol when it happened. Then Lystra and I wouldn't have to compete for the Hunger Games crown. Then I wouldn't have to live with the shame of being his daughter.

If I could, I would kill Elvatroix, take her with me. If not, she was already severely injured, and I knew that one of Lystra's knives would kill her instantly.

Everything was in place.

When Lystra read the note, she would know everything. About Snow – everything I knew about him, why she should pity him, and, if he was a tyrant like Father, how he could be killed. Because we had killed a president this time – Mazie had, I mean. Next time we would kill another, and this time, I was sure that it would be Lystra. Lystra would end the Capitol.

More importantly for the time being, she would know about how Rayne was in a deep sleep, and what to do to save her.

And then, lastly, were the instructions to burn the letter.

Elvatorix and I fought on, countering each stroke. For a while, I thought we could go on like that forever. But then, my downfall came.

Like my mother, I didn't notice a package, and I tripped on it, falling . . .

Elvatorix swung her sword. . .

I swung my own, not aiming to stop the blade but to Elvatorix's neck . . .

I closed my eyes before the contact came. . .

My last thought was what Snow would think – he had just as well of killed me . . .

Then the collision . . .

. . .

Snow Jr.'s POV

I watched in terror as Elvatorix and Nich beheaded each other. The cannons were simultaneous, harmonic, almost, in a horrible, bloody way.

A horrible sense of loss washed over me.

It was as if my brain were gone, as was my stomach, and my limbs were like jelly.

For a long time, I could only stare at the screen.

My father, my idol, my role model, was dead.

My mother, whom I had thought dead, was dead. I could have saved her. But I didn't.

And my sister, my only true friend, was dead. I had tried to save her – over my mother. But I hadn't succeeded.

Then the realization came over me.

Mother and Nich had both fallen on the boxes that I had sent. This had allowed Elvatorix to kill them. I had just as well killed them.

Terror came over me, and I began to claw at my face, my hair, whatever I could come upon. The guilt was deep in the air.

I had killed a girl directly today.

I had just as well killed two others.

And my father was also gone.

What was there to live for?

I wanted to die. Nothing was good anymore. My family – my loved ones were waiting for me. I had to join them. I was reaching for a piece of glass from a table I'd broke, when a guard stopped me.

"You are our leader now," he said gruffly. "Young as you are, we will do as you say. We," he hesitated here, looking me in the eye. "we need you."

And then weight of the world – er, country – fell upon me. I had to continue Panem's path as my father would have.

And I intended to do so.

I realized my motives abruntly, and stood. The man helped me up.

"C'mon," I said, aware of my superiority. "We've got a country to mend."

Lystra's POV

The cannons were simultaneous. Harmonic, almost. The last call of Nich and Elvatorix.

A hovercraft came to take me to the Capitol. I didn't even care anymore.

There was a sharp pain in my arm. I thought that they were taking the tracker out. Good. I hated the Capitol knowing where I was at all times. I hated the Capitol.

Someone tried to take the letter from me. I shook my head, clutching it tightly. They asked me some things, but I didn't answer. I couldn't hear them anymore. Someone tried again to take the letter, and I cried out at them, grasping a knife and clutching the letter. In my current state, the letter seemed to hold the spirits of all those dead in the arena.

It held Tanner.

I wasn't – was not letting go.

I began to cry at the thought of Tanner. I knew that the people about me were responsible for his death, but somehow I couldn't lash out at them.

A doctor approached me, trying to coax me onto the operating table, where he would fix me up. I shooed him away, curling into a ball and rolling on the floor.

Several of the Capitol people exchanged glances, and I knew what they were thinking : How on Earth could this emotionally unstable person win the Hunger Games? Elvatroix should have taken the crown. And I agreed. 100%. If Elvatroix had won, then I would have been dead. And with Tanner.

I began to wail.

They exchanged more glances, and one took out a needle that I knew would put me to sleep. At first, I found the thought comforting. Peaceful sleep, where none could disturb me. But then I realized that they would take the letter.

I backed away.

"Come on, Lystra," said one of the doctors comfortingly "We'll fix you right up. Don't worry. We are not here to hurt you."

At first, this last sentence confused me. I followed the doctor's gaze to my side, where the bag of knives remained. Oh. Well . . . that might seem a bit threatening.

"I'm not going to sleep," I said, clutching a knife's handle tightly, as though to threaten.

"Sure you're not," said a doctor, approaching me slowly with the needle, which he moved slowly, carefully behind his back, as though that would keep me from seeing it.

"You know, I'm not an idiot," I said, gazing at the needle in suspicion. "And I'm not two, either. So you can stop using those baby voices. Okay? Okay." I gazed around at the stunned faces of the Capitol doctors, feeling a slight sense of satisfaction – the first emotion I'd felt since Tanner died that wasn't sadness, guilt, heartache, and just downright numbness. At the thought of him, my eyes began to water once more.

Then, to my left, I heard a clapping sound. It was loud and harsh in the quiet helicopter, and I jumped along with the doctors. I turned to see Kayton.

"Wonderful, Lystra," she laughed. "All right, guys. You're not getting your hands on her." Then she turned to me, extending a hand. "Come with me."