/Sorry for the long delay. It's been a very long summer ... Oi...

Gale -

Every muscle in my body aches as I pile into the rickety elevator car with twenty others in my crew. I feel like a zombie as I lean against the rusted wall of the cage which pulls us upwards through the mine. Even the torchlight of the main-entry way makes my eyes shudder. We're herded like animals to the wash-rooms where we crowd in around tubs filled with scummy water. They change the water once a day, re-filtering the same sludge through the pipes for every crew that comes back alive.

The goats-hair brushes have barely any bristles left; but I drag it across my skin and underneath my fingernails. I clean out of rabbit, knowing that there's nothing clean about it. It's habit. Procedure. Nothing more.

"It appears our allies are leaving the beach," Caesar Flickerman's voice pierces my skull like a blade in my ear. When I'm in the dark of the mine, there is nothing but the rock and the rhythmic pounding of the axes. It's a tomb of solitude and an escape from the Broadcast that plays everywhere around me when I'm back above ground. They won't let us forget.

My hand gropes for the soap bar that rests on the lip of the washtub. The lye stings and burns the cuts of my skin; but I know the Foremen are watching. And the Peacekeepers are watching them. I play my part and I line up to leave with the others when the whistle blows the end of our shift.

It's Twilight when I stepped into the open air. There are no sounds of children playing or of citizens going about their lives. Just the sounds of boots marching home, or of boots marching patrol, or the voices of Flickerman and Templesmith's commentary echoing from the town-square. The sounds of a beaten people.

My every movement is watched. I know at last a dozen Peacekeepers tail me at any time. But I haven't given them reason to arrest me yet, or worse, to kill me. They join me the minute I set foot out of the mine until I enter the Everdeen's home, and they're there again in the morning until I enter the mine again. I'm as good as a prisoner.

"Gale!" Prim exclaims as she always does when I step into the foyer. She's there with a smile; her arms filled. This too has become routine, though a great deal less dreary.

I slip out of my boots and leave them at the door and strip out of my coal-infused shirt and pants. I don't even blush anymore as I take the clean towel from Prim to wrap around myself as I head for the bathroom. Prim trailing behind me as quiet as a mouse.

The water has already been drawn and infused with some ointment Mrs Everdeen concocted to aid my sores and I sink right in without giving Prim time to turn around or cover her eyes. What's the point? She's seen worse in her lifetime now. She collects my clothes and slips back out, closing the door gently behind her. She's off to try to clean the soot out of them despite how much I tell her it's pointless. She insists. And, if it keeps her busy, who am I to argue?

I am one of the lucky ones, I hate to admit it. No matter how all of this turns out, I've got it better than most of District 12.

Dinner is a watered-down potato stew which my mother prepares. We dip the last of Peeta's crusty bread into the liquid to soften it and it feels like a full meal. And, once dishes are cleaned and put away, we settle down into our spots in the living room and prepare ourselves for whatever the Capitol has to show us on the Hunger Games Broadcast.

"Interesting theory!" Caesar Flickerman is all in a titter as we tune in. Flickerman and Templesmith are having a heater discussion about the course of the day's game. They're close-up in the studio, making it obvious that nothing exciting has happened in the Arena worth showing if they're showing us this. As usual, his partner appears nonplussed by whatever has Caesar entranced.

"You don't think it will work?"

Claudius Templesmith snorts. His blond wig bobbles on his head like some windsock blowing in the breeze from all his annoyed head shakes of disagreement. "I think you'd be mad to believe the others would fall for such an obvious trap!"

"Oh, DO give them some credit. We're talking about the famous Beetee Latier! His ingenious designs have aided Panem in so many ways!"

"Wait, wait!" Claudius squeals and waves his hand frantically at the camera. "Give us a replay on that!"

The Arena pops back into full view and my heart leaps into my throat. Katniss is walking through the darkened forest with no one but Joanna Mason of District Four beside her. Between the two of them is a spool of wire which they are unraveling as they walk and I don't understand why Templesmith is so interested in what they're doing... unless someone got the drop of them.

Prim clutches my hand, her fingers shaking as fast as my heart is beating. We both jump when it happens. Neither of us expecting it and worse, neither has Katniss.

Joanna knocks Katniss in the head, sending her sprawling to the ground. And then, she's on top of her, a blade in her hands and it's too late. Katniss screams, then she goes limp. The room is silent as Joanna leaves the unmoving body in the dirt. There isn't a hint of remorse on her face as she turns and makes her run for it.