A/N: Oh, my goodness! We have surpassed 1300! You. Guys. Are. SO. Epic.

Thank you so, so, very much for all the lovely reviews! Thank you, thank you!

Okay, so this chapter begins the time spent in the arena! Yay! Action, action, action . . . complete with Peeta kicking ass . . .

Yeah, it's pretty awesome.

The movie quote of the day comes from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone.

"It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live." - Dumbledore

Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?"; "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"; "I am Asneeze, father of Achoo."; "Dobby did not mean to kill . . . only to maim . . . or seriously injure."; "My precious!"; "Puny god"; "So that's what it feels like"; "Yeah, I can fly."; "There's only one God, ma'am, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't dress like that."; "Your skin is pale white, you dress fashionably, and you abstain from sex. . . I know what you are . . . Jonas brother"; "Snakes. I hate snakes."; "When you marooned me on that god forsaken spit of land, you forgot one very important thing, mate: I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."; "It's like Christmas, but with more . . . me."; "It's the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more."; "It's beautiful isn't it, Harry? The moon."; "Hang on, everybody! I wanna try something I saw in a cartoon once!"; "Well that's as clean as it will ever be."; "Slimy, yet satisfying."; "You may not like it Minister, but you can't deny . . . Dumbledore's got style."; "Over that boy hand!"; "Don't ever hit your mother with a shovel. It leaves a dull impression on her mind."; "Hello! My name is Inigo Montoya! You killed my father! Prepare to die!"; "There's a jungle cat in the bathroom!"; "Any guy can sweep a girl off her feet; he just needs the right broom."; "I suffer from aviophobia - it means fear of dying in something that flies!"; "It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live."


Chapter 28

Waiting in the Launch Room is just as torturous the second time around. Cinna and I sit on the couch like last year, clutching each other's hands. I try to ignore how cold my hands feel against Cinna's warm skin. Fear is gliding icily through my veins, freezing me. If I thought I was scared last year, it is nothing compared to the sheer, paralyzing terror that is gripping me this year.

The hand that is not grasping Cinna's rests over my stomach, which is still as flat as it has ever been. I vaguely remember my mother mentioning once that mothers in their first pregnancy don't show as soon as other mothers who've already been pregnant before. At this thought, I subtly slide my hand over my stomach. No bump. No sign of pregnancy, of the child growing inside me. My stomach is still as flat as it was two seconds ago.

If Cinna notices my movements, he doesn't comment. We don't speak. Trying to make my mind focus on anything other than the fact that at any second a pleasant voice will sound over the intercom and tell me to prepare for launch, I think of Peeta. The first thought to enter my mind is how he was speaking to the baby this morning. I'll always remember every word he said, but there is one phrase that I'll always recall first. The very last thing he said. Daddy's going to keep you safe.

Daddy. Peeta is going to be a father. It's funny, I've really only been focusing on the fact that I'm going to be a mother. The thought that Peeta will be a father causes my lips to twitch upward in a ghost of a smile. I've always held the belief that Peeta would be the best father in the world, just as good a dad as my own . . . kind, supportive, loving . . . and fiercely protective.

Daddy's going to keep you safe.

I don't doubt him.

My mind then focuses on Peeta's goodbye. How I wish I hadn't closed my eyes . . . but then I would have had to watch him walk away from me. Maybe I got the lesser of two evils.

After I'd opened my eyes to find Peeta gone, Cinna had reminded me about the shirt still clutched in my hand. Almost in a daze, I'd pulled it over my head and then together Cinna and I had made our way onto the roof. Exactly like the year before, a hovercraft appeared and dropped down a ladder. The moment I'd grabbed a rung, I was frozen with an electric current and hauled up. The very same woman from before implanted the tracker into my arm. Eating breakfast was a trial due to my nausea, but I managed, telling myself that it was good for the baby.

My launch room this year looks nearly exactly like the last one I'd seen. Four square, white walls. The couch I'm currently sitting on is blood red, a color that I doubt is by chance. A stainless steel table where my outfit for this year's games sat. Whereas last year I got a shirt and pants and boots, this year I get a red and blue fitted jumpsuit made of a sheer fabric. A large, six-inch wide purple belt is wrapped around my waist. This is my favorite part of my outfit because it partially shields my stomach. A pair of nylon shoes with rubber soles covers my feet.

Cinna couldn't really tell much of the possible conditions in the arena due to the outfit, only saying that there might be some bright sun.

My mockingjay pin is fixed on my jumpsuit, glinting even in the fluorescent lights of the room. Strange how it's become this symbol for the rebellion, a songbird that merely reminded me of my father. But that's simply what the mockingjay means to me. To the rest of Panem, it's a symbol of hope. It's mindboggling really, that the bird on my pin has soared to such great heights.

"Please prepare to launch."

The pleasant female voice cuts through all my thoughts, and I'm slapped in the face with the present. I'm about to enter the arena. Still clutching each other's hands, Cinna and I walk to the pedestal that will raise me up into the arena. It's with great reluctance that I let go of his hand.

"Remember, girl on fire," he says. "I'm still betting on you."

Cinna kisses my forehead and then takes a step back. The glass tube slides down around me, separating me from him, and I can't help but think of last night. The interviews, when Cinna turned me into a mockingjay, trading the silk of my wedding dress for my mockingjay plumage. It was the bravest, stupidest thing he could have ever done, and I haven't said a word to him about it. But somehow, I don't get the feeling that I need to. Cinna said everything he needed to say when he caught my eyes on stage. He knew exactly what he was doing and he doesn't regret it.

I wait for the pedestal to begin to rise. Last year, the moment the glass trapped me, it began to lift me up, but I have yet to move an inch. My eyes meet Cinna's and I see my own confusion reflected right back at me. Why is there a delay? What's the cause?

Just then, the door bursts open and three burly Peacekeepers barrel in. Immediately, two of them grab Cinna by the arms and handcuff him while the third, wearing metal-studded gloves, punches Cinna with such force as to knock him to his knees. A startled cry escapes my lips that quickly morphs into a scream as I'm forced to watch the three Peacekeepers beat a defenseless Cinna. Their cruel, studded gloves open up several nasty gashes on his face and blood is beginning to drip steadily onto the collar of Cinna's black shirt. I'm pounding on the glass, screaming my head off, but either they don't hear me or they don't care.

Finally, mercifully, Cinna is knocked unconscious and I watch helplessly as they drag his limp body out the door, a long, horrifying blood smear trailing along the floor in his wake. The door slams shut and suddenly my pedestal is working again, beginning to lift me up into the arena.

I'm not ready. I'm not ready at all. I'm shaken, literally trembling on my pedestal. I close my eyes and force myself to take a deep breath, desperately ignoring the image of a bloody Cinna that appears behind my closed lids. Focus. Focus. I can't be shown trembling once I'm in the arena. I can't give Snow that satisfaction. This was all a ploy to rattle me. Well, consider me rattled. But I refuse to show it. I will be strong, not only for me, but for the people of Panem watching me. Hopefully, if they can see my strength, they will in turn find their own.

A breeze hits me in the face and a bright sun blinds me. I blink rapidly to focus my vision, but the light seems to be refracting off everything around me. Something laps at my pedestal and I squint at my feet. Blue waves.

Slowly, my eyes lift from my feet to stare out around me. All I see is water, lapping gently with the breeze. Everywhere is water.

This is no place for a girl on fire.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" The booming voice of Claudius Templesmith echoes throughout the arena. "Let the Seventy-fifth Hunger Games begin!"

One minute. I have one minute to study everything around me before the gong sounds and I get the hell out of here. But once I examine my situation, I realize that that's going to be a problem. Directly in front of me is the golden, horn-shaped structure of the Cornucopia, reflecting brightly in the sun. It sits on a little circular island about forty yards away from me. I try to get my bearings. Pink sky. Hot sun. Water everywhere.

But then I look closer and I realize that the Cornucopia doesn't sit on an island. Several narrow strips of land stretch out from the circle, mimicking the look of spokes on a wheel. At this thought, my gaze becomes even sharper and I realize that between each spoke are two tributes. Next to me is Woof, an old man from 8 who's hard of hearing. That's it, then. There are twelve spokes, each equidistant apart.

I glance around quickly, trying to find Peeta, but I can't see him. He must be on the other side of the Cornucopia. I'm so glad I taught him how to swim during the summer; otherwise he would be trapped on his pedestal once the gong sounds. My eyes search for any sign of my allies. I can't see Beetee or Wiress or Johanna, but I think that I see Finnick's tall, athletic form about three spokes over.

I can hear Peeta in my head, his words from this morning. I'm supposed to avoid the Cornucopia and get somewhere safe, away from the bloodbath. My next task is to find either Finnick or Johanna if Peeta doesn't find me first. But there's a gapping flaw in Peeta's plan. No one could have anticipated an arena quite like this one. It might be the endlessness of the water, but this arena seems expansive to me, bigger than last year's. The spokes that emanate from the island of the Cornucopia stretch all the way to a narrow beach and beyond that, dense greenery. It's everywhere you look.

No one could find me in there. Peeta couldn't, especially since he can't see me like he could last year. Last year he was able to see in which direction I ran. This year he can't. He'd have no clue as to where to start looking for me.

It's this that makes me realize I have to swim to the Cornucopia. It's the only way Peeta and I will be able to stay together. Determination fills me, and I quickly dip my hand into the water lapping at my pedestal before touching a fingertip to my tongue. Salt water, like in District 4.

When the gong sounds, I don't hesitate to dive into the water. Swimming in the waves is much different than the calm water of the lake back home, but adrenaline aids me in the extra effort. I reach the sandy spoke to my left, pulling myself out of the water gracelessly, before sprinting down the narrow strip of land to the Cornucopia.

My eyes dart all around me, but no one is in sight. I reach the Cornucopia and begin to hunt for my weapon. The Gamemakers wouldn't deny my bow and arrows that I'm famous for. Unlike last year, when the supplies were spread out around the Cornucopia, this year they're all piled up together. I see a glint of gold and my hands reach for it. A bow and sheath of arrows.

As I'm slinging the quiver over my shoulder, I sense someone behind me. Hunter instincts are lifesaving. In one fluid motion, I spin around and load an arrow in my bow, taking aim. Just as I'm about to release the string, I realize who I'm aiming at. Finnick, glistening wet in the bright sun, stands a few yards away from me poised to attack as well, his trident raised. A net dangles from his other hand. Though he's smiling at me, he's tensed for an attack.

I lower my bow, and Finnick relaxes slightly. "Oh, yay! You didn't try to kill me. That would have really put a strain on our friendship."

"Reflex," I explain myself, and Finnick nods in understanding.

"We need to get you out of here," he says.

I shake my head. "Not without Peeta," I tell him, my tone offering no room for argument.

Finnick looks like he wants to argue, but suddenly his face morphs into an expression that I've never seen. "Duck!" he commands with such authority that I don't bother to question him.

His trident sails over my head and then there's the sickening sound of impact as it embeds itself into a human torso. I whirl around just in time to see the male tribute from District 5, the drunk, draw his last breath. Finnick is immediately at my side, retrieving his trident. He looks at me fiercely and I don't see the playful Finnick Odair I'm used to seeing, I see the Finnick Odair who won the Hunger Games.

"Fine," he says, referring to my demand that we wait for Peeta. "Each of us takes a side, and for heaven's sake don't die."

I give him a curt nod and dart to my left as Finnick moves to the right. My ears pick up the sounds of a fight, and I'm already lifting my bow, preparing to fire. Just as I round the horn of the Cornucopia, I'm met with a sight that I naively never expected to see.

Peeta and Gloss are locked in a fierce battle. Both grasp deadly daggers in their hands as they dance around each other, parrying attacks and dodging lunges meant to skewer. I've never seen Peeta fight before, not really. There was his struggle with Cato atop the Cornucopia during our first Games, but his current fight with Gloss makes his deadly dance with Cato on the rim of the Corncuopia look like a scuffle. Aside from that fight, I've only ever seen recaps of his previous fights from the Games, and somehow that made it seem less real. There's no doubting the reality of what I'm seeing now. Peeta's actually . . . deadly. His moves are fast and precise and show a strategy.

Suddenly, Gloss lunges at Peeta, making a sweeping motion with his dagger. Peeta jumps back to avoid the swipe, but loses his footing on the shifty sand. Though he's off balanced for only a second, Gloss capitalizes and tackles Peeta to the ground, planting his knees on Peeta's chest. Gloss's dagger descends rapidly to meet Peeta's heart, but Peeta is able to grab his wrists and stop the dagger's deadly descent.

Finally able to overcome the shock of what I'm seeing, Peeta's predicament causes me to act. I raise my bow and aim right between Gloss's eyes. However, before I release the string, Peeta, in a great show of strength, flips Gloss over his head, causing the Career to drop his dagger in the sand.

I take aim again, but a movement out of the corner of my eye makes me pause. My eyes immediately zone in on Enobaria, who is sneakily making her way onto shore, her bloodlust-crazed eyes not leaving Peeta. He's her target.

And she has just become mine. I switch my aim from Gloss to Enobaria, and I release my arrow the moment Enobaria is within range. Regrettably, it appears that she had been keeping a peripheral eye on me and just manages to duck at the last second, my arrow that was meant to land between her eyes sailing over her head into the water. She ducks behind the Cornucopia out of my sight and I quickly load another arrow as I refocus my attention to Peeta.

In the three seconds I took my eye off him to shoot at Enobaria, both he and Gloss have rearmed themselves and are fighting like wolves. I raise my bow to shoot Gloss, but he and Peeta are too close together and moving far too fast for me to be positive that if I released an arrow it would hit Gloss and not Peeta.

I stand, helplessly waiting for a clear shot. Gloss lunges at Peeta once again, but Peeta appears to be ready for the charge, sidestepping out of the way and catching Gloss's arm, twisting it oddly. There's a sickening pop as Gloss's shoulder is dislocated and he howls in pain. But Gloss isn't a Career for nothing. Despite the pain, he whirls around to face Peeta once more, but, again, Peeta appears to have expected it. I watch, stunned, as Peeta raises one arm to block Gloss's strike, and then sinks his dagger into Gloss's abdomen.

Peeta appears slightly stunned too. As he falls to his knees, Gloss's quivering hands flutter to his wound, grasping the handle of the dagger, before looking back up at Peeta, seemingly mystified by his predicament. Comprehension dawns on Gloss's face as he finally overcomes the shock of his encroaching death, and with his last breath he looks up at Peeta and coughs, whatever words he meant to speak choked with blood. The tribute from District 1 falls heavily to his side and remains motionless.

As if pulling himself out of a stupor, Peeta shakes his head, and quickly looks around to ascertain if there are any threats. There's no one here but me. I assume that not many victors know how to swim and most are still trapped on their pedestals. There was no pool in the Training Center, so there was no chance for anyone to learn. Now, it's either learn quickly or die trying.

I blink and suddenly Peeta is right in front of me, looking none too thrilled to see me. "What the hell are you doing here?" he hisses as he looks me over to make sure I'm unharmed. All I can focus on is the blood dripping from his temple and the long, diagonal cut on that starts on his collarbone and ends just shy of his heart. "I told you to run away from the Cornucopia!"

"Since when do I ever do what you say?" I retort, before impulsively giving him a brief, but passionate kiss. "Glad you're still alive, though."

Peeta's eyes hold a haunted, guilty look for a moment before it vanishes. No doubt thinking of how he killed Gloss not a minute ago. "Get some weapons and let's go," he says, his eyes darting around. "We need to get out of here."

Both of us turn toward the supplies, and it doesn't take me too long to realize that all of it is weapons. Knives, swords, maces, axes, everything is metal and deadly. No water. No blankets. No medicine. No backpacks.

Peeta grabs two long knives, dropping his bloody dagger in the sand, abandoning it. I don't comment. I grab another bow and sheath of arrows and an awl, along with two knives identical to Peeta's and slide them into my belt.

We rush to the point of the Cornucopia and meet up with Finnick, who holds two tridents in one hand and a net in the other, a knife stuck in his belt. He grins at Peeta. "Hey, Peet! You really need to have a talk with the missus. She seems to like trying to get killed."

"Shut up," I tell them both, cutting off whatever Peeta was about to say.

"Uh oh, take care of that, would you?" Finnick asks, and I see Brutus charging toward us, his belt held in his hands in front of him, acting as some sort of shield.

I let an arrow fly, but Brutus manages to block it with his belt. Purple liquid spews from the belt were my arrow punctured it, covering Brutus's face, and he dives back into the safety of the water before I can get another shot off. Peeta is already grabbing my arm and leading me away, following Finnick.

It really is time to get out of here. Brutus is probably already out of the water, and our altercation has no doubt given Enobaria time to load up on weapons. Cashmere must be lurking around here, too. I wonder if she realizes her brother is dead yet. If it weren't for the baby, I would be willing to take them on with Peeta and Finnick, but I can't risk that. I've already risked my safety enough.

But we don't immediately head for the dense greenery that surrounds us. Finnick is turning his head this way and that and then suddenly he smiles and runs forward. Peeta and I follow and I see Mags standing on her pedestal. Her eyes land on Finnick and she doesn't hesitate to jump into the water. Even though she's eighty, living in District 4 all her life must have given her the ability to stay afloat no matter her age. Her grey head bobs in the water, and Finnick scoops her out of the water as if she weighs nothing.

"Can't leave Mags behind," Finnick says. "She's one of the few people who like me."

"I've got no problem with Mags," I reply, offering her a small smile. "You're fishhooks are probably our best chance of getting a meal."

Mags gives me a quirky smile, but then pats her belt and says, "bob."

"Look, she's right," Finnick says, pointing to someone in the water. It's Beetee, who is flailing around, but managing to keep his head above the water. "Someone figured it out."

"The belts are flotation devices," Peeta nods in understanding. "You'll have to propel yourself, but they'll keep you from drowning."

"Come on, let's get out of here," Finnick says as he throws his net over his shoulder and then hoists Mags on top of it.

I want to wait for Beetee and Wiress, but Beetee is three spokes over and I can't even see Wiress. We don't have time to wait or look for them. We've got to get away from the Cornucopia. More and more tributes are managing to get ashore. It's time to vamoose.

Finnick takes off running, gripping his two tridents in his hand. Peeta and I run after him until we've reached the dense woods. But these are unlike any woods I've ever seen. They are far too dense and too green. Jungle. I determine, remembering a description from my father.

Most of the trees are unfamiliar to me. Rubbery trunks and green, frond-like leaves. Tangles of vines litter the trees and the floor, which is black soil. Colorful blossoms sprout from the vines and the dense undergrowth, but I can hardly pay attention to that. The sun, bright and white hot, is blocked by the density of the jungle, but that doesn't mean we're brought relief from the shade. No, the air is so thick with moisture that the humidity makes it feel even hotter. Sweat has already begun to cling to the back of my neck, and memories of fighting dehydration in the arena last year flit through my mind. I swallow convulsively. We have to find water soon.

Peeta leaves my side to take the lead, slashing a path with one of his knives. I know that he's upset with me, which probably prompted his need to slash at something to vent his frustration. He must realize that me meeting him at the Cornucopia was the only way to stay together. I don't have to tell him this or explain myself. However, that doesn't mean that Peeta has to like the fact I had to face the bloodbath at the Cornucopia. I know that he's is probably more upset with the world instead of me. All he's trying to do is protect me, but the world seems to spite his efforts.

Personally, I keep thinking about Peeta's fight with Gloss. It was so brutal, and Peeta fought just as well as any Career, his wrestling and all our training we did before the Games serving him well. It was just odd, seeing Peeta transform into such a fierce being. The hands that caressed and loved me so gently last night just violently killed someone. The contrast is shocking, but I can't help but think that Peeta just showed his true strength. Strength isn't all about power; it's about knowing when to use it and how to control it.

I smile a little at my realization. Just another thing about Peeta to love and respect. We continue to trudge through the jungle, the ground beneath our feet slowly growing steeper. It doesn't take us long to become short of breath. Much to my disgruntlement, I'm the first to begin to pant. Despite my extra training, I'm pregnant. Much to my annoyance, this causes me to tire quicker than normal. However, it doesn't take long before Peeta and Finnick are breathing just as hard as I am. Peeta, despite his strength and physique, is exerting more effort than the rest of us cutting a path through the foliage and is tiring. I also think he tweaked his shoulder fighting with Gloss, but I don't exactly know how I know this. I put it up to the fact that I know Peeta's body just as well as I know my own. Finnick is tiring too, but he's in such great shape that even with Mags on his back he keeps up with us easily. We all manage to climb rapidly for about a mile before Finnick asks that we stop for a rest. Even if I have a sneaking suspicion that his request is more for Mags than himself, I'm grateful and plop down on the ground, resting against a tree.

Peeta sits down beside me and I lay my head on his shoulder. "Are you alright?" he asks.

"I'm fine," I answer immediately. "Just a little tired."

We're all silent for a few minutes, catching our breath. Finnick and Mags are sitting at the base of a tree across from us, and Mags begins to mumble to Finnick who nods, understanding every word she's saying. While they're distracted by their conversation, I turn slightly so that I'm facing Peeta.

Our eyes meet, and Peeta sighs. "Sorry for yelling at you," he apologizes. "It just scared me, seeing you there."

I wonder if he means that he was scared that I was at the Cornucopia or that I'd just seen him kill someone. Something tells me it's both. "It's alright," I say, trying to assuage his guilt. But the heaviness in his eyes only lessens slightly and it prompts me to put my lips at his ear, so that no microphone can hear me. "You're still Peeta," I tell him softly, repeating what I'd told him last year after he'd killed the boy from 4. "You'll always be Peeta, and I don't think any less of you after what I saw today."

I pull back and Peeta offers me a small, appreciative smile. His lips meet mine softly. "Thank you," he whispers.

I twine my fingers with his, and rest my head against his shoulder once more. Though I allow myself to close my eyes, my ears stay sharp, listening to everything around me. Peeta's slow breaths. The soft conversation between Mags and Finnick. A slight breeze rustling the foliage. A multitude of animal sounds that I don't recognize, but don't see as a threat . . . yet. We'll have to be extra careful in this arena. I have a feeling we'll encounter things we've never seen.

"Someone should see how it's like at the Cornucopia," Finnick says, prompting me to open my eyes.

I get to my feet. I'm the one known for climbing trees. However, there's a little problem. These trees aren't the ones I'm used to and there's no branch that's easily within my reach. "Peeta, can you give me a boost?" I ask, and Peeta gives me his signature boyish grin.

"Of course," he offers gallantly.

He folds his hands and I place a hand on his shoulder to steady myself before I place my foot on his braced hands. "Ready?" Peeta asks, and I nod.

I push off his hands just as he tosses me up. The motion is so smooth it's like we've been doing it for years. My hands easily grip a branch and I'm able to pull myself up. Then I begin to climb. Eventually, my head pops up from the tree line and I'm able to see everything. A soft breeze it's my face, refreshing me. But the nice, cooling breeze is all but forgotten when my eyes alight on the Cornucopia.

I'm too far away to see anything distinct, but the color red stains the ground. Blue bodies lie motionlessly on the ground, but I can't tell who they are. Spots of purple stain the sea, where some bodies float lifelessly. I'm able to tell that some figures are still in battle, but again, I have no idea who.

I know that I shouldn't be surprised by the sight before me, but I can't help but think of our joined hands last night during the interview. Our show of unity. These people, these people were friends, and yet they still went into massacre-mode the moment the gong rang. I suppose I should have expected it. We're all victors for a reason.

But I guess I had been subconsciously, naively hoping for some show of restraint, or at least reluctance. The bloodstained Cornucopia proves my hopes to be folly. My eyes begin to itch with the urge to produce tears, but I fight them back. The last thing I need is my hormones to act up and make me weepy.

I climb down from the tree, and Peeta is waiting for me. When I reach the last branch, I dangle from it before letting myself drop. Peeta catches me effortlessly and then sets me on my feet. Finnick meets my gaze, and it's like he knows what I've been thinking. "So, how does it look down there, Katniss?" he asks. "Have they all joined hands? Taken a vow of nonviolence? Tossed the weapons in the sea in defiance of the Capitol?"

I fight not to scowl. "No."

"No," Finnick repeats. "Because whatever happened in the past is in the past, and no one in this arena was a victor by chance."

I nod curtly, my lips pursed in a thin line. "I know."

"How many are dead?" Peeta asks, and I sigh, my aggravation with Finnick fading.

"Hard to say. At least six, I think. But they're still fighting," I answer.

"Let's keep moving." Peeta draws one of his knives from his belt. "We need water."

At the reminder, I can't help but swallow. All this time, we still haven't seen a drop of the precious liquid. No stream. No pond. No nothing. The water from the sea isn't drinkable, which means that there must be freshwater somewhere. We simply have to find it, and both Peeta and I know how difficult the Gamemakers can make that task.

"Better find some soon," Finnick says seriously. "We need to be undercover when the others come hunting us tonight."

We resume our trek, our pace slightly slower, but by no means are we dragging our feet. The ground continues to rise relentlessly, only increasing our level of exertion, but we all continue to climb. I keep my eyes peeled for any signs of water, but there are none. We go another mile and we're all panting once again. I see the crest of the hill above us, and think that maybe we'll have better luck on the other side.

However, I realize that there is no other side. Despite trailing behind the others, picking up the rear, I know that the arena ends before anyone else. My eyes catch sight of an undulating square in the air, rippling like a pane of glass. Immediately, I think of the first day in the Training Center with Wiress and Beetee. A chink in the armor—the armor of the force field.

My mouth opens to shout a warning to Peeta, but I'm too late. His knife swings downward and hits the force field. Zap. For a moment, I can see beyond the arena, even if all it is a barren stretch of earth . . . and then Peeta is flung backward, knocking over Finnick and Mags.

He hits the ground with a thud and remains motionless.

"Peeta!"

I drop to my knees beside him, faintly noting the aroma of singed hair. My hands are trembling as I press my fingers to his lips. No warmth breath. He isn't breathing. Peeta isn't breathing. My husband isn't breathing. The father of my child isn't breathing.

Am I breathing? No, I'm gasping. I curse the tears that well in my eyes, the sob that threatens to escape me.

I shake his shoulder. "Peeta!" I scream, but he remains entirely too still.

As a last hope, I press my ear to his chest, the very same spot where I always rest my head at night. The very same spot where I fell asleep last night, contented and safe. I close my eyes, tears sliding down my cheeks, praying to hear the strong heartbeat that I love.

Silence.


It may be cruel of me, but I love that last bit.

Let's see, let's see . . . things don't look good for Cinna (sorry folks), Finnick is as gorgeous and witty as ever, Katniss is thirsty, and Peeta is dead.

Yep, I think that about covers it.

So! Quote from Come Rain or Come Shine comes from . . . Prim!

" . . . even if they break his body, they'll never be able to break his spirit."

Lots of love,

AC