Mags' eyes immediately latched onto the new light source. The sound of steps, low and brisk, reached her attentive ears. She was sitting behind a long row of loaded shelves, peering through the piles of folded covers, her filthy protective coat discarded on the floor.

A lean male silhouette, hooded in a coat similar to theirs, revealed itself, oblivious to their presence.

A burst of grim satisfaction surged through Mags. She was glad the traitor had come on her watch. She knew the Capitol would be watching and that someone who foiled their plans would pay for it dearly, but after their declaration about wanting to convince rebels of their errors, she decided that she would make a great show of being convinced, but later. She had to know what this man was up to and what he already had done, and why.

She put a hand on Constantine's arm. His eyes opened at once, as if he had been awake all along. Mags let the other two sleep, not wanting the man to slip through her fingers.

The man had no mask, only a black scarf around his face. Citadel. Mags' eyes dropped to his hands. He was unarmed, for now. He headed straight for the Capitolite's concealed corpse. There was no mistake, this was the contact.

Soon he would have passed them and Constantine would be behind him.

A barefoot Mags silently walked to the other extremity of the row, keeping out of sight behind the shelves.

She faked wary sleepiness as she revealed herself. "Who are you?" She said.

The man started in surprise and dropped the torch. His hand flew to his side. Constantine, who'd used the distraction to sneak up on him, leaped on his back, slamming him down while Mags jumped back behind the shelves for protection. She lunged for the rope she had purposefully stored there.

"Mags!" Constantine called, struggling to bodily restrain and muffle the thrashing and cursing figure on the floor.

A gun lay abandoned near him. Mags kicked the weapon aside. They had the man solidly tied and gagged in seconds. She smiled at a panting but satisfied-looking Constantine. They had been swift and silent, perfect.

Constantine paled. His eyes had focused at something right behind her. He grasped her wrist and pulled her behind him.

Slightly panicked, Mags spun round. What had gone wrong?

Fife was leaning against the shelves, a dark mass in the gloom. She had the gun in her hands, pointed straight at them.

Mags' breath caught. She gaped, unable to process the situation. Her muscles were locked in place.

"I don't want to kill you, but it's the Hunger Games and I don't need you to make him talk." Her voice took a snappy edge. "Keane, stay back, I can see you."

Mags couldn't see Keane from where she was. Scenarios were flashing through her mind. If Keane distracted Fife, Mags could bolt and disarm her, but if Fife shot to kill...

"And yet," Fife said with a theatrical sigh, "how stupid would attracting the attention of everyone on this floor by shooting you guys be? That's why we'd decided to move him right after having caught him, no? So chill."

She lowered the gun as the others failed to move. "Well come on, carry him. I just felt like showing you why leaving a gun on the ground was beyond stupid. Stop trusting each other so much, it's almost insulting. Are you sure he has no weapons left?"

Mags took a deep breath, willing her heart to slow. She had thought herself prepared but she hadn't really paused to consider the others may try to kill her first. Had Fife been serious, Mags couldn't have done anything to stop her. Fife had proven that she didn't hesitate, she wouldn't have given Mags a chance to talk her out of it. The realization slowly sunk in, searing her insides. Never had her own life felt so fragile, her mortality so tangible. Every sensation, the slightest of itches or discomforts felt amplified a thousand fold as if her body insisted on showing exactly what she'd come close to lose.

Constantine pointed the torchlight straight at Fife's face, a dark scowl on his features.

Fife winced. She covered her eyes, flashing them an apologetic smile. "Right, sorry. I could have phrased it differently."

Phrased it differently? That girl was a living understatement.

Keane's weary voice reached them. "I'll pack the rest of the stuff."

Just from his tone, it was obvious that he thought they were insane.

Mags was still shaking as she removed two knives, a lighter and spray can of some kind from their prisoner's clothes. Fife's warning had not been a joke. The short girl valued her life greatly and now had a gun, a peacekeeper-issued security gun with ten bullets - although there could be less - and an automatic lock-on.

Fife didn't need a gun to kill her. Considering the time Mags spent exposed to her, a knife was just as deadly, Mags thought, trying to rationalize her way out of the fear still freezing her muscles. Instead, the knowledge just told her that even taking the gun from Fife would not guarantee her survival.

"Guys, I'm sorry. I was stressed out, I didn't think. Say something." Fife's eyes then narrowed. She pointed at their prisoner. "Constantine, please put the light on his face."

Constantine complied after a tense pause. The man squinted behind the gag and his thick scarf. They could only see his narrow brown eyes and the bridge of his thin long nose. There was something familiar about them.

Fife's hand flew to her mouth to stifle a gasp. She gulped. "Hello, Cresyl."

Mags' jaw dropped. Cresyl. A man whose rank rivaled, maybe even surpassed, Chickaree's. The rebel who had kept watch on her in the Citadel. No, not rebel. This man had been lying to everyone for a decade. Mags couldn't believe it. A part of her hoped this was all a huge misunderstanding. She'd rather have to deal with the mortification of having assaulted an innocent rebel leader than imagine all the damage someone like Cresyl could have done. This wasn't a mere opportunistic collaborator, this was someone with enough loyalty to the Capitol to live a lie among people he had to hate, away from comfort and loved ones.

Mags finally found her voice. "Let's move," she said, blinking back tears.

Constantine threw Cresyl over his shoulder, his whole body tensing with effort. The man struggled once more against his bonds. Constantine tightened his hold without losing his footing. Cresyl soon gave up and went limp.

"Careful, he might jerk violently and surprise you," Mags said, keeping a wary eye on the man.

"And fall on his skull?" Fife said, heavy skepticism in her voice.

Mags' eyes met Cresyl's defiant ones. "He could prefer death to failure."

Constantine tightened his grip.

The four tributes started heading towards a more isolated and defensible part of the sixth underground.

"I am impressed at the eloquence with which you make your points, Fife," Constantine finally said, his voice hoarse.

Fife huffed, guilt written all over her tired face. "I said I was sorry! I wasn't completely awake. I just wanted to make a point. I forgot it was a loaded gun."

"You forgot?" Mags exclaimed, incredulous. How could Fife forget? Had they scared her that badly? No one could be that exhausted! Mags was heavily tempted to ask the girl to hand the gun over, but she knew Fife would never comply. Only an idiot would.

"Oops," Fife tersely said. She was blushing to the roots.

Constantine laughed, a muffled but genuine laugh that shook his whole body and lit up his features.

The warm sound soaked up the last of Mags' fear. She was torn between indulgent mirth and sheer exasperation. She brought her hands to Fife's neck and pretended to throttle her. "Don't make me wish to kill you," she warned.

Fife flashed her an apologetic grin.

Besides them, Keane's 'they're insane' look had grown even more pronounced. "I'm thinking leaving with your supplies would've been the safe thing to do. You're lucky Fife had the map on her."

What supplies? They had expected to go out for three hours and had only packed two meals apiece and full water bottles because they were paranoid. They'd finished the food -except those suspicious rolls, which she'd rather not touch - and would be out water by midday at most. But Mags wasn't about to say that in front of Cresyl. It was still the middle of the night. She hoped they'd scare him into talking without having to resort to violence, but she didn't believe it. She was desperate to know how the Capitol had won him over.

Fife tied her scarf over Cresyl's eyes, leaving her whole face exposed. Mags stiffened, hoping the other girl wouldn't blurt anything out.

"Just don't want him to know where we're going. Where would you have gone, had you left?" Fife said, turning back to Keane.

Keane shrugged. He then jerked his thumb towards their grim prisoner. "I want to hear what that slimy weasel has to say. How d'you know him?"

Weasels. Mags lips twisted. The thought less than a handful of Scavengers had survived left a bitter taste in her mouth. They had hardly made the world a better place, but it still was such a waste of human life.

"We don't know him," she said, shooting Cresyl a disgusted look, "I thought he was a bodyguard before Fife told us that he's powerful in the Citadel. He's lived there nine years. He said he was from Four and had fought in various places, Six, Eight… He all but told us to kill the Scavengers and gave us weapons."

Mags let her voice trail off. Retrospectively, the Capitol did also gain from the Scavengers' deaths. But how had Cresyl kept contact?

They finally reached the isolated room, a large storage space, full of crates, ropes, steel rods and, what seemed, at first glance, maintenance equipment. It had the huge advantage of closing with a barred metal door and giving them some privacy. Mags wiped her clammy hands on her trousers. She feared the Capitol had figured out they'd caught its spy by now. It was still too soon. They couldn't be stopped before they had answers. She tensed at every small noise, listening for the telltale buzz of robots.

Fife retrieved her scarf and put it back around her neck and mouth.

Mags tied Cresyl's back to one of the crates, double checking the knots on his wrists and feet. It was the same rope, so he wouldn't be able to pull his knees even halfway to his chin. She then hesitated. Should they remove his gag completely? The Capitol would hear his words unless they left his mouth covered. The three couldn't turn the torchlight off. But if they didn't remove the gag, the Capitol would know for sure that they'd figured out how the cameras worked, and no good would come of that. They were already treading on thin ice. She removed Cresyl's gag.

The man stared at them in silence. Tension etched in his features. His face looked as if someone had taken a handsome man and then chipped pieces off. Everything about him felt sharp-edged.

"No words in your defense?" Constantine finally said, sweat glistening on his forehead,"Nothing about us being mistaken?"

Mags took a deep breath. "Why did you betray the rebels? What were you meeting that man for?" Her voice cracked near the end. How could he? He knew these people, he'd heard their hopes and dreams, he had lived amongst them. How could he still be loyal to the Capitol!

Contemptuous silence was the only answer.

After long suffocating minutes, Cresyl was staring straight at Mags, hate erasing all other emotion. A hate so personal that Mags tore her gaze away, her instincts begging her to flee. She stiffened as Constantine met her gaze, ashamed of her sudden weakness.

Constantine abruptly stepped forwards. He slammed his foot on Cresyl's knee. Not quite hard enough to break it. A rumbling gasp escaped Cresyl's throat.

Mags gripped Constantine's arm, hard enough to bruise. "Cool it with the hitting, Co... peacekeeper son," she said.

She'd barely caught her tongue, Copspawn. Luckily the term didn't seem to be District One slang. Her mind was whirring for how to interrogate someone while keeping the messiness to an efficient minimum. She had been too angry, too focused on actually catching the traitor, to think about it properly the night before.

"Do you seek answers or not?" Constantine shot back. "I am not being gratuitous."

Mags released her grip but shook her head. Pain would get Cresyl talking, but he would lie, Mags was certain of it. She needed the truth.

"Save your breath, young man," Cresyl said with a sardonic smile, his jaw tight from pain, "rebels are mighty hypocrites about collateral damage."

"Excuse me?" Mags snapped. She fought the urge to squirm under Cresyl's predatory gaze. Who was this man?

"Leaving someone to die is only a problem if you know that person's name, right Peregrine?"

Mags heart skipped a beat. Uneasiness surrendered to shock. "What did you call me?" She said, her voice the barest whisper. She had only taken her mother's maiden name as a precaution and to fit in better in District Four. They had not been listed on the wanted rebels list, unlike her uncle, so Cresyl -and the Capitol- knowing wasn't a disaster. But how did he know? Had they met during the rebellion? His face looked familiar, like any person resembling an acquaintance could look familiar. Except in wasn't pleasant and reassuring familiarity, it was the kind that made you uncomfortable, guilty.

Cresyl blinked, looking genuinely surprised. He then barked a laugh. "Your proud rebel father gave up his illustrious name?"

"My father didn't survive the rebellion," Mags said bluntly. She dug her nails into the palms of her hand, willing herself to pay close attention to Cresyl's reaction. A flash of vindictiveness darkened his features at her words, but he didn't look happy, even as a disgusting smug smile drew itself on his face. She was now even more desperate to know who he was. Why did he hate her so?

"Peregrine? Imperial Square Inferno Peregrine?" Constantine was staring at her as if he'd never seen her before. "You were born in District One? You...your father murdered General Alloy."

Fire and flames. All their beautiful tapestries, her whole world, burning. And she'd helped make that fire. Because of the evil people. Six year old Mags sobbed in her mother's arms as they fled. She'd forgotten Ruby-cub. She'd left the stuffed bear to burn. She'd helped with the flames. She had never felt so horrible.

"I'm sorry if you mourned some of the dead's passing," Mags said with a soft sigh, "but-"

Cresyl chuckled again. "Such hypocrisy."

"But," Mags stressed, willing the stunned-looking Constantine to understand, "General Alloy would have crushed the Districts. He was a cruel man. He had already begun to take children hostage to interrogate the parents suspected of dissent. He was the enemy."

Clever and cruel, and a masterful tactician, Alloy would have been hallowed had he been a rebel, despite the ruthlessness of his plans. Hypocrite. But Mags believed that, within reason, the ends justified the means. Alloy's ends had been as foul as his methods. He had single-handedly almost eradicated the dissenters in Thirteen. Had he lived one more month, the Rebellion would barely have earned the name of minor uprising.

Constantine gave her a wan smile but looked away, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. Mags swallowed, wishing she could hear his thoughts. She hated to be put on par with Capitol soldiers. If we kill them, we're as bad as they are. She'd heard that more than once. If we stand by to watch our people exploited and killed, we are but murderers with deceptively clean hands. She'd answered as often as she dared.

"Of course... And all the collateral damage, tragic but necessary," Cresyl said, spitting the word, "it might have meant something had you actually succeeded. People never suffered so much as during the Dark Days."

Mags opened her mouth to deliver a scathing answer. A hand grasped her wrist, silencing her. She spun round.

"Mags, stop justifying yourself," Fife said, a wary calculating glint in her eyes, "he's the one in chains. And if living nine years in the Citadel didn't change his mind, you won't. He's manipulating you."

Mags swallowed furious words back, grimacing at their foul taste. She nodded at Fife.

A blur darkened the border of her vision. Her head snapped back towards Cresyl. The sharp sound of flesh striking flesh made her instinctively grab for a weapon she didn't have. She had left her pike in a corner of the room.

A red-faced Keane was cradling his wrist, his chest heaving with ire. "They suffer more, you filthy bootlicker," he shouted, spittle flying out of his mouth, "they're just forced to shut up about it not to lose their tongues. At least before they had hope!"

Mags recoiled at the loudness of Keane's voice, astonished to see the sullen tribute so fierce. His eyes were bloodshot, as if he'd started crying. She reached out but Keane shook her hand off his shoulder, taking deep shaky breaths.

Cresyl licked his teeth, blood oozing out of his split lip. "Want me to teach you how we made Peacekeeper Ashlar talk? Loyal, idealist, twenty-three year old Ashlar who sent half his earnings to his widowed father and little sister Calypso? He didn't even want to hunt down rebels, poor lad. Trust me, I'm more skilled at this than you kids," he rasped.

Mags felt something shatter in her as Cresyl stressed the more personal aspects of the peacekeeper's life. Collateral damage. Hypocrites. Tears of rage filled her eyes. She wouldn't let his words poison her mind. And yet, so much death, so many families broken.

Keane bodily launched himself on Cresyl before they had a chance to restrain him. "KIDS?" He roared, driving his knee in Cresyl's stomach, "there's nothing childish left in us, you slimeball, you took everything," he said, slamming his balled fists against the man's face and chest, "you destroyed EVERYTHING," he shouted, his voice breaking.

His vociferations turned into a litany of foul curses as Constantine wrapped his arms around his torso, and struggled to lift him off the bound man. Mags inhaled sharply when she made out Rapid's name. So much death. She finally managed to grasp Keane's flailing legs.

Constantine cried out in pain. The crazed tribute's teeth had fastened on his left hand. Mags let go of Keane's legs and swiftly brought her fist against his jaw.

His enraged thrashing instantly stopped.

Keane slumped against a grimacing Constantine who all but dropped him to the floor. Her stiff shoulder muscles screamed in protest as she dragged Keane away from Cresyl. She kept her eyes on Keane's chest as she checked his breathing, too guilty to glance at his face. She hoped she hadn't caused permanent damage, yet she knew it wouldn't matter either way. Her breaths came in shallow bursts, a suffocating weight pressing on her ribcage. Keane was the last person here who deserved to be knocked unconscious. He had suffered so much already….

"Wow, who taught you that?" Fife said, envy unmistakable in her tone as she crouched to search for the medicine kit in the backpacks.

"My mother. Do you want me to help you with the bandage, Constantine?" Mags said, wincing at the deep red marks under his thumb. Keane really hadn't held back.

"Please. They don't have rabies in Twelve, do they?" He sounded genuinely concerned.

Mags snorted. Rich boy. "No. They're not dogs."

Fife threw her the medkit. Mags flashed Constantine a smile as he gave her his hand. She felt the gelid hand crushing her lungs slightly loosen its hold and breathed easier, relieved Cresyl's revelations hadn't changed their relationship. With everything going on, she desperately needed Fife and Constantine to be on her side until the very end.

Cresyl cleared his throat and spat on the floor, his face was already swelling from the blows. "Kid can't throw a punch to save his life, didn't even draw blood."

Anger rekindled the simmering fury that had never truly left her since the crash. Who was she to stop Keane from avenging his ally? Why did she protect a man that anyway wouldn't talk? Traitors were executed, such was justice. They should just execute him.

Mags' shaking hand slipped. Constantine hissed as half the bottle of alcohol spilled over his wound. A growl escaped Mags' lips as she hastily tightened her grip on the bottle. Alcohol. The most painful of disinfectants. But what else was there to expect from the Capitol? Hate clouded her vision. She willed her grip to be gentle as she bandaged Constantine's hand. And why would Cresyl boast of torturing the peacekeeper? Was it just sheer perversity?

"Thank you, Mags." Constantine turned back towards Cresyl.

The aristocratic boy looked so singularly grim that Fife moved farther away from the prisoner, closer to the door.

"I am no stranger to how peacekeepers incite agitators to reveal their darkest secrets," Constantine said, his voice soft and lethal, "yet even were you not to stop me, strong-willed men are not broken in a single night. Sylvan must be warned. The betrayal in itself could be more important than the reason."

"He is with Chickaree organizing the army of Citadel rebels," Fife said, "we could be stopped if someone sees us with him. Imagine that 'Oops, sorry Chickaree, I shot them on sight when I saw the esteemed Cresyl tied up'. And there is no frigging way we're separating to have someone guard him here while the others leave," she added, pointing a threatening finger at them.

Mags sighed, terrified to make the wrong decision. "But our information could also have no value if we do not know how they were betrayed. It could make them panic and lose precious time. Maybe he was just there to speak to that man," she said, gesturing towards where they'd left the corpse.

She bit her lower lip, as if the sharp pain would help her think. If this was the case, they were probably wasting their time. She searched Fife's and Constantine's faces for answers and saw only exhaustion mixed with anger and fear.

Cresyl's voice filled the room. "There is a railway connecting this bunker and a collapsed one under District Ten. It follows Elysium Avenue, fifty feet underground. It is twenty feet across and has been filled with explosives. Nine years of engineering made sure the force wouldn't dissipate in the tunnel and damage the bunker but instead destroy the Capitol. They've also finished building the escape route because, after the explosion, the bunker will be easily accessible. That's the master plan. And it's about to be put in motion."

Mags, Fife and Constantine had frozen as one, their eyes firmly on each other to make sure the Capitol cameras couldn't focus on Cresyl's lips. Mags had never noticed before how pale freckles made a bow above Fife's slightly uneven eyebrows. Fife fluttered her eyelashes outrageously, making Mags' lips twitch despite everything.

Mags thought she would faint when Cresyl stopped talking. If the Capitol ever heard that, if they shielded their city, if they found a way to turn the explosives on… she couldn't finish that terrible thought.

Cresyl chortled. "Such pretty eyes, a pity you had to knock him out."

Mags felt all warmth flee her face. Trembling so hard she could barely keep her balance, she turned to Keane. She squinted, trying to make sure the gloom wasn't playing tricks on her mind. It wasn't. Dull unblinking eyes stared back at her. Open eyes. Her mouth froze in a silent scream. No!

Her strength left her. Her knees buckled. She landed painfully on the cold ground, crushing helplessness stealing her voice.

How? How could they fix this?

"We have to warn Teal, now," Constantine said, rushing towards the door. "The Capitol can't possibly have the resources to undo the rebels' work in mere hours."

Yes. That had to be impossible. They would warn them in time.

Cresyl was smiling. Why was he smiling? Mags still couldn't breathe, knifes of light stabbed at her eyes. She forced air in her lungs, desperate for her vision to clear, for a foolproof course of action to present itself.

"Torch off," Fife snapped, her voice a tense whisper.

Constantine shot her a perplexed glance but almost threw the torchlight to the ground in his haste to comply.

Darkness invaded the room.

It took all of Mags' energy to turn her head to follow Fife's gaze. She knew only bad news could follow. Light was filtering from the thin crack underneath the barred door. Blue and yellow light.

"What on earth…" Fife whispered, backing to where Mags was.

Cresyl chuckled again, long mocking chuckles. "The robot dogs buzz but the bugs can weld silently. Whose genius idea was it to lock yourself up?"

Just when Mags had thought it couldn't get worse. It was as if raw wool had been thrown over her senses dulling everything as her brain sought the sweet escape of denial.

White light assaulted her senses as the torchlight went back on. She winced, burying her face in her knees. She could feel all the weariness of the last weeks crashing on her and couldn't see the end of this nightmare.

Constantine hit the metal door so hard it rattled and bent. The hinges groaned and twisted, their shriek piercing through the boy's shout of pure rage. They didn't break.

They couldn't warn anyone. They were trapped inside.

Author's note.

It's annoying, isn't it? When the enemy has such a huge technological advance on you and the means to make your life difficult. Plus years of planning to make sure their plan would work despite potential interference. And yet Mags and co. did kill the Capitol contact and catch Cresyl, which the Gamemakers had not planned for at all.

Now, if somebody can tell me why this is a false cliffhanger, I'm dedicating them the next chapter. Try to picture the situation and think like an engineer (the answer is very simple, no education needed). And yes, the door is effectively welded shut.

This chapter made me seriously think about the use of torture is to obtain information that saves thousands of lives. Are you responsible of the deaths, in a way, if you refuse to torture? But torture is morally repugnant.

Cresyl... I thought I had heavily foreshadowed him as a villain in chapter 7 but apparently it was subtle enough. Thank you for guessing, some ideas were great. I hadn't even thought to make Chase or Teal traitors.

I am in a rambling mood today xD

Please review.