When Peeta screams for me, he screams for me to die, to have me killed, torn apart, ground into the earth, burned, left to rot - exterminated. He screams with seething hatred and disgust that I can no longer take. Everything I have done up to this point has been wrong and I have left a wake of death and destruction behind me. I still struggle with the ghosts from my past here in these dark underground halls, so I ask to go with Gale to District 2, fearful that I myself am starting to believe Peeta's cries and the Mentally Disoriented tag on my bracelet will soon read Suicidal if I don't leave from here soon.

The pure mountain air and drastic change in elevation in 2 cleanses my mind and the chores around the camp keep it occupied. The air is thin and brisk in the changing season, but the sun on my face warms more than just my skin.

Out here, there is no need for an ankle bracelet that tracks my movements. The only strict schedule I find myself abiding to is from the sun and the moon, which I find my sleep schedule occurs more naturally since my body is not commanded by artificial lights. Gale and I are allowed to hunt and gather in the nearby forest during our stay and we fall into our old routine. Another added benefit to hunting with Gale, brings a sense of normalcy which keeps my nightmares at bay.

The way he kisses me might also have something to do with it.

It's our anchor, those sober moments when we sneak deeper into the quiet woods beyond the recommended perimeter. When we can set down our bows and game bags and hold each other, these moments are truly ours that aren't shared all across Panem. And they're real.

Gale and I never spoke about the times I went away. What he saw broadcast, I can imagine was difficult enough, and I know he would never get over what happened off camera. Today, however, he mentions how the most difficult parts were watching Peeta and I portray the 'Star Crossed Lovers.' I assure him of how I never felt right kissing Peeta. I also lie and say nothing ever happened between us.

As we move through the trees, our conversation moves to trading confessions between kisses - he admits for the first time his feelings of jealousy started after seeing Darius vie for my attention. I too have to confess that I found that I didn't like how he would smile at Madge when we made deliveries.

As Gale's mouth moves from bruise to bruise on my neck, and each time his lips touch my skin, I persuade myself that the real, true Peeta that I cared so deeply for is gone forever. The only reminder of him lives in my pocket in the shape of a tiny pearl. Small, compressed, and completely insignificant.

If only for a moment, I find real solace here, in the woods wrapped in Gale's embrace.

The sound that whispers through the trees is calm and familiar, the same kind of familiar as Gale's grey Seam eyes. Out here, there is no evidence that our home has turned to ash, there is no evidence of war, there is no evidence of madness. Although, the closest thing to madness really, is when Gale says that love makes people do all kinds of crazy things.

My body begins to tingle at his words, the same way it feels when his tongue flickers against mine. I shudder when I remember the last time I felt this same hunger, it was with Peeta on the beach of the arena. How I wanted to explore that more with him, unadulterated, untainted, unseen by the Capitol. But those feelings were shattered the moment he tried to kill me.

The Capitol hasn't touched Gale, yet.

Nonetheless, curiosity tugs at me, making that buzzing in my core bloom even larger. All at once I remember the first night back at the Training Center. I was ready for him then in my dream when he laid me down in the green meadow grass. I desperately want to feel that for real this time, because at least now, I have nothing really left to lose. Plus, Commander Thread is nothing but ash floating around 12 for all I know, so there is no need to fear any interruptions from him all the way out here.

Johanna's mantra whispers in my ear; "You're not always in control, but when you are, why not enjoy it?"

Maybe I can do this right this time. I just want to disappear from the world for a moment while I still can. I don't want to be anybody right now.

"What kind of crazy things?" I say playfully in response to what he thinks people do all for love. Gale shyly looks up to the trees with a smirk, similar to the way he'd look at Madge, and hesitates to reply.

Instead, something in me takes over and answers for him by pulling him down to the ground, crunching leaves under us. My heavy jacket comforts me from the cool earth, however, my sudden decision of moving forward with Gale has me flushed and excited.

When my hands reach for his belt, he stops me with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. By doing that, he means to revert back to our silent ways of communication, a language we developed over years hunting in the woods together.

I swallow hard and give a curt nod, which brings a smile across his face. I smile too.

As Gale pulls his jacket off I think about how he, too, so desperately needs this and I know better than anyone how short and uncertain our days are - I decide to give everything up, including myself.

He lays his jacket down over the crumbled leaves. I accept his gesture and position myself on his makeshift blanket. Gale waits for me to push my heavy wool pants down around my boots before joining me again. He lies next to me as I continue to work blindly at his belt while his left hand strokes my cheek, and his mouth is on mine.

Once he is free of zippers and elastic, I take him in my hands and I am surprised to find that I don't have to encourage his arousal. Gale swallows hard and moans sweetly against my lips, his tongue flickers against mine. I rub my ankles together and I manage to kick my foot out from one of my boots and eventually from the rest of the bulky fabric as a sign of full commitment to this moment.

The air is crisp as it rustles through the fallen leaves on the ground, swirling them about. My senses seem to explode as Gale moves carefully over me, bracing himself as if he's afraid to crush me under his weight. I hear everything from the nearby creek to the birds singing their lullabies and I can swear I hear his heart pounding over the sound of crunching leaves under his knees.

The moment I feel the cold clasp of his belt against my naked inner thighs, I take Gale's face in my hands and study his features. It's Gale, your best friend. Your hunting partner. He'd never hurt you. You, Katniss, you want this. I move my hands to his waistband and push his trousers down even further so I will only feel his skin against mine.

He watches my eyes in wait for my unspoken words as he leans forward, pressing himself against me, letting my hands, now on his shoulders, guide him. I squint my eyes, and shakily inhale through my nose, which makes him quickly halt his movements. Undeterred, he rocks backwards, and pulls my jacket and shirt up to just under my breasts to expose my belly. Be it the nerves or the cold air, I begin to shiver, although only for a moment. He lights a fire with his mouth against my bare skin starting at my ribs down to my hip bone, delicately sliding his tongue along the way. All senses to the elements suddenly disappear and I am only aware of him and myself.

Some spots tickle and some spots he hits make something deep inside vibrate in anticipation. Soon, his tongue reaches my most sensitive place between my legs, surprising me, which makes me grab his hair and my knees tightly press against his ears. He looks up at me and greets my bewildered eyes with a smile. He cocks an eyebrow and pats my thigh before giving it a reassuring rub. I relax my legs and let him proceed.

I stay focused on him, watching his head rock back and forth slowly while my fingers remain tangled in his dark brown hair. His eyes are closed and his face is calm. Sometimes he moves upwards and I see his full tongue lapping against pink flesh under dark curls. I don't want to look away from him, afraid if I close my eyes, I will see white hair instead or picture red nails raking across my hips. When he moves his tongue in tight little circles, I fall back and look up to the brown and orange canopy above us and I pull him in tighter. He sucks lightly at my swollen flesh which makes my leg start to shake. I bite my lip hard so I remain silent, unwilling to repeat the same sounds I made with Peeta.

The deep ache I felt earlier whispers its much needed remedy to satiate its hunger - suddenly I need him, all of him.

I lightly tug on Gale's hair and he understands my silent instructions and comes up wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He drops forward and kisses me, moving too fast for me to protest, and I am surprised at the taste of myself. You're right, sweet like a sugar cube - I remember Acantha's hot breath on my neck as she licked her fingers that had just been inside of me. I pull away, shaking my head and I wipe my mouth. Gale smirks and gives me a moment. He lifts his eyebrows in amusement - thank goodness - his face shifts with a sweet softness. I take my sleeve and wipe his mouth myself, and pull him down for another kiss; this time, only tasting him.

He asks me a second time with his eyes, I lightly squeeze his arms with my thumbs against his biceps and swallow hard. Patiently, he waits for me to nod. Gale smiles and kisses my forehead before he pushes forward, keeping a close watch on every muscle in my face for any clues of discomfort. Although he moves slowly, he doesn't seem to be afraid of hurting me, instead it feels like the time he held my hand as we jumped from an old oak tree that leaned over the cool lake water.

My mouth opens, but I remain mute here in the forest. Unsure if it's because of my sobriety of any Capitol party drug or morphling, I find myself incredibly sensitive to his size yet I am fascinated at how he manages to smoothly make his entrance. Once positioned, he asks if I'm okay with a tiny upward nod of his head. I place a hand at his cheek, which is rough from a day's growth of stubble, and I smile.

And that's it. I feel him rocking over me, I feel the pace of him. Yes, it's a wonderful sensation, the steady action driving deep inside of me, however, something is missing. Where was that intense sparkling feeling that pulsed through me during my last experience? Instead, large, broad movements extinguish the tiny sparks that had flickered across my body with his butterfly soft touch. Sometimes he kisses too hard and it brings me out of the cloud of distraction, snapping me back to the reality of the cold, crunchy ground. His weight snuffs out the buzzing I felt before and my leg no longer trembles against his hip.

There must be more to this. I feel as though I should match his breathing, which feels odd because he's obviously more involved than I am as I lie here on my back. He periodically pulls his face from the crook of my neck to watch my eyes, watch my mouth. I find myself licking my lips since I become parched from the heavy breathing. He takes it as another silent cue to speed up.

Suddenly, a moan rumbles from Gale's throat and his right hand shoots down between us and he quickly lifts his hips to depart from my center. Something warm trickles onto my stomach just below my belly button. His body is rigid above mine for a moment until he rocks slightly and finally exhales, puffing into my hair under my ear. I'm left looking to the leaves above us for answers as he catches his breath. My hand touches the spot on my forehead where I associate confusion and wonder if I should still be in tandem with my partner.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Catnip. Are you okay?" He whispers, breaking his silence and tugs at the hem of his shirt which he then quickly wipes across my belly. He must have seen my furrowed brow as I pondered this situation.

I lie with a nod and stroke his hair for a moment. "Do you want to keep going?" he asks, placing his hand on my upper thigh. I'm unsure of his meaning until he slides his fingers between my legs.

This is what people fight over, what they pay for, and make pacts over? This is all wrong, I think, and I shake my head as I remove Gale's hand. "No, I'm okay."

"Are you sure?" His face is still flushed and now concerned, yet mine shifts into a camera ready friendly smile.

"I'm okay, really. We should get going. We have a big day tomorrow."

The trek back to camp is quiet and odd; I feel empty and numb. I know I'm not in trouble, but I feel as if I did something wrong. I feel like I'm broken. Why is it so easy for others?

It's early but the sun has already set. Gale and I manage to get back into the base before we would have to explain ourselves to the Perimeter Guards. One good thing about the quick onset of nightfall is that we arrive just in time for dinner. The early summer months would have us coming home by bedtime.

A large tent is set in the middle of the wagon wheel layout of the camp. It accommodates the majority of soldiers at one time for meals, briefings and training. Higher ranking officers' quarters are spread out randomly about the hillside. Strategically, too tight of a post can be detrimental if the location were to be found out.

Tonight, there are extra containers stacked outside the mess hall tent and inside the grub line has a few extra options available. When I spot pastries at the end of row, I realize that tomorrow really will be a big day. Troops will be moving no matter what Command decides tomorrow.

Since there is an option other than rice and whatever meat Gale and I happened to bring back, I put my plate out for a scoop of pasta. The rich smell is welcoming and I understand the saying that an army marches on its stomach.

When I reach the end of the dinner line, I opt for an orange instead of one of the flaky little pastries.

Once served, Gale goes on ahead without so much of a nod. I watch him as he finds an Officer's table towards the far end of the hall. It doesn't take long before they are clapping each other on the back and laughing loudly. His actions make me feel even more out of place.

Unlike in 13, we are allowed to leave the mess hall with our food. Rations aren't as stringent, however, huge penalties fall on those who attract rats in their bunks and packs. I prepare to head outside with my tray to get away from the noise of the hungry crew, but I spot Cressida sitting by herself.

"Where are the boys?" I ask as I slide onto the bench seat across from her. She's got a huge mouthful of salad but manages to tell me Castor and Pollux kicked off early. Once Cressida manages to swallow and wipe her mouth, she finishes by saying, "They're getting everything all charged up and ready for tomorrow."

"You already have the schedule?" I hate feeling as if I am the last to know anything. I hate it when they treat me like a little doll that they conveniently prop up in front of the backgrounds of their choosing.

"Not really. We're only ever told to show up and keep an eye on you. You know the drill," Cressida says before taking a drink of her water. Hearing that slightly comforts me by the fact that she too floats along like I do. I'm glad to have her with me. She stays calm and helps keep my thoughts straight kind of like Cinna did before big interviews. She was the one who got me to focus my rage and put into words how we would take Snow down with us if we had to.

The propos and video feeds are our strongest weapon and she knows how to use them. It is bad enough with Haymitch in my ear, I'd hate for him to be the one holding the camera too

"You went out hunting again, I see," Cressida says and leans forward, she reaches her hand across the table to my left ear. I'm somewhat confused by her sudden movement, but I stay still and watch her face, she gives a smirk as she plucks a small dried red leaf from my hair.

"Oh," I give a nervous chuckle, "it's not a glamorous activity."

Her hand returns to my hair, and her eyes are curious as she gently brushes a fallen strand back behind my ear. "Quite the opposite. It looks like those woods are pretty special. You look . . . different."

I feel my face get hot and I turn away, chuckling again, "It must be all of that fresh mountain air. A lot better than being underground, I guess."

Cressida smiles and returns to her dinner. I follow along and pick up my fork, and twirl it in the pasta. "Speaking of 13, how did you make it out there?" I quickly change the subject before taking a bite. My thoughts about what Gale and I just did are still lost and blurry. I'm not sure I even want to admit to myself that it happened. "You didn't make it immediately after the arena fell."

"We hitched a ride from 3 after Beetee was confirmed alive and rehabilitated. A lot of equipment had to be smuggled over per his instructions. Most of it only he knows how to use like the stuff to hack into the Capitol feed, remember?" She talks between bites, a habit I'm sure of having to eat quickly in her busy schedule.

Her journalist mind stays a step ahead and she answers my next question before I can ask. "I originally made it over to 3 to film the Reaping and used my press pass to stay until after the Games."

"How did you get into all of that tech stuff?" I ask, blowing on the hot noodles on my fork. Unlike Cressida, I would very much like to savor my food. The flavor of this meal is a rarity and I know for a fact in a few days, we will be back to bread and rice.

"Back then, everything was so glamorous and shiny. I actually tried to do some modeling," she says with an amused laugh, "but it was so boring in front of the camera. All the excitement was behind the lights, in the dark, so to speak. So much more drama, too. The money, the sex, the back stabbing. Oh, it was better than any episode of Arena of the Heart." I never had time nor the desire to watch the program, but advertisements were plastered all over the Capitol, checkered between billboards of Caesar Flickermann and the upcoming Games. The show was obviously some romance judging by the images; two colorful people embracing and one brooding in the background. I had enough drama of my own to think about someone else's.

Cressida takes another big bite of her salad and keeps talking, "I fell in love with it. I learned a lot, not just the tech stuff, but how to deal with people."

"People like me?"

"Yes and no," she says. I can tell she's trying to be polite, but there's more to what she wants to say. "Sure, I learned how to make people feel more comfortable and safe in front of the camera, but I had a lot of other kinds of people around me too. Relationships became different. I knew right away if a partner was bad news or not."

"Saved yourself some heartache, I bet."

"Again, quite the opposite. It broke my heart the moment I figured out they weren't going to last. Because I knew it way before they did, I was the one who broke it off. I hated hurting people."

"Everytime I turn around, I feel like I'm hurting people, letting them down," I say as I look at my pasta and twirl it around my fork.

Cressida glances over to the Officer's table and comments, "He doesn't look so hurt. Not anymore, anyway." She turns back to me not with a cheeky grin meant to tease me but with genuine inquisition.

"Being above ground for once is nice," I give a blanket excuse as plainly as I can, hoping to avoid making it obvious as to why Gale is grinning like a school child, but Cressida shoots me this look she uses during our propos that means I'm either full of shit, or I can do better.

"Okay, yes, because Peeta isn't . . . Peeta. And we've been able to," I clear my throat, "spend more time together."

She sets her chin on her hand and smiles sweetly, "He would follow you to the end of the world. Hell, he already has; he made it to 13, didn't he?"

"Is that really a good thing, though?"

"I wish my last partner followed me to 13."

"What happened?

"Turns out I misread them," her tone shifts and she doesn't look at me, instead her eyes are fixed on the orange on her lunch tray. "I didn't see who they truly were until go-time. We were getting ready to leave 3 and it all just fell apart." Cressida shakes her head and clears her throat.

There are a million ways things can crumble at the last minute, so I don't press any further. As Cressida finishes her salad and her glass of water, I notice she's become anxious to leave so I quickly finish the last few bites on my plate and stand up. This conversation isn't really meant to be had in such a public place, so I suggest we go outside. She agrees and we both take our oranges with us.

We walk in silence for a while, far enough to where the breeze through the tree branches is louder than the rowdy crowd in the mess tent. Soon, Cressida and I find a seat on a bench in front of a quiet medic trailer. A small amber light bulb hangs above the door. In the summertime there would have been a million gnats orbiting the light, but the cold air keeps them away tonight.

Cressida sniffs and rubs her hands together before rubbing her head. The left side of her scalp is typically shaved, however, the upkeep for her hairstyle must not be a priority out here in the mountains because her ivy tattoo is almost hidden under the neglected growth of blonde hair. Her jacket is pulled tight and the high collar conceals the remainder of her tattoo. In this light, I can imagine her as someone not from the Capitol.

I sit forward, with my elbows on my knees as I inspect my desert of rare fruit in my hands. Cressida sits upright and close to me, borrowing whatever warmth I may give.

"Why the ivy?" I ask as I press my thumbnail into the rind of my orange. The citrus aroma reaches my nose instantly and I eagerly tear away the peel. "I mean, it's beautiful. A lot nicer than what I've seen in the Capitol." I think of the golden thorns tearing at Garret's flesh compared to the soft green leaves kissing Cressida's skin.

She pulls out a pocket knife from her belt and takes it to her orange, cutting a long line and then pulling away the peel with the blade pressed against her thumb. "I got it after I learned about the rebellion. Ivy is meant to represent survival. I think about how resilient it is and how much life can thrive unseen in it."

She collects the peeled orange pieces on her lap and sets the bits of rind to her side, whereas I have already consumed more than half of mine.

"It was something I felt I had to do, plus it's a little nod to the underground. Think about it, ivy branches out, touches everything, like a network. It just made sense to me," she says, stretching her hands out in front of her, wiggling her fingers. "When it's not so damned cold, I'll have to show you the rest of it," she says with a smirk. I remember at the lake, she had taken off her heavy uniform shirt in the heat, and enjoyed the sun in her undershirt. The vine crawled from her scalp down to her collar bone where it created a junction, one tendril branching out across her left arm, the others' destinations were a secret.

"You don't have any do you? Ever thought of getting one?" Cressida bounces the topic back to me with a funny grin, closing her knife and tucking it away.

"Oh, no. I have enough scars as it is. No need to add to them."

"I guess you could say a tattoo is like a scar. It definitely tells a story, but they talk about the internal scars, you know? I see them as badges for what we overcame or how we healed from those internal wounds," Cressida sounds poetic as she pulls a flask from the inside pocket of her jacket.

"I don't think I have anything worth telling. Besides, it's not something we do in 12." I don't mean to, but my comment draws the line between us, reminding her she's still Capitol and I am the furthest from it.

"Or. . . you could just get a little daisy tattooed on your butt. They don't all have to mean anything," she says laughing in her flask as she takes a swig. Her comment makes me smile. Cressida finally pops a piece of orange into her mouth and then bumps my arm, offering me a turn. Booze has always been so ugly when Haymitch drinks, but watching how cool and relaxed Cressida is, I almost want to partake.

"No thanks. That stuff never really agreed with me," I say simply, declining her offer.

She shrugs and brings the flask to her mouth a second time, which is immediately followed by another piece of fruit. She chews thoughtfully and pauses for a moment, "I know you've had to survive more than just the Games. Other stuff happened too, right?"

My heart drops at her frank question.

Unsure of what exactly she knows, I remain silent and wait to see what horrors and hardships she intends to ask me about. However, I realize that whatever her inquiry, I am willing to tell her everything. Maybe because she is such an advocate for the truth, or because she has never judged me; I trust her completely.

She picks up on my silence and elaborates, "Finnick mentioned something, but I don't expect him to tell your story for you." I appreciate Finnick for upholding whatever kind of Victor's code we have between us. We have all done wretched things and have been subjected to way worse. No need to share each other's secrets with outsiders. "He only said that you Victors share a lot more than just the crown."

I bump my leg against hers and gesture for the flask. She hands it to me easily. I take a long swig and it has a spicy burn that washes down the back of my throat and floats up through my nose much differently than Haymitch's white liquor. It's a darker taste and it settles deep in my belly, warming me instantly in the evening chill. I look at the flask and I exhale through pursed lips.

"Now the orange," she says pointing to my hand. I find that all I have left are shredded pieces of orange peel residing in my palm. "Oh, here then," she offers me a piece of hers, but my hands are full. She smiles and lifts the wedge up between us, her eyes are on my mouth and awkwardly, I accept her offer. Gently, she places the fruit in my mouth and when I bite down, the juice immediately extinguishes the burn of the liquor yet it mingles with the dark flavor that remains on my tongue to create something new and delicious.

"Wow," is all I can manage as I turn my red face away from her again. I hand back the flask keeping my eyes forward.

"Whiskey," Cressida says, and takes another pull for herself. "A little different around these parts."

One shot of this stuff is enough for me; it already feels as if fifty pounds have been shed from my shoulders. I wait for the taste to disappear from my tongue and take a deep breath. "There was an after party of sorts back before the last Games." Cressida nods in acknowledgement. She knows Finnick's story and duties, so I decide, oddly enough, this will be the easier story to tell.

Since 12 is buried in ash, Thread can stay buried with it.

"It was both you and Peeta, right?" She shoves her flask and hands into her jacket and tucks her mouth into its high collar. She and I look forward into the darkness and watch the sluggish, well-fed soldiers walk back to their tents and barracks. I remain seated with my elbows on my knees, since she has leaned back against the trailer wall, I can no longer see her in my peripheral.

Talking to the darkness was always the easiest.

'They set us up to where you feel indebted to them, our sponsors, and in return they can do anything they want. With the second games coming up, we couldn't risk it to say no. So, they dressed us up, drugged us and fucked us." I tear the orange peel into little pieces and toss them on the ground, eager for another sip of whiskey, but I stand firm on one is enough. I clear my throat and tell her everything. The stupid outfits, the minty broth, the mind haze that lead me to engage in group sex with the very people in a position to save our lives.

I surprise myself at how calm I am able to tell my story, much in the same manner as Finnick back in 13. Cressida lightly rubs my back through the hard parts, but I manage without tears.

"The one thing that I am grateful about that night is that Peeta doesn't remember. He actually thinks we did something else." My eyes go wide and I turn to Cressida.

"Much like how he is now. Do you think that's where they got the idea to hijack him? How easy was it to fix his mind the first time?" Cressida, the journalist, catches on quickly and we sit in silence amazed at the revelation. "I wouldn't doubt it," she continues, "I've seen some pretty fucked up stuff back when I worked in the Capitol. That's how I first found out about the movement, let's see, about four years ago. It was Johanna's year."

"Did they mess with her memory back then, too?" I ask, sitting back and turning towards Cressida.

"No, at least not what I saw. All I can tell you is what I experienced personally. I won't make assumptions or tell you rumors."

"How did you meet Johanna?"

Cressida crosses her legs and bundles up in her jacket some more. Her gaze returns out to the dark path where now only two strolling soldiers can be seen. "She was my first real big exposé for this magazine I started working for." Suddenly, her tone shifts and she lets out a sigh, "If you saw what they did to her." Her eyes are fixed on the tip of her boot. "Johanna wasn't anything like the girl I saw in the arena. They had her so drugged up, and the photos we had to take." Cressida shakes her head and clears her throat.

"I'd done photo shoots plenty of times before," she continues, "but not like this one. I wanted to walk out so bad, but I couldn't." Cressida exhales heavily through her nose, clearly disappointed in herself. "Brand new job, lots of money and a goddamn Victor in front of my camera. The amount of security she had too wasn't very encouraging for anyone for that matter to say otherwise.

"I find out this is usual shit for Victors and I had a pretty good freakout afterwards. Because of that, one of the assistants pulled me aside and told me they were working on a way to stop all of it." She looks back up at me with a small smile, "and now, here we are."

I couldn't imagine what they put Johanna through. Back then, I thought the photo sessions I had to endure were bad enough; long hours, picky prep team, aching feet. I would gladly go back into the arena if I could wear one of Cinna's dresses again, even if it was for a cheesy magazine article.

"I didn't see you after my first Games. Why didn't I have to do anything like that?" I am genuinely curious why I hadn't met her in the Capitol either.

"We had thrown so many wrenches in the scheduling, I guess we never got around to it," she says with a wink. "Also, you had this new kind of image that was different from the other Victors. I figure the Lovers angle is what saved you. Everyone was so interested in the wedding, there wasn't time."

We sit in silence for a moment and I think about all of the events that could have happened if Peeta or I came out as the only Victor because Seneca Crane never changed the rules. Finnick has a brutal past, but I fear that Johanna may have had it worse. I never got the full story about her, and if she ends up like Annie and doesn't recover, I probably never will.


AN: I hope this extra long chapter made up for the wait. I'd love to hear from you! insta: Odesta_irom