The Peacekeepers keep the district under curfew for three more days. I'll admit I go a bit stir crazy, cooped up in the Victor's Village with only the barest idea what's happening in the rest of the district. I feel like I should be doing something, but the only thing I can think of to do is to hunker down and try not to cause any more problems.

Peeta tries to distract me. He puts together picnic meals for us to enjoy outside, but we don't dare venture any farther than the lawns of our houses to eat them. We go on walks where we just circle the Village until I get bored enough to go back inside.

Gale is still recovering at my mother's house, making excellent progress according to her and Prim, but they receive few other patients. Only the very sick, or the ambulatory relatives of the very sick, are willing to cross the Peacekeeper camp that our district has become.

Finally the Peacekeepers relent, and allow travel within the district to resume. The mines are still closed, but the school is opened. Peeta and I accompany Prim that first day, and the feeling in the district is even more oppressive than it was three days earlier. The Peacekeepers are just as omnipresent in the square, even as people dart furtively from shop to shop to conduct their business. We see several people stopped and searched as we pass by, including us when a Peacekeeper demands to search Prim's schoolbag again. One of the new stockades is already occupied by a Seam man I don't recognize.

We also discover the purpose of that new platform that was still under construction on our last visit. A brand new gallows now takes pride of place at the apex of the line of torture implements that now runs through our town square.

I notice something else as we pass through town: People are afraid of us. Of Peeta and of me. We took a public stand against this new Peacekeeper regime and people expect us to suffer repercussions for it, and none of them want to be caught in the vicinity whenever that happens. Nobody wants to be associated with our rebellious acts. It really puts the lie to my fantasies of starting an uprising here; angry people start uprisings, and right now the people of District 12 aren't angry. They're scared.

And it's not just Peeta and I who have become pariahs. We visit Hazelle to give her an update on Gale's condition, and she reports that none of her regular clients have any washing for her to do, even after she was unavailable for so long. I leave her a fistful of coins; she takes them.

I want to check in on some other people while we're out here, but Peeta talks me out of it. "I don't think we'd be helping anyone by dropping in on them," he says, and he's probably right.

While life in 12 slowly adjusts to this new normal, the mines remain closed. No work means no pay. No pay means no food. Families across the Seam must be going hungry by now, and still I can't think of anything I can do that wouldn't cause more harm than good.

It's into this environment that I wake up one morning to find six brightly-colored faces hovering over our bed.

"Surprise!" squeals Octavia.

"You two are soooo cute!" gushes Bacchus, a man with long lavender-colored hair who does Peeta's makeup.

I had honestly forgotten about the baby special. Compared to everything else going on it seems laughably unimportant. But I know better than to object as Peeta and I are whisked away to separate bedrooms to be waxed and primped and polished.

I normally tune out the inane chatter of my prep team, but today their vapid Capitol gossip includes hints at unrest in the other districts. Octavia couldn't serve seafood at a party she held, because "bad weather" along the coast in District 4 was disrupting fishing. Flavius has been similarly frustrated by the lack of new music chips from District 3. I of course don't think that the weather has anything to do with these disruptions, I remember what those districts were like on our Victory Tour. It sounds like the pot has begun to boil over.

By the time they finish their work and pass me over to Cinna my mind is awhir with theories and possibilities, but I try to set them aside for now because I still have this interview to get through. Cinna puts me in a simple dress in a pale yellow color that seems designed to catch the light and display my stomach bulge. Said bulge is provided by extra padding sewn into the front of the dress so I look at least two months further along than I actually am. When I catch myself in the mirror, I see my hair has been left loose, adorned only by a pair of simple silver clips that sweep it to the sides away from my face, and my makeup is so light I almost look like myself.

"No fire? No sparkles?" I ask.

"We're not dressing you for a Capitol gala," Cinna explains. "This is a visit to your home. So we're going for a more everyday look."

I'm not sure why I needed four hours of prep for an "everyday" look, but if it means I don't have to totter around in heels and I won't have to spend 40 minutes fishing pins out of my hair when we're done, I'll take it.

When I get downstairs the setup is still in progress, our living room being rearranged and re-rearranged as different filming configurations are proposed and discarded. Effie is there reminding everyone about the schedule, but the people in charge seem to be a woman named Cressida, a video director who has green vines tattooed on her scalp in lieu of hair, and her assistant Messalla, a slim man with more earrings than fingers.

I find Peeta standing by the side of the room observing the chaos, dressed in dark green pants and a blue shirt the color of the sky. "So do we get our living room back when this is done?" I ask him.

"I'm not getting my hopes up," he says. His eyes scan up and down my body as he takes in my dress. "Did you get the same line about our outfits as I did?"

"Cinna called it an 'everyday look.'"

Peeta nods, then hesitates, as if he's not sure whether or not to speak any further, but finally he does. "Portia pulled these out of the wardrobe she left for me last August. Said that with fabric shipments from Eight becoming so unreliable, we may as well use what we already had on hand."

It's all I can do to keep myself from gasping out loud. District 8, where I already know there was massive unrest during the Victory Tour because I saw it on the mayor's television. I quickly fill Peeta in on what I learned of Four and Three while my mind spins once more. An angry crowd at our speech, even a riot in the town square, can be easily contained by Peacekeepers. But whatever is happening in Eight and Four and Three right now is not being contained, not if it's enough to disrupt the mandated production of the district. For months.

Could all of this really be caused by a handful of berries, as President Snow claims? The idea seems insane. But the fact remains that these uprisings have all happened in the aftermath of the 74th Games, not the 73rd or the 75th. People have reacted to Peeta and me winning the Games in ways they never did to Johanna Mason or Annie Cresta or Finnick Odair, and the only obvious difference is that there's two of us. So maybe it does come down to those berries.

Distracted by these thoughts, it isn't until I notice the smell of alcohol surrounding him that I realize Haymitch has joined us. He's actually cut down on his drinking lately, rationing his remaining supply since all these new Peacekeepers have driven Ripper out of business for the time being. I wasn't sure if Haymitch was part of this filming, but someone has cleaned him up and dressed him in a similar style to Peeta, fairly normal pants and a shirt, but with a suit jacket over top portraying him as the grown-up of the group. You really can't believe anything you see on these Capitol television shows.

"You here to coach us through this?" Peeta ask him.

Haymitch seems surprised by the question. "Didn't think I had to coach you to be happy about your kid."

"By the time I get in front of a camera, I probably won't be able to convince them I'm pregnant at all," I say.

"Well, you've always been better off letting the boy speak for you," Haymitch says. I'm sure that would go over well, Peeta talking about how excited he is for the baby to arrive while I sit next to him, mute. With my notoriously terrible fake smile plastered on my face. Occasionally rubbing the padding of my dress for effect.

Finally they have a setup everyone is satisfied with. They've moved all of the couches out of the way and replaced them with a love seat they appropriated from another sitting room that I don't think we've ever used. This is angled in front of the large fireplace so the camera can see both of us sitting and the fire in the background. Very homey, as long as you can't see the massive portable lighting they've set up surrounding us and the room's worth of furniture stacked behind the cameras. I sit leaned up against Peeta, with his arm tucked around me.

Haymitch is brought to another room with Messalla to film his interview, while in a chair across from us Cressida serves as our interviewer. This is our first interview that's not part of either the Hunger Games or the Victory Tour, and so it's our first interview not conducted by Caesar Flickerman. In comparison to him Cressida feels positively mundane, even with her head tattoos. The first order of business is to get the announcement out of the way. Cressida asks us if we have any special news to share, and Peeta and I announce the baby as excitedly as possible. Then we repeat the process twice more, each time with Cressida phrasing her question slightly differently and some of the cameras moved to different angles. I guess they'll edit it together when they get back to the Capitol.

After that, Cressida asks all the questions we expected, and we give all the stock answers: Yes, we're very excited. No, we don't know if it's a boy or a girl. Yes, I'm due in November. No, we don't have any names picked out yet. Yes, we'd love to hear suggestions from our Capitol fans. No, we won't be bringing the baby with us to the Capitol when we mentor the Hunger Games, we wouldn't want to be distracted from working for our tributes. Yes, of course there will be pictures available once the baby is born.

In retrospect, I should have expected a question about our child competing in the Games just like Peeta and I did. The Capitol loves seeing the families of Victors in the Games; it was only about ten years ago when a brother and sister from District 1 won in back-to-back years. But in the moment it's all I can do not to scream at this Capitol woman for even suggesting the idea. Peeta's answer of "We wouldn't want to burden them with that kind of expectation," lasts long enough for me to compose myself and continue in that vein.

But then she starts asking questions that make me wonder exactly what the agenda is here. "You're both still so young, still children yourselves really. What do you say to people who think you're too young to be married and having children of your own? Were there any other factors in your decision to get married and have children so quickly?"

I'm baffled by the question. According to what Snow said to me, the purpose of this baby is to provide the logical ending to the Star-Crossed Lovers storyline, to make us mundane and thus forgettable. Much of this interview seems to be aimed at that goal: Interviewing us in our home, not in the Capitol. Dressing us in normal clothes, not flashy formalwear. Being interviewed by this more subdued woman, not Caesar Flickerman. Our hair, our makeup, the arrangement of the room – it all seems aimed at Snow's stated goal. So why ask this question, that not only calls us too young to be parents, but too young to be married? We married more than half a year ago! That should be old news by now! Cressida just cast doubt on our entire love story by making it out to be a youthful flight of fancy, something we did only because we were too young to know better.

Maybe that's the angle? If our love is just an error of youthful indiscretion then it's not something worth starting an uprising over? But I thought we had talked Snow out of his stupid idea that anyone in the districts cared about the reasons behind our defiance.

Either way, one thing I know for sure is that I'm not about to let this Capitol woman sit here in our own home and imply that Peeta and I aren't going to be the best possible parents our child could have. I can feel Peeta react with surprise when I speak up to answer even before he can. "Well, a lot of the reasons people wait to have children don't really apply to us anymore. We don't have to worry about whether or not we can afford to support a baby. We don't have to worry about who will watch the baby while we're away at school or work. We have plenty of room in this house for as many children as we want. We've already found the person we want to spend the rest of our lives with. All those sorts of problems that would normally face young parents aren't problems we will ever have."

Now Peeta takes over, his face thoughtful as he speaks. "One thing that changed for me after winning the Games, is that the idea of waiting for the 'proper time' for things has completely lost its appeal. I think of the years I spent having a crush on Katniss, and then I almost lost the chance to ever do anything about it. Looking back now, all that wasted time just seems… stupid. And cowardly. And say what you will about Hunger Games victors, but we tend not to be stupid and cowardly."

"We know how precious life is," I say. "22 people died so that we can be here today, living in this house, doing this interview. We know how precious life is. So when we decided to bring a new life into this world, you can be sure it's not a decision we made lightly."

Cressida seems to realize she's hit a sore spot, and moves on. But her remaining questions continue to veer into strange topics. She begins asking us about the districts we saw on the Victory Tour, as I imagine Caesar might have done if that interview had managed to get going, but the questions feel dangerous when I know that several of them are rebelling against the Capitol right now. Peeta and I are very careful to be equally complimentary to all the districts, regardless of what we know of their current status.

This careful deflection lasts right up until Cressida asks us what we think of the recent shortages in the Capitol "reportedly" caused by the bad weather affecting the districts.

I'm completely dumbfounded at the question, and I'm sure my face shows it. Even Peeta is thrown for several moments, but as usual he recovers quickly and gives a suitably innocuous answer. "That must be some truly terrible weather to have such dramatic effects. I hope no one has been hurt."

Cressida opens her mouth to probe further on the issue, and I've never been more thankful for Effie Trinket than I am when she interrupts this mess. She begins haranguing Cressida – in her incredibly polite, absolutely proper, Effie Trinket way – about veering off the topic of the baby, and taking advantage of us by surprising us with irrelevant questions, and not ending the interview on schedule, and Caesar Flickerman would never be this unprofessional, and all I want to do is take Peeta upstairs and go back to bed, as if this entire day has been one of my stranger nightmares.

I spy Haymitch off to one side of the room behind one of the cameras, apparently his interview was shorter than ours. He must have seen at least part of how ours ended. I raise my eyebrow at him in question. He just barely shakes his head back; he doesn't have any better idea what's going on than we do.

Eventually Effie wins her argument with Cressida, and the filming crew begins packing away all of their equipment. I'm so glad that I give Effie a hug and thank her for rescuing us. Peeta echoes my sentiments.

"Oh, you two, it's all part of my job as your escort," she says, but she seems genuinely touched by our gratitude. I think she'd be blushing if I could see under all her makeup.

Finally all the Capitol people head off back to the train station, and it's just Peeta, Haymitch, and me left. I unceremoniously flop down into the chair Cressida was using – which was not returned to where the film crew got it from, as Peeta had predicted. "What the hell was that?" I ask no one in particular.

"Tell me everything that happened," Haymitch demands.

Not knowing when Haymitch reentered the room, Peeta and I summarize all the questions Cressida asked us. We don't mention the information about potential uprisings we learned beforehand from Portia, Octavia, and Flavius – that's not safe to talk about in this house, and we don't want to get any of them in trouble – but from the looks I give Haymitch when recounting Cressida's questions about the shortages he knows we suspect something.

Finally Haymitch sighs. "I think… that we won't know much until we see what actually makes it to air."

I nod along. That makes sense to me.

"I also think… that I really need a drink." And with that he's out the door headed back to his own house.

…..

It's about a week later, the day that my mother proclaims Gale recovered enough to return home and finish convalescing with his family, that we get notice of a mandatory viewing that night. No other information is given, but we all assume it'll be the baby special. Prim wants to watch it with Peeta and me because she's excited about the baby, and we want to watch it with Haymitch so the three of us can evaluate what they leave in and what they cut out. Peeta and I still haven't gotten around to moving the furniture around to restore our living room after it was rearranged for the interview, so that night the five of us gather at my mother's house to watch. It may be uncharitable of me, but I'm glad I don't have to watch the official announcement of my pregnancy in the same house with Gale.

I was surprised to learn that after he was done with Haymitch, Messalla went over to my mother's house to interview her and Prim. Peeta also reported after checking in with his family that someone had visited the Mellarks as well. I'm morbidly fascinated to see what his mother had to say.

When the program begins, Caesar Flickerman is the host, on his usual stage at the City Circle, playing to a standing-room-only crowd. So much for mundane and everyday. Caesar opens with some jokes, and repeatedly teases "a very special announcement from the Star-Crossed Lovers of District 12!" The crowd is eating out of his hand.

Finally Caesar introduces Peeta and me, and we appear as if we're speaking with him live via the video screen. He asks us if we have news to share with Panem, and the Peeta and I on screen clasp hands, turn to look at each other for a long moment, then turn back to the camera and scream in unison, "We're having a baby!" At the time the smile on my face was a result of trying not to laugh at how ridiculous we were acting, but I think it's a reasonable stand-in for being happy about the baby. Overall I'd say I give a pretty good performance.

The crowd at City Circle, of course, goes nuts. It's several minutes before they calm enough for Caesar to be heard once more. Then he proceeds to ask most of the questions Cressida did last week, embellished with his own usual flamboyance, and our answers are played on the screen as if we're responding to him live. Caesar gives a good performance of it, acting at turns surprised, and intrigued, and on the edge of his seat with anticipation. However, only our normal answers are used. None of Cressida's more… interesting questions make an appearance. Interspersed with our interview are a handful of questions with Mom and Prim; the Capitol crowd loves how excited Prim is to be an aunt. The Mellarks also show up briefly, with Peeta's father doing most of the talking for the family and his mother remaining mercifully silent. Whatever happened in Haymitch's interview, none of it makes it into the program. Finally, Caesar signs off the interview with us thanking the Capitol audience for their support. We originally did that as a safe response to one of Cressida's potentially subversive questions, but it's presented here as our farewell at the end of the interview.

I turn to Haymitch and Peeta, but they both appear to be of the same opinion as I am: Because this special stuck so closely to the standard story, it's told us nothing about what was actually going on last week. It appears that for whatever reason, Cressida the video director went far beyond the bounds of her assignment, and delved into topics that the Capitol wants kept off the broadcast. I briefly wonder if she's met the same fate as Seneca Crane.

I think that's the end of the program, but then Caesar enjoins us all to "Now stay tuned for the other big event of the evening!" Other big event? What other big event? Everyone else seems as clueless as I am, so we simply keep watching.

"This year will be the seventy-fifth anniversary of the Hunger Games," Caesar tells us, "and that means it's time for our third Quarter Quell!"

"What will they do?" asks Prim. "It isn't for months yet."

My mother's expression is solemn and distant, as if she's remembering something. "It must be the reading of the card."

Reading of the card? I turn to Haymitch in question.

"A Quarter Quell's not like a regular Games, sweetheart," he says. "They like to spice it up, make up special conditions to excite the Capitol and torture the districts." Then he pulls out a flask I hadn't even realized he had with him tonight and takes a long drink.

On the television, the anthem plays, and I tighten my grip on Peeta's hand when I see President Snow coming on stage. He's followed by a young boy dressed in a white suit, holding a wooden box. When the anthem ends, President Snow explains the Quarter Quell, dressing it up a bit more than Haymitch did but ultimately telling the same story. How the laws of the Hunger Games, first laid out in the aftermath of the Dark Days, dictate that every twenty-five years the anniversary would be marked by an enhanced version of the Games. "To make fresh the memory of those killed by the districts' rebellion."

He probably thinks this is a timely reminder, since there are rebellions going on in at least three districts right now. I can't help but wonder how many have already died.

President Snow goes on to tell us what happened in the previous Quarter Quells. "On the twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes who would represent it."

It's bad enough feeling grateful for not being chosen yourself even as you watch two kids led away to the slaughter, how much worse would it be if you had to help select the children to die? Would people vote for who they thought had the best chance to win, or someone they would just as soon be rid of? Or maybe even worse, someone already so marginalized that their death wouldn't affect life in the district at all? Were children selected based on their own qualities, or because of animosities felt toward their parents? How would it have felt, sitting on that tribute train, knowing that you were there not because of random chance, but because your neighbors chose to send you?

"On the fiftieth anniversary," the president continues, "as a reminder that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen, every district was required to send twice as many tributes."

I imagine facing forty-seven enemies instead of twenty-three. Worse odds. Less hope. Harder to hide. An even dozen Careers. Maybe a better chance of escaping the initial bloodbath unscathed, with so many more targets for people to concentrate on? But in the end, nothing but more dead kids.

"I had a friend who went that year," says my mother quietly. "May–" she begins, before abruptly cutting herself off. Her eyes cut over to Haymitch as if she's just remembering that he's here. Haymitch's hand is actually shaking as he takes another drink. I remember that Haymitch won the 50th Games; did he know his fellow tribute, my mother's friend May? Then I have a horrible thought: Did he kill her? It certainly wouldn't be unusual for district partners to turn on each other in the arena; I even made at least one attempt to kill Peeta last year. But neither Haymitch nor my mother offer any further explanation.

"And now we honor our third Quarter Quell," President Snow is continuing. The little boy in white steps forward and opens the box he's holding. Inside are tidy, upright rows of yellowed envelopes, enough for many centuries of Quarter Quells. The president removes an envelope clearly marked with a 75, pulls the small card from inside of it, and reads. "On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

My mother gives a faint shriek, her hand stalled about half way to her mouth, too stunned to actually complete a gasp. Prim buries her face in her hands, shaking her head as if to deny reality itself.

Their existing pool of victors.

It takes me a moment to catch up, to decipher Snow's words and what they mean.

Their existing pool of victors.

I can feel Peeta looking at me in horror but I don't turn to face him. Even the Capitol crowd seems confused by the announcement. Haymitch and I continue to stare at the television.

Their existing pool of victors.

Finally I break the silence. "That son of a bitch." Then after another moment, "I really should have seen that coming."

"Yep," Haymitch says in reply. Then after a moment, "Me too, sweetheart. Me too."

…..

I don't entirely know why, but I really enjoy the reveal in this chapter. What is Snow's mysterious plan, one so insidiously evil that he was willing to grant dozens of people immunity from the reaping just to create a false sense of security before he springs his trap? It's exactly the same thing he does in Catching Fire the book! Mwahahaha!

Next chapter: Welp. That whole "protect everyone we love from the reaping" plan didn't quite work out the way they'd hoped. What now?

Preview quote from Chapter 20:

"I need you, you jackass."