"Hold! Hold your fire!"

I hold my hands very still on the table in front of me. Several of the soldiers around us now have their guns trained on me, but luckily they all obey the order not to fire. A few of the people seated at the conference table, who I didn't even know were carrying weapons, freeze with guns half-way out of their holsters. One of them, a dark-skinned woman with brown eyes, turns an angry glare at the man who gave the order. "You don't have that authority!"

Meanwhile, several other Thirteen personnel have gathered around Coin. They've pulled her from her chair and laid her on the floor as they perform what I assume are medical scans. One of them turns to the cluster of soldiers still at the table and shakes their head. A few moments later, Coin's body is lifted onto a stretcher and removed.

I take a moment and scan the room around me. The man who gave the order not to fire and the woman who started arguing with him have been joined by three more officers, all of them apparently trying to decide which of them is now in charge. They keep their voices low to try to keep their discussion private, but it's hard not to overhear the occasional word or exclamation. Some of the soldiers with their guns trained on me grow visibly nervous as the volume increases, and I take note of their positions. Those are the ones who may fire without warning.

Haymitch keeps looking between me and the Thirteen officers, his expression unreadable even to me. Peeta's jaw is clenched tightly as he surveys the room, ready to jump to my defense the moment someone tries to do something. Plutarch and Fulvia are staring at me with their jaws hanging open. Odd for a pair of Gamemakers to be so unnerved by someone's death. Most of the other Victors have adopted their expressionless masks like Haymitch has, except for Johanna Mason, who seems to be giving me a look of… respect?

I know almost nothing about District 13 or the power structure I just decapitated, but I know how to act when I'm being judged by an audience. I keep my breathing slow and steady. I calmly glance around the room as if everything is fine and I'm in complete control, as if I didn't just commit murder in front of a dozen witnesses. I decide that offense is better than defense, and interrupt the arguing officers. "So," I say, "does District 13 have a Vice President?"

The argument falls silent at my interruption. After a moment, one of the officers answers. It's the one who gave the order not to shoot me, a stern-looking man with short-cropped gray hair. "I believe I'm the closest to holding that office."

"You're not the senior officer present, Boggs," says a pale man with straight black hair. "You have no authority to take control of the army."

"But I'm the senior political officer, Taylor," Boggs responds. "I have authority to take control of the government."

Taylor doesn't argue, but the woman who spoke up before does. "That was a paper title so you could be our liaison with the victors," she says.

"Which is what I'm attempting to do right now, Simmons," Boggs says, his voice as stern as the rest of him.

"Little late for that," Simmons mumbles under her breath, but doesn't push her point further.

With no other objections forthcoming, Boggs turns back to me. "I'm Commander Boggs, and I'm in charge of the government for now," he says. "I've given orders against your summary execution. Do you think in return, as a show of good faith, you could point those wrist-shooters of yours away from my soldiers and me?"

"I only had one shot. I'm unarmed now," I explain, but I point my arms up toward the ceiling anyway.

"You'll pardon us if we don't take your word for it," Simmons says with a scoff.

"Simmons…" Boggs tries to admonish her.

Simmons' brown eyes flash with anger as she turns to Boggs. "She brought a concealed weapon into a Command meeting!" She turns her accusatory gaze back to me. "Why would you do that if this wasn't a premeditated assassination?"

She's uncomfortably close to the truth, but I wasn't the one doing the premeditating. "I didn't even know what a Command meeting was when I concealed the weapon. You're the ones who flew me halfway across the country and dragged me straight into this meeting without giving me a chance to change clothes."

I should let it go there. I really should. I should shut up and not make things any worse than I already have. But this entire district is grating on me. It's their rigid adherence to hierarchy, like the entire district is a Peacekeeper command. It's their utter indifference to the suffering of the rest of us, both tonight and for the last 75 years. It's how they seem to hold themselves superior because they weren't forced into the same compromises that the rest of us were. Whatever it is, it makes me continue talking instead of holding myself back. If they're going to string me up for murder, they're at least going to hear my real thoughts first. I want to die as myself, someone told me once.

"Besides, I've been told that this is a rebellion against a power-hungry president who won't tolerate dissent or disobedience, who sits back and does nothing while people are suffering and dying in the districts, and that I'm somehow the face of this rebellion." I shrug. "I figured I should act the part."

There seems to be a split amongst the Thirteen people. Some of them, Simmons among them, are angry at my characterization of Coin. Others are… not. Boggs himself retains his stoic facade as he studies me. "We've been preparing for a war between the Capitol and District 13," he says. "We were told that you would be an asset in getting the other districts to join with us, but instead you've killed the wrong president. Which side are you loyal to, Mockingjay?"

That's an easy question to answer. "If those are the choices, then neither. You can both go to hell for all I care. My loyalty is to District 12, and beyond that to the other eleven districts that have to live under the Capitol's boot. You want to unite the districts against the Capitol? The districts are already fighting the Capitol – District 8 has been in revolt for six months! We don't need to convince the other districts to join with Thirteen, we need you folks in Thirteen to join the rest of us."

I get no perceptible reaction from Boggs, but I do get nods of approval from several of the other victors. It prods them to start speaking up on my behalf.

"One of the districts is suffering…" Wiress begins.

"Suffering an attack right now," Beetee continues for her.

"And Coin seemed offended by the idea of trying to help them," Johanna adds bitingly.

"Reports are that a full Capitol fleet is attacking Twelve," Boggs says. "Most of our hovercraft are lightly armored. We'd be blown out of the sky if we tried to confront an attack that size."

Well, at least it's more of an explanation than Coin offered, instead of an outright rejection of the idea of saving people. "Do we have any idea how much longer the bombing will last? When the Capitol hovercraft will leave the area?" I ask.

Boggs eyes me warily for a moment. "Probably at least another hour yet."

I stare straight back at him, in clear challenge. "So that gives us time to prepare to rescue the survivors, right?"

Something flashes over his face, but it's gone before I can tell what it is. "What makes you think there will be survivors? Capitol bombings are very thorough."

It's actually Peeta who speaks up to answer him, with surprising certainty in his voice. "There will be survivors, because the alternative is unthinkable."

Boggs considers this for a long moment. He glances around the room quickly. Gauging support? Finally he nods his head once. "Agreed." He turns to one of the soldiers at a console to my left. "How many of our transport craft are ready for deployment?"

The soldier taps away for a moment. "We can have four Class B's ready by 0400."

"Let's wait till 0500 to launch," Taylor says. "Give the Capitols plenty of time to clear out of the area. And we'll need scouts flying overwatch to warn us if they come back."

Taylor, Boggs, and the other soldiers continue making plans for the rescue. As much as I hate waiting even an extra minute, I see the logic behind the delay Taylor has ordered. This rescue won't do anyone any good if it gets shot down by the Capitol.

The soldiers' discussion has become a litany of hovercraft types and patrol ranges that mean nothing to me, but Seeder raises a good point. "If people see a hovercraft, they're going to assume you're from the Capitol. Especially after escaping a bombing."

"There's not much we can do about that." says another officer. "We'll just have to be on our guard."

"We should go with you," Peeta says. "Katniss, Haymitch, and me. Everyone knows us, we can let people know it's safe."

"That's actually a good idea. If they see a friendly face they'll be much less likely to mistake us for attackers," Taylor says. "We'll split you up among the transports so one of you will be there no matter which craft finds a survivor."

Peeta and I quickly agree. Haymitch grumbles but doesn't say no. Peeta gives me a quick apologetic look; I can tell he doesn't like the idea of separating any better than I do, but Taylor's right, it's the best way to do this.

"I can be the fourth," Finnick offers. "I'm probably the most recognizable victor from outside Twelve."

"Not for this," Johanna says with a shake of her head. "The Capitol's favorite playboy isn't going to convince these people that we're not with the Capitol." Finnick frowns, but doesn't argue.

"It should be Chaff," I say. I turn and look at the man. "If you're willing. Everyone back home knows that you're Haymitch's friend." Chaff agrees.

"Lets get these folks assigned to quarters so they can get themselves cleaned up and maybe catch some sleep," Boggs orders. "Are the hanger crews prepping the hovercraft?"

Before the other soldier can answer, Simmons interrupts. "I'm sorry, are we just going to skip past the fact that this girl murdered our president?"

Boggs lets out a breath. "I think we can worry about that after the rescue mission," he says.

Ironically, I find myself agreeing with Simmons. "No, let's deal with it now," I say. "I'm sick of having nebulous threats hanging over me all the time. If you're going to punish me, go ahead and do it now. And if not, then say that now, in front of all these witnesses."

I can feel Peeta tense up beside me, but he doesn't say anything. Simmons narrows her eyes at me, but she doesn't disagree, instead turning to Boggs expectantly. Boggs looks around the room again. If I had to guess, I'd say the rebels will support me, while the soldiers will want me punished. The rebellion or Thirteen, which is more important to him? Which does he want to lead? Which does he dare not lose standing with?

The silence is growing more and more uncomfortable when he finally makes his decision. "If we really are going to unite all the districts in this rebellion, then I suppose Thirteen can't make these decisions alone anymore. We can form a more formal body later, but since we have representatives of many districts here right now, we can consider this an ad-hoc Rebellion Council." He turns to the officers. "Commander Simmons, Commander Taylor, you'll represent District Thirteen in this vote." He looks around the room once again. "How many in favor of arresting and charging Katniss Mellark for the crime of killing Alma Coin?"

Simmons and Taylor raise their hands, but none of the victors or Plutarch and his Capitol people do. Boggs nods once, as if that's exactly what he expected. "How many in favor of dismissing all charges and declaring Katniss Mellark innocent of any crime related to the death of Alma Coin?"

Now all the victors raise their hands. "Am I part of this vote? Seems like a conflict of interest," Peeta asks, but he still raises his right hand.

The Thirteen soldiers don't look happy, and the Capitol people still look mostly stunned, but Boggs just nods again. "Well, the majority carries it. That's the way this democracy thing works, I'm told. Looks like you're free to go, Mockingjay. Be at the hanger by 0445." Boggs glances quickly at the other officers before standing and leaving the room. The officers and several other soldiers follow him.

The rest of us look around at each other, still trying to process everything that just happened. Nobody seems to know what to say, not even Johanna. The remaining Thirteen soldiers slowly lower their guns, since their commander just declared me free to go.

"Does that mean I can lower my hands now?" I ask no one in particular.

…..

The compartment we're shown to is a drab, utilitarian space. Bare white walls and simple, unadorned furniture. One square room with a bed along one wall, a couch opposite, and a chest of drawers in the back next to a door that leads to a small bathroom. After a year in the Victor's Village, I'm out of practice living in a space like this.

Two Thirteen soldiers escort us to the compartment. Once inside, one of them stands by the door with their hand on their sidearm while the other makes us both strip down to our underwear and hand over all of our clothing. I find the whole thing ridiculous but I don't argue. At one point Peeta seems to catch his pants on his prosthetic and trip to the floor, but I've seen him actually struggle with the prosthetic enough to recognize that he's faking. I use the distraction to palm my mockingjay pin before one of these soldiers sees it and decides it's a weapon.

As soon as we're alone, I pull Peeta into an embrace and tell him, "I'm sorry."

"It's all right, Katniss," he tries to tell me, but I shake my head against his chest.

"I know you're mad at me. I tried my best to let you know, I really did–"

"I know, Katniss, I know," he interrupts me. "I'm not mad. I was, at first, but I understand why you couldn't say anything."

I pull away slightly, just enough to look up at him. "But?"

He sighs heavily. "But that doesn't mean it didn't hurt. Just for a moment, before you explained everything. But in that moment, when you and Haymitch seemed to be on the same page and I was left in the dark again, it hurt."

"Again?" It takes me a moment to realize what he's saying. "Like we did in the Games."

"I know that wasn't your fault either," he says quickly, trying to reassure me. "You only did what you could under the circumstances."

"Remember what we promised, after the Games?" I say. "I'd never hide anything from you when we're not being watched."

"I know. That's why it hurt," he says. Then he snorts bitterly. "The problem is, when are we ever not being watched?" I don't have any response for him, so I just hold him tighter.

Standing here in Peeta's warm embrace, I begin to process everything that's happened in the last few hours. It's the first time since before the interviews that I feel like I have the chance to stop and breathe. The first time since the reading of the Quarter Quell card that my near-certain death in the arena isn't bearing down on us all. The first time since before the Victory Tour that we can stop catering to the whims of President Snow and just be ourselves.

Of course, other things have happened tonight as well. I don't know what I do to alert Peeta to the dark turn my thoughts have taken, but he senses it somehow. "Katniss? What's wrong?"

"I killed a woman tonight, Peeta." I speak quietly, as if it's too terrible a revelation to air aloud. "And that Peacekeeper," I add. "Two people. I killed two people. Outside the arena." And that's the issue. Yes I killed in the Games, and yes I've spent the last two months preparing to do so again. But inside the arena is like another world. Now I'm a killer in this one, too.

But Peeta just says, "Yeah," as if I had told him cake was sweet. I can't tell if I'm comforted by his acceptance or annoyed by his dismissal. As usual with me, the anger wins out. I take a step back and push Peeta away to put some space between us and cross my arms over my chest.

"I'm serious, Peeta! I killed two people! Not in the Games, in real life! Two people are dead because-"

Peeta cuts me off. "Because one of them was trying to kill us both. And the other one didn't care how many people died as long as everyone left alive was obeying her."

Somehow Peeta always catches me off guard when he shows this side of himself. He spends so much time offering me caring and comfort, calming my fears and soothing my worries. It's easy to forget that he can be as bluntly practical as I am. But he survived the Games just like I did. He successfully infiltrated the Career pack. He had to live with his mother for sixteen years while I only had to live without mine for just over four. And the incisiveness of his thinking far outstrips me. Once again he's cut right to the core of the issue, and once again he's right.

Do I truly regret protecting our escape and helping us make it out of the Capitol safely? No. Do I truly regret that Coin is out of power and someone who seems a lot more willing to help is now in charge? No. Do I even regret that I killed the people who threatened us? Not truly, no.

But what kind of person am I that I don't regret that?

I remember a disagreement Gale and I had in the Justice Building before I left for the Games. He'd compared killing people to killing rabbits and asked, "How different can it be, really?" And as someone who's now experienced at both, I can confirm that they are frighteningly similar.

Peeta was the one who was worried about this long before I was. The night before the Games, he was worrying about remaining true to himself when all I could think about was what the arena would be like. Our positions now seem to be reversed; Peeta is focused on the practicalities of our survival while I'm afraid of losing myself in the attempt.

I don't say any of this out loud, and eventually Peeta fills the silence. "Did you count how many shots I took at those Peacekeepers earlier? I didn't. I just kept shooting until they stopped shooting back. And I certainly wasn't trying to miss."

Despite the seriousness of the discussion, I can't help but quip, "Peeta, you wouldn't have to try to miss."

Peeta gives me a quick smile for my efforts. "I might have killed a dozen Peacekeepers. I might have killed none of them. Part of me will always wonder about that, and I'm sure mangled bodies at the bottom of a stairwell will show up in my nightmares at some point. But I also don't care in the least, because we got away safely instead of being hanged for treason."

I lower my arms slightly and hug myself. "I don't want to be a killer, Peeta," I whisper.

"Oh, Katniss…" Peeta closes the distance I've put between us and wraps his arms around me again. I let him. "Katniss, you're not a killer," he says into my hair. "You're a protector."

A protector. It certainly sounds nicer.

"You do everything you can to protect the people you love," he says. Well of course I do. I grew up with a pretty good example of someone who didn't. And so did he. "Just remember that part of protecting us is protecting yourself, because we love you, too."

And as I reflect on my actions – staying behind on the roof to guard our escape, rushing through the square to confront Romulus Thread, going to the feast in the arena – I have to admit that I could do a better job of that last one.

"Katniss," Peeta says, "everything they were talking about in that meeting tonight – all of Plutarch's plans for propos, everything that Coin and her people are preparing for – we're in a war now, Katniss." He tightens his arms around me, and I find myself reciprocating. "People die in war. A lot of people. And the last thing I want is for one of those people to be you. I don't care if you're a killer, all I care about is that you survive and come back to me."

He said the same thing the other night, about the Quell. And I agreed with him at the time – it didn't matter what I had to do to the other tributes, all that mattered was protecting my baby. The reminder helps refocus my thinking. Killing squirrels to save Prim from starvation, killing Cato to save Peeta from bleeding out, killing that Peacekeeper to save all of us from execution, killing Coin to try to save District 12 from annihilation – the battles I'm forced to fight may have changed, but I'm reassured that I haven't. I'm still fighting to protect my family. And out of all of my victims, the ones who least deserved their fates were probably the squirrels.

"I'm not done fighting," I say, reiterating my own words from that night. "As long as you remember that I can't survive without you."

"I'll try not to put that to the test," he says. After another minute he presses a kiss to the top of my head and begins pulling me towards the back of the room. "Come on, let's wash the Capitol off of us.

The bathroom is like the rest of the compartment, spare but functional. Peeta and I take turns in the shower. The few minutes alone helps me further recenter myself. By the time I emerge I'm ready to confront our new situation.

Well, as ready as I'll ever be.

The clothes we find in the dresser consist of plain gray pants and shirts, which we've seen others wearing around this district. The sturdy black boots are a surprisingly good fit, and a welcome change from the delicate things Cinna paired with my interview dress. I stuff my mockingjay pin into one of my pockets because I'm reluctant to let it out of my possession in this place.

The bed looks very tempting, but I don't want to know what kind of nightmares I'd have with the fate of District 12 still unknown. And what I want right now even more than sleep are answers.

"Do you even know where we're going?" Peeta asks as I drag him out the door with me.

"It's the same hanger we landed in when we arrived," I say.

Peeta shakes his head and lets out a laugh. "Of course. Far be it from me to doubt the tracking ability of our intrepid huntress, even in a featureless concrete rat warren."

"Exactly," I say.

It does take us a while to find our way, because I have to backtrack halfway to Command before I find the path back to the hanger. And when we get there, as I expected, Haymitch is waiting for us. He's sitting on the floor against the near wall, watching the flight crews prepare the hovercraft for later. He's also dressed in the gray Thirteen clothes, somehow making them look even more drab and dumpy than they already do on their own. In his hands he holds the medallion he was wearing earlier, what I assume was to be his token in the arena. He's idly fidgeting with it as he waits for us. "Took you two long enough to show up. Busy breaking in the new compartment?" he asks, but it's half-hearted compared to our usual sniping. He knows as well as I do that we're about to have a serious conversation. After all the scheming he's done over the last six months, it is time for total truth between us.

I sit down next to Haymitch. Peeta lowers himself down on my other side. It's actually kind of fascinating, watching all the pilots and technicians running around, doing whatever it is they need to do to endure that these craft don't fall out of the sky when we use them later. The four large transports that Boggs mentioned are massive vehicles, easily dwarfing the hovercraft we used to flee the Capitol. I can only hope we find enough people to fill them.

I don't bother responding to Haymitch's jibe, instead I skip straight to the one thing I'm pretty sure about regarding this secret rebel plan. "They didn't want to rescue Peeta, did they?"

"Coin actually wanted him instead of you," Haymitch says, surprising me. "He's always been the better actor. He could've read whatever drivel she put in front of him and made it sound believable. But everyone else knew it had to be you. Plutarch was insistent that people would only listen to The Mockingjay." I can hear the derision Haymitch puts on my newest title. I agree with him wholeheartedly.

"You were the top priority," Haymitch explains. "They would have run right over your boy to rescue you. That's why his best chance was to get him away from you, part of a separate rescue."

"But he wasn't away from me," I say, bewildered. "We were all together in the Training Center."

"They weren't planning on rescuing us from the Training Center," Peeta says. "They wanted to try to pluck her out of the arena, didn't they?"

"What?" That makes no sense to me. "Why would they let us go into the arena at all if they could get everyone in one go like they did tonight? Why take the chance?"

"It'd be a better show," Peeta explains. "The rebellion wins the first victory of the war by rescuing the Mockingjay. And everybody sees it happen because they trick the Capitol into broadcasting it live all over Panem, just like Cinna did with your dress."

That comparison brings me up short. Cinna is my friend and he's helped me immensely, but I can't deny that he has sometimes manipulated me without my permission, as far back as when he had Peeta and I hold hands in out fist tribute parade. But thinking about Cinna makes me too sad, so I put it out of my mind for now.

"Got it in one," Haymitch says. "They wanted something spectacular, and they wanted to show up the Capitol. Breaking the tributes out of the arena does all that, way better than sneaking away in the middle of the night."

Peeta voices the question that's also on the tip of my tongue. "And what if Katniss lost the baby while she was fighting for her life, waiting for this rescue she didn't even know was coming?" he asks, his voice harsh and angry.

Haymitch just shrugs. "Victory with bonus tragedy. Sells even better."

The way he says that, so matter-of-fact about it, really drives home to me what kind of people we're dealing with now. The folks in charge of this rebellion don't really care about me, no more than the folks in charge of the Games did. Some of them are the exact same people! I'm still just a tool to them, a prop to be used for their own benefit, never for my own. "We're still in the game." I try to say this with determination, but my voice cracks. Peeta wraps an arm around me, and I lean into him gratefully.

Haymitch nods. "Still in." Then he turns to look at me, his serious gaze boring into me. "And I'm still your mentor."

That's another thing that hasn't changed. We're still a team, still fighting together. Haymitch and the forcefield, Peeta and his love confession, me and those berries – every reason I was thankful for my allies before, is only more true now in these changed circumstances. And Haymitch, for all his secrets, has validated the trust we placed in him months ago: Peeta and our baby are both safe. I put what was precious in Haymitch's hands, and he has lived up to his promises.

Peeta tries to lift the heavy mood. "Technically, I'm the mentor now." He drags a chuckle out of Haymitch, and even I crack a smile. "So how did you finally convince them to give up all that publicity and rescue us tonight instead?"

"I didn't," Haymitch says. "Sweetheart here did that when she walked in there and threatened to kill all the Gamemakers. Even Plutarch didn't want to risk sending her in after that."

Peeta smiles sheepishly. "I guess I owe you an apology for how I reacted to that."

Haymitch waves his had in dismissal. "You didn't know."

"Yeah, and whose fault was that?" I say.

"Yours," he retorts. "You can't pretend worth a damn, and if I can't tell you then I can't tell him 'cause he'd just tell you."

I can see where Haymitch is coming from, but I refuse to concede his point. "At least we don't have to worry about that anymore now that we're out of the Capitol, right?"

"Let's wait a bit and see how this new regime in Thirteen shakes out before we start feeling comfortable," he says.

"No, this ends now," I say emphatically. "We're not part of Snow's or Coin's games anymore, and we won't be part of yours either. Our enemies will lie to manipulate us, but I won't take that from our allies anymore."

For just a moment, real hurt registers on his face at the comparison. I don't doubt his reasons for lying to us, but I don't care anymore. I'm sick of people lying to me for my own good. Because really it's mostly for their own good. Lie to Katniss about the rebellion so she doesn't do anything to compromise the plan. Send her into the arena without a clue so we can fish her out on television. Don't tell her about the plot against Coin until after she's already carried it out.

Haymitch and I stare at each other for a long moment. I offer no apology, and neither does he. But eventually, he looks away and nods. "From now on, you'll be fully informed," he promises.

I take it for the victory it is. In lieu of any concession of my own I reach over and take his hand, much like I did at the interview. With Peeta's arm draped over me and Haymitch's hand clasped in mine, I feel like we really do have a team ready to take on whatever is arrayed against us.

It takes about half a minute for Haymitch to become uncomfortable with the camaraderie and pull his hand back. He resumes fiddling with his token. On closer inspection it's thicker than I thought it was, a heavy gold disk with the mockingjay symbol from my pin engraved on one side.

Haymitch must notice me staring. "Since it looks like our trip to the arena isn't happening, I may as well give this to you now," he says.

"Your token?" I ask.

Haymitch shakes his head. "It was always for you, sweetheart." His thumb slides along the edge, until it hits a catch I didn't notice before and the disk pops open. Not a medallion, a locket. Haymitch hands it out to me, and after a moment I take it.

Inside the locket are two photos. On the right side, my mother and Prim, laughing together in the living room of my Victory house they now share. And on the left, Peeta, with the same smile he gives me every time I return home.

My family. Everyone I would have been fighting to return to. Here in my hands, begging me to come home.

"I wanted a way to remind you," Peeta explains quietly. "We all know things can get pretty dark in there. I wanted a reminder, in case you needed it, of the people who love you. Your family needs you, Katniss."

Revealed at the right time – and I have no doubt that Haymitch would have revealed it at just the right time – there is no weapon that could devastate me like this locket. I remember how absolutely lost I felt after Rue died. How I recklessly lit the third signal fire, hoping someone would follow the smoke and find me. I didn't get my head back in the Game until they announced the rule change and I had the chance to save Peeta. In a similar circumstance this year, all it would take was this locket. And in this moment, when District 12 is under attack and Prim and my mother's fates are unknown, seeing this picture makes my gut clench.

I don't say anything, but I lean further into Peeta and lay my head down on his shoulder. He tightens his arm around me.

We're all silent for a long time after that, until Chaff arrives. He's dressed in the same plain gray as the rest of us. "Well, doesn't this look cozy!" he says, then plops himself down on Haymitch's other side. I close the locket and slip the chain over my head, tucking the locket inside my shirt against my heart. "So did they make everyone strip at gunpoint, or was that just me?" Chaff asks.

I blink in surprise. It hadn't occurred to me that they would go to that trouble for everyone. "No, they did it to all of us," Haymitch says. "They're all in a tizzy now. Can't imagine why."

I roll my eyes at him. Chaff smirks at the joke for a moment, but then turns uncharacteristically serious. "This changeover from Coin to Boggs, I'm assuming that's a good thing?"

I'm surprised at the question. I'd assumed that as Haymitch's friend Chaff was just as involved with the rebel plots. "Yeah, might be some chance of some good coming out of all of this now," Haymitch says to him. "Don't know much about Boggs, but no one who dealt with Coin liked how she was leading things. Except for Plutarch, he didn't see a problem."

That makes perfect sense to me. The Capitol folks are well used to dealing with leaders like Coin. For all the same reasons why I decided she had to go.

"If you all thought that way, why didn't someone do something about her earlier?" Peeta asks. "Or at least come up with a better plan than giving Katniss a dart and hoping she figured out where to shoot it."

"Assassinating a president isn't exactly the easiest thing in the world. They have layers of security," Haymitch says.

"They brought us straight off the hovercraft into a meeting with her without even checking us for weapons," I point out.

"Well, that was her weakness," Haymitch says. "She underestimated you. She saw a silly girl in a pretty dress, not an experienced killer carrying a weapon. Good thing you killed her when you did, I think she would have smartened up about you pretty quick."

I think she was already smartening up about me. But I guess it doesn't really matter now.

"Wait, what do you mean, hope she figured it out?" Chaff asks.

Haymitch begins explaining some of the rebel plans that culminated tonight, with occasional contributions from Peeta or me. Chaff is surprised at how little Peeta and I knew of rebel plans before tonight, and I'm surprised to learn that Chaff wasn't actually a rebel before tonight. He's only here because Haymitch grabbed him during the ruckus after our interviews and asked him to come up to the District 12 suite later, without mentioning anything about an escape or a rebellion. Chaff was the one who decided to bring Seeder with him. "I didn't know what was up, but I knew Haymitch was up to something."

Huh. I guess he really does know Haymitch.

"So," Chaff says sometime after the explanation of the rebellion peters out, "I asked the fellow who showed me the way down here where they kept the booze, and he informed me that District 13 strictly forbids any production or consumption of intoxicating beverages. Even the rubbing alcohol in the hospital is kept under lock and key." He makes a face of revulsion at that. "I think we're going to have a rough few weeks, Haymitch."

Haymitch snorts. "I already had my rough few weeks, right after Snow announced the Quell. These two made me sober up when we started getting ready."

"Is that why you agreed so easily?" I ask. "Because you knew you'd have to go sober here anyway?"

Haymitch seems offended by the question. "Are you kidding? I missed my last two months of drinking for you kids! Plus all the really good stuff I could have had on the train and in the Capitol." He shakes his head sadly. "I gave up way more than you even knew you were asking for."

I don't even know what to say to that.

Activity in the hanger has been increasing the longer we've been sitting here. The officers had mentioned other hovercraft accompanying the large transports, but seeing just how many craft they're preparing to launch is daunting. This is a much larger operation than I was envisioning when I asked Coin to send a hovercraft to pick up the survivors.

Presently a group of Thirteen officials enter the room, including Simmons, Taylor, and Boggs from the meeting earlier. Boggs appears to be dictating orders to the others as they walk, if I'm judging all the gesturing and the nodding correctly. I guess that means he's still in charge.

After a short discussion the group breaks up. Taylor and several other soldiers head back out the way they came, while Simmons and two others take off toward the transports. Boggs walks over to where the four of us are sitting.

Peeta stands to greet him, prompting the rest of us to also do so as well. Boggs tells us that he's sending a Command-level officer with each transport so they can quickly adapt to whatever they find in Twelve, and that Boggs himself will be the officer on the transport I'm accompanying. I don't know if he wants to keep an eye on me in case I kill someone else or if he wants to associate his new leadership with The Mockingjay. Either way, I don't think he'll kill me and dump my body in the wilderness somewhere between districts. It could be worse; Peeta has to travel with Commander Simmons.

Boggs assigns us each to a transport and then leaves to board his own. The reality is really starting to hit me now – my family, Peeta's family, Gale and his family – they could all be dead already, or stranded somewhere waiting for us to find them, and we're about to find out which it is. I pull Peeta into a tight embrace, and he holds me just as tightly. "Take care of yourself," Peeta says. "Watch your back."

"You too."

The four of us begin walking toward our hovercraft. Before we separate, Chaff gives us a nod. "Well, good luck, you two."

Haymitch snorts. "What about me?" he asks. "I don't get wished luck?"

"You don't need it. Everyone you care about is already here in Thirteen," Chaff says.

Haymitch just grunts in response. I know it's the only acknowledgement we'll get, but it's enough to get me to smile.

…..

Hello, old friends.

So, compared to that time I went dark for six years, a measly 18-month gap is hardly worth commenting on, right? Right.

Next chapter: We finally go looking for Twelve survivors! Who will live? Who will die? And who will have this to say:

Preview quote from Chapter 28:

"And here I thought my night was eventful."