This chapter contains a very brief scene of sexual assault.

Katniss wakes again to the same grey room, the same grey slats, the same grey floors, and she pulls the grey blanket over her head and stuffs it into her mouth so she can muffle a scream. She dreamt of the rabbits. They were no longer frightened or fleeing; they were all in pieces, twitching in a wide red puddle. She could not remember if she was supposed to eat them or bury them. It's getting harder to remember who she is supposed to be.

She drags herself out of bed and takes a brief shower, more for something to do than a need for cleanliness, and she tries to plan her day in little manageable chunks as she braids her hair. Sleep. Shower. Eat. Then what? Is she going to wield a gun at Gale's side and kill Coin's soldiers for a rebellion in which she doesn't think she even believes? Kill conscripted fifteen-year-olds for the sake of a better world?

She decides instead to go to Haymitch. He is something like an authority in this place, and something almost like a father, and perhaps he can make sense of the nightmare that enfolds her. She knocks on his door and doesn't wait before pushing it open. Haymitch is sitting at the desk and hastily covers up the piece of paper he's writing on. Katniss eyes it curiously.

'What are you doing?'

'Nothing,' says Haymitch immediately with obvious guilt. Embarrassment crinkles his face. 'Writing a letter. To Effie.'

'Oh.' Katniss cracks a grin. How good it feels to have a distraction. 'What kind of letter?'

'A personal letter,' he says evasively.

Her grin softens. 'Well, that's good. I'm happy for you. Someone around here ought to be happy.'

'I'd be happier if she wasn't thousands of miles away, risking her life for this dumb outfit.' He sighs and puts down his pen. 'What can I help you with?'

Katniss rests her head against the cool metal wall and tries to look less helpless than she feels. 'Why do I feel like coming here is one of the worst decisions I ever made in my life?' She rubs her hands into her eyes. 'I didn't think it would be like this. This place is awful, Haymitch. All of this is awful.'

Haymitch offers a single nod. 'Yeah, it is.'

'Why are you even doing it? Hurting Snow?' she presses. 'Revenge? You don't seem to be enjoying it.'

Haymitch's face — chapped lips and sunken eyes framed by grease-curtained hair — betrays only exhaustion. 'I don't want revenge, Katniss. Johanna might, but I'm not sure she even knows what she wants.'

She frowns at him. 'Why don't you want revenge?'

Haymitch's dry mouth curves in a humorless smile. 'Revenge is destruction. I was into destruction for years, kiddo. Drinking myself to death day in, day out. Hating myself, hating him, hating everything. I tried so hard to destroy myself. And by some stupid miracle, I'm still here. I'm nearly four years sober. And I won't pretend my life is a parade of laughing babies, but there are good things in it.' He taps a dirty finger with a lopsided grin on the letter before him. 'Like Effie. Like you.' He takes a deep breath. 'Trying to destroy Snow won't fix anything within me. It'll just make a bigger hole. I think you get that.' He tilts his head. 'You don't want revenge, either.'

'I did at first,' she says quietly. 'I hurt him. Beat him. Starved him. Humiliated him.'

'And how did that make you feel?'

'Ashamed.'

'That's a good thing,' says Haymitch. 'That means you're still a good person.'

'No such thing as good people,' she says wearily, echoing Snow. 'Just the things we do. And I don't think what we're doing to Snow is good.'

'It isn't. But what Coin is doing to this country is worse, and my higher-ups believe that Snow can help us stop her.' He offers her an open palm. 'I know you don't like it, sweetheart. I don't either. Funny, really. Just when I stop wanting to tear the guy apart, they make it my job.' He offers another empty smile. 'But orders are orders. And it might make things better.'

Katniss gives him a sour look. 'Nothing good will come of this. People are going to get hurt.'

'You might be right.' For the first time, there is real sadness in Haymitch's face. 'I can only hope you're not.'

Katniss is saved from this grim exchange by a second, sharper knock on Haymitch's door. She recognizes that keen knock from her childhood. The door cracks open and Gale's face appears. Katniss is again struck by how much older he looks: larger, his bones squarer, his skin scarred and rough. Face a little ursine, perhaps, and his eyes are autumn sky grey. Even now there is a comfort to him, a bark-scented, sweet-tasting nostalgia.

'Morning Katniss,' he grins. He looks to Haymitch. 'AM checks completed.'

Haymitch waves a hand in a parody of a salute.

Gale looks back to Katniss. There is a curious excitement to him. 'Can I have a word?'

She tries to hide her weariness. 'Sure.'

They step out into the corridor. Katniss looks one way down the few feet of tunnel that empties into the bathroom, and claustrophobia claws at her. She turns the other way and sees the rest of the tunnel stretching into the earth. At the end of that is the cell, and Snow, and Snow's bleeding skin. She forces herself to look at Gale instead.

'How are you doing?' he says.

Her shrug is huge and helpless. 'Fantastic.'

A mix of sympathy and indifferent acceptance fills Gale's face. 'I thought you might feel a bit cooped up,' he says.

She eyes the low ceiling and its flickering lights. 'No,' she says sarcastically, 'this feels so homey.'

'Do you want to go for a walk above ground?'

'We're allowed to do that?'

Gale snorts with laughter. 'Katniss, the highest ranking guy here is Haymitch. He doesn't care.'

She glances over to the ladder that leads up to that tiny manhole cover. Yes, of course she would like a walk: fresh air, trees, the promise of distance and sky.

'Yes. Yes, I would kill for a walk. Maybe a hunt, if there's game.'

Gale grins. 'Just like old times.'

Yes, just like them. A degraded copy of a copy. The brief snatches of a happy childhood, resurfacing now like a sack of drowned kittens.

'We should have a bit of time,' he says. 'You know, before it starts.'

She looks at him blankly. 'Before what starts?'

His returning expression is equally blank. 'The interrogation.'

'I thought Snow got the day off?'

Gale checks his watch. 'He gets twenty-four hours. We started at nine yesterday and finished pretty quickly. We'll probably start again at ten. It's eight now, so… we got a couple of hours to get some fresh air.'

Katniss is already exhausted. 'Of course. Great. Wonderful.' She draws her hands over her face as though she could peel off her skin and reveal some new, better creature in her place, something that didn't think or feel and which survived off lichen and animal tears. Then she breathes out slowly. 'Just… give me a moment to grab my bow.'

Katniss squints in the blinding glare of daylight to which she has so rapidly become unaccustomed. Emerging from the ladder, she sees that the day is pretty and cool. The sun is still gently climbing above the trees and dew is thick on the grass. If Snow were here, he would enjoy the sweet air.

Gale leads her to a thick crowd of trees behind the ruined parking lot. There is a trodden path that he must have made on previous hunting trips and they follow it between the crowded trunks, neither taking much effort to keep quiet. Katniss isn't really in the mood for hunting. She just wants to be out of the bunker and free of the decisions she's made.

'So what was it like?' Gale says at last, ducking under a branch and then holding it out of her way. 'Spending all that time with Snow?'

Katniss tiredly considers where to draw the line in her lies. 'It was strange. I was afraid of him at first. I wanted to hurt him. Really, I wanted to kill him.'

'Past tense?' says Gale. He knows her too well, she's too easy to read. But it's different to how Snow reads her. Snow always feels like he knows her so well because he's already inside her.

'Hurting people doesn't make me happy. It never did. Even hurting Snow.'

Gale goes silent for a few moments. The twigs crack pleasantly. The air is delicious.

'What made you stop being afraid of him?' he asks eventually.

'I mean, he's eighty years old, what's he going to do to me?' Then she swallows and tries again. Her fear of Snow had nothing to do with his physical capabilities. 'I trust him. I always did. I trusted him to hurt me and now I trust him to do what I say.'

'Why?' Gale scoffs.

The sharpness irks her. There's an accusation in there, a sense that she might be stupid, might have been misled.

'He saved my life,' she says simply. 'Multiple times, at great personal risk. And because I know what motivates him.'

'And what's that?'

Love. 'Boredom. He had everything: an entire country to manipulate and rule. And then he had nothing.' They walk over dry needles and she breathes deeply of that immaculate pine smell. 'When I found him, I think he was in a kind of despair. He was pretending to be fine, but I think he was… well, depressed. And through me he saw the opportunity to live again.'

'You mean an opportunity to seize back power,' Gale counters.

'Yes, that too,' she concedes. 'But he knows the only way he could get power would be to rule through a proxy. Through me. And he knows I have no intention of being the mockingjay again.'

'Why would he think you'd even let him do that? Rule through you?'

This is a difficult one. She decides to plough on with her honesty. 'Like I said: I trust him. I always have, ever since he first visited me before the Quell. I trust him to be manipulative and cruel, but also honest with me. He knows I know what he is. If I did want power, then he could be useful to me.' She shoots Gale a cold look. 'What's better? Someone who does predictable evils, or someone you think is good who unpleasantly surprises you?'

There is no apology in Gale, only smooth indifference. 'I'd prefer to work with someone who believed they were doing good, not serving their own ego.'

'Snow does believe he does good. He genuinely thinks he made this country better.'

'Through piles of dead kids?'

'You're responsible for your own pile of dead kids,' she spits back.

Gale stops short and Katniss is forced to turn to face him. He isn't angry, he isn't anything. Dispassionate and cool. 'Are you going to keep bringing that up forever? Win every argument by pointing out I'm complicit in the death of your sister? Because you have a right to do that, Katniss, I won't argue. But if that's what you want, we can't spend time with each other. There's no good in it, for you or for me.' His eyes, almost the copy of hers, have an old warmth; the glow of a childhood hearth. 'I've moved on. I understand if you can't. But if you can't forgive or forget, then you need to at least set this aside. Otherwise, there's nothing for us anymore.'

It should shame her, or fill her with hatred. And yet all she feels is annoyance. Annoyance at herself, for being able to let Snow press his fingers between her legs and yet still harbor this resentment against a young man who only ever wanted to do what he thought was the right thing. Was it just because Prim was more important to her than every other person Snow killed put together? Is she really that selfish?

She deflates with a sigh. 'Okay. I can try to set it aside. For now, at least. I don't want to keep feeling this anger for you. I'm tired of anger.'

Gale gives a warm smile. 'Good. Because I want us to be friends, Katniss. You're a good person. That day I saw you volunteer for your sister, I knew you were one of the best people I'd ever know.' He gives her shoulder a small squeeze and Katniss releases an involuntary, uncomfortable shudder. 'And it amazes me you're still able to do it, after all you've been through. Care about someone who's helpless.'

This makes her even more uncomfortable. 'You mean Snow?'

'Yeah. I know you hate him, and yet I still see you trying to protect him, just because you think it's the right thing to do. It makes me want to be a better person. If you weren't here, I'd probably be begging Johanna for a turn on that meat carver.'

'I'm delighted to be an inspiration,' she drawls.

Gale beams at her. 'You always have been, catnip. The person you are… the things you do… you're my hero.'

Katniss' smile is strained. The things she has done. What would Gale think of her if he knew? What would any of them?

It is a long, unpleasant trudge back to the bunker. Katniss is dipping her toes into an anxiety attack even before the manhole cover is in sight, and by the time they reach it her whole body is hot and prickly. She tries not to let any of it show. She watches Gale drag back the cover and then, neat and orderly, she slides her body down the ladder rungs. Back into the earth. Back into the dark. Back to Snow.

There are only minutes remaining before they're due to resume what everyone so euphemistically insists on referring to as an interrogation, so Katniss only drops off her bow and splashes cool, green-tinted water on her face in the bathroom. The young, confused girl who looks back at her does so with fear and sickness. She cannot see whatever Snow sees in her, someone perfect and burning.

She rejoins Haymitch and Gale in the corridor, Haymitch with his tablet in hand, Gale with that familiar chain looped over his shoulder. They each regard one another and share dull nods, then set off down the corridor. Katniss is relieved to be in the back. It gives her that extra few seconds to steel herself as they enter Snow's cell before she meets his eyes.

Gale unlocks the door and flicks on the light. How long have they had him in darkness? Katniss thinks it must be around ten-thirty AM. Snow is sat on the cot, leaning against the wall, and his eyes squint hard as the single light bulb flickers and clicks.

He looks tired. Katniss tries to fix this thought in her mind. He's not exhausted, he's not dying, he's not worn to pieces: he is just tired. He can't be getting a good night's sleep on that hard cot with the single thin blanket she was able to talk Haymitch into giving him. He's just a little tired, that's all. He has buttoned up his shirt neatly and hidden his wounds, but here and there are red patches where something has bled through, like he's been too clumsy with his wine. He has dispensed with his socks, she notices, which are encrusted with blood and now hang tidily from the edge of the bed, drying slowly in the dank room. Everything smells of blood and mold.

'Wonderful that you all came by again,' says Snow, and he stands politely. There is dried blood under the toenails of his bare feet. 'I do enjoy an audience.'

Haymitch doesn't even look at him. 'Yeah, yeah. Do you need me to repeat your rights or are we good to start?'

'Somehow I think I'll manage to remember the spiel,' says Snow, dry and amused. 'Who will be torturing me today? The boy?' He glances at Gale. 'The mockingjay?' With careful indifference, he looks at Katniss. 'The drunk? Or will it be the mentally unstable drug addict?'

Haymitch glances up from his tablet with a waxy grin. 'We're all mentally unstable here, Snow.'

As if on cue, the now familiar bright rhythm of Johanna's feet in the corridor approach them. Katniss feels like she's stuck in a looping nightmare. If she could just pinch herself hard enough, perhaps she'd wake up.

When Johanna enters, tray in hand, Katniss frowns to notice she's done something to her hair. She's tried to shorten the back, but she must have done it herself because it's cut into uneven, diagonal steps. It looks awful. Snow shaved her head, of course, when she was tortured three years ago. More evidence of trauma.

'Miss Mason,' Snow greets. 'How nice of you to visit again.'

'Just lovely to see you,' Johanna spits, smiling hugely, acid in every word.

Snow's gaze drops to her big smile. 'Unfortunate to see a woman as young as yourself letting her teeth get in such poor condition. Methamphetamines?'

'Shut the fuck up,' smiles Johanna, never letting her grin drop. An alligator and a hyena, each grinning at the other. Katniss shivers.

'What shall it be today, Miss Mason?'

'Blunt things.' She sets down her tray and Katniss feel vomit in her throat and salt in her eyes at the sight of a set of brass knuckles, a hammer, and a dumbbell.

The routine is the same as before. Gale orders Snow into the corner at gunpoint, then Johanna trains her own gun on him as Gale unlocks the cell and enters. He fixes the chain to the ceiling hook, then shoves Snow's wrists behind his back before cuffing him once again to the other end of the chain. His scabbed wrists, she notices, are carefully concealed beneath his shirt cuffs. He has tried so, so hard to make himself presentable. Snow is casual and obliging for the whole process, as though this is just a silly game a grandfather is indulging for his grandchildren. Even when the chain is pulled taut and he's forced to bend forwards as his arms stretch up behind him, he is calm. Even when Johanna's is in the cell with him again, putting the tray on the bed and whistling to herself, Snow looks like none of this bothers him in the slightest.

'One of the other girls in my Games had brass knuckles,' she muses, tip-tapping her fingers along the metal. 'What a mess she made of my jaw…'

'Will all your means of interrogation be rooted in your trauma?' asks Snow. 'That could get tiresome.'

Katniss jumps as Johanna strikes him with her elbow, one clumsy sharp bone against his face. Snow blinks in shock more than hurt. He didn't see that one coming.

She's unpredictable, Katniss thinks desperately. You're not in control, Snow. You can't manipulate someone like this.

'Johanna,' warns Haymitch.

'Oh come on, I'm going to hit him anyway.'

Haymitch, unable or unwilling to care, only shrugs. 'Do what you have to.'

The voids of Johanna's eyes flare briefly with the ghost of thrill.

And then an alarm sounds.

The transformation is immediate: the room is suddenly lit in flashing red as the emergency systems kick in, horns embedded in the walls vibrate out a piercing wail, and everyone freezes.

'Outer perimeter breach,' Haymitch announces, loud over the siren. 'Gale, stations.'

It's a quick and unstable chaos. Haymitch runs from the room. Gale fumbles with the keys, shoves one into the lock, gets the cell door open. Pauses briefly on the threshold, waiting for Johanna, who does not come. She points to Snow's cuffs.

'Keys?' she says.

Gale hesitates, then tosses the keys, turns, runs, follows Haymitch into the corridor. Haymitch unlocks the weapons storage and in seconds he and Gale have slung huge, nasty assault rifles onto their backs. Then Katniss watches them ascend the ladder one after the other, the big guns on their backs and smaller ones on their hips, and she wonders if this is the last time she'll see them. Should she go after them? District 13 taught her to shoot; she could be useful — if she could only get over her terror of loud noises. She watches Gale's familiar feet disappear up the ladder into the sunlight and then the manhole cover falls shut behind him. As it does, the alarm dwindles into silence; the red light remains.

Katniss does not even register the sound of the cell door behind her swinging shut. It is only the click of the key in the lock that makes her turn around.

'Johanna?' she says, frowning. Johanna remains on the other side of the bars, still next to Snow, spinning the keyring on her finger and her red-lit mouth stretched in something that is not quite a smile.

'Wow, would you look at that,' she says. 'The door just sort of locked itself and I have the only keys. That's so weird. However did that happen?'

The danger of the situation is immediate. There is no one here but Katniss and Johanna — and Snow, wrists bound, head bent, unable to do anything more than carve his cutting remarks. Katniss looks around, expecting to see another set of keys hanging magically from the wall. But there is no spare set here. Only the one heavy ring, making its clumsy rotations around a pale finger with chipped nail polish.

'Johanna, cut it out. Unlock his cuffs. We're done for the day.'

Johanna jangles the keys and shows more of her teeth. 'I just really don't know if I feel like doing that, Twelve. I wouldn't want to break the rules.' She strikes a pose of mock contemplation. 'We have to follow procedure, after all. What does procedure say? That we ask a question and I don't stop hurting him until we get a satisfactory answer?'

Snow is giving a small, impressed smile. 'That was indeed the rule.'

'And if Haymitch and Gale aren't here, that means I'm in charge. So the question is, do I feel satisfied?'

'Johanna, unlock his cuffs and open the door.' Katniss grabs the cell door bars and yanks on them. They rattle ineffectually.

'You know, I don't think I do feel satisfied. I guess that means we aren't done yet. I've got a whole four hours to play with.' She shrugs. 'Or three hours and fifty minutes. I don't have a watch, so… I might lose track of time. Honest mistake, you know.'

Katniss' heart is starting to race. She aims a booted kick at the door hinges, then a second kick, but nothing comes loose.

'Don't worry, Twelve, I'm not going to kill him. Not yet, anyway. I want this to be slow. He likes to break people slow, don't you?' She grasps a handful of Snow's silver hair and yanks back his head. The smile touching Snow's eyes is weird and dark, as though drinking in the red light. Johanna releases him and wanders over to her tray of tricks. 'I have my brass knuckles,' she announces, fingering the items. 'I have a dumbbell… that might be a bit much to start off with. Oh, I have a hammer.' She lifts this up and tests the weight in her slender hand. 'I would really like to knock your teeth out. Any preference to start off?'

'Brass knuckles,' answers Snow, and he's still got that sick grin. 'You'll enjoy making the marks with your hands. Once you start with the larger items you'll bruise me too much to see what the knuckles do.'

'That's smart!' says Johanna, then grinds her fist into Snow's head like she's petting a dog. 'Isn't he so smart?'

'Johanna, stop it,' spits Katniss. 'You know this is against the rules. You know this is wrong.'

'Right and wrong…' Johanna slips the brass knuckles onto her fingers and flexes her joints. 'Who taught you those ideas, kitten? Guys like him? Your father?' She aims a small kick at Snow's shin and he gives a little shudder. 'They taught us to love our country… Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever… And I guess you were right, huh, Snow?' She rubs her hand against the back of his neck and Katniss' stomach spasms with fear and queasy jealousy. Snow smiles with what cannot be anything but anticipation. 'Panem forever, and ever, and ever. No escape from the drowning…' Her eyes flicker and for a moment Katniss isn't sure if she knows she's even in the cell. 'None of us will ever escape.' She releases Snow's neck and looks around her, frowning at the bars. 'This cell? This is just Panem, on a small scale. That's all the Games were, too. So here we are, two people locked in a cage, and one has to eat the other.' Then her eyes lock on Katniss' with such intensity she shivers. 'And someone is always watching.'

Snow almost looks happy. 'Very astute, Miss Mason.'

'Johanna, don't do this,' Katniss cuts in. 'We're not like them, we don't have to be. We can be better than this. We are better than this.'

Johanna turns black, impenetrable eyes on her as she slips on the knuckles. 'I'm not.'

And then she lands the first blow.

Snow's face is forced to the side. He makes a small, low sound, a vibration in the back of his throat. It's impossible to tell if it's really a sound of pain. He stretches his jaw and rotates his neck a little, then looks back at Johanna. A small pink patch and a tiny welt grow on his cheek. He smiles.

'Is that more satisfying to you?' he says.

And then Johanna lands the second blow, the third and the fourth, and Snow stops talking. He doesn't make many sounds: just little, low, deep ones from the back of his throat when her metal-shod fists find his face. Johanna concentrates her blows on his upper cheeks; she's still saving his jaw and teeth and mouth for later. Nausea grips Katniss' stomach as she thinks about what it'll be like for Snow to have his teeth knocked out. He won't like that, he won't like that at all. Not able to talk properly, to say his little witticisms and croon his sly remarks?

At least Johanna can be easily distracted.

'Is this making you happy?' she says desperately. 'Johanna, do you actually want to do this?'

'Yeah, kinda,' she says airily, almost dancing as she rocks from one foot to the next. She assesses the damage she has wreaked thus far. Snow's cheeks are each raised and red, each marked with tiny bites from the brass. 'He deserves it,' she says simply.

'Why? Is this justice? Or just vengeance?'

'It's not really either, Twelve.' Johanna is still looking at Snow's face. She reaches out with her other hand and tilts his jaw, examining the high blush of his oozing cheek. Snow's expression is gilded with amusement, but that's not going to last. This will get worse. 'I just like to feel different things.'

This time, Snow speaks. His voice is still clear and full. 'Different to what, Miss Mason? To that endless hole inside of you that you can never fill?'

Johanna smiles joylessly. 'You put that hole there, Coriolanus.'

'You did it to yourself. It's beautiful, in a way.' His blue eyes glitter like galaxies. 'Every mark you make on me is a chip away at your own soul. Self-destruction can be beautiful to watch.'

Her empty smile darkens. 'Maybe I'll take out your eyes.'

They widen in response. 'Maybe you will, Miss Mason.'

'Johanna, you have to stop,' says Katniss. 'You're not even asking him questions. This is sick.'

Johanna looks at her blankly. 'What does Mister Blah Blah Blah do at blah blah blah?' A catlike tilt of the head. 'Any answer, Snow?'

'You could be more specific,' he smiles back.

Johanna's eyes bore into Katniss. 'And yet I'm still unsatisfied.'

What happens next is quick: the grasp of the hammer, its raising, its bringing down with a hard, dull, meaty thud on the side of Snow's face. A choking groan spills from his lips.

'That's a bit better!' she says brightly. 'Sorry, Snow. It takes a lot to satisfy me.' Her lips peel back from her teeth like the skin of a rotting fruit. 'But maybe you remember that.'

She graciously waits a moment for Snow to recover enough to speak. His voice is strained, but still clear. 'I do indeed, Miss Mason. Twenty-two on the first night.'

'Did you watch it on your little spy cameras?' Johanna murmurs. 'Did it turn you on?'

Katniss doesn't know what she's talking about. Sex? What loophole did Johanna find to exempt her from what happened to Finnick?

A bored sort of annoyance settles on Snow's bleeding face. 'No, Miss Mason. It was tedious. This is the most interesting I've ever found you.'

A horrible expression that reminds Katniss of an animal dying in tar twists Johanna's face. 'How lucky for me.' Her eyes shift back to Katniss. 'Why her, Snow? Why was she the mockingjay and not me? You could have made me the Victor of the Quell, made me give all the pretty speeches and united Panem.'

'You could not have brokered peace,' says Snow, his voice a little hoarse. 'You lack Miss Everdeen's qualities.'

'And what qualities are those?' She lowers her mouth to Snow's ear and whispers something that Katniss, no matter how she strains, cannot hear. Then Johanna pulls back and laughs at whatever joke she has just made. 'Or is it her big puppy dog eyes? Or the fact that she had the stomach to date Peeta Mellark and pretend to be a happy couple?'

Katniss almost wishes Johanna would go back to the hammer; she feels greasy inside to hear Johanna talk about her like this.

'I just got lucky,' Katniss says. 'I was in the right place at the right time. That's all it was.'

'No,' says Johanna emphatically. 'No, no. Wrong. You were the chosen one. Chosen by him.' She brings up her knee suddenly, savagely, and it collides with Snow's nose. He gives a sudden sharp groan. Johanna hisses and sprays saliva. 'You were elevated to on high by big daddy. He made you special. There's nothing unique or interesting about you, Katniss Everdeen. It's all him. You got to be the special one because he picked you.'

'I know,' says Katniss. 'I know there's nothing special about me. You're right.' She shrugs, more exasperated than afraid for a change, and at least if Johanna is talking she's not caving in Snow's skull with a hammer. 'But it didn't make my life any better. It didn't make me happy. It got people I loved killed, that's all.'

Johanna's mouth falls open, dully appalled. 'And what do you think happened to the people I loved, Twelve? You think they're doing well?' Her expression changes in an instant, falling into bored indifference. 'Maybe she just looked better in a wedding dress than me.'

'Miss Mason,' Snow interrupts, and he turns his blood-full mouth up towards her. 'I chose Miss Everdeen because she was superlative. The Games transformed her into something… iridescent. You, on the other hand, are quite an ordinary girl. There are hundreds like you.' His head tilts a little further and the halogen light floods his face. 'Trauma did not make you interesting. Nor did abuse. Nor did any of your suffering. It only made you sicker.' The smile draws across his face like a bow across catgut. 'Your trauma made you dull.'

This time the hammer finds his jaw. One thud, something hard on something hard, and a moment latter there is a soft clatter as a small bloody molar tumbles from between Snow's lips. Katniss stares at it as it lies on the floor, white and red, like something tiny and aborted.

'But I'm not dull now,' says Johanna, and her voice is completely empty.

It takes Snow a moment to find his blood-dripping voice. He spits and looks at Johanna with shining delight. 'You are holding my attention.'

Johanna shakes her head with amusement. 'But I bet you'd rather it was Katniss Everdeen beating in your face with a hammer, hm?'

His bloody lips smile. 'She hit me with a bow.' He sounds almost proud.

Johanna looks disgusted. 'Did that make you hard?' Her eyes drop down Snow's body. 'Or does it not work anymore?' And then her brass-knuckled hand reaches out and grasps and twists between Snow's legs and shards of pain go through his face. 'Maybe if we did to you what you did to Finnick the universe might start to right itself.'

As Johanna's face drips loathing and her hand violently masturbates him, Snow turns benthic eyes upon her. 'You are boring me again.'

'We'll see about that,' she grins.

Katniss has seen enough. She turns and flees down the corridor to the only thing she needs, the only thing that makes sense. In seconds she's at her cabin, in seconds more she's pushing inside, and then she's dropping her hands into her backpack and pulling free her quiver and bow. Not even a minute has passed before she is back to the bars of the cell, notching her arrow, pulling it back, aiming it at Johanna's heart.

'Stop or I'll shoot you.'

Johanna's hand is still between Snow's legs; Snow's bored expression lights up with interest at Katniss and her bow. Johanna drops her hand.

'Okay. Shoot me. What are you going to do, kill me?'

'Yes,' says Katniss immediately. She doesn't want to; she has no hatred for this broken shell of a woman, only pity. But she'll put her down if she has to.

Johanna stares. 'Okay,' she says again. She shrugs. 'I don't give a shit.' And as though nothing has happened at all, she picks up the hammer again and examines the haft. 'Maybe I could rape him with this,' she says with the tone of someone picking out swatches of paint. 'Maybe that would do something for one of us.'

'Johanna,' says Katniss abruptly. It comes to her in a flash. She lowers her bow. 'I have morphling. Not much, but a full dose at least. Do you want some?'

Johanna's bored, blank eyes watch hers without feeling, without memory, without hope. And then she says: 'Okay.'

It's like a completely different person has slipped into Johanna's skin, someone quiet and lost. Katniss' heart continues to pound as Johanna shruggingly casts aside the hammer and meanders to the cell door. She unlocks it with complete casualness and wanders out of the cell.

'Can I have those keys?' says Katniss, forcing her voice to stay light.

'Where's the morphling?' Johanna says, ignoring her. 'On you?'

'In my pack. Come on. Why don't you lie down and I'll get it for you?'

It's like walking with a stranger. The hateful, violent girl Johanna was just a few moments ago has been shed. She drifts like she's in a dream. 'I need big doses,' she says. 'I have a high tolerance.'

The next moments pass in a daze for Katniss. Johanna leads her to her cabin, which is decorated with torn out pictures of models from magazines who all have their faces blacked out, and then she extracts a needle and tourniquet she's hidden under the mattress. Katniss hurries into her own room and quickly transfers a full pipette of morphling from the half-full vial into the empty, then brings the latter through to the other room.

Johanna, strap around her arm and needle between her teeth, speaks thickly: 'Gimme.'

She hands it over and watches with sick fascination as Johanna dispenses with the pipette and fills the needle, then injects it into an arm that is rash with track marks. The needle out, she licks around the inside of the vial and sucks on the pipette like a starving animal, and then she settles into her bed.

'I'll sleep now,' she announces, and seconds later she's gone. Katniss watches her for a minute more, her breathing deep, her face for once still and serene. She looks so much younger. Just a girl, just like Katniss.

On her way back, Katniss pauses at the kitchen and wrenches open the freezer door. There's not much in there and no ice, but she helps herself to frozen peas. When Katniss returns to the cell, Snow gives her a wry look from his awkward, chained position.

'I thought you weren't coming back,' he says sarcastically.

Katniss doesn't bother locking the cell door after her as she finds the cuff key on the ring. 'Sorry. I had to make sure she was… dealt with.' She unclicks the cuffs and supports Snow with her shoulder as he steadies himself on his feet.

'That is an unwell girl,' Snow observes, and he rubs his bloody wrists. 'I would never employ someone like that.'

Katniss looks him over: bleeding and swollen face, red wrists, clothes in disarray. It could have been worse. She hands him the frozen peas. 'Are you alright?'

'Quite,' he says. He sits on the cot and puts the peas to his bleeding cheek. 'She did not do much damage. I will be bruised but not much else.'

Katniss, her face colored with unease, bends and closes her fingertips around Snow's dislodged tooth. It is wet with his blood.

'You can keep that,' says Snow with faux generosity. 'I have many others left.'

Not knowing what else to do with it, she slips it into her pocket. 'Are you okay from… I mean, what about…' She does not want to say the words. Snow reads her mind effortlessly.

'What, when she manhandled my genitalia?' He rolls his eyes. 'I'll recover, Miss Everdeen.'

She folds her arms tightly in on herself. 'I didn't like that.'

His eyes dance. 'Were you jealous?'

She feels sick. 'Of course not. I was worried about you.'

'A silly thing to worry about.'

'You were worried,' she argues back, 'when that Peacekeeper touched my hair. When he threatened to rape me.'

Snow switches the peas to the other side of his face. He speaks mildly. 'That was different.'

'What, because I'm a girl?'

'No, because you are you and I am me. It is easy for me to tolerate these things.'

'No, it isn't,' she says automatically. Snow looks surprised. 'I know you don't like people touching you.'

Some fleeting moment of understanding or recognition or discomfort passes through Snow's face, but it is gone as soon as it came, a single snowflake against infinite white ice. 'I do not mind, Miss Everdeen. Really, I am quite alright.' And he smiles so softly and with such kindness she is sure that he believes it himself.

Exhausted, she comes to sit next to him. Not so close that they're touching, but close enough she can feel his body heat. 'What happened to her?' she asks. 'To Johanna. She told me you didn't do to her what you did to Finnick. She said she found a loophole.'

'Ah. That.' Snow looks positively nostalgic. 'Well, after she won her first Games, my procurer approached Johanna Mason with the possibility of selling her to the Capitol elite. We don't do it for all Victors and we prefer them to be willing, but she was attractive and charismatic while also in need of some, ah, reminding of her place, so it seemed a natural fit. She resisted and we… applied more pressure.'

'You mean you threatened her family?'

'She only had a father by that point. The rest of them died in an epidemic. But yes, we threatened him. We made it clear that Mason was expected to cooperate.' A horrible smile lights his face. 'But she was very clever. She slept with half of the potential clients in the Capitol. She threw orgies in penthouses, she attended sex parties, she did absolutely everything she could to sleep with as many people as possible. There were very few people in the paying elite with whom she didn't have relations.'

Katniss is horrified. 'Why would she do that?'

Snow looks revoltingly delighted. 'To drive down her price, my dear. No one wanted to pay for what they could get for free. And thus we had no leverage over her. She was useless as a high class prostitute. We could have still made some money selling her, of course, but it would have been pennies in the grand scheme of things, and the control is more important than the money. Also, her psychological instability became quite pronounced. There are some who will pay extra for that, of course, but Mason did have a tendency to, well… stab people in the act of intercourse. Which, again, some will pay extra for, but it's a slim demographic.' He looks at Katniss, grinning at his own joke, but she only looks disgusted.

'What did her dad say?' she says quietly.

'Oh, he committed suicide, I believe.'

'Because of what happened to her?'

'Who knows? I didn't investigate.' Snow shrugs one shoulder. 'And that is the story of Johanna Mason. She destroyed herself to prevent us from doing so.'

'And now she wants revenge.'

'If she does, she won't get it. All she can do is destroy herself further.'

'She could take you down with her.'

'Perhaps, Miss Everdeen.' He smiles softly and then hands her back the peas. 'You should refreeze these before they thaw. It's the closest thing you're likely to get to a fresh vegetable around here.'

'Keep them.' She pushes his hand back and her fingers brush over his, skin sliding against skin, and she does not let go. Touching him again offers little sparks of bliss. His eyes look at her out of his swollen face.

'Snow,' she murmurs. 'We could go. Right now, we could just leave. Go back to the cottage or the museum and—'

The distant sound of the manhole cover shifting cuts her off and she fills with angry despair. Snow offers a resigned smile.

'Alas,' he says. 'The world denies us our fun once again.'

She hears distant voices. '…yeah, well, so much for the element of surprise.'

'I was startled, Gale.'

'You need to work on that. Your hands shake.'

'Not anymore, they don't.'

The voices approach, jocular more than anything else, and Katniss relaxes a little bit to know that Haymitch and Gale are safe and alive. Their laughing conversation echoes down the corridor and when they enter the room they both look none the worse for wear, aside from a large bruise on Haymitch's jaw.

Until they spot Katniss in the cell.

Both have their guns on Snow in an instant. 'Get away from her, Snow.'

Katniss has had enough of this idiocy for one day. She rolls her eyes and stands, then takes several steps away from him. 'Is that better? Would you put down your guns?'

Haymitch slowly lowers his. Gale does not.

'Why are you in the cell?' asks Haymitch, suspicious.

Katniss, exhausted, picks up Johanna's tray of tricks and then pushes out of the cell. Snow, of course, makes no attempt to rush the open door. Gale takes the keys from her a little too quickly.

'I am in the cell because the moment you left Johanna decided to continue the interrogation.' She sets the tray on the table. 'She locked herself in here and nearly beat him to death with a hammer. I offered her some morphling and now she's strung out in bed.'

'Dammit,' mutters Haymitch.

Gale is unfazed. 'Did he tell us anything?'

Katniss pulls a face of disgust. 'He already told you everything he knows.'

'She is correct,' says Snow, voice slightly muffled by blood and frozen peas against his mouth. 'But feel free to beat me some more with the hammer if you think that would be a valuable use of everybody's time.'

'Sounds good to me,' snaps Gale, and then he sees the tiredness in Katniss' face. 'Sorry,' he says, more to Katniss than Snow. 'I just… he's not my favorite person.'

'We'll leave it for today,' says Haymitch. 'I'll double check our intel and see if we can spare anyone to investigate what he told us yesterday.'

Snow gives a little derisive snort. It would be more impressively disdainful if he didn't have a bag of peas covering his face.

While Gale goes to check on Johanna, Haymitch ushers Katniss from the room. She forces herself not to give Snow any last lingering looks; she is making it too hard on herself. Haymitch brings her back to his cabin and shuts the door firmly behind them. She fixes him with a hard stare.

'Johanna isn't suitable for this.'

'She's the best we've got and I'm not going to have this argument with you, Katniss.'

She considers not telling Haymitch what happened, for the sake of Snow's privacy, but how can she not? She speaks quietly. 'She sexually assaulted him, Haymitch.'

Haymitch's eyes briefly close. He sighs as he reopens them. 'Well, that's against procedure.'

'I'm fucking glad it is,' she spits back.

'I'll talk to her about it. But you gotta remember that Johanna is… damaged goods, to put it mildly.'

'What, because she screwed half the Capitol?'

Haymitch frowns at her hard. 'She didn't have a choice, kid. In many ways, you were lucky. You only had to put up with being a Victor for a few months. For some of us, that shit is our whole life.'

Katniss wants to kill something.

'Whatever,' she spits. 'You can't let it happen again.'

'I won't. We'll be more careful. I'll keep a closer eye on her when we resume interrogation.'

Katniss is incredulous. 'You're going to let Johanna do that again?'

'Are you going to do it?' he bites back.

Katniss considers. Could she torture Snow? Make it easier on him, perhaps? He does seem to get a certain sick thrill out of her hurting him. But no. She doesn't have it in her. I don't think sadism suits you.

'He's an old man,' she says quietly. 'If you keep this up, you'll kill him. Let him cooperate and you'll get all the information you need. Keep unleashing Johanna on him and he'll be dead within a few weeks.'

Haymitch pinches the bridge of his nose and screws his eyes shut. 'I have to follow procedure—'

'To hell with procedure!'

'I have to follow procedure,' he repeats like a mantra. 'Katniss, I'm sorry to tell you this, but I don't actually have much power here. I'm only acting head of the base because the guy with actual power got blown to smithereens by a landmine. But the rebellion will send a replacement in time, and if they find out we've been playing house with the former fucking dictator of this country then I'll get court martialed.'

'Then lie!' She is desperate. She can think only of Snow's single molar lying on the floor, a tiny bloody ghost.

Haymitch looks bone-tired. He stares into nothing, his fingers twitching, and Katniss realizes how much he wants to reach for a bottle right now.

'I'll consider it,' he says finally. 'But we would need to do something about Johanna. I need her here, kid. If I kick her out of the base, she'll get herself killed.'

'And if you let her roam free, she'll kill Snow,' says Katniss. 'Sooner or later, she'll do it, regardless of what you want. Why not lock her up in the cell?'

'What, and give Snow his own bedroom?' says Haymitch sarcastically.

'Maybe!' Katniss exclaims. She yanks on her braid until pain spiders over her skull. 'Look, let me think about Johanna. I'll try to come up with something. Some way to get her off Snow's back. And please try to find a way out of what you're doing to him.' Her lips thin. Her world has become insane. 'I know what he is. I've never hated anyone more, except maybe Coin. But he's our responsibility now, and he's a human being.'

Haymitch meets her eyes and the two of them gaze at each other with camaraderie and love and deathly weariness. With a voice worn almost to pieces, he says: 'More's the pity.'