Katniss wakes alone. New impressions settle on her like ash. The metal underslats of the bunk above her, the scratchy pillow against her cheek, the rough blanket, the creak of pipes, the grey room. Recent memories of faces populate her thoughts: Haymitch, Johanna, Gale. She feels like she has awoken from a long, strange dream of skies and colossal tree-thick mountains, and of a peculiar, smiling man. Did she really do those things? Did she rub her wet body against him, did she wrap her hand around his erection, did she taste his semen? Was she drugged or hypnotized? Or just seduced? Or not even that — was she genuinely struck with desire for the monster who ruined her life?

Well, she can put all that behind her, now. There are simpler priorities in her life. Aid the rebellion. Stop Coin, somehow. Follow orders. Spend time with people that might be her friends. No more cold nights with a warm beard against her cheek. No more blood smell. No more Snow.

Although she is not quite free of him yet.

Katniss dresses and stops by the bathroom. Cracked tiles and foul-smelling cisterns and decades, perhaps centuries, of dirt lining the grout. The mirror above the sink barely reflects her back through its craters of ancient water marks. Who is that girl? She is Katniss Everdeen, still with the rebels, still an enemy of the tyrant ruling Panem. The world gave her a break for a little while, to try to build a home with Peeta and then to rove across the wilds, but now she is back where she belongs. A pawn in a war she cannot win. At least it's a familiar hopelessness.

The long, dimly lit corridor is filled with the sounds of crackling lights but then, as she nears the kitchen, she also hears the sound of singing. Off-key, unfamiliar. Some Capitol pop song, she thinks. She doesn't know the words. Johanna's voice.

Katniss finds her sprawled at the table, a box of cereal in her hands. It's not the governmental ration kind, which would be a white box with 'CEREAL' written on it; instead, it's one of the old popular Capitol brands, Golden Wheat. A colorful box from the time before the war, its pictures faded with age. Dull, familiar pain falls through Katniss as she recognizes the face of the beautiful young man stamped on the side, the unwilling mascot. Finnick.

'Good morning, sleepy head,' says Johanna. She does not appear to be eating the cereal; instead she is rifling through the box, digging through the kernels and spilling them as she does so. 'Rest well?'

'I slept okay.' Katniss opens the cabinets experimentally and finds a stack of protein ration bars and helps herself. She fetches a glass and tests the faucet water, which comes out worryingly green. 'Is this okay to drink?'

'It is if you love cholera,' says Johanna idly, elbow-deep in the box. 'There's bottled water in the fridge.'

Katniss takes one and then sits at the table. She leaves both protein bar and water bottle unopened. She tries not to miss Snow's cooking. 'How are you doing?'

'Me? Super. Fantastic. Today is going to be a great day.'

Katniss rotates the water bottle in her hands. 'Because you're going to start the interrogation?'

'Ye-e-ep,' Johanna drawls. 'When Haymitch mentioned Snow might be alive I was absolutely livid. And then he told me, hey, you can be the one to rough him up, if you want. Wow, I could not believe that.' She pulls something out of the cereal box, which turns out to be a lump of congealed wheat parcels, then tosses it aside in disgust. 'And now here he is. I'm the luckiest girl in the world.'

Katniss keeps her voice low and quiet. It's hard not to talk like you're addressing a wounded animal when Johanna is the way she is, speaking in hostile staccatos, not entirely able to remember that there's someone speaking to her.

'Do you think it's a good idea for you to torture someone?'

Johanna offers blank eyes. 'Yeah. Sure. I'm good at it. Way better than Gale. He's good at the violence but he doesn't have the instinct for the intimate, interpersonal stuff. It takes a certain special quality.'

'But do you think it's good for you? Do you think—' She breaks off as Johanna retracts her hand from the cereal box and empties its entire contents onto the table. She starts to pick through them rapidly, searching for something. 'What are you—?'

'Fuck,' Johanna exclaims, banging a fist on the table. Then she swipes the cereal off the table so suddenly that Katniss jumps. 'There's supposed to be a fucking prize. Look, see?' She holds up the back of the box to Katniss. Faded, five-year-old photos advertise the promise of a keyring, a badge, a plastic toy, and a random choice of other goodies inside. 'But there's nothing. Fucking rip-off.'

'Maybe someone else took it in the half a decade after this all expired.'

'Everybody takes, takes, takes,' mutters Johanna. And then she flashes a sarcastic smile. 'But not you, Twelve. You're a giver. You don't need to take anything from anyone; people just throw their lives down at their feet for you without you even asking. Must be nice.'

'I never wanted to be the mockingjay,' Katniss says quietly. How many times does she have to tell people that?

'Yeah, well, I never wanted post traumatic stress disorder and all my family killed; we don't always get what we want in life.' She stands abruptly. 'Well. There is one thing I want today.' She looks at the clock. 'Nearly nine. Showtime.'

Katniss looks up in alarm. 'You're starting today?'

'I'd have started yesterday if they'd have let me,' says Johanna, standing and cracking her neck both ways. 'But Haymitch said there was paperwork to do.'

'But…' Katniss casts around for an excuse. 'What if he'll cooperate without torture?'

'Who cares?' says Johanna blankly. She heads to the door. 'Come on. Don't you want to watch? Surely you've also got an itch to watch that man bleed?' Her grin shows yellowed teeth. 'I'll meet you at the cell. I've got to fetch some toys.' Turning and wandering away, Johanna's dark hair and pale neck fade in and out of the gloom and the flickering lights. Dumbly, Katniss rises and goes the other way, down into the deeper dark of the corridor, her heart pulsing in her ears.

Gale and Haymitch wait at the end of the corridor, Haymitch poring over an electronic tablet, Gale shouldering a large assault rifle.

'Good to have you here,' says Gale and his smile is more of a grimace. 'Haymitch, are we good to go?'

'Yep.' Haymitch's voice is oddly subdued. 'I'm just rereading the same policy over and over. Making sure I've dotted all the is.'

'This is the policy for torturing prisoners?' asks Katniss, voice caustic.

'Interrogation of high-level dissidents,' corrects Haymitch. 'Technically the New Republic doesn't condone torture. But it does permit unconventional methods for particular individuals.' Haymitch's expression is worn and his eyes are dead. 'Snow qualifies.'

She frowns at him. 'You don't exactly sound excited about getting to see the man you hate most get tortured.'

Haymitch releases a long, enigmatic sigh. He clicks off a button on his tablet and offers one rueful smile that doesn't meet his eyes. 'I think this whole situation is perverse, Katniss. But I'm following procedure.'

Gale shrugs. 'I for one am very keen to see that bastard bleed a little.' He frowns at Katniss. 'Aren't you?'

She takes a moment to consider her answer. 'No. He's an old man and he's helpless.'

'That's never stopped Snow from hurting people before,' Gale counters.

'We have to be better than them,' she says. 'Otherwise, what's the point of any of this?'

Haymitch steps forwards and pushes open the door between them. 'Let's just get this over with.'

Haymitch flicks on the light and the three of them filter into the cell. Beyond the bars is Snow. He blinks in the light, sitting on the cot. He must have heard them outside. Otherwise, how would he know that the nighttime was over? The book she brought him, some pulpy detective novel she found in a cabinet, looks untouched. How could he read it in the dark?

Snow rises and offers a polite, genial smile. Katniss helplessly notices the slight untidiness to his beard and hair now he's had his grooming tools confiscated, and she notices how carefully aligned his collar is, the buttons of his shirt, his socks. She knows he must have spent some time tidying himself and wonders how much of that was a result of boredom, how much a need for control, how much a need to overcompensate for his lack of shoes.

'How lovely to see you all together,' says Snow, perfectly content with his imprisonment. He looks between them all. 'Abernathy. Miss Everdeen.' His eyes pass over her like she's nothing to him. 'And Mr Hawthorne. I don't believe I've had the pleasure of your acquaintance. Of Miss Everdeen's paramours, I only knew Mr Mellark.' He smiles genially. 'It is good to see you alive. In truth, I assumed you were dead when Miss Everdeen first found me. She did not mention you.' That smile grows bigger, more playful. 'She did mention Mr Mellark, however.'

'Not surprised,' says Gale gruffly. He is doing a poor job pretending that this doesn't bother him. 'Haven't seen her in years.'

'A shame, given how intimately acquainted you were,' Snow muses. 'Or perhaps that's unfair to say. You never gave Miss Everdeen much of a say in the matter.'

'What is that supposed to mean?'

Snow looks nostalgic. 'Well, when Miss Everdeen first found me, I was struck by how… wary she was of my physical presence. I could not help but think of you. That first time you kissed her, which I was so fortunate to witness.' His eyes are elsewhere, recalling the memory. 'I remember how you grabbed her. How you told her you had to do it. Almost as though you had no self-control. Of course, I have no idea how your relationship progressed, only that she eventually chose Mellark. I did wonder…'

'You wondered what?' spits Gale.

Snow is the picture of innocence. 'I wondered what else you might have forced her to do, in the heat of war.'

'Just ignore him, Gale,' says Haymitch, absorbed or pretending to be absorbed in his tablet. 'He's just trying to get a reaction.'

'I apologize if I overstepped,' smiles Snow, smug and perfectly content.

Katniss doesn't know what to say. It's rude, it's crass. It works. She can feel the anger emanating from Gale, and it also makes her own stomach queasy. Yes, Gale did grab her and kiss her when she didn't want him to. And Snow murdered nearly everyone she ever knew. How is she supposed to compare those things?

'Alright,' says Haymitch, and he truly sounds bored. 'I am legally obligated under the New Republic of Panem to read you your rights.' He clears his throat and reads in an uneven, toneless quality. 'So. "Coriolanus Snow, you have been detained under the New Republic of Panem for crimes against its people. The right of legal representation has been revoked. You will be subject to interrogation in accordance with the New Military Act. Under this act, you will be subject to one question every twenty-four hours. If you fail to answer this question in a satisfactory manner after four hours, you will be given a minimum of four hours reprieve before questioning resumes. If you answer a question in a satisfactory manner, you will be given a minimum of twenty-four hours reprieve before questioning resumes. You have the right to 500 milliliters of water every eight hours. Interrogation methods aim to be non-lethal but the New Republic takes no responsibility for any loss of life incurred during questioning."' He coughs and looks at Snow, completely expressionless. 'That all make sense?'

A light smile plays on Snow's face. His eyes are calculating something. 'Interesting. I hear no mention of medical care. Is the rebellion — my apologies, the New Republic — stretched so thin that they can't spare the resources?'

'Something like that.' Haymitch's voice is flat. 'Also nobody likes you enough to bother.'

Katniss thinks of delicately smoothing bandages against Snow's bleeding chest and she does not look at him. Will they see his fresh scars? What will they think of them?

Brisk, sharp, approaching footsteps tell her that their final member has nearly arrived and dread rises in her stomach. The door opens and in walks Johanna. She holds a silver tray and is smiling like a mother serving dinner to a family of beloved children.

'Hello everyone,' she says with pretended warmth. Her eyes light on Snow's and they grow big and manic. 'And there he is,' she breathes. 'It's been a while. Last time we talked to each other I was tied to a chair and getting electrocuted. Remember that?'

Snow inclines his head, his smile still so polite. 'I do indeed, Miss Mason.'

Johanna's smile sharpens. 'It's Johanna.'

'You're looking a little better than last we spoke.' Snow pauses. 'But not by much.' His eyes flick to the tray. 'So, what's on the menu today?'

'Sharp things,' says Johanna, setting the tray down on the only small table in the room. 'I'm going to vary it up, of course, day by day. Don't want us to get bored with each other. I've got lots of ideas. But they're surprises. Today is just about me and you getting to know one another and I think, you know, cutting holes in you is a really good way to do that.'

Snow's smile never falters. 'It is indeed, Miss Mason.'

Johanna's smile flatlines. 'Johanna.'

'My apologies,' says Snow, and it's completely insincere. His eyes go to Haymitch. 'An interesting choice of recruit for this job, Abernathy.'

'Beggars can't be choosers,' Haymitch drawls.

Johanna looks to Gale. 'Gale, tie him up. Like we talked about.'

Gale nods and removes something from a large pocket on his cargo pants, extracting a pair of hard metal cuffs, then opens the pocket on the other side and pulls forth a chain. Katniss frowns but says nothing. She thinks of those awful marks that will never heal on Snow's wrists from the zip-ties. This is worse; this is much worse.

Johanna lazily draws a black handgun and aims it through the bars of the cage. 'In the corner, face the wall, on your knees, hands on the back of your head.'

Snow only smiles and smiles. 'And if I refuse, Miss Mason, what will you do? Shoot me?'

A bang: massive, overwhelming Katniss' eardrums, and she drops and covers them on instinct. Johanna has fired a bullet at the wall.

'It's Johanna!' she shrieks. 'Not Miss Mason. Johanna or Mason: take your pick. Don't fucking call Haymitch Abernathy and then talk to me like I'm your fucking girlfriend.'

Katniss stands slowly, shaking from the noise and shock of the gun, and Gale touches her arm.

'You okay?' he whispers and she nods.

Snow looks a tiny bit more tense. His eyes do not leave Johanna. He inclines his head in a nod, then goes to the corner and lowers himself to his knees. Katniss notices how much easier it is for him to do that than the first time she made him, all those weeks ago. She poured life back into his blood and now they're going to suck it out.

Gale unlocks the cell. He walks in then tosses the chain over a hook in the ceiling. 'Alright, get up,' he says to Snow, who quietly obeys. It's unpleasant and wrong to watch Gale shove his hands behind his back, then fasten the metal cuffs around his older, already scarred wrists, and then to clip the cuffs onto the end of the chain. Gale yanks on the chain, tightening the slack, and a faint whisper of discomfort goes through Snow's face as his arms are yanked up.

'He's all yours,' Gale announces, and Johanna pushes in, her tray in hand. Gale locks the cell door behind Johanna and then he retreats to a corner of the cell, training his own gun on Snow. Johanna lays her tray on the cot bed. Katniss tries not to look at the contents.

'Where to begin!' Johanna exclaims, looking Snow's body over like he isn't even human. 'Well, we can lose the shirt for one thing. I'll start with the chest and then we can move onto the limbs and face on later days. I'm saving cutting up that smart mouth for, like, dessert or something.'

Katniss feels tingling steel wind through her jaw and down her spine as Johanna reaches out and starts pulling at the buttons of Snow's shirt. His expression remains impassive, but she has learned to read when his detachment comes with effort. Johanna pulls the shirt open wide and makes a strange, surprised, guttural, delighted sound.

'Well, well, it's not the first time someone's had fun with you.' She flicks her fingernail at one of his scars, a blade scar that Katniss now knows he got from a skirmish with a rebel group over fifty years ago. 'Who gave you that one, an ex-girlfriend?'

'Is that the first question?' asks Snow, his voice carefully smooth. 'I answer correctly and I have the next twenty-four hours to twiddle my thumbs?'

'Shut the fuck up,' says Johanna. She tugs at the shirt which bunches useless around the cuffs. She gives an exaggerated sigh and steps to her metal tray, grasping and holding aloft a pair of scissors. It takes seconds for Johanna to shred the shirt into sections and pull it free from Snow's shoulders.

Katniss shivers as her eyes trace scars she helped heal, as well as the invisible marks where she licked him and kissed him.

Johanna takes slow steps around the bound Snow. 'Wow,' she exclaims, then places both her hands on what Katniss knows must be the huge mockingjay scar on his back. She pulls at the skin and peers at it, and Snow's face goes completely, perfectly blank. Katniss wants to tell Johanna to stop: he doesn't want her touching him there. 'And how did you get this?'

'Coin's people,' Snow says mildly.

'Did it hurt?' Johanna sounds like she's barely interested.

'Yes, it hurt.'

'Johanna,' says Haymitch, sounding exhausted already, 'stop asking him bullshit questions. We stick to procedure.'

'Oh, come on, it's not like anyone is going to let him launch an appeal.'

'I will take you off this assignment,' warns Haymitch. 'I'll put you on bathroom cleaning duty.'

'No, you won't, because you know I won't do it,' says Johanna airily. Then she pats Snow's shoulder a little too hard and drifts over to her metal tray. 'Okay, okay. Haymitch, ask whatever your first question is.'

'Sure.' He glances at his tablet and reads in that same artificial, halting voice. 'What is the location of the cache of B-19 bombs?'

'B-19s,' says Snow, smiling with nostalgia. 'You're really reaching back with that one, Abernathy. We retired those long ago; no one has used the B-19s for combat in decades. They were rather unpredictable.'

'Yeah, and that's why Coin isn't bothering to look for them and why we want to requisition them,' says Haymitch. 'Where are they?'

Snow turns his head slowly to Haymitch and smiles like slow treacle. 'I cannot recall.'

'Oh what a shame,' says Johanna, and when she turns back to Snow she is holding a scalpel. 'I guess we'll just have to take some time to jog your memory.' She reassesses his chest, the scars old and new. She runs the blunt side of the blade along those familiar gouges where the bear got him. 'These are new. Did Twelve do that to you?'

Snow's eyes flick to Katniss. 'A bear.'

Johanna turns to Katniss too, her eyebrows aloft. 'And, what, you stitched him back up?'

For the first time since entering the room, Katniss finds her voice. 'We needed him alive.' It comes out rough. 'That was my assignment.'

'And this is mine,' murmurs Johanna, lifting the scalpel to her mouth. She presses the tissue of her lower lip to the blade in a weird kiss. And then an instant later her wrist flicks out and Katniss hears a low, quiet tearing noise. Snow takes a sharp breath. A thin line slowly wells with drops of blood. 'You're going to wish she let you get eaten by a bear,' Johanna says in that same, low voice. And then she really gets started.

Katniss has seen the results of torture before, but what she saw with Peeta and with Johanna was the result of careful, virtuosic manipulation of the brain and body. Johanna wields her scalpel with brutality, with an instinct and love of pain but little interest in the artistry of the act. She starts with shallow cuts, lines and hashes, scoring boxes on Snow's chest like she's planning to do sums.

Snow takes it well. After the initial intake of breath, he remains silent. His expression is carefully arranged into neutrality and he watches Johanna work with an expression that Katniss knows is not without interest. This has an academic appeal for him: to learn how this woman works, one upon whom he once inflicted such trauma.

Johanna draws another line and she keeps drawing and drawing, bringing the blade further down his chest and easing it deeper. Katniss watches Snow slowly breathe in, though his face shows no trace of pain.

'Do you remember what you did to me?' Johanna murmurs. 'What your people did? Held me underwater and electrocuted me. Over and over and over.'

'I do.' Snow speaks as though this is a casual conversation. 'You didn't take it well. Mellark held out longer.'

Snow's chest gives an involuntary spasm as Johanna drags down the scalpel viciously, sending a little spray of blood over his abdomen. 'We can't all be the chosen two from District 12.'

'Are you jealous of Mellark and Everdeen?'

Katniss tries to watch Johanna, which is easier in a way because seeing this happen to Snow is making her anxiety swell into nausea. And yet it is so hard, too, to take her eyes off him. She remembers how easily Snow ferreted information out of her, that first night she had him tied up. Johanna is even less stable than she was; her emotions flare without even a semblance of suppression. They do so chaotically, so it's still hard to tell exactly what she's feeling, but you know she's feeling something.

'What, did I want to be the mockingjay?' Idly, Johanna draws the blade in jerky shapes and a sticklike 12 is etched onto Snow's right pectoral. Blood sticks to the hair. 'Maybe. I'd have been better at it.'

Snow's laugh is so unpleasant that Katniss shivers. 'You would have made a terrible mockingjay, Miss Mason.'

He cries out for the first time, a low and guttural noise, as Johanna draws back her fist and launches the scalpel into his chest. When she releases her fingers, the blade remains there, suspended in the flesh.

She takes a huge breath. 'It's Johanna,' she says airily.

'Johanna, take it easy,' warns Haymitch. 'If you kill him, this whole thing is ruined.'

'I'm not going to kill him,' she says emphatically, and then she pulls the scalpel free of Snow's chest. He releases a long, thin breath. 'See? See what a good job he's doing hiding how much this hurts.' She sticks her fingernail into the hole she just wrought and Snow's jaw clenches. 'That's alright, sweetie. You can hold it in as long as you like.' She strokes three fingers down his chest, like she's trying to remember how to open a door. 'Everyone breaks eventually.'

'Perhaps,' says Snow and his voice is flawlessly calm once again. 'Of course, it takes skill to break a man. How many have you broken so far, Miss Mason?'

This time, Johanna does not react to her unwanted moniker. 'Some. They were easy ones, though. I know you'll be more of a challenge. But I don't care. We have all the time in the world.'

'Doesn't the war with Coin impose certain time considerations?'

'I don't give a shit about the war. I just want to feel something different.' Suddenly, Johanna tosses the scalpel back onto the tray with a clatter and Katniss jumps again. 'This is boring.' Her eyes light up as she looks between the implements and she picks up a thin, corkscrewing piece of metal. 'Let's make some holes, okay?'

It goes on for a long time, so long that Katniss has to pause to retch in a corner. Gale watches her with concern but she wipes her mouth and continues to stare at what Johanna is doing. Johanna punctures holes in Snow's chest for a while, all in a long line like a tiny worm has wound through his skin, then her line of holes reach the bear wounds. She returns to the scalpel and works at the fresh scar tissue, undoing all of Snow's beautiful stitch work. Then she gets bored and works the blade along the circumference of Snow's nipple as though she means to pull the whole thing off, but she abandons the idea halfway through.

Every few minutes, Haymitch repeats the question: 'What is the location of the cache of B-19 bombs?'

And every time Snow replies that he cannot remember, his voice always self-satisfied, prideful and clever. But it gets more worn. The words become thick with panting. As Johanna works, his chest rises and falls more rapidly. Sweat beads on his bleeding skin. His hair grows damp with the exertion. Johanna isn't cutting deep enough to nick arteries, only to bring up little streamlets of blood, but there are more and more and more as she cuts. It drips to the floor. It collects in the waistband of his pants. It forms a thick puddle that soaks his socks. Katniss watches the red slowly progress higher and higher up the fabric, like floodmarks, and she starts to feel dizzy.

Johanna makes a series of rapid, shallow stabs at his sternum and Snow's breath hitches. His mouth falls open with a sudden cough and a little blood sprays out onto Johanna's face.

'Oh, disgusting,' she proclaims, then spits back. The saliva hits the mess of blood on his chest. 'You're fucking gross.'

'Apologies, Miss Mason,' pants Snow. Only Katniss can hear the sincerity in it. Even now, even like this, he doesn't want to spit in a woman's face.

Johanna's dark eyes gleam. She presses the scalpel deep into the relatively clean skin below Snow's collarbone, deeper and deeper, drawing a long, curving line. Snow breathes in a hiss. 'It's J… O… H…' She murmurs each letter as she draws it. More blood flows, thicker and thicker. 'A… N… N… A.' She rests the bloody blade against Snow's cheek and gives a sulfuric whisper: 'I'm not your fucking mockingjay.'

'Evidently, M…' Snow blinks. He must be losing a significant amount of blood. A pint or more pools on the floor between them. 'Miss… Mason.'

Haymitch's voice drones out. 'What is the location of the cache of B-19 bombs?'

Snow's eyes go to the ceiling and, delirious, he laughs a little. 'Can't remember that one, Abernathy. Easy to misplace bombs.'

Katniss watches the blood pool swell and then crest the hollow in which it has collected. A thin red line ekes across the floor towards her. She can't do this.

'Johanna, stop,' she says.

The woman barely looks at her. 'Nope. I got hours to go. I'm getting a bit bored but I haven't even started on the electric carver yet.' Her hands go to the tray and she lifts the carver, then presses the button experimentally. It makes a low, battery-powered revving sound. Snow's eyelids twitch. Katniss wants to throw up.

'What if he really doesn't know?' she says, trying and failing to hide her desperation.

'Who cares? I still get to have my fun,' says Johanna, and in one smooth motion she jabs the carver into Snow's ribs. This time, he cries out: a deep, low whine; something like a lonely ox. His chest contracts in a silent cough and blood flows from his lips. His eyes are half-closed.

'Just tell them!' Katniss shouts. 'If you know, Snow, just tell them!' She can't help herself; it's too much blood, too much dizziness.

Snow blinks. Focus returns to his eyes. He gives a small, blood-wet laugh. 'As you wish, Miss Everdeen. The location of the B-12s is as follows: latitude 39.581665, longitude -113.036934. A white rock marks the burial site.'

Everyone is silent. Then Johanna splutters in disbelief.

'That's it? That's all it took?'

'Reprieve,' announces Haymitch. Johanna turns indignant eyes on him. 'Those are the rules, Johanna. He answered the question, he gets to rest. Twenty-four hours.'

'But I haven't even started on the…' Johanna gestures at her array of metal implements, then pauses, frozen, and then she upends the tray with a sick crash and sharp things scatter everywhere. Gale quickly unlocks the cell door for her and shoves open the door, then stalks from the room in a trail of hot anger.

Snow breathes slowly, careful to suppress any sign of relief. Haymitch picks up a bottle of water.

'You need a drink?'

'Please,' says Snow.

Katniss, her arms tightly folded and knuckles white, watches as Haymitch enters the cell and puts the bottle to Snow's mouth. He first swills and spits, spraying watery blood to the floor, then drinks deeply. Haymitch looks utterly bored, curiously so. Katniss watches him with a frown. Snow murdered his family, didn't he? And yet he seems completely disconnected from what he's doing, as though Snow holds no more interest to him than some machine that needs to be maintained.

Haymitch removes the bottle from Snow's mouth.

'Much obliged, Abernathy,' says Snow.

Haymitch glances to Gale. 'Uncuff him and let him rest. He gets a day off.'

'Pity,' says Gale.

Haymitch only shrugs. 'Rules are rules, Gale.'

Gale starts to loosen the chain and Snow sways on his feet without its support. Haymitch blocks her view as he takes her arm and leads her to the corner of the room.

'You hanging in there?'

She must be pale, her forehead sweaty, the smell of bile on her breath. 'Yeah. I'm fine.'

'You know why he did that, right? Told us where the bombs were?'

Katniss looks at him with a carefully neutral face. 'No.'

'To make you complicit,' Haymitch says gently. 'To make you guilty. He knows you're the one most opposed to this so he wants to drive a wedge between you and us.'

She shrugs a nausea-trembling shoulder. 'Yeah, well, I don't agree with this. It's sick.'

'You knew what would happen when you brought him here,' says Haymitch, diplomatic and soft. 'And we need this information. It will save lives.'

'I didn't know it would be like this. If I'd known you'd have Johanna — who is deeply mentally ill — cutting him up just to get her rocks off, I wouldn't have made this trip. I would have just…' What? What would you have done? 'Shot him in the head, maybe.'

'Well, this is the state of things,' shrugs Haymitch. 'Johanna might be unstable and I harbor no delusions about how good this is for her mental health, but she's good at what she does. Not many people have the stomach for torture, and she can keep it up for hours. We've found out some really important information thanks to her.'

'And what happened to the people she interrogated?'

'Oh, we killed them,' says Haymitch as casually as if reporting on the weather. 'Once they outlived their usefulness, they were put on trial and executed. We don't have the resources to support prisoners of war.'

'Even Snow kept prisoners alive,' Katniss whispers.

'Because he had the resources,' Haymitch says. 'He's not the type to throw away potentially useful prisoners. But we don't have that luxury, kiddo.'

Behind Haymitch there is a low, suppressed groan. Gale has lowered Snow onto the cot. Katniss tracks the strong movements of Gale's hands. He's not being gentle, not exactly, but he's not trying to hurt him, either. Perhaps he noticed how distressed she was by the whole disgusting affair and he's trying not to make it worse. She remembers how Gale could be like this: thoughtful, understanding, caring. So much of that got lost in the war. But he's still in there, her best and longest childhood friend, doing little things to make her life a bit easier.

'What about Snow?' she says to Haymitch. 'Who's going to get him medical treatment?'

Haymitch looks blank. 'No one.'

Katniss stares at the figure hunched on the bench. Snow is breathing deeply, trying and failing to remain calm and centered.

'We can't just leave him like that.'

'Why not?'

Katniss' grey eyes harden. 'Well, if no one else is going to help him, I'm going to clean up his wounds. Maybe Johanna has given up on being a human being, but I haven't.'

'Suit yourself,' shrugs Haymitch. 'But we can't spare much. No morphling, just antiseptic and bandages.'

'I'll make do,' she snaps.

Haymitch offers a slow nod. 'I'll bring you some. But you need to understand that you're doing this with special dispensation from me, as acting head of the base.' He drops his voice so that Snow cannot hear. 'I understand if you developed a certain… protective instinct for a weak old man you've spent six weeks with, but I don't want to encourage this.'

'I think we should encourage basic humanity to one another.'

Haymitch watches her, then his eyes flit to Snow. 'There ain't no humanity in that thing,' he says. 'I'll bring you the bandages.'

Katniss waits stiffly for Haymitch to return while Gale stands in front of Snow with one hand resting on his gun. Snow just sits and breathes and oozes blood onto the cot. No clever comments, just air from his lungs and red on the sheets. When Haymitch comes back, he doesn't even look at Katniss when he offers bandages, cotton wool, and antiseptic.

'That's all I can spare,' he says.

Katniss looks at the paltry offerings, then snatches them away. She doesn't thank him, even as he leaves.

Katniss opens the cell door and glances at Gale. 'You don't need to stay. I trust him not to hurt me.'

Gale's expression is controlled. 'I won't leave you alone with him.'

Katniss rolls her eyes. 'Fine, whatever.'

She then forces herself to look, to really look, at Snow. His chest is repulsive, some of his flesh peeling, much of it scored and blood-smeared. The iron smell is the strongest it has ever been. His shoulders, which Johanna has marked with uneven lines, sag slightly. Snow raises his eyes to her and even now they are still that fierce, perfect blue.

'I am quite able to dress my own wounds, Miss Everdeen,' he says, extending his hand. 'Though I appreciate your need to play nursemaid.'

'Shut up,' she spits, then lowers herself to one knee. Even now, even after everything, he can bring her anger to the surface so easily. It's deliberate, she knows. He doesn't want anyone knowing what happened between them. Is that for his sake or hers?

Snow does not resist. In awkward silence, Katniss wipes his skin with cotton wool soaked in antiseptic. She tries to only touch him with the cotton wool; feeling his skin against hers would be too unfair. But she can still feel the heat of him, smell his breath, see the flutter of his weak pulse in his neck. His breathing comes too hard; his heartbeat too thin. Anxiety settles big and buzzing inside her as she wipes up blood. It takes a long time to get even a little bit of his skin clean; Johanna has made an absolute mess. She soon exhausts the small supply of cotton wool Haymitch gave her and looks at Gale exasperatedly.

'Can you get more?'

Gale shakes his head. 'That's your lot.' Apology flitters through his face. 'Sorry, Katniss. Just following orders.'

'You do love to do that, don't you?' says Snow suddenly. He has been oddly quiet as she cleaned him. 'Follow orders.'

'I'm a soldier,' says Gale flatly. 'It's my job.'

'It must make it easier, I imagine,' says Snow. 'It absolves one of guilt for the blood on one's hands, doesn't it? Just like you were following orders when you designed that bomb that killed Miss Everdeen's sister.'

'Respecting orders and the chain of command is what makes a strong military,' Gale counters.

'My boy, do not think to lecture me on military experience,' smiles Snow, as all the while Katniss rubs blood-logged cotton wool over his chest 'I was a soldier much longer than you have been. You are just a child.'

'And did you follow orders?' Gale snaps back.

Don't, thinks Katniss wearily. She realizes that she is just spreading the blood around, now, so she drops the cotton wool to the floor with a wet plop and unravels the bandages.

'I only followed orders if they aligned with my interests,' says Snow mildly, raising his arms to allow Katniss to wind the bandages around his chest. 'I did whatever I pleased.'

'Then you were bad at your job,' says Gale sharply. Snow only smiles, blithe and almost blissful, as though there is nowhere else he would rather be.

'Okay,' says Katniss, tying off the bandage. There wasn't much on the roll; she's only managed to cover the worst of the wounds. Much of him remains naked and bloody, the skin ragged. She glances at his torn shirt. 'I'll get you one of your other shirts.'

'Very thoughtful, Miss Everdeen,' Snow drawls, and Katniss' eyes sharpen. She gazes at him, furious at herself and at Johanna and at him, and for a moment she sees the light in his eyes meet hers. That love may have been tidied away into his depths, but it rages as strong as ever.

She straightens. 'We can go now,' she says to Gale.

He locks the cell door behind them and she makes sure to not look back as they leave the room, to not look at Snow quietly bleeding, alone. She wants so badly to emerge into bright sunlight peering through tree-branches, but she is met with only the long metal tunnel and the harsh hum of the fluorescent overheads.

'You're a good person,' says Gale suddenly. She looks at him with a deep frown. He looks apologetic. 'I mean, I could never do what you just did. I couldn't have brought him here and I certainly couldn't have looked after him.'

She folds her arms, uncomfortable. 'I just don't like seeing helpless people get hurt. I never did.'

'Yeah, I remember. It's always been one of the best things about you.'

Her discomfort doesn't lessen. 'But I guess you feel differently.' She looks him over: his neat uniform, cropped hair, shining gun. 'You decided you couldn't get enough of shooting people.'

She sees real anger twitch in Gale's jaw, but he swallows the impulse. It is obvious he is making a real effort to be on good terms with her. 'Well, yeah. I hate the guy, but Snow was right back there. Following orders does make things simpler.' He takes a breath and he frowns, looking away. 'People hated me, Katniss, after what happened with those Capitol kids. Not many knew about my role, of course, but those that did in the rebellion absolutely despised me. But those with military backgrounds, they didn't have a problem with it. I was just following orders and there were civilian casualties. That's war.' He looks at her, still frowning. 'Do you really think what I'm doing is worse than Peeta? I'm fighting for a better future. Yeah, sometimes things go wrong and people get hurt, but I'm trying to make things better. Would hiding out at home baking cakes really be the right thing to do?'

This irks her. 'How would I know? I left, didn't I? I wasn't happy hiding out in District 12 either.' She breathes out hard. 'I left Peeta and I trekked across the country with President Snow, only to end up in this hellhole.' She wants to shoot something. Run through the woods and land steel in something twitching.

But Gale only smiles at her. 'Well,' he says. 'I'm glad you made the trip. I can't tell you how happy I am to see you again.'

She has no idea what to say to that. She is suddenly nostalgic for the absolute nonsense that used to come out of Snow's mouth.

'Well,' she says awkwardly. 'I'll head to my room. I need some space after… after that.'

Gale nods with understanding. 'Of course. It's always tough to watch that kind of thing, even if you hate the guy. But if you want to go for a walk above ground, let me know. We could go hunting, just like old times.'

'That would be nice,' she says, and offers one faint smile just like those she used to give Gale years ago, before returning to her cabin.

Yes, it would be nice to be outside. Nice to walk free beneath the unbroken air and feel leaf-smell on her face, and to hear the wind and Snow's voice murmuring beside her.

She should have never left that cottage.

As she shuts the door behind her, she lingers on an unanswered question: what if Snow had taken her prisoner there? How would he have done it? Bound her wrists and legs and kept her tied to a chair, or would he just have kept her weapons away and always watched her with a loaded gun? People who have been his prisoner before have been tortured into madness, or cut into soft shards. But she does not think he wants to do that to her, perhaps he never did. He only wanted to pluck her and plant her in a soft glass vase to care for, to kiss and to cherish and to never let go. Would that really have been so bad? Would it really have been worse than watching him bleed?