Johanna:

In the weak winter light, District 12 is kind of pretty. Not in a warm, welcoming way. It's otherworldly. Eerie. Reminds me of the horror flicks and scary hologames that Blight and I used to play together.

Thinking of him twists something in my gut. Gods, I miss that good-for-nothing lumberass. I make a mental note to visit his grave next time I'm home.

I've been to Twelve before, of course. I was here on my tour. Seventeen years old, seething, and bound to silence. Forced to admire the mines, recite stuffy speeches to the half-dead citizens. It was a quiet, depressing place back then, too. Gave me groosebumps. It still does.

Because even now, there's something about it. I look out the window of the newly rebuilt Justice Building. There's a thin, melancholic layer of ash that sleeps on top of what they call the Seam, replacing the coal dust. They still haven't gotten it all out. Even in victory, even now, the district has all the cheer of a graveyard. And I suppose it is one, after what happened.

Still, progress is progress. Rebuilding. People mill about below us - trading, talking, heading to work. Normal life, or something like it. Still, it feels foreign. Wrong. I can't help but brace for the next disaster, whatever it is. I'm always ready for it. You can't be a Victor and not be that way. We don't win because we're better. We win because we're lucky. And luck doesn't last forever.

I swirl my drink absentmindedly. I made it myself. It's a frothy, fruity monstrosity - pink, rainbows, marshmallow ridiculousness. Totally inappropriate for where we are and what we're doing. Which must be why I like it.

My counselor says I seek validation through confrontation. I wish she had a sense of humor.

The drink is a distraction, at least, from the dark chasm on the holoscreen. The boy from District 2 is glassy-eyed, soaked head-to-toe in a bloody mist. The torchlight flickers against the jagged walls, casting sharp, eerie shadows across his face.

"Did you know him, Enobaria?" Beetee eventually asks.

Enobaria nods. "Quart used to send me a birthday card with a bottle of alcohol-free gin every year. He was a nice guy. Famously sober." She glances at Haymitch pointedly. "The Program and the recruits were Quartz's life's work - he devoted himself to it. To us."

A few of us - myself included - bristle at that, but we keep our mouths shut. Best to leave the past in the past.

Still, this little trip down memory lane has been... interesting. Old Games, new faces. A history class and therapy session all wrapped in a pretty, diplomatic bow.

Granted, I haven't enjoyed actually watching any of it. The watery arena in the Fourth Games, particularly, launched me into a fully-fledged panic attack. That was bad. And later, seeing Fen after not allowing myself to think of him. What they did to him.

There's a very irritating lump in my throat, and I feel the urge to put an axe in something.

I look to the others. There's a mixed reaction from the group. Annie is murmuring under her breath, looking anywhere but at the screen. Peeta is pale as a ghost, his hands visibly shaking, as Katniss looks nervously at him, knowing what might come but still unsure what to do.

Tough crowd.

Noden tries to neutralise the atmosphere, flashing us a dimpled smile. "Drink, anyone?"

Haymitch raises a hand, but Peeta gently pushes it down. He's right. Abernathy has had enough. This is what happens when we take him away from his geese.

"Let's move on, then," I say swiftly. "Who's next?"

Beetee clicks a button on his holopad, and an image of an old Victory Tour poster pops up. In Honor of the Tenth Annual Hunger Games: Robin Cartwright, the Pride of District 12. The boy in the image has a heavy brow and snubby nose, with wheat-blonde hair and dark, sad eyes. He's dressed all in white and is looking off hopefully, meaningfully at something in the distance.

"Robin Cartwright," Beetee says. "District 12."

The three Twelvies immediately share a dark, curious look.

"He looks a little like you, Mellark," I remark. Peeta doesn't say anything. The colour has returned to his face a little.

"I remember that name," says Katniss softly. "They used to read it at the Reaping every year."

Haymitch shakes his head, reaching from inside his jacket to retrieve a flask. He takes a quick swig. "Never met him. He wasn't someone you really talked about."

"How come?" I ask.

"You just didn't. People in Twelve had enough to worry about besides old, dead Victors."

Peeta looks up at the hologram. "Cartwright," he says slowly. "Beetee, we know this girl, Delly -"

Beetee smiles sadly. "I have spoken to her, Peeta. When I first began my research. Both her and nd her brother. There is a blood relation, distantly, but while Delly knew about Robin, she couldn't tell us anything we didn't already know."

While they chatter away, I rummage in the holodisc set. Why am I doing this, I think in annoyance. I'm not a gods damned librarian. But as I search, it skips straight from nine to eleven, which is strange, so I try it alphabetically. Both ways. Still, there's nothing. I frown in confusion.

"The tape's not here," I huff. "There must be a mistake."

Haymitch looks up, bleary-eyed. "Don't be dumb, Jo. That ain't a mistake. The Capitol hardly ever made mistakes. Just corrections."

"I should have mentioned," Beetee interrupts, getting us back on topic. "There isn't a tape to watch for the Tenth Games, unfortunately."

I scowl at him. "You could've told me that before I went looking for it."

Peeta interjects. "Why can't we watch it, Beetee?" he asks.

"It isn't there."

"What do you mean it isn't there?" I press, setting my candy floss cordial on the maple desk. It doesn't feel so flirtatious anymore. "Everything's there, Beetee. You've got footage from the First Games, for crying out loud. Why not the Tenth?"

Enobaria sits upright. Haymitch has put his glass down. Katniss stares at Beetee expectantly. She wants to know, surely. All of us do. Games footage just doesn't go missing, not even now. It's of national interest. Historical importance.

Beetee sighs and adjusts his glasses. A nervous tic. "It's complicated," he says.

I cross my arms. "Un-complicate it for us."

Beetee hesitates. Beneath his calm demeanor, I can see the cogs turning, as if he isn't sure how much he wants to - or can - tell us. He presses another button, and the holograph changes.

We see a blurry video recording appear on the screen. It must be from a spectator's hidden handheld device, because the footage is shaky. Informal. I see a sandy, scrubby arena, a gleaming Cornucopia. Twenty four little pinpricks encircled around it. On the footage, there's the excited murmurings of the countdown, the roar of the crowd as the tributes sprint in.

And suddenly, a deafening explosion. Blinding light. Screaming. A lot of it.

The hologram disappears with a zap. "The video cuts off here. It's all we have. Regarding the original, high-definition footage of the Games, we don't know."

"What did they say happened?" asks Enobaria.

"Officially? A storage failure. The whole Tenth Games footage, gone."

"Lost?" Peeta echoes, his voice strained. "All of it?"

"That's the story they told. I believe they made a spectacle of firing the Gamemaker responsible, at the time."

"And unofficially?" I ask. We're wasting time. Let's just get to the bottom of it.

Before Beetee can answer, Annie speaks. Her voice is gentle, but confident.

"They erased it," she says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

You know, people treat Annie like she's a baby doll that might break, but she's not crazy as she's painted. Just a little batty. I like this intuitive, straight-to-the point chick. I wonder if this is what she was like before - the lethal, tart-tongued Career girl from District 4 that cut her way through the opening bloodbath of the Seventieth.

I guess we'll get there soon enough.

Beetee clears his throat. "The case is unresolved."

When nobody responds, Noden steps in. "They did, then. Erase it."

It's not a question.

The silence in the room is deafening. I lean back in my chair, my mind going a million miles an hour. The old Capitol would do anything to cover its ass, but this? What is the point in deleting the physical proof of an entire Hunger Games?

"Why?" Peeta's voice is hoarse. "What could they have been hiding?"

Beetee takes a deep breath. "I don't know for certain," he admits. "But there are theories."

"Conspiracy theories?" I scoff, my voice dripping in scepticism. "Let me guess. Time travellers rigged the Games, or Robin Cartwright was actually Snow in disguise?"

Beetee doesn't laugh. No one does. Boring.

"To be fair, they did erase his entire Hunger Games," I continue, more serious now. "And people died in the Games all the time. What made this different?"

"I suspect there was more to the bombing of the arena than the Capitol let on. Whether it was who was truly responsible, or the recollection of how things actually happened, they didn't want the official footage of it getting out."

"Then we need the facts," states Enobaria sternly.

Beetee clears his throat. "Correct. To start, it was a bad year for the Capitol."

"In what way?"

The man from Three rubs his temple. "The Capitol citizens were engaged in the Games, but the government was experiencing a downturn in district viewership. People were not tuning in. As well as that, pockets of rebellion had begun to reignite across the country. District 7, District 8. District 11, of course. There were walk-outs, disappearances, attacks on personnel and Peacekeepers. The usual. It was small and relatively contained, but it was there."

"And what did they do?"

"Tigellinus Thorn, in his wisdom, simply got stricter. Higher fences, more security, harsher punishments for rule breakers. It only made people angrier, and more resistant to the Games. And, as we just saw, there was the bombing of the arena."

"Wait, that video was of the arena being bombed?" Noden is incredulous. "By who?"

"The government put out that it was a terrorist attack by…" He refers to a note on his holopad. "District Exclusionary Capitol Radicalists."

"That's a mouthful," laughs Haymitch derisively. "Why blame them?"

"The DERC were very anti-district, and notably unpopular on both sides, even prior to the bombing. It would have been an easy, convenient lie for the Capitol to perpetuate."

"What happened to them?" Peeta asks.

"Life imprisonment, most of them. Execution for the senior leaders. It wasn't just tributes killed, Capitol men, women and children died in the blast, too. The DERC were never heard from, at least not publicly, again."

Enobaria folds her arms, her brows furrowed. "Two birds, one stone," she mutters to herself.

"Afterwards, everything changed. The Games were no longer held in the Capitol - they switched to outdoor arenas and used the city for parties, betting, screenings, talk shows, and so on. How we later came to know them." He clears his throat. "Of course, the new format for the Eleventh was not a coincidence… the parade, the sponsors, the pageantry - it was a very deliberate rebranding by Thorn and his Gamemakers."

Katniss speaks up. "Did they stop the Games, Beetee? After the bomb went off?"

"They didn't need to. All of the tributes were killed in the blast, with the exception of one."

I roll my eyes. "Three guesses who."

"Robin Cartwright was District 12's first Victor, and their only one for the next forty years. Until you, Haymitch."

Haymitch toasts himself. I send rapturous, mock applause his way. "Did he mentor you, Abernathy?"

Haymitch makes a noise of indignation. "As if. No, I was all on my own for that."

"So that was it? He won by a fluke?" Noden asks.

"Yes, essentially," answers Beetee. "He didn't break any rules, technically, and so was declared Victor by default."

Peeta pipes in. "Do we know anything about him? His background?"

Beetee adjusts his glasses again. "The paperwork is there, but it's sparse." He flicks through his holopad. He's far too reliant on that thing, I think. "Robin was born to a middle-class family in District 1. After the war, they were exiled to District 12, and set up a cobbler's shop in the town there."

"They were merchants," Katniss says. "Like you, Peeta. And my mother."

Peeta nods. "Maybe one of the first."

"I don't think I ever heard her talk about Robin," Katniss continues slowly. "Did your parents ever mention him?"

She realises her mistake a moment too soon. Peeta's hands begin to shake, his face spasms, and we all watch him beadily, nervously. Nobody steps in. We've been told not to, before. It's a part of his recovery, to let him handle this by himself. Unless it gets… bad.

Come on, Mellark, I urge silently.

After a few minutes, Peeta's twitching and shaking stops. Not all at once, but he gets there. I clap him on the back, and he smiles weakly.

"I'm sorry," he mutters to the group, sighing. "Where were we?"

I observe my fingernails. "Had you heard about this Robin guy before?"

"Oh." Peeta thinks. "No… no, we only dealt with the Cartwrights in the bakery. Delly's family, that is." He looks over at Beetee. "Did you say he was exiled?"

Beetee moves on quickly. "Yes, his family were. For suspected rebel sympathies. District 12 lost much of its population in the Dark Days, and as they still needed their coal, the Capitol thought it made sense to have other districts compensate. The Cartwrights were, like many others, given the option of death or relocation."

"Easy decision," I say.

"They weren't alone. I know Districts 3 and 8 had a significant amount relegated to Twelve, also. A history professor at Panem University recently published a paper on the topic."

Noden clicks his tongue. "It can't have been easy. Starting a whole new life after the war, away from home."

"Boo hoo," I scoff, rolling my eyes. "They were alive, weren't they? Feel more sorry that he had to be a Victor of a district he didn't even like."

"Thanks Johanna," scowls Haymitch. He looks over at Beetee. "Anything else?"

Beetee sighs. "Apart from the information on his Capitol file, there isn't anything else. In an official capacity, until his death, Robin himself effectively disappeared from the record."

"That's impossible," I say sharply. "Victors didn't just disappear. The Capitol had rules about it."

Beetee retorts as if I've accused him of deliberately misinforming us. "The record simply states that he was returned to the Capitol for standard post-Games processing and rehabilitation. He was transferred back to District 12, completed his Victory Tour, and died the following year."

"That was fast," Noden says suspiciously. "How did he die?"

Beetee doesn't say anything, and it feels intentional. I clear my throat. "Beetee. How did he die?"

The older man sighs. "He was assassinated."

I almost laugh in disbelief. The atmosphere in the room has changed, and not in a good way. I turn to the others, but nobody is quite sure how to respond.

Enobaria is the first to speak. "Was it arranged?"

We all stare at her blankly.

"Let's not be naive," she says coolly. "When you grow up in Two and train at the Program, you learn not to take these things at face value."

I cock my head curiously at the woman from Two, and she smiles just enough to show me her razor-sharp incisors. Weirdo.

"It wasn't a tragic accident, if that's what you mean. An anti-Capitol miner by the name of Astor Emberstatt walked up to Robin's house in the Victor's Village on the morning of the reaping for the Eleventh Games, and shot him point-blank using a stolen Peacekeeper's handgun."

Something smells like horse dung to me. "That easily? No security, no warning, nothing?"

"Truthfully, I don't think the Capitol foresaw the districts as a threat to their own Victors, so they didn't foresee the need for personal protection. Not at that point, at least."

"What about this guy who did it?" asks Haymitch, sounding tired.

"Astor grew up in poverty, and lost his wife and sons during the Dark Days. His only daughter, Verity, died in the Tenth Games' bombing. The testimony he gave before his execution blames the Capitol for his losses. He says he targeted Robin as their representative in the district, and as someone whom he saw as a constant reminder of his daughter's death."

Noden leans back, his boyish features clouding over with a distant expression. "Look, I get it. People want someone to blame, right? We have a saying in Four: 'On the sea at night, any light is a lighthouse.' This Emberstatt guy just wanted to hurt the Capitol, and Robin got stuck in the middle. The Games left a lot of grieving parents behind. I'm sure he wasn't the last person to think about doing that."

Beetee interlocks his fingers and peers out at us from behind them. "Yes, if his testimony is to be believed. Honestly, I… have my doubts."

"About what?" Peeta asks curiously.

Beetee hesitates for just a fraction of a second. "Everything." He exhales sharply. "We're assuming that Robin was a Capitol pawn, a Victor used for their agenda. But what if he wasn't just a problem for them?"

Katniss frowns. "Who else would have wanted him dead?"

Beetee doesn't answer right away. "The Capitol wanted him as their symbol. But symbols don't belong to one side. And District 13 -" He stops himself, then shakes his head. As if the thought itself lacks rationality. Like it's not even worth considering. "No. It doesn't matter."

We all exchange a significant look at this, but let him continue. Besides, what could Thirteen have done back then? They weren't supposed to exist.

Beetee goes on. "A lot changed in District 12 after Robin's death. Obviously, there was the national increase in Peacekeeper presence, stricter curfews - and, perhaps most interestingly, the reshuffling of local authority… and the instatement of a new district mayor."

I purse my lips. "Who?"

"Astor Emberstatt's cousin, and only living relative. A man called Edmund Undersee."

Katniss looks on in disbelief. "Undersee? As in Madge Undersee?"

Beetee acknowledges his holopad, tracking a list, some family tree, that we can't see. "Correct. Edmund was her grandfather."

Katniss looks at Peeta, as if for comfort. I don't know who this Madge is, but there's a brief, mutual something, before they awkwardly look away.

I roll my eyes. Honestly, these two.

"He was still mayor when I was a kid," Haymitch grumbles. "Died not long after my Games."

Katniss looks at Haymitch. "Do you think it was related?"

He shrugs. "Dunno. Capitol cracked down on everyone then, hard. Besides, his son became mayor after him. So they couldn't have been that mad."

Beetee raises a finger to grab our attention. "There are records from the now-defunct Pegasus Bank Group, whose assets were acquired by the Bank of Panem upon their liquidation," he says. "They show an immodest and highly discreet bonus transferred to Edmund, an extra fee which he received at the start of every month until his eventual death."

Haymitch lets out a humorless laugh. "Oh, come on. Mayor job, monthly bribes, cousin takes the fall? Thorn must've wanted Emberstatt dead before he could start talking. And they got a new little puppet in the process."

Beetee sighs, but doesn't argue.

Silence envelops us again. I don't know what to think. Robin's Games go missing, he gets assassinated, and his killer's cousin is selected by the Capitol as the mayor? It's too big a coincidence. Could Emberstatt just be a vigilante, misguided and angry, acting all by himself?

Or.

Maybe he was in on it, a childless father too lonely to face the world by himself. With hardly any family left, no friends… just this one person he could raise up, this cousin, who he could do one good thing for before he bowed out?

It seems almost selfless, in that way.

I choose not to air this particular thought to the group.

"What about the other Victors?" pipes up Noden. "The nine before him, and the ones after. River. Mags. Or Ronan, maybe? Surely they spoke about him? Had their theories?"

I lean forward. "Exactly. They had to have done. Fen would've said something, some way. And Mags staying silent? Mags?"

Annie is moaning again, and Noden goes to comfort her, shooting me a very fixed, pointed look.

Beetee exhales sharply, his fingers hovering over the holopad as if unsure whether to proceed.

Then, with a flick of his wrist, another image appears. It's of an old newspaper cutting, its headline emblazoned in a large, striking font: VICTORS GATHER TO MOURN TRAGIC MURDER OF PEER. Beneath the words, there's a photo. An assembly of almost a dozen grim-faced youth gather, dressed in their mourning blacks. One of them, who I now recognise as a sombre-faced Telemachus, lays an engraved plaque.

Enobaria speaks first. "So, they had to play along? Quartz and Mags and the others?"

Beetee nods. "By the looks of it, yes - whether they wanted to or not. The Capitol didn't waste time in using Robin's death for their own purposes, either."

This time, the holoscreen displays a high-quality recording, emblazoned with the Capitol emblem.

I see the Avenue of Victory, where Tigellinus Thorn is making a speech from the presidential balcony. He looks older, more weary, but his voice booms with authority and passion as he addresses what must be the entirety of the city's population - and the districts, too. Presumably.

"My fellow citizens," he thunders. "Today we mourn a grave and terrible loss. A young man, a hero, a symbol of unity and perseverance - Robin Cartwright - has been taken from us in an act of senseless, barbaric violence. His life, one of promise and duty, was so cruelly snuffed out by the very forces that seek to dismantle the order and peace we have worked so hard to restore.

Robin Cartwright's legacy will not be forgotten. He will be remembered not only as a Victor, but as a martyr for peace. His sacrifice reminds us why the Hunger Games exist - to help us remember the price of disorder, and the cost of disobedience. His name will echo through history, not as a victim, but as a beacon of our nation's strength, who gave up his life for the country he loved.

Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever!"

The recording ends. I feel sick.

Katniss stares at the frozen image of Thorn's speech, her jaw clenched. Peeta doesn't look at her. He doesn't have to. They both know what it feels like to be used. We all do.

"He was their symbol," she says. Her tone doesn't leave room for contest.

"Yes," Beetee replies sadly. "I suspect that the Capitol used Robin's story to keep their Games alive. And it worked."

"So what?" Haymitch asks. "They just used him for a promotional campaign?"

Katniss looks at her old mentor. "Like the rebellion did with me."

The room stops, and there's a suffocating infusion of awkwardness, guilt and discomfort lingering in the air. No one dares to speak, but the implications hang heavy in the air. Haymitch in particular has gone ashen. We know why, but we don't dare say it aloud. He wouldn't let us.

"Manipulating a dead Victor for their own agenda?" I say, trying to move on. "Sounds about right."

Beetee clears his throat and fixes his glasses. "In their twisted way, Robin Cartwright was the Capitol's Mockingjay."

The words hang in the air, weighty and awful. No one speaks. The holopad hums faintly, casting cold, sterile light over all our faces.

A sharp knock echoes from the entrance of the conference room, and we all tense instinctively at the sudden stimuli. I turn my back to the wall, remember my exits, look for prospective weapons.

Old habits die hard.

As the door creaks open, my eyes and Katniss' meet. It's a fraction of a second, but it tells me what I need to know. Something feels wrong.

The boy who enters is dressed simply, with a badge on his chest that marks him as an intern. He's a twitchy, sweaty type - barely eighteen, with a few wisps of facial hair on his top lip. His expression is panicked as he holds out a small, rectangular box. "This was just brought to the front desk for you. They said it was of the utmost urgency that I take it up now."

"To who?" I ask, standing up.

His eyes dart over our faces, uncertain, like he wants to be anywhere but here. "He said it was for the Victors. That was it."

Annie shifts in her seat, arms wrapped around herself. She doesn't speak, but her fingers dig into the fabric of her sleeves, knuckles white. She looks to Noden, her eyes wide, her mouth moving wordlessly.

Haymitch grumbles. "I hate surprises."

Without wasting time, Beetee whips out a small, black remote and holds it over the box. A thin blue light sweeps over it. It must be scanning and analysing its contents for potential threats.

The results flash up on-screen a second later.

Clean.

"Not rigged," Beetee murmurs, but his face is grim. "At least, not in a dangerous way."

Noden tries to move closer to Annie. "See? It's all okay."

"No, no, no," she groans, pulling at her hair. "The boy says broken birds can't fly away, that's what he said…"

Peeta looks from Annie to the rest of us unsurely. "Guys…" he says. "Do you think we should go somewhere else?"

I ignore him and push past Beetee, impatient. "Well, now that we know the mystery box won't kill us, let's take a look, shall we?"

The others are glaring at me, hawk-like, but they don't move. They want to know what's inside as much as I do.

I snatch the box off of the nervous boy, and flick the metallic latch upward. It opens with a gentle click, and when I push the lid away from me, I see what lies within.

It's a single, silvery denares.

"What is it, Johanna?" asks Katniss.

I'm seriously confused. "It's nothing. Just a denares coin."

Annie is getting louder now. I want to shake her, tell her to shut it. But I know this wouldn't go down well, even for me. When I lift the coin, she lets out a broken wail.

Enobaria crosses her legs. "I don't understand."

I have nothing sarcastic or witty to say, because I don't get it either. It's stupid. Pointless. I know my gut feeling is trying to tell me something, but there's nothing logical to connect the dots.

I'm turning the coin over in my palm, frowning, when Haymitch lets out a slow breath. "Shit."

"What?" I demand, looking at him oddly. "It's just a - "

And then it hits me like a log truck.

"Oh, fuck."

The coin. Alma Coin. District 13.

Fuck fuck fuck.

"Move," I say, my voice rising. "Everyone out!"

But it's too late. The boy, damp with sweat and eyes bulging, takes out a small device with a blinking red light from his coat pocket.

"Stay back!" he shouts, his voice cracking. "Don't move!"

For a split second, nobody does. We've all been trained - by the Games, by war - to recognise death. To feel its hot breath on our necks. And we all see the same thing.

He's going to detonate it.

I move first, lunging forward, but the boy jerks away, his fingers tightening over the trigger mechanism. "For our true president, Alma Coin!" he screams frantically. "You must face -"

He doesn't get to finish.

Enobaria strikes like a viper. It's incredible to watch. One second, she's sitting calmly, almost bored, in her chair. The next, she's on him, her razor-sharp fangs sinking into the soft flesh of his forearm with ruthless precision. The boy howls, his grip faltering as pain overtakes him.

The device wobbles in his hands, slipping just enough -

I don't think about it. I just move.

I kick the device out of his grip, sending it sliding across the floor. Beetee is there in an instant, his eyes alight with relief - he must know it, this tech, because he's deconstructing it in seconds.

As Noden wrestles the thrashing boy to the ground, Katniss and Peeta watch on in horror. Annie is hysterical, screaming at the top of her lungs and crying out for Finnick and her little one.

Beetee's voice rings out. "It's disabled!"

A collective sigh of relief passes through the room, but we don't get much time to regroup. Because then, the second explosion happens.

Not in the conference room, but outside. The building trembles with the force of it, the windows rattling in their frames. Smoke begins to seep through the cracks, and the acrid scent of burning metal fills the air.

"There's others! Back-ups!" Beetee shouts. I can hear his fear.

"Go!" Haymitch bellows. "We need to get out of here - now!"

I turn to Noden, who's still pinning the boy down. "Noden! Take him with you!"

The man from Four nods and hauls the kid off the floor, dragging him forcibly alongside him.

We move as a single system. Myself and Enobaria lead from the front, fleeing down the grey stairwell. I can hear my own breathlessness echoing back at me, feel the adrenaline pulsating in my ears. My heart hammers in my chest, against my ribcage, just like it did not so many years ago on those bare, windy cliffs I try so hard to forget. But I can't escape them. I never will.

The walls groan and the ceiling cracks, covering us in dust and specks of debris. There's another burst of noise, and the staircase behind us gives in. I turn around and see Annie first. She's being carried by Haymitch and Peeta, a limp, mute ragdoll of a thing. Like she's given up.

For a singular, terrifying moment, I feel the same. We're not going to make it.

And then, without warning, we burst into the cold, ashen air of District 12.

People are screaming. Flames lick at the Justice Building, smoke curling into the sky like greedy, grasping fingers. Fiery tendrils coil and weave themselves in and around the stone like a great, flaming serpent. It's terrible and magnificent to watch.

We all collapse outside, and the boy who just tried to kill us speaks again. He's still fighting against Noden's grip, a terrific fight considering his thin, sickly frame. His face is full of hatred.

"Traitors, all of you!" he hisses at us. His eyes find Katniss, and that's when his expression turns ugly and twisted. Into something that I can only describe as pure loathing. It's sad to look at.

The boy spits in her direction. "You! You have no idea what you did!" He chokes out a few choice insults, and then grins maniacally. "Don't forget, Mockingjay, you have to be lucky lots of times. We only have to be lucky once. We're not finished!"

We. He's not acting alone.

And he thinks we don't know why he - they - have done this. But we do. Or at least, we're starting to.

Because this isn't just about the past anymore.

Something bigger is coming.

A/N: I really did try my best to write around Lucy Gray Baird's canon, but it proved impossible to do so while maintaining the continuity of previous (and future) chapters. I attempted to honour her by referencing parts of her story throughout the chapter. With that said, I hope you still enjoyed Robin's story - I appreciate it was a long read, but when it comes to District 12 there's just so much to work with. Thank you so much to all who have reviewed so far, and please do leave one if you haven't yet! It really does help. I think we all know who's up next - I've planned it for a while, so it should be out sooner rather than later.