«Katniss blew it out, Peeta,» says Caesar. «You’ve seen the footage.»

«She didn’t know what she was doing. None of us could follow Beetee’s plan. You can see her trying to figure out what to do with that wire,» Peeta snaps back.

«All right. It just looks suspicious,» says Caesar. «As if she was part of the rebels’ plan all along.»

Peeta’s on his feet, leaning in to Caesar’s face, hands locked on the arms of his interviewer’s chair.

«Really? And was it part of her plan for Johanna to nearly kill her? For that electric shock to paralyze her? To trigger the bombing?» He’s yelling now. «She didn’t know, Caesar! Neither of us knew anything except that we were trying to keep each other alive!»

Caesar places his hand on Peeta’s chest in a gesture that’s both self-protective and conciliatory. «Okay, Peeta, I believe you.»

«Okay.» Peeta withdraws from Caesar, pulling back his hands, running them through his hair, mussing his carefully styled blond curls. He slumps back in his chair, distraught.

Caesar waits a moment, studying Peeta. «What about your mentor, Haymitch Abernathy?»

Peeta’s face hardens. «I don’t know what Haymitch knew.»

«Could he have been part of the conspiracy?» asks Caesar.

«He never mentioned it,» says Peeta.

Caesar presses on. «What does your heart tell you?»

«That I shouldn’t have trusted him,» says Peeta. «That’s all.»

I haven’t seen Haymitch since I attacked him on the hovercraft, leaving long claw marks down his face. I know it’s been bad for him here. District 13 strictly forbids any production or consumption of intoxicating beverages, and even the rubbing alcohol in the hospital is kept under lock and key. Finally, Haymitch is being forced into sobriety, with no secret stashes or home-brewed concoctions to ease his transition. They’ve got him in seclusion until he’s dried out, as he’s not deemed fit for public display. It must be excruciating, but I lost all my sympathy for Haymitch when I realized how he had deceived us. I hope he’s watching the Capitol broadcast now, so he can see that Peeta has cast him off as well.

Caesar pats Peeta’s shoulder. «We can stop now if you want.»

«Was there more to discuss?» says Peeta wryly.

«I was going to ask your thoughts on the war, but if you’re too upset…» begins Caesar.

«Oh, I’m not too upset to answer that.» Peeta takes a deep breath and then looks straight into the camera. «I want everyone watching—whether you’re on the Capitol or the rebel side—to stop for just a moment and think about what this war could mean. For human beings. We almost went extinct fighting one another before. Now our numbers are even fewer. Our conditions more tenuous. Is this really what we want to do? Kill ourselves off completely? In the hopes that—what? Some decent species will inherit the smoking remains of the earth?»

«I don’t really…I’m not sure I’m following…» says Caesar.

«We can’t fight one another, Caesar,» Peeta explains. «There won’t be enough of us left to keep going. If everybody doesn’t lay down their weapons—and I mean, as invery soon —it’s all over, anyway.»

«So…you’re calling for a cease-fire?» Caesar asks.

«Yes. I’m calling for a cease-fire,» says Peeta tiredly. «Now why don’t we ask the guards to take me back to my quarters so I can build another hundred card houses?»

Caesar turns to the camera. «All right. I think that wraps it up. So back to our regularly scheduled programming.»

Music plays them out, and then there’s a woman reading a list of expected shortages in the Capitol—fresh fruit, solar batteries, soap. I watch her with uncharacteristic absorption, because I know everyone will be waiting for my reaction to the interview. But there’s no way I can process it all so quickly—the joy of seeing Peeta alive and unharmed, his defense of my innocence in collaborating with the rebels, and his undeniable complicity with the Capitol now that he’s called for a cease-fire. Oh, he made it sound as if he were condemning both sides in the war. But at this point, with only minor victories for the rebels, a cease-fire could only result in a return to our previous status. Or worse.

Behind me, I can hear the accusations against Peeta building. The wordstraitor ,liar , andenemy bounce off the walls. Since I can neither join in the rebels’ outrage nor counter it, I decide the best thing to do is clear out. As I reach the door, Coin’s voice rises above the others. «You have not been dismissed, Soldier Everdeen.»

One of Coin’s men lays a hand on my arm. It’s not an aggressive move, really, but after the arena, I react defensively to any unfamiliar touch. I jerk my arm free and take off running down the halls. Behind me, there’s the sound of a scuffle, but I don’t stop. My mind does a quick inventory of my odd little hiding places, and I wind up in the supply closet, curled up against a crate of chalk.

«You’re alive,» I whisper, pressing my palms against my cheeks, feeling the smile that’s so wide it must look like a grimace. Peeta’s alive. And a traitor. But at the moment, I don’t care. Not what he says, or who he says it for, only that he is still capable of speech.

After a while, the door opens and someone slips in. Gale slides down beside me, his nose trickling blood.

«What happened?» I ask.

«I got in Boggs’s way,» he answers with a shrug. I use my sleeve to wipe his nose. «Watch it!»

I try to be gentler. Patting, not wiping. «Which one is he?»

«Oh, you know. Coin’s right-hand lackey. The one who tried to stop you.» He pushes my hand away.

«Quit! You’ll bleed me to death.»

The trickle has turned to a steady stream. I give up on the first-aid attempts. «You fought with Boggs?»

«No, just blocked the doorway when he tried to follow you. His elbow caught me in the nose,» says Gale.

«They’ll probably punish you,» I say.

«Already have.» He holds up his wrist. I stare at it uncomprehendingly. «Coin took back my communicuff.»

I bite my lip, trying to remain serious. But it seems so ridiculous. «I’m sorry, Soldier Gale Hawthorne.»

«Don’t be, Soldier Katniss Everdeen.» He grins. «I felt like a jerk walking around with it anyway.» We both start laughing. «I think it was quite a demotion.»

This is one of the few good things about 13. Getting Gale back. With the pressure of the Capitol’s arranged marriage between Peeta and me gone, we’ve managed to regain our friendship. He doesn’t push it any further—try to kiss me or talk about love. Either I’ve been too sick, or he’s willing to give me space, or he knows it’s just too cruel with Peeta in the hands of the Capitol. Whatever the case, I’ve got someone to tell my secrets to again.

«Who are these people?» I say.

«They’re us. If we’d had nukes instead of a few lumps of coal,» he answers.

«I like to think Twelve wouldn’t have abandoned the rest of the rebels back in the Dark Days,» I say.

«We might have. If it was that, surrender, or start a nuclear war,» says Gale. «In a way, it’s remarkable they survived at all.»

Maybe it’s because I still have the ashes of my own district on my shoes, but for the first time, I give the people of 13 something I have withheld from them: credit. For staying alive against all odds. Their early years must have been terrible, huddled in the chambers beneath the ground after their city was bombed to dust. Population decimated, no possible ally to turn to for aid. Over the past seventy-five years, they’ve learned to be self-sufficient, turned their citizens into an army, and built a new society with no help from anyone. They would be even more powerful if that pox epidemic hadn’t flattened their birthrate and made them so desperate for a new gene pool and breeders. Maybe they are militaristic, overly programmed, and somewhat lacking in a sense of humor. They’re here. And willing to take on the Capitol.