Boggs tells us it's almost September.

The sunlight bathes my face as Finnick pulls me to the surface, our small group stepping out over the debris that litters the forest floor. Around us are craters, and Boggs assures us that anyone on the first ten levels would likely have been killed.

I hold a protective hand over my belly as we move further out, Boggs and Gale leading the way. "Can you rebuild it?" asks Gale.

"Not anytime soon," says Boggs. "That one didn't get much. A few backup generators and a poultry farm. We'll just seal it off."

The trees disappear as we enter the area inside the fence. The craters are ringed with a mixture of old and new rubble. Before the bombing, very little of the current Thirteen was above ground. A few guard stations, the training area, about a foot of the top floor of Katniss's building where her new compartment provided an exit for Buttercup.

"How much of an edge did the boy's warning give you?" asks Haymitch.

"About ten minutes before our own systems would've detected the missiles," says Boggs.

"But it did help, right?" Katniss asks hopefully.

"Absolutely," Boggs replies. "Civilian evacuation was completed. Seconds count when you're under attack. Ten minutes meant lives saved."

Cressida suggests filming segments in front of the ruins of the old Justice Building. As we approach what used to be the grand entrance, Gale points out something and the whole party slows down. I hold my arm out to stop Katniss from going any further when I see the ground strewn with fresh pink and red roses.

"Don't touch them!" yells Katniss. "They're for me!"

I can smell them, horribly sweet and so painfully artificial. "They're from Snow," I say quietly, when the others seem confused as to their placement and significance.

"Flowers for a pair of lovers," says Katniss weakly. "Peeta."

Finnick is the only one brave enough to get close, tapping them with his foot, then crushing one. The roses appear to be harmless, even slightly wilted. They were probably dropped here after the last bombing. Boggs calls for a crew to come and carry them away. I see Katniss trembling as each individual rose is picked up, a reminder from Snow that he has Peeta, that he holds something that can break her.

"He's alive," I whisper. "He has to be. Katniss, you're okay. Peeta will be okay."

She shakes her head both in disbelief and in refusal for herself to continue this way. She tries to remember what we're here for. "So, what exactly do you need from me again?"

Cressida speaks carefully, "Just a few quick lines that show you're alive and still fighting."

"Okay." She takes her position and stares at the camera for several seconds. "I'm sorry, I've got nothing."

Cressida can see as clearly as the rest of us that she's not doing well. "You feeling okay?" Even though Katniss nods, she pulls a small cloth from her pocket and blots her face. "How about we do the old Q-and-A thing?"

"Yeah, that would help, I think." She crosses her arms and before my eyes I can see her shutting down. Even when Finnick gives her an encouraging thumbs-up, she doesn't seem to feel any better.

Cressida gets back in position. "So, Katniss. You've survived the Capitol bombing of Thirteen. How did it compare with what you experienced on the ground in Eight?"

Katniss tries to respond. "We were so far underground this time, there was no real danger. Thirteen's alive and well and so am–" her voice cuts itself off.

"Try the line again," says Cressida. "Thirteen's alive and well and so am I."

She takes a breath and tries, "Thirteen's alive and so–"

I move to stand with her, taking her hand. "We can try together. Thirteen's alive and well and so are–"

She turns away, fists clenched as she hugs herself, coughing and leaning forward as if she might throw up. I start to pat her back and she starts to cry. "I can't," she croaks. "Whatever I say, it'll be used against him."

"I know," I say, hugging her from behind and shielding her from the cameras as Cressida calls for them to cut.

"What's wrong with her?" Plutarch says under his breath.

"She's figured out how Snow's using Peeta," says Finnick.

Hearing this, Katniss squirms out of my grasp and moves to Haymitch, who automatically opens his arms to hug her, patting her firmly on the back. I know why she needs him most; he's the only other person who can understand how much she cares for Peeta.

"It's okay," says Haymitch, trying to comfort her. "It'll be okay, sweetheart."

"I can't do this anymore," Katniss sobs.

"I know."

"All I can think of is– what he's going to do to Peeta– because I'm the Mockingjay!"

"I know..."

"Did you see? How weird he acted? What they– doing to him?" She gasps between sobs. "It's my fault!"

Boggs comes quietly and injects something into Katniss's arm without her noticing. Finnick helps lift her into Haymitch's arms so he can carry her back to Thirteen. As soon as Katniss has been left in the hospital, Plutarch calls for us to follow him to the new Command.

"We've been preparing a protocol for emergency evacuation of the captives," he says without giving us a moment to sit down. "I think it's time to go through with our plan."

"You mean, to rescue Peeta?" I ask hopefully. "And Johanna and Annie?"

He nods. "Yes. It's costly but I don't think anyone disagrees anymore that this is the right course of action. We need to keep the Mockingjay going and it seems the only way she can perform is if Peeta is here, where Snow can't use him against her."

"Costly?" asks Finnick. "In... which of the senses?"

Plutarch gives him a significant look. "People will probably die to make this happen. We'll need to assemble a team of volunteers; we can't assign anyone to this."

Gale immediately raises his hand. "Me. I'll go."

"That's one," says Plutarch, ignoring Haymitch's raised hand. "We'll find another six, that should be enough. I'll tell President Coin and find another six men to go with Soldier Hawthorne. Finnick, Morgan, you'll be called to the studio sometime soon by Fulvia to finish recording the propos for the Victors. Mayor Allardyce has granted his permission, and we'd like to continue those segments about your tributes, if you're up for it. After that, we'll be in touch about a distraction we may need during the mission."

I nod, watching Gale follow Plutarch out of the room, unsure what Plutarch means but at this point, I've learned not to question him. Whatever he has planned will probably need to happen anyway. None of us would be coming up with better ideas. Haymitch huffs in annoyance, apparently bothered that Plutarch pretended not to see his hand. No one in their right mind would send Haymitch on that mission.

"Surprised you didn't volunteer," Haymitch tells Finnick.

"I don't have that kind of training," Finnick says honestly. "And I'm not leaving Morgan's side. I trust whoever they assemble to bring them back for us. They'll succeed. I may be good in a fight but I'll slow them down otherwise."

"Not to mention we can't risk it going wrong and Snow getting his hands on another Victor," I say. "If it doesn't work, he'd kill Johanna and Annie and keep you prisoner with Peeta. We can help here, with the propos."

"You know it won't just be about Griffin Allardyce," says Haymitch. "That distraction Plutarch mentioned, I'm pretty sure I know what he means. What he wants you two to talk about."

Finnick figures it out before I do. "Oh. I suppose that makes sense. We have a lot to reveal and almost no one knew until... well, when we do it. All of Panem would tune in. It would be the perfect veil."

Only then do I realize what this means. Katniss knows and I knew Plutarch was aware (I'm not sure how long Haymitch has known but I suppose I can't be surprised, considering he was friends with Raff), but to tell Panem... it's another matter altogether. It's like returning the bombs the Capitol dropped on Thirteen.

"You don't have to do this if you don't want to," I tell Finnick immediately. "I don't mind talking about it. I can speak for the both of us."

"No." He taps my hand. "We can do this together. I want us to. I think it's time."

The whole day that Katniss is unconscious, we are in the studio with Fulvia. Alone, we write out our plan for what to say about Snow and our work, though this will be filmed live instead of being prerecorded. Then, I'm left to come up with something to say about Griffin.

The paper Fulvia gave me remains blank even after two hours.

"Just speak from the heart," says Fulvia with mild barely-perceptible frustration. She turns the camera onto me and counts down with her fingers.

I look ahead and try to imagine someone I know. Blight and Johanna, the only two people who knew Griffin the way I did. I stare into the lens and imagine Blight smiling, I try to remember what his face was like... I already find it difficult to maintain the image.

"Griffin was reaped for the 72nd Hunger Games," I say slowly. "When I went up to that stage, I had this plan to win, to earn the prize and be able to afford my sister's surgery. Then, I saw this... this sweet little boy and I realized my plan wasn't going to work. How could I be expected to leave him to die? How could I be expected to kill him? I knew I wouldn't be able to stick to my plan. Griffin... he had a big heart, even in such a small body. When he learned why I wanted to go to the Games, he promised me that if he managed to win, he would make sure my sister got her surgery. Why? Why would it matter so much to him? Because he was innocent. Because he saw the good in people, because he thought of the world's beauty, and people's capacity to perform kind acts without need for a reward.

"I watched him cradling a young girl from District Eight, Mina, after her platform exploded before the gong rang. He didn't want to leave her side. I'm sure many of you remember seeing the footage. He knew that she needed comfort and he gave it to her without fearing that he'd die just sitting there, waiting for her to pass, granting her a hand to hold when he could have run off to hide much sooner. He was an anchor that gave me something to fight for even when I thought my family was gone. He made me feel that I had a purpose, that I had what it took to keep us alive. He was selfless and he died slowly, in great pain.

"I don't think Griffin would blame Tressa, the girl from Two, for killing him. She, like many of the people in the Capitol, have been lied to. Convinced that this is the only way, that this is a punishment, that this is a necessary game to remind us that we are bloodthirsty vermin that must be controlled by an unfair and vicious man who has killed children for as long as any of us can remember. He's taken your sons and daughters, your great aunts and uncles that you never got to meet. And he will continue doing so if we stop our fight. Griffin died hoping for a different world that we can grant our children..." I hold my belly for emphasis, "if we rise together to resist the Capitol. There can be no ceasefire. Not unless we want for there to be a thousand more Griffins and Tressas and Minas."

Fulvia calls 'cut' and smiles. "Thank you, Morgan. I'll see you both here tomorrow for another segment. Plutarch would like Katniss to speak about Peeta, if she's feeling up for it. I hope you'll be here for that."

"We'll try," I promise, reaching out to take Finnick's hand as he leads me off stage.

We head to dinner, where Gretya is waiting alone at the table. She doesn't initially notice that we're there until I gently tap her hand, snapping her out of her thoughts. "Oh," she says tiredly. "You're here."

"Everything alright?" I ask slowly. "Don't tell me they put you to work as soon as you left that bunker."

"They did," she says with a shrug. I can't place the look on her face but it doesn't just seem like exhaustion. Maybe she's afraid? Maybe she knows something we don't? "But it's okay, I'm used to it. Just... need a bit to eat before I sleep."

I move my tray aside and motion for her to sit up, deciding I will help her eat. I notice a tremor in her hands as she tries to take the spoon from me and fails. "Gretya," I say, tilting my head. "What is it? What's bothering you?"

"Nothing," she says more impatiently. "I've been running numbers all day and I'm ready to drop. Just let it be."

Now Finnick seems to be noticing her odd behavior, too. "Gretya," he asks soothingly, "would you like us to take you back to your compartment? I can carry you if you're tired, Morgan can take your tray. We still have special permissions for some things."

"No!" she practically snaps. "No, I can go to my compartment on my own. Stop it, just stop..." She pushes the tray away and climbs out of the bench, striding out of the dining hall without bothering to look back.

I can't eat comfortably after Gretya's departure, and Misha not making an appearance worries me. He was so quiet in the bunker, I didn't hear a single word out of him and I'm sure his eyes were closed almost the entire time. Could he be in the hospital? Is Gretya worried about him and thinks she can't tell us?

We take the long route to our new quarters to pass by Misha and Gretya's compartment. I hear nothing inside and when I knock and call out for them to open, no one answers. We find Prim carrying Buttercup to the new Compartment E and ask if Misha's been checked into the hospital, but she says he hasn't been. She hasn't seen him since the bunker.

"Maybe it's nothing to worry about," says Finnick as we crawl into our bunk. "Gretya might actually just be tired and Misha may be somewhere cooling off or working away the fatigue and anxiety. It could be nothing."

"It could be," I say, unbelieving. "But she's only ever been frustrated like that in recent times when it has something to do with Misha. I don't know if she's upset with me or... something. I hope she feels better at breakfast."

Gretya doesn't even make an appearance at breakfast. We take a detour and pop by the compartment again– no sign of Misha or Gretya. The rescue team has already departed and the plan to free Peeta, Johanna, and Annie is being put into motion as we move above ground, where Haymitch has brought Katniss to record a segment about Peeta with Fulvia, Cressida, and Plutarch. I force myself to focus on this, I tell myself my sister is okay. I don't believe it.

The plan is to say things that are so riveting, even President Snow won't be able to tear himself away. Katniss intends to say everything she can think of about Peeta and well, Finnick and I will be telling some very riveting tales about Snow to Panem.

Cressida starts with Katniss. "How did you meet Peeta?"

Katniss sits up as best as she can, looking at me and Haymitch and forcing herself to open up. "When I met Peeta, I was eleven years old, and I was almost dead." She begins to talk about how she was trying to sell baby clothes in the rain, and admits that Peeta's mother chased her from the bakery door. She tells us all how he took a beating to bring her some loaves of bread to save her and her family's lives. "We had never even spoken," Katniss says quietly. "The first time I ever talked to Peeta was on the train to the Games."

"But he was already in love with you," says Cressida.

"I guess so," Katniss replies with a small smile.

"How are you doing with the separation?" Cressida asks.

"Not well. I know at any moment Snow could kill him. Especially since he warned Thirteen about the bombing. It's a terrible thing to live with," Katniss says. "But because of what they're putting him through, I don't have any reservations anymore. About doing whatever it takes to destroy the Capitol. I'm finally free." She looks up at the sky and I sink down beside Finnick as I watch a hawk circling overhead, the first bird I've seen since the arena. It brings a sour taste to my tongue and reminds me of those awful screams. "President Snow once admitted to me that the Capitol was fragile. At the time, I didn't know what he meant. It was hard to see clearly because I was so afraid. Now I'm not. The Capitol's fragile because it depends on the districts for everything. Food, energy, even the Peacekeepers that police us. If we declare our freedom, the Capitol collapses. President Snow, thanks to you, I'm officially declaring mine today."

It is that statement alone that makes her segment so extraordinary. The whole crew is in love with the bread story, and Plutarch looks thrilled at what she said about Snow. He calls Haymitch, Finnick, and I over alone and asks us in a rushed voice if we're still willing to do the segment. Haymitch is reminding us that we don't have to do this if we don't want to, despite Plutarch's insistence. But if it could help get Peeta, Johanna, and Annie alive, we will do it.

The cameras start to roll. Finnick and I stand together, hands linked. I speak first. "Among the most sinister of the Capitolians, there lives a secret that has not been allowed to carry into the rest of Panem. No, very few know about it and those that do are powerless to do anything to stop it. You see, President Snow had a team he assembled, one that Finnick and I were a part of. He used to sell us... our bodies... to anyone who had the influence and the money to afford it. We weren't the only ones. Out of respect for our fallen, we will not say their names. We're not sure they would have wanted to be known. But in the most recent year, there were eight of us, and seven were Victors from the 55th Hunger Games and onward.

"If a Victor is considered desirable, President Snow takes it into account. He comes to us, knowing already who we care for, what makes us vulnerable. I knew some who refused this offer to work for him, and soon enough, their families were dead. For those of us who accepted... It was like being imprisoned in an arena again. Except this time the arena is the Capitol and the dangers– the mutts, the natural disasters– they are people we met at parties, the same sponsors who kept us alive because we fascinated them. We were rewards for some people, and objects available for purchase to others. Finnick and I met this way. We never had parades of lovers in the Capitol– we were with clients. People who bought us and used us in the most vile ways. You all remember Seneca Crane. I was his favorite toy and the things he did to me... well, some you'd expect and some you wouldn't."

Finnick speaks up, "We were the most popular. The youngest of the bunch, full of life in a way that Snow could seize and turn against us. We were perhaps the most defenseless because the people we loved were so defenseless. You remember dear Griffin Allardyce. Snow threatened to kill his family if Morgan didn't accept. To make themselves feel better, our patrons would give us presents on top of their payment to Snow. Money or jewelry. But we found a much more valuable form of payment. Secrets. And this is where you're going to want to stay tuned, President Snow, because so very many of them were about you. But let's begin with some of the others."

I tell them first about which of my clients had the strangest sexual appetites. I name them and describe the sort of things they wanted me to do to them and the things they wanted to do to me. Finnick talks about how harmless we seemed, how broken. No one ever expected these tales of incest, back-stabbing, blackmail, and arson to come to light but now they are. Everything we say is crafted with all the detail we can manage, creating a masterpiece that no one can tear their eyes or ears away from.

I can imagine everyone in the country that will be leaning in to hear me talk about Seneca turning me into a doll, about how one of my older clients once had me cut him with a knife along his legs as a punishment for him using me as a substitute for his comatose wife. Finnick and I speak of a client we both had in common, one who assaulted every single one of his cousins and used us because we reminded him of them, of these poor children that had taken their own lives (or been killed by his command) to escape him or be freed by his 'mercy.'

"And now, on to our good President Coriolanus Snow," says Finnick. "Such a young man when he rose to power. Such a clever one to keep it. How, you must ask yourself, did he do it? One word. That's all you really need to know. Poison."

Finnick takes over explaining Snow's history, some parts I knew about and others I didn't. He works up to the present by going back to how he rose the political ranks. He discusses mysterious deaths of Snow's adversaries and allies, all those who had at one point become potential threats. "Think of it," he muses in a serious, ominous tone. "Those who randomly dropped dead at feasts. Those who inexplicably declined into the shadows over the course of a few months. They said it was bad shellfish. A virus that was too elusive. An overlooked weakness in the aorta. Can you imagine? Snow himself drank from the poisoned cup to deflect suspicion. Alas... antidotes don't always work. They say that's why he wears the roses that reek of perfume. They say it's to cover the scent of blood from the mouth sores that will never heal."

They say, they say, they say. I heard, I heard, I heard. On and on we trade off more and more secrets about Snow, about his closest associates, about past plots to overtake him and about how everyone who knew him when he was a young man is dead by now because Snow hates having a weakness. But he once had one, we are sure, because the oldest client Finnick ever had once told him something about a bird that Snow never forgot. A mockingjay, I wonder to myself. A creature reborn in Katniss and nourished by Peeta, made to bring Snow's downfall just when he thought he was safe.

There are times when even Plutarch reacts in surprise, when Fulvia and Cressida are left with their mouths wide open. At last, we are done, but the cameras continue rolling because everyone is so stunned that no one remembers to call 'cut.' Finnick has to remind them before they do. The crew hurries inside to edit the material, and I give Katniss an awkward smile before pulling Finnick back inside with me.

"I love you," I say as we walk to the dining hall. "Always. I admire your strength."

"I love you, too," he says softly. "Thank you for helping me have it."

We're offered the chance to eat in the new Command in the Special Defense wing, which would probably be the best way to see Beetee launching another attack on the Capitol and showing our propos to Panem. I decline out of a desire to try and find Gretya.

She's not at the table and with that, I've had it. I'm not going to rest until I figure out where my sister is and what exactly is going on. I truly hope I'm overreacting, that they're simply working her to death because Gretya somehow discovered a formula that'll fix absolutely everything. Maybe she was too humble to tell me.

But my instincts tell me there is more to this and I won't wait another moment to find out what it is. Finnick and I abandon our lunch and head back to Gretya and Misha's compartment. No one is responding and even after demanding one of the guards let us in, we find nothing– it's empty. We go up to Special Defenses only to get Plutarch to demand Misha and Gretya be brought here immediately. He issues the order but even after a fifteen minute wait, no one is brought, which means they aren't at their usual stations.

"Prim!" I call, looking through the hospital for the only other person who might know where my sister is. "Prim–" I stop when I see two little figures darting into another room. Finnick stops me from running but all the same I walk as fast as I can, finding a row of examination rooms, all the doors closed. Finnick and I start to try every single one, some occupied with other patients and only one locked and silent.

"Gretya!" I say, pressing my hand to the door. "Gretya, what are you doing?"

"I'm sorry," I hear Prim say, her voice nearing the door. "I'm going to open the door, Gretya."

"Prim, no!" Gretya cries. "Morgan, go away, it's nothing."

"Nothing?" I snap without meaning to. "You're avoiding me and you're in the hospital sneaking around–"

I can hear Prim still arguing with her. "I'm sorry, Gretya, but she's here, I'm not going to help you hide this."

I don't know what she means and it makes bile rise in my throat. Finnick pushes hard against the door, which swings open as Prim undoes the lock. I see Gretya frantically trying to roll down her sleeves, but she isn't fast enough.

Her skin had been sunburnt when I saw her again, the porcelain long gone. But even so I can see a very prominent discoloration over her elbows, dark purple bruises that extend upwards in the shape of hands.