Winter, 74 ADD.

On the morning that her Victory Tour is scheduled to start, Katniss Everdeen, one of two Victors of the 74th Hunger Games, walks into her opulent new study in her opulent new mansion and finds President Coriolanus Snow sitting calmly behind the desk. He is paging through a book as he waits patiently for an audience with her, looking for all the world like this was just another day in Panem, as if he regularly pays house visits to the children he tried to kill.

He holds up a finger, telling Katniss to wait. A mind game, someone will later explain to her, to make her feel unbalanced in her own house, to establish himself as the one with all the power and her as the one without any before he even says a word. He scans the rest of the page and then closes the book, handing it to a young woman in the shadows that Katniss hadn't yet noticed (for until this moment she'd stood entirely still), and fixes his cold, watery gaze on the only female Victor from District 12. Katniss fights to stop the fear and rage welling up in her chest from showing in her face, but she suspects President Snow senses it anyway, from the way his eyes gleam triumphantly as they fix on hers.

"Miss Everdeen," he says softly, dangerously, like a copperhead poised to strike, "might I suggest that for the sake of simplicity, you and I agree not to lie to one another in this conversation?"

Katniss did not win for nothing, and her quick mind has already figured out what she is supposed to say. "Yes. It would be simpler." She agrees.

She thinks her easy agreement will take Snow by surprise, but he only smiles knowingly. The woman standing behind him in the shadows, however, twitches almost involuntarily, alerting Katniss to her presence once again. She looks a little familiar somehow, though Katniss knows she's not from District 12 and she isn't dressed in the excessive fashions of the Capitol. But where else would Katniss have seen her before?

She is quiet, Katniss notes. She hasn't yet made a sound, this woman, and this is what makes Katniss think that she must be an Avox, though why Snow would bring one all the way on a low profile visit to District 12 is beyond her comprehension. Though perhaps it is the fact that an Avox would be unable to tell anyone of the proceedings that explains the woman's presence in the room. Katniss feels a stab of pity for the young woman. She is not very much older than Katniss herself, maybe twenty-one or twenty-two, with large eyes that should be expressive but instead are unnaturally blank.

"You see, Miss Firewell?" Snow says to the woman, though Katniss cannot fathom how he discerned the Avox's silent twitching movement when his back has been turned to her all along. He gestures for Katniss to sit in front of him, watching her closely as she follows his orders. "Miss Firewell was of the opinion that you'd be far more resistant. Belligerent, I think it was. I, however, had more faith in your good sense. After all, you do have much to lose. Your life, for one, which you fought so hard for in that arena. Not to mention your sister, who you sacrificed yourself for, your mother, who's worked so hard to make her unexpected guests so comfortable . . . and those cousins of yours."

Katniss thinks about Gale, about how her and Peeta's masquerade in the arena had forced his family to claim relation with hers in order to explain the closeness she shared with Gale in the years before Prim had been Reaped. And she thinks about how all of Panem and the Capitol seemed to believe Gale's moodiness to come from a brotherly affection, worry for a cousin who'd been more like his sister all along. She knows, deep down, that Gale has feelings for her. But he'd never acted on them, not before the Games. And even after, there had only been one time, one kiss out in the woods, a secret one he pressed to her lips and then pretended never happened. She'd been all too relieved to go along with pretending, because she hadn't a desire to deal with any of her complicated feelings surrounding that when she still woke up from nightmares of dead children and snarling mutts with gleaming human eyes. The whole thing might mean something to Gale, but Katniss's life is too complicated, too traumatic, for a secret kiss in the woods to rank very highly on her list of priorities.

Not until now. Somehow, she thinks, President Snow knows about it, and that is bad news.

She meets his gaze evenly, determined not to let her panic show. President Snow smiles, but there is a hint of something harder. Anger, maybe? No, it isn't quite so strong. It's more like irritation, like she is a disobedient pet or a fly buzzing around his head.

"The truth is, Miss Everdeen, the moment that you pulled your little stunt in the arena six months ago, you created a problem for me. You are not even aware of how large this problem is. You don't, after all, know of what is occuring in the other districts even as we speak." Snow says.

Katniss wants to swallow, but she cannot admit any further sign of weakness to Snow. "You're right, I don't know," she says evenly.

"While much of the Capitol believes you to be what you claimed — a girl driven mad with love, who'd rather die than be forced to kill the only boy she ever cared for — certain others throughout the districts have attributed to you a more sinister motive." Snow explains. His voice is still calm and patient, with no hint of strain in his tone. He may as well have been commenting on the weather.

Katniss doesn't have to guess at his meaning. It has occurred to her, in the months following the Games, that her desperation to save both herself and Peeta can be seen not as the love story she pretended or the quest for survival it was, but rather as an act of defiance against the Games, the Capitol, and Panem itself. But she hadn't considered yet that perhaps it has inspired others, across the districts.

"The people have been rebelling," she says, and for just a moment, Snow's expression tightens with annoyance.

"Not yet," he admits. "Not openly. But it simmers below the surface, this threat of uprising, and that would be a catastrophe for us all. Death, destruction, chaos like one so young as you could not imagine." His gaze narrows. "And all because you threatened to eat some berries at the end of the summer."

"So why did you allow that to happen?" Katniss asks angrily, just barely managing to keep her volume down. "Why not let me and Peeta die that day?"

"Were it my orders, I would have." Snow says simply, and a knot of grief works its way up into Katniss's throat, because sometimes at night, when visions of dead children and blood-covered mutts dance across the room, she wishes she was dead. But there is an ache of relief, too, because despite her sorrow she is glad that Peeta lives on, and even grateful that she is still there to take care of Prim and her mother.

"Someone went against your orders?" She asks, focusing again on the old man in the chair.

President Snow frowns. It's the most emotion he's shown yet. "Seneca Crane did not consult me in the seconds between hearing your childish threats and declaring you and Mr. Mellark joint victors. I was most displeased by his decision. Can you guess what happened to him?"

Katniss nods. A chill runs through her, but she has no doubt in her mind as to his meaning. Seneca Crane is dead.

President Snow leans back in his chair, satisfied. "The other Gamemakers are, of course, at this very moment, all hard at work designing the new arena." He pauses and smiles, as if at a private joke. "Pardon me. Almost all. Isn't that right, Miss Firewell?" He gestures at the woman behind him. "Forgive my manners, Miss Everdeen. I've neglected to introduce you."

Katniss's attention jumps back to the Avox woman. Her face is still tight and expressionless, but as she steps out of the shadows into the sunlit study, her expression looks more cold than scared. She looks at Katniss evenly, her posture straight and her hands clasped tightly behind her back.

"Miss Everdeen, this is Della Firewell. She is one of the technicians behind the games, and one of the Gamemakers who was in the room when Seneca Crane announced your joint victory with Mr. Mellark. She is one of our most, shall we say, inventive talents." Snow adds, neutrally, "I believe you have her to thank for that wall of fire that chased you through the arena. Ingenious, was it not? Though I suppose the idea is already in her name." Something about his tone tells Katniss that he derives no pleasure from the torture — but approves of it all the same. It is far more disquieting than it might have been had he found a perverse enjoyment of it.

The woman — apparently not an Avox at all, just eerily reserved — dips her head. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Everdeen." Her voice is soft and gentle, entirely unbefitting of a woman who has murdered countless children.

"Wish I could say the same," Katniss bites out. She is angry with herself for feeling sympathy for this woman who has tried so hard to kill her. Who killed Thresh and Foxface and the skinny tributes from District 9 and the wiry tributes from District 7, and even Cato. 

Who killed Rue.

She is angry with herself for thinking even one kind thought towards this woman, but she's angrier with Della Firewell, for daring to look at her straight after all that she's done. And most of all, she is furious with President Snow, for parading one of her tormentors in front of her very eyes.

She is so angry that her hands are trembling. She clenches her fists tightly in her lap, her nails digging painfully into the calloused skin of her palms.

"Miss Firewell tried to dissuade Seneca Crane from allowing two district partners to work together from the beginning, you see. She rightly pointed out that he would either have to stick with his judgment, and allow two Victors to win, or he'd have to go back on his word and force one winner, which could outrage even the Capitol, who were rather deeply invested in your love story." Snow explains. "But even you, Miss Firewell, did not anticipate your scheme with the deathberries, isn't that correct?"

"It is, Mr. President," Della Firewell says with an incline of her head.

Katniss cannot speak. She is too busy trying to remember how to breathe. Snatches of memory jump out at her. She remembers seeing this woman jot down notes during the training, wearing a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles and frowning down at the tributes, sizing them up. She remembers seeing her at the feast during Katniss's private session, picking daintily at her plate with a fork. Had she been laughing and carousing with the rest of the Gamemakers, too? Katniss can't remember. Her memories have clouded over with rage.

"Miss Firewell's intelligence is not the only reason I have brought her with me here, Miss Everdeen," President Snow says. "You may not recognize her now, because she does look rather older, but Miss Firewell was the Victor of the 67th Hunger Games."

Katniss's stomach rolls, and it is all she can do to keep from vomiting. For a moment, her vision dances before her as she thinks back seven years and recalls a girl standing before District 12 on her own Victory tour, her frame small and bony. Yes, Della Firewell — she remembers now. At just barely fifteen, the low-scoring girl from District 3 had won her games by a technicality when her tracker malfunctioned, causing the Gamemakers to prematurely declare her death. As she'd been the last tribute left besides the six Careers, they'd all attacked one another until only the boy from District 4 was left standing. The Gamemakers realized their mistake too late, and the boy succumbed to his wounds, making Della Firewell the default Victor of the 67th games.

She does look different now, Katniss admits furiously to herself. The girl who'd visited District 12 all those years ago had been sunken in, practically a skeleton. Katniss remembers thinking her eyes were far too big for her face, giving her a bug-like, ghoulish expression. Now, Katniss thinks bitterly, she is well-fed and rich in the Capitol, her bronze skin glowing with health and her too-big eyes more doe-like than bulging, her long hair slicked back into a businesslike knot. If she weren't such a monster, she'd almost be pretty.

Hatred burns through her, the likes of which she has never felt before, not even for the Capitol or President Snow. Here is a woman who knows what it is to be in that arena — a woman who grew up in the districts and felt the constant terror each year on Reaping day that maybe this time it was her, who was plucked from her home to go die in the Capitol for entertainment, who survived against all odds after watching everyone around her perish — here she is, creating new arenas for other children to die in, designing twists to take more lives, a traitor to the districts and a murderer. Moreso a murderer than the rest of them.

Katniss does not know how she musters up the ability to speak through her rage. Barely able to see straight, she manages to ask, "So what is she doing here?"

Della Firewell does not respond. But then, the question wasn't addressed to her to begin with.

"She is here," Snow says smoothly, "as a lesson for you. She is an exemplary Victor, one who has turned her games into a successful career in the Capitol. I suggest you do the same. Or that cousin of yours may meet an unseemly end."

Katniss clenches her jaw, trying desperately not to feel afraid. "And how should I do that?"

"On your Victory tour," Snow says, "set all doubts to rest. You were not defying the Capitol with your stunt at all. You were just a lovestruck, romantic teenager who couldn't bring herself to kill the boy she loved." He looks at her closely. "Still loves."

His meaning is clear.

"I have to convince the districts that I love Peeta," she says, just to be sure.

"More than that." Snow says. "You must convince me."

He stands, and it is a clear end to the conversation. Katniss stays stock-still in her chair, terror bleeding down her veins. It is a tall order, and she is not sure if she can deliver on it.

President Snow pauses as he pulls on his gloves. "By the way, Miss Everdeen," he says conversationally, "Miss Firewell has recently developed some new technology for the Capitol. It is inspired by the old jabberjay project, but I would personally consider it thus far to be a rousing success. I won't bore you with the details—" Katniss is quite certain that by this, he means he won't tell her how to identify it, "—but suffice it to say, we've never had access to such quality footage in the districts."

Katniss's heart grows cold as she realizes what this means. President Snow sweeps around the desk, and she is cloaked in his nauseating scent of roses and blood.

"That's right," he whispers triumphantly. "I know about that kiss."

Della Firewell opens the study door and President Snow walks outside to the hallway. Katniss is left staring after him in horror, until her gaze falls on the other Victor.

"How could you?" Katniss chokes out, her voice trembling. "How —" Her voice catches.

Della looks her up and down, and it is a cold, perfunctory thing. "Everyone has their own agenda, Katniss," she says in that unsettling, quiet voice of hers. "Everyone will use you to their own end. A word of advice — start thinking about your future. You have to adapt and seize power where you can. Nobody will put you before themselves."

"You're disgusting," Katniss croaks, revulsion rising in her throat. "Is that why you became a Gamemaker? Because you felt powerless and wanted a taste of it yourself?" She thinks she might be sick. "Maybe nobody would put you first, but that's not true for me." She thinks of Gale, briefly. Then she thinks about Peeta. He lingers far longer in her mind.

Della regards her for a moment. She looks almost thoughtful. "Perhaps that's true," she admits. "But you'd do well to heed my advice. A lot rests on your ability to perform during your tour. Don't be rash. Be clever. The games never end."

For a moment, the two women lock eyes, and the universe itself halts as it watches them, these two young girls grown up too quickly, these two unlikely Victors with two diverging paths.

Then Della Firewell turns away and follows the President outside, and sixteen year old Katniss Everdeen is left alone with the fate of the districts resting on her shoulders.

A/N:

prologue adapted from chapter 2 of catching fire.