The story in which a typical angst-ridden teenager is thrust into an arena and forced to compete for survival. Based on the characters from Therapy and Travesty.
                                                                         donât fashion me into a maiden that needs s a v i n g
                                                                                       i know that iâd die w i t h o u t you
                                                                     h o l y  w a t e r
                                                                                                       cannot help you now
The story in which a typical, angst-ridden teenager leads a nation in rebellion.
AUTHORâS NOTE: Literally it is so hard to write a brainwashed character why did I do this to myself. But. Iâm kinda proud of this. Hope you all enjoy~
WE ALL NOTICE WHEN MCAVOY SHOWS UP LATE TO HIS OWN MEETING. A select few of us â compared to everyone in the district who gathered earlier this morning â have gathered in the old overseerâs office on the second floor. Hosanna occupies the seat behind the gargantuan oak desk: a seat she surrenders the second McAvoy bursts through the door, running his hands through his hair to adjust its shape. Nothing else about his appearance seems off. Itâs easy to imagine heâs been off somewhere by himself, reeling in embarrassment from the events of his little address not half an hour ago.
 Itâs also easy to imagine that the coincidence of his disappearance and Katieâs wasnâtâŠ. well, coincidence.
 Maggie hasnât shut up about Katieâs little stunt, either. Sheâs been arguing with Hosanna over Katieâs mental stability since McAvoy asked all ranking officers to meet him in this office. The comment âThis is why I donât let her use guns!â has been made. Hosanna, to her credit, has yet to take the bait. All sheâs said on the matter is we shouldnât judge Katieâs actions until we hear her side of the story.
 When McAvoy arrives, all talk of Katie ceases. Hosanna inches around to the front of the desk. McAvoy tugs his cuffs down to his wrists as he settles into the chair. Part of me wonders why he gets the chair at all. District 3 is Hosannaâs. McAvoyâs just arrived. I dismiss the thought as McAvoy props his arm on the desk. âItâs time for us to go on the offensive,â he says.
 No warning shot. Just, fires right in.
 âI want you all to understand ââ his gaze flickers to me, âespecially you, Andrea â that my actions this morning were motivated by a desire to finally punch first. Weâve been sitting around, getting our asses handed to us for long enough. I have no malice towards those men and women we captured out there, but I do think itâs time we draw our line in the sand. We need to show the Capitol that enough is enough!â
 He swallows. âNow that Iâve had time to reflect, I see threatening the lives of soldiers acting under orders was not the best line to draw.â Again, he looks directly at me. âAndrea, I want to apologize for my behavior this morning. It was unethical, and it will not happen again.â
 Every eye in the room fixes on me. Everyoneâs waiting to see what Iâll do â taking their cue from me. The attention feels like a corset laced too tight. I look over at Hosanna, and discover she may be the only person not looking at me. Her eyes are narrowed at McAvoy, her brows pinched in the perpetual scowl that overtakes her every time heâs around. She catches me looking out of her peripherals, hesitates, and inclines her head. I draw a deep breath and lock eyes with McAvoy.
 âI understand.â I say. I try to breathe between sentences, but air wonât reach my lungs. âIâm sure weâre all feeling a little vengeful after yesterday.â I wet my lips. âThe thing is, we canât let our vengefulness get the better of us. Weâre supposed to be the good guys. We canât forget what it is weâre fighting for.â
 McAvoy nods. âThe Peacekeepers who declined to join us are being escorted to the border as we speak. And I will not be bringing any charges of treason against Miss Lenley.â
 âSir, she aimed a gun at your head!â Maggie interrupts.
 âI aimed guns at unarmed prisoners of war,â McAvoy snaps. âMiss Lenleyâs intent was to defend the defenseless, which is precisely the goal of this movement.â He fixes Maggie with a corner-eyed stare.
 Maggie raises her arms over her head. âI donât know what she has to do to get you to mistrust her. I just hope it isnât assassinating you in your sleep.â
 âVasquez! That is enough!â
 I glance back and forth between them, heart thundering against my ribcage.
 âNo!â Maggie screams. âNo, it isnât! And apparently, it wonât be, until one of us is dead! Iâve warned you time and time again the girl is bad news. Check her tox screens â her norepinephrine levels are off the charts! Andy.â Her tone and her face soften as she turns to me. âIâd believe you if you were to tell me she used to be good, but she isnât anymore. The Capitol got inside her head. She is not safe.â
 âIf Katie were as deranged as you suggest,â Hosanna pipes in, her cheeks flushing, âshe wouldnât have stood in front of a line of sharpshooters. She wouldâve just aimed the gun at Don and pulled the trigger.â
 Maggieâs inhale swells in her chest. âIâd argue you have to be pretty crazy to aim a gun at your president in front of a line of sharpshooters ââ
 âVASQUEZ. ENOUGH.â
 Everything freezes.
 Even the dust seems to suspend in the air.
 By the reaction, I gather this is the first time anyone in this room has ever heard Donovan McAvoy raise his voice. The twist in my gut hypothesizes itâll also be the last. A shadow falls across his face, turning his green eyes black. âNo charges will be brought against Miss Lenley. Weâre here to discuss a head-on offensive against the Capitol. If you cannot focus on that, you can leave.â
 Maggie doesnât say anything for a long time. She stares at McAvoy. She blinks. But she doesnât speak. Cogs turn behind her ears and behind her eyes. She parts her lips. She wets them. She parts them again. Then, she turns on her heel and saunters out the office door. We all watch that door for a second, collectively waiting to see if Maggie will reconsider and join us again, but she doesnât. McAvoy clears his throat.
 When I look back at him, heâs straightened out, and the shadow has passed. âWe do not turn our backs on one another,â he states. âIâve learned that, today.â
 He pauses. âAnyway. We have an attack to plan.â
ERIN HAS RED LINGERIE IN HER DRAWER. Or⊠well. She had red lingerie. Sheâs no longer around to protest my appropriation of it. Lace bra and G-string â a matching set. I stroke a cup with my thumb, trying to gauge its size as I mutter, âErin, you naughty girl.â A phantom hand crawls over my body. For a second, Iâm facing the factory wall again, digging in at my elbows while he cups my breast and pushes into me. The ghost of his warmth trickles from my ear lobe to my collar bone. Electricity shivers along the surface of my skin in a feeling scarcely different from the one I get when I impale my sword in a Peacekeeperâs neck.
 As a matter of fact, the feelingâs the same.
 The pound of static echoes in my ears like a distant war drum.
 The click of the doorknob alerts me to her entry before sheâs actually in the room. Stuffing the bra back into the drawer, I shove the drawer closed and whirl to face her.
 I know her before I see her. I know the scent of rainfall and fresh berries. I know the light, swift touch of her footsteps. I know the quick, shallow breaths that precede every thought that exists her mouth. And, of course, I know the buzzing that plagues my head every time she enters a room. Andy slips in quietly and keeps her back to the door. In her standard issue District 13 grey jumpsuit, her golden hair plaited down to her hips, she looks nothing like the girl I remember. I hardly know her.
 âYou were great out there, today,â she says. Behind her words, I think I hear the bolt slide home. She takes a tentative step into the room. âI thought⊠you were brave.â
 I look at the bolt switch over her shoulder. The buzzing crescendos in my ears.
 âAndy.â
 Her name burns like acid on my tongue.
 âWhyâd you lock the door.â
 âThere are people who donât want me in here.â Her eyes are trained on my face. If I look at her, my muscles start to twitch. She inclines her head. âIf they figure out where I am, theyâre gonna come and take me out.â She takes another step.
 My muscles bypass twitching. My knees and shoulders tremble. âYou know why they donât want you in here, right?â
 She steps forward again. Lightning strikes me backward. I roll my head from side to side, cracking my vertebrae back into place.
 âIâm dangerous.â
 She nods. Just nods. I watch her head bob through a haze of red. âThatâs what Maggie keeps telling me.â She advances across the floor. I retreat another step. My stomach attempts to swallow itself.
 âAndy.â A fist squeezes my heart. I try to clench my fingers, but I can barely move them, theyâre shaking so hard. âYou should listen.â
 She halts in her forward momentum to stare at me. âI canât.â The glass shells of her eyes shatter, and the raging blue waters trapped inside them spill out. âEveryoneâs dead, Katie!â  She wipes her nose against the back of her hand and fixes me with wet eyes. âTheyâre all dead. I need you.â
 Her voice is trembling. Weak. My brain swells against my skull.
 âPlease, Katie.â
 A whispered sob.
 âPlease.â
 Something ruptures inside my head. I shoot forward and barrel into her, pinning her throat to the wall with my arm. She digs into my arm with her fingernails. âPlease, Katie!â Her feet scrape against the concrete. âKatie!  Please!â
 Her tears fall in the fresh scrapes. They sting. I gather every ounce of my strength and press her further and further against the wall. I try to embed her in it. She draws a ragged gasp of air.
 âPlease come back to me!â
 âYOU KILLED MY BROTHER, ANDY!â The entirety of my being shakes under the force of my own voice. âTHERE IS NO COMING BACK FROM THAT!â
 She throws her body forward, railing against my hold. She screams with equal force and rattles my bones. âHOW?!â
 I bristle. The word echoes in the silence, chasing my brain in circles.
 How? How. How how how how how how how how how how how how how how how how how.
 Her scentâs in my nose now. A million images bombard my mindâs eye at once. The curve of her mouth when she speaks. Her hair moving like water when she moves. Her eyes sparkling in the light. Her palm pressed against my palm, matching the size of her hand against mine. Her arm across my shoulders when they lowered my brother into the ground. The tears slicking her cheeks for the boy she didnât even know. Her fingers locked around mine and holding firm though she lay dozing against the pillow later that night, when I couldnât sleep.
 âAnswer me, Katie!â She kicks me in the gut, knocking me backward. I double over as all the wind rushes out of my lungs. She lands on both feet and saunters toward me. Powerful. Graceful. She towers over me, an angel sent to harvest my sins. Reaching out, she shoves my shoulders. âHow did I kill your brother?!â Â
 âIâŠ.â
 I pull my hands away from my stomach and stare at them. I canât get them to stop shaking.
 âI donât know.â
 Oh god.
 Oh, god.
 âI donât know.â
 My whole bodyâs shaking. I collapse to my knees. My fists clench so hard, my palms split open. Blood roars in my ears.
 I do know.
 This anger â this wretched, hateful fury inside me was never meant for her. I see her wide, terror-filled eyes, and I know.
 This hatred was only ever meant for me.
 Something between a howl and a scream and cry ripples from the core of me. I move to throw myself on the ground, but Andy drops to her knees in front of me. She catches my face with her chest, her arms already wrapping themselves around me. When I scream into her, she clings to me with equal force. And boy, do I scream.
 I scream and I scream and I scream until thereâs no scream left inside me. And when I run out of scream, I succumb to tears. My hands seek purchase in the small of her back and the nape of her neck. Seek purchase is the soft, strong flesh that binds everything I hold dear in this world. I raise my head to bury my face in her hair and breathe her in â gulp greedy mouthfuls. All I need is to feel her â to hold her in my arms, and to know she is alive. And she is, reaching for me with equal ferocity.
 I try to say something. I try to say, âAndyâŠâ but I canât seem to hold enough breath in my throat.
 âI know,â she says, clinging to me even as Hosanna springs the lock and comes to pry her from my arms. âI missed you, too.â
IT FEELS LIKE A MEMORY, UP UNTIL THE SECOND IT ISNâT. At first, I think Iâm just remembering what happened that night in 13, after my first foray into the actual rebellion. Between the kisses and the awakening in the middle of the night, when he was underneath me. But then, I arch back, and the explosion rings in my ears. I hear the feedback â this loud ringing that pounds my eardrums. I look down, and I watch his body pull apart. I watch every cell separate itself, burst into flame, and disintegrate beneath me. It happens in slow motion, so I can watch all of it. Even though he is gone in the blink of an eye, it takes an eternity to watch.
 I snap awake. The sheets around me are sheathed with sweat. My heart feels like itâs tunneling through my ribcage. Then, the stench crosses my nostrils: the charred stench of death.
 Swinging my feet around to the floor, I stand and cross to the window. Itâs more of a slit in the wall, high enough up that I have to climb on top of Leoâs desk chair to see through it. Far away, up the hill, tendrils of orange and yellow lick the sky as the bodies of mothers, fathers, siblings, friends, and lovers burn.
TOMORROW STARTS WITH A BANG, followed immediately by Hosannaâs voice. âKatie!â she calls me out of my stupor, folded knees-to-chest on Erinâs gray bed, swaddled in her gray sheets. âPresident McAvoyâs just arrived with a whole entourage of bodymen. He wants everyone in the factory. Heâs got some sort of announcement to make.â
 I roll off the bed and collect yesterdayâs body armor from itsâ scattered places on the floor. âIâll be out in a minute,â I answer as I dress. I wait for her to say something else â to comment on the sound we both heard in the middle of the night â but she doesnât. The memories of Andyâs screams, overheard through paper-thin walls, echo in the ensuing silence. I tighten the breastplate around my sternum and break for the door.
 Thereâs a plate of muffins on the table in the kitchen corner of the main room. Hosanna beckons me to try one. My taste buds recoil from the tang of a baked blueberry when Andy appears in the doorway. She looks paler than usual.
 I didnât know that was possible.
 A smile creeps up from the pit of my stomach and out across my cheeks. I bite down on it, turning it into an expression I hope will pass off as some kind of sympathetic wince. âBad dreams?â
 Her eyes flick toward me for a second on their way toward the floor. I swallow a bark of laughter.
 At least she can still sleep.
 We trudge up the hill in silence. Hosanna takes point, and Andy and I instinctively fall into an isosceles triangle behind her. Every so often, I check on Andy out of the sides of my eyes. Every time I look, her face is vacant. Her body moves, but thereâs no one inside. And every time I see it, I choke a smile.
 The factory is bustling with soldiers, some of them in District 13 gray, some of them in District 3 black, and then the row of Peacekeepers in white: on their knees, with their backs to the wall. Their helmets have been removed, their faces bared.  Some of these Peacekeepers are men, some a women. Some of them wear field-hardened scowls, like nothing anyone from âourâ camp can do to them will break them. Some of them wear terror on their brows. I donât feel a particularly visceral reaction to any of them, one way or another. Just as I donât harbor tendencies toward or against any of the beings in this room, save for â
 A large, warm hand claps against my bicep. âWhatâs good, Katherine Crunch?â
 Asher maneuvers between me and the Peacekeepers, blocking them from view with the bulk of his armored torso. âI see you managed to sleep in the same house as Andy without murdering her.â He says the words on a laugh.
 When he says it, the name doesnât scrape my nerves like a cheese grater. Maybe itâs just the warmth radiating from his core, or maybe itâs the soft and genial way he speaks, but something about being around Asher â even if itâs only for a moment â quiets the static buzzing in my ears. I tilt my chin up to look at him, see him bite his bottom lip to restrain a smirk, and relax into one of my own.
 âSee.â He releases my arm and nudges my shoulder. âYouâre making progress.â
 âWeâll be braiding each otherâs hair in no time!â I retort with a slight bobble of my head.
 âYuck it up, Lenley,â he circles around to my side so we can follow Hosanna together, âbut mark my words: You guysâre gonna be friends again if I have to staple your shirts together.â
 Itâs the word âfriendsâ that gets me. I dig my nails into my palms, biting down on the urge to remind Asher why Andy and I will never be friends. I already know what heâll say.
 I donât want to have to hate him for it.
 Hosanna stops our party inches away from the center of the factory floor. Iâm looking around, trying to figure out why weâre here and why weâre stopping, when I hear a throat clear above me. I look up, and there â on the balcony above us â is Don McAvoy. He wears a stylish burgundy over black pinstripe coat, complete with burgundy pocket square. His diamond cuff links glint under the fluorescent factory lights, just to remind us â in case weâd forgotten â that he has defected from the Capitol to lead us. As if that makes him worthy of anything. He clears his throat, instantly silencing the bustle around us. He holds no microphone, but he doesnât need one: his voice bounces off the high ceiling and the wide, metal walls.  âToday,â he begins, âis a great day.
 âToday, we celebrate our first true victory over the forces of the Capitol.â
 The gathered rebels answer him with cheers and applause. He inclines his head in acknowledgement.
 âToday, we celebrate the unity of the two most powerful rebel Districts in Panem!â
 More cheers. Some whoops. A few people throw their fists in the air. A smirk splits Donâs lips, but as soon as it comes, it goes.
 âIn our victory here, we have proven that our combined forces are even more powerful than the Capitolâs bombs.â A few voices rise in response, like Christians in church, saying âAmenâ to their God. âWe have proven that, when we stand together, no army can stand against us!â
 Asher joins in on the outpouring of joy that follows, chanting and pumping his fist in chorus with the rebels around him. Andy and Hosanna stand completely still. Hosanna looks up at Don; Andy stares into the distance. Beyond them, in the corners of my field of vision, I spot a couple men I donât know panning television cameras across the audience. Thoughts itch in my brain. Who are these strangers?
 Where are Ethan and Aaron?
 Don raises his hands, beckoning the audience to stillness and courting the attention of the cameras. All traces of the earlier smirk have gone from his face when he says, âWhile we celebrate, we cannot forget that this unity came at a price.
 âJust down the hill, there is a mass grave, filled with the dust of our brothersâ bones.â
 My eyes flick to Andy. The muscles in her jaw tense.
 âWe lost a lot of good men and women yesterday.â Don wets his lips. âAll of them were relatives. All of them were friends.
 âExcept â no. We didnâtâ lose them. We know exactly where they are.â The fluorescents gleam like fire in Donâs eyes. âTheyâre in the ground, where the Capitol buried them.â Â
 Nerve endings twitch under my skin.
 âI say,â Donâs voice rumbles low in his chest, âwe return the favor.â
 Amidst the answering uproar, I hear the distinct sound of rifles cocking. The strange men turn their cameras toward the back wall. I turn with them, and suddenly, more strangers in District 13 gray materialize from the pack. They push their way toward the back of the crowd, forming a line opposite the row of hostages. They carry rifles.
 âI say we show the Capitol just what we can do to their numbers.â
 On either side of me, Asherâs features slacken, and a frown creeps into the corners of Hosannaâs face. And then, thereâs Andy, her expression mixed with the same horror and rage she wore at the hospital bombing.
 âNo!â she screams. She whirls around to face Don. I donât stop to watch her: Iâm already moving. As Andy says her piece, I elbow my way through the sea of people. âYou canât do that!â Andy continues. âTheyâre just soldiers following orders, like all of us! You canât execute them for that!â
 Everyoneâs watching Andy and Don argue. No one notices me slip between bodies. I pick the most distracted member of the firing squad and sidle over to her.
 âThey work for the Capitol, Miss Boyle,â Don snaps.
 I lift the knife from the womanâs belt first.
 âTheyâve killed hundreds of us. Whether they were under orders or not, murder is murder, and they must be held accountable.â
 âYou want to answer murder with more murder?â Andyâs yelling pitch shrills in my ears. âIf you want to coerce the Capitol through violence and fear, youâre no better than Winsor.â
 One twist is all it takes to break the womanâs dominant wrist. She winces and cries out as the rifle tumbles from her grasp, alerting her cohorts to my presence. But not soon enough. Raising the rifle, I sprint backward toward the hostages, into the line of fire. The firing squad snaps to attention, trailing their sights on me. I donât mind them â just aim the barrel of my gun at Donâs head. I laugh.
 âHow many of you wanna bet you can drop me before I make the shot.â
 Donâs face goes slack. No one moves. I heave a sigh.
 âLet âem go, Don.â I swallow. âTheyâre trained soldiers. Maybe, if you showed a little mercy, theyâd be willing to help us out. And how much better would that be for our little narrative?â I pause. âThink about it. âPeacekeepers Defect from Capitol, Join McAvoy in Rebel Movement.ââ I raise my head. âThink how good that would be for our message.â
 Don blinks.
 Hosanna pushes her way past the firing squad and plants herself beside me. âThis is still my District, McAvoy.â She claps a hand on my shoulder. âListen to the girl.â
 Thereâs another long silence. No one moves. No one speaks. The firing squad keeps their eyes â and their rifles â trained on me. I keep mine on Don. Finally, Don huffs.
 âUncuff the hostages. Those of you who wish to join our ranks can stay. Those of you who donât, youâll be escorted out of the District.â
 I lower my rifle. The firing squad lower theirs. A few of them step forward with keys, and eventually, the empty space around Hosanna and I fills with soldier and Peacekeepers. Dropping the rifle, I spot a side hallway and flee the crowd. My hands are trembling. It happens sometimes, especially during tense moments â the only side effect of the venom Iâve exhibited. In an effort to still them, I push my hands into the wall. Footsteps chase me, but by the time Iâve turned to see who they belong to, Donâs already in my face.  Â
 âDonât you ever undermine me like that again,â he growls, pinning me against the cinderblocks.  âFucking me does not give you the authority to question my leadership in front of the entire district. Or did you forget, Iâm the only reason youâre still alive?â
 As soon as I heard his footsteps, the knife I pickpocketed from the firing squad lady was in my palm. Reaching for his belt buckle with my free hand, I shove the knife down his pants and press the blade against his shaft. Static roars in my ears. I canât tell if the heat I feel is coming from his body or mine.
 âIf you talk to me like that again,â I seethe, âyou will regret it. And unlike you?â I apply more pressure to the knife. Then, I lean in close and speak to his throat. âI donât make empty threats.â
 I look up at him. He looks down at me â at my eyes, my lips. His hands knot themselves in my hair. I have just enough time to discard the knife before he slams me into the wall. But when his tongue is in my throat, and his hips grind against mine, it isnât his love I feel. We both have monsters inside us â monsters we can only unleash on each other.
                                             suspicious that the string
                                                                           is moving your b o n e s
                                                        Iâve turned into a monster
                                                                                and it keeps getting s t r o n g e r
        for the teeny-bopper revolutionist market
                                                                                  { x }
                                                                                          she was the kind of girl
        who could rip your heart out and eat it in front of you
                             and you wouldnât even realize you were dying
                                                because youâd just be staring at her thinking
 how beautiful she looked
                                                                                     with your blood dripping from her lips
                                     I want some confirmation that iâm not
                                                                                t h e  o n l y  o n e  a l i v e
THERE ARE NO CRIES OF ANGUISH. Andy doesnât scream out in pain as her loverâs body decays in the dust. Her frame doesnât shake. For the solid minute before Asher decides sheâs had enough and walks over to peel her off the ground, Andy Boyle remains completely still. Her eyes slip further and further away as she retreats inside the armor of her flesh. As she carves herself out of stone.
 I have seen Andy broken. I have seen her heart crack and spill out of her through her eyes. I have seen her body light up like a flare â like a star collapsing on itself. When Andy Boyle breaks, she splinters the fabric of the universe. She rips galaxies apart with her. But when I watch Asher link his arms through her armpits and hoist her up â off her knees, off the dust - the air doesnât tremble around her. There is no wrinkle in space. There is no light â no life â radiating from her now. She is not broken.
 She is destroyed.
 As she sets her feet, she shakes off Asherâs arms. She looks to me â looks through me â and to everyone and no one at all, she says, âIâm fine.â Then she rolls back her shoulders, and she carries herself up the hill.
 I watch her go, blood pounding in my ears. The corners of my vision go fuzzy. My whole body feels suddenly warm. My throat begins to close. As she shrinks to thumb-sized silhouette on the horizon, I curl my fingers into my fists and squeeze. Turning my head, I narrow my eyes at the broken body on the ground.
 While Asher, Maggie, and the others follow Andy up the hill, I stay and stare at that body. I stare at that mass of shredded, scorched flesh. And when I am sure everyone is gone â out of eyesight, out of earshot â I meander over to that mass. I crouch down, and I lean in close. I reach out and brush a stray charcoal curl out of those dead eyes. âI wonât let you destroy her,â I say. Then, I rise to my feet. âSheâs not yours to destroy.â
 I stomp what remains of that once beautiful face into the ground.
 I CAN FEEL THE PARTICLES OF MY BODY PULLING AGAINST EACH OTHER, tugging in all directions, trying to split me open. I feel the strain of them every time I go to breathe. I keep thinking it â keep picturing the words over and over in my head.
 Darius is dead.
 Darius is dead. Darius is dead. Â
 Because picturing the words is different than feeling them. Because processing the words, because digesting their meaning and writing them into my knowledge of existence at present, is different than feeling them. Because knowing it and feeling it are two very different things. My body rejects the feeling. It pushes it away â buries it deep under a sequence of thought and action.
 Breathe. Blink. Step. Asherâs shaken up, too. I can hear it in his ragged breaths when he catches up to me. In the way the breaths heave in his chest. The way they stick against the raw edges of his throat. Step. Blink. Breathe.
 A hand clamps onto my elbow. I turn with a start. I sigh with relief when I see Asher, brewing tears glossing his eyes. âShit, Andy.â He gasps. âAndy, heâs dead.â His grip tightens around my arm. His breaths come quicker. Donât reach as deeply into his lungs. Donât recover enough air. âHeâs dead, Andy. Heâs DEAD.â
 âASHER!â Tearing my arm free of his grasp, I cup his face in my hands. I stroke his skin with my thumbs. I focus on his warmth beneath my fingertips. On the familiar musk mixed in with the scents of gunpowder and smoke. On the creases and angles that comprise his features. On the panicked puppy eyes flicking back and forth between mine, like if they stop for a moment to focus, the world will collapse around them. I press my fingers gently into his jaw.
 Asher. This is Asher. Be strong for Asher. Asher needs you.
 âStay with me,â I call him back to me â steady him with my voice. âAsher, stay with me.â
 His whole body wracks from the force of his inhale. He stumbles backward, away from my touch. Then, he doubles over and empties his stomach on the ground. Katie calls out to him, her voice strained from jogging up the hill. The second the scent of vomit reaches my nose, other scents hit me, too. The scent of burnt corpses. The metallic tang of dried blood. I turn away from Asher, raising the back of my hand to cover my nose. Maggie stops alongside me just as Hosanna, running a hand through the long brown hair she has finally freed from bondage, approaches us from the factory doors.
 âBoyle!â She is still the officer in charge. None of these charred corpses faze her. âVasquez! One of your camera guys set up in the factory. He says he needs Boyle for a victory speech.â
 The word âvictoryâ tastes like acid in my mouth. Maggieâs hands come away from her face. She sniffs. âYeah, yeah. Tell Aaron weâll be right there.â She angles herself away from both of us, a hand rising again to her mouth.
 Hosanna starts to retreat. âOh, and Boyle.â She catches herself, swiveling to face me. I raise an eyebrow. She says, âYou came through today.â She inclines her head. âMaybe Leo was right about you.â
 I bite down on the insides of my cheeks, zeroing in on the sensation of pain to hold the tugging particles of myself together. Hosanna drops her gaze and disappears into the large concrete building. I root myself to the spot, watching as the woman who looks so much like Leo vanishes behind titanium doors.
 I blink, and I see Leo, choking to death on his own blood. I blink, and I see Erin, skewered to the ice. I blink, and I see Gabby, bare-skinned and skewered to a tree. I blink, and I see Asher, bleeding out on the snow. I blink, and I see Darius â a burnt husk of the man he was. Reaching backward, I feel through space for Maggieâs hand and wrap my own around it. Maggie gives my hand a squeeze, and that squeeze is the last I can take. Turning, I collapse against her. I bury my face in her shoulder blade, and I pour myself out.
 Maggie stands still and steady for me as I cry, stroking her fingers idly through my hair. âNone of this is your fault, Andy,â she says. Like she just knows: these are the words I need to hear. But her voice trembles. âThis is war. People die.â Her body shivers under me when she swallows. âDarius knew that.â
 Peeling my cheek off her shoulder, I snap, âThat doesnât make it okay!â
 Maggie doesnât have an answer for that. She just turns to face me and presses her lips into a hard line. âNo,â she says. âIt doesnât.â
 Asher meanders over, his eyes rimmed with red. Katie hovers a ways behind him, like she knows this isnât her circle. That this pain is not hers to share. Without prompting, Asher wraps his arms around me. I bury my head in his chest and sob.
 I sob, and I sob, and I sob. Asher winds his arms tighter and tighter around me, like heâs trying to absorb all my pain. I could stay here forever â in these warm arms, where itâs safe â but the world has different plans. Eventually, tugs come from somewhere outside my body. Aaron and Ethan want to know whatâs taking so long.
 They take one look at my face, and they stop asking.
 Ethan aims the lens of the steady cam Aaronâs holding at the ground. âSorry,â he stammers. âWe can come back another time.â
 I swipe tears away from my eyes, turn away from Asher, and stick out my chin. âNo,â I sniffle. âPick the camera back up. I have something to say.â
 Maggie steps forward. âAndy, youâre kinda emotional right now. Are you sure this is the bes-â
 âThis is the best time.â Katie cuts Maggie off mid-sentence. âLet her talk.â
 I meet Katieâs gaze for a moment. A silent thank you. Then, I turn to the camera. âRoll it.â
 Aaron peeks around the viewfinder. âSure you donât want a moment to⊠uhâŠ.â He frees one hand from the camera to mime rubbing his eyes.
 I shake my head.
 He starts recording with a shrug. Ethan counts me in. My lashes are still wet with tears when I say, âHello, Panem.â
 A lump forms in my throat. I wet my lips and gulp it down.
 âIâm sure youâve heard a lot about the situation in District 3 recently. How the rebel army has come together in force. Even as Iâm saying this, youâre probably picturing some kind of masked legion in your head. Hundreds of blank faces, marching with guns. Because thatâs what you think when you hear âarmyâ, right?â Fresh tears brim in my eyes.
 âYou probably imagine some mechanic mass â some well-trained robots come to fight your citizens. You probably think we like the violence, right? Like the killing? Well, these are your robots. These are your rebel soldiers.â I gesture toward Maggie and Asher, both bleary-eyed and still sniffling. When I see Aaron angle the lens back toward me, I continue.
 âThe Capitol doesnât want you to see that. Hell, who wants you to see that? Who wants you to know that weâre over here, crying? That those of us on the ground in District 3 arenât celebrating? That weâre mourning?â
 I pause to breathe.
 âSome of you might think that makes us weak. But Iâll tell you what it makes us: it makes us human.â
AFTER THE CAMERAS STOP, I step outside of myself. I let the tide of rushing people sweep me up and drag me wherever it will. Everyoneâs congratulations on another great speech fall on deaf ears. Ethan and Aaron gush over how excited they are to ship back to 13 and edit the footage they got today â like itâs some treat to piece together clips of me shooting down bird bombs or Peacekeepers. Like it some treat to watch me bury my bullets in the chest of my enemies. I start to tune them out, only to be called back to the conversation when Maggie interrupts.
 âWeâre not going back to 13.â
 My head snaps up. âWhat?â
 âMcAvoyâs instructions were clear,â Maggie shrugs. âHe said Iâm supposed to send him a Jay if we take the factory. Heâll fly out as soon as he gets word. Weâre occupying District 3 as a rebel base.â
 âDonâs coming here?â Katie chimes from the background. She doesnât look up from the cuticles sheâs inspecting. Maggie arches an eyebrow and clears her throat.
 âPresident McAvoy is. Mrs. McAvoy will remain in 13 to head operations there.â
 The corner of Katieâs mouth tugs upward. Asher bristles beside me. I roll my eyes.
 Maggie goes on to say she and her soldiers will be camping in the factory, and thatâs when Hosanna joins our party. She congratulates each of us personally, her silver eyes shining. Then, she says she and her husband have two extra bedrooms at their house, which she reserves for me and Katie. My heart catches in my throat.
 âAbsolutely not,â chimes Maggie. âKatie stays at the factory under full guard.â
 Hosanna turns on Maggie. âI think she has more than proven herself today.â
 âShe saved me from a bomb,â I mutter, barely loud enough to hear. I guess the fact of me speaking is enough to shock everyone into listening, though, âcause Asher hears me.
 âYeah!â he backs me up. âShe knocked Andy out of the blast radius.â
 âAndy was barely in the blast radius,â Maggie argues.
 âUntil your president gets here,â Hosanna snaps, âthis is still my district. Andy and Katie can stay with me. The rest of you lot can divide up the floor however you want. Katie wouldnât dare abuse my hospitality. Would you, Katie?â
 Katie meets Hosannaâs gaze head-on. She lowers her chin. âI would never. Itâs an honor to be invited.â Hosanna acknowledges her with a nod.
 âBefore anyone goes anywhere,â Maggie grits, âThermopolous, what do you wanna do with the bodies?â
 The bodies.
 Dariusâs burned face flashes across the backs of my eyes.
 Hosanna surveys the hillside and sniffs the air. âThis Districtâs made entirely of concrete. Unless you wanna march them back through the tunnels, I say we pile them in a crater and burn them.â
 Burn them.
 Dariusâs face, again.
 Suddenly, my body pitches sideways. Asher sweeps me into his arms. Holds me upright.
 âSheâs not looking too hot,â Hosanna frowns. Her voice swims in my ears. âShe might be going into shock. We need to get her to the house.â
 âIâll walk her down,â Asher offers. I cling to him, grasping for the warmth radiating from his core, and realize my fingers are shaking. As we make our way down from the factory, toward the residential blocks, Asher rubs my shoulders.
 Somewhere in the middle of the walk, Hosanna looks over her shoulder to say, âYouâve done good work, Boyle. Keep going.â
 The Thermopolus house looks more like the barracks of District 13 than the shacks of District 12. In hindsight, I donât know what I expected from the Capitolâs largest weapons manufactory. The house is made of concrete. Furniture is sparse. The couch in the living room is attached to the wall, rather than freestanding on the floor. The living room is immediately attached to the kitchen and dining area, no divisions between them. Thereâs a table for four, four chairs, a counter top, and a gas stove, looking right to left. The hallway on the right leads to the master bedroom. Katieâs room, my room, and the guest bathroom are off to the left.
 âKatie, youâll be in Erinâs room,â Hosanna finishes explaining, and I snap back into myself.
 âErinâs room?â
 Asher shifts a hand to my hips to steady me on my feet. Hosanna stares at me for a second, like sheâs debating something. Then, she looks at the floor. âWhen her parents found out she joined the revolution, they didnât want her anymore.â She swallows. âSheâs lived with us since she was thirteen.â
 My stomach falls.
 Hosanna didnât just lose one child in the Games.
 âHow closely did you watch my sonâs Reaping?â Hosanna narrows her eyes at me.
 I take a sudden and vested interest in my shoes. âI. Uh.â
 âWe didnât,â Asher answers for me. âWe just watched the highlight reel, to see who our competition was.â
 âLeo volunteered the second Erin was Reaped.â Hosanna doesnât seem like sheâs looking at me anymore. She seems like sheâs looking through me, boring a hole in the back of my skull. âHe went into the Games to protect her.â
 To protect her.
 Erinâs body this time. Skewered to the ice in a pool of her own blood.
No wonder Hosanna hated me this morning. Not only did I get Leo killed, but I also distracted him from saving Erin. In my mind, Iâm back in the cave, as the ground starts to shake and the ice cracks underfoot. Iâm somersaulting, the way I do, wasting precious seconds, and Leo is the one who picks me off the ground and drags me out of the cave.
 Drags me.
 Leaves her.
 âAndrea, I was wrong.â Hosannaâs voice, drawing me out of my memories. âTheir deaths were not your fault. You didnât cause that earthquake. You didnât drop those icicles on Erin.â She pauses to swallow, tears brimming in her eyes. âYou didnât put an arrow through my boyâs neck.â
 She reaches up to dry her eyes. âYou were just a kid. In over your head. But you were a friend to them. And Leo-â
 Sheâs choking back tears now. The world blurs.
 âYou made him happy,â she breathes. âHe was laughing and smiling there, at the end.â
 Stumbling forward, I shake free of Asher and wrap my arms around Hosanna. She welcomes the hug, closing her arms around my back and pulling my closer. We cry to each other â for each other. A shared pain only the two of us understand. Then, as she rubs tears from her eyes, she leans in and whispers, âWeâre gonna get Winsor. You and me.
 âWe are gonna burn everything she loves.â
 Dariusâs face.
 I reach up and find Hosannaâs hand on my shoulder. I squeeze it, hard. And I look her in the eyes, and I promise.
 I BARELY NOTICE THE ASPHALT PEBBLES BURYING THEMSELVES IN MY BACK. They tear into the Kevlar body arm like bullets, but, given the fact that Iâve only felt trauma thus far, I can assume they havenât hit skin. The pain dulls in comparison to the sensory overload that is Andy Boyle. Everything about her â the flicker of terror in her eyes, the way she smells, even the warmth of her body beneath me â is so familiar. For two whole years, she has been nothing but a memory to me and now, here she is: solid and virile and real. But, while my heart is melting, my pulse is skyrocketing. My cheeks flush in the rush of blood to my head. Veins throb in my ears. My mouth itches in its dryness. My throat begins to close. And the quiet rage is there, forcing its way up my esophagus like a monster, clawing its way out.Â
 HER BODY SHUDDERS ABOVE ME. And I know â the way you just know some things, deep in your bones â that these tremors are not from the bombs. As she shudders, she grinds her fingers into the concrete earth at my back. Every muscle in her clenches tight. But I am not afraid of what might happen if she sets them loose. I know the girl behind these eyes.
 She will not hurt me.
 While the dust settles, the ringing in my ears carries on a few seconds longer. I hear a muffled cry â two syllables, same vowel sounds as my name â and tilt my head to face the noise. The second I do, Katie rolls off of me. The shadow of two feet falls over my face. A blurry head with brown hair and brown eyes lowers into view. My eyes struggle to focus as he repeats my name again.
 Then, the details of his face sharpen. âAsher!â I cry, bypassing the part where I sit up on my elbows and flinging myself onto him.
 âAndy, we gotta move.â Panic seeps through the cracks in his voice. âThe birds are diving like kamikazes. The impact is whatâs triggering the explosives.â
 âThat means we canât even shoot them out of the sky.â My hear plummets into my small intestine. âThe bombsâll still go off.â
 âSo donât aim for the birds.â Katieâs voice doesnât waver. âAim for the explosives. Blow âem while theyâre still in the air.â
 âShots like that take skill,â a fourth voice chimes. Maggie hobbles over to us, limping on her bad leg and cradling her lead hand with the other. âIâm one of the few soldiers in this unit trained as a sharpshooter. Rounding up my other two guys â assuming they arenât dead already â takes time we donât have.â She swallows. âWe charge the building. The Capitol wouldnât dare bomb its largest weapons manufactory.â
 âTheyâre dropping bombs on their own Peacekeepers to keep you from taking that factory,â Katie snaps. âThe Capitol can always make more weapons somewhere else. We canât.â
 The ground shivers as on another bomb goes off somewhere in the distance. I look up and see the Carrierjays hovering on the horizon. And I see the bombs â little gray squares that look like clay, blinking red, strapped to the birdsâ stomachs by leather harnesses. The blinking red dots are the detonators. Those are the things we have to hit. Anyone who tries to make that shot has to stand within the blast radius â maybe dead in the middle of it. One misfire, and itâs sudden death. I look up at Maggie and run a hand through my hair.
 âI can make those shots.â
 Asherâs and Maggieâs eyes snap to me. Asher jumps up and says âAndy, noâ at the same time Maggie says âAbsolutely not.â  Asher blinks, steps back, and relinquishes the floor to Maggie. Maggie steps forward.
 âAndy, you are going back through that tunnel to wait for us in the chopper. The only reason you were allowed on this mission was because of the scrambler. We thought there would be no air support. All we had to do was form a wall of well-trained gunmen around you to keep you safe. We are not prepared to handle this.â
 She clamps a hand on my shoulder. âYou are the figurehead of this revolution. We cannot afford to lose you.â
 âHow can I figurehead a revolution Iâm barely a part of?â I snap, glaring up at her. Hosannaâs words echo in my ears.
 Naïve children should not be sheltered from consequences.
 âUp until now, Iâve been nothing but words.â I set my jaw. âThese people have bled enough for me. Itâs about time I bleed for them.â
 âYou havenât been trained.â Maggie argues. âThereâs no way youâll make the shot. Youâll be killed in seconds.â
 âI killed two fully armored Peacekeepers at thirty meters with a pair of stiletto heels,â I snap. I donât want to look at Maggie anymore. Suddenly, I find my gaze drifting away from her, over to Katie. I swallow the lump in my throat, searching Katieâs eyes from some kind of approval. âI can do this.â
 Weâre showered in another hail of dirt and concrete that sends Maggie stumbling into Asher. Katie inclines her head toward me. âIâll cover you.â
Rolling her eyes, Maggie ducks under the sling of her rifle. She hands the gun over to me. âItâs a trade,â she insists, jerking her chin at the rifle in my hands. âYours is close-range. Youâll get better precision out of this guy.â As I accept her rifle and pass mine over, she adds, âAnd Iâm covering you, too.â
 Asher tightens his grip around his spear. âMe three.â
 Once Maggie and I have swapped round counts and spare mags, the four of us turn as a unit to re-enter the fray. Maggie, Asher, and Katie form a triangle around me: Katie at the head (where Maggie can keep an eye on her), Maggie and Asher at the rear. I try not to notice the debris â human and otherwise â littering the ground as we make our way toward the wall â and, by extension, the oncoming flock. All around us, Peacekeepers in white fight the rebels in black. White suits come at me from all sides, but which ever ones Maggie canât shoot, Asher and Katie impale. My job is not to focus on them. My job is to focus on the birds. So thatâs what I do. I cock Maggieâs rifle, I look at the sky, and I breathe.
 Time slows to a crawl. Bodies hurl toward me in slow motion. A jay inches into my sights. I zero in on the little red dot on its belly, and I pull the trigger.
The sound of the explosion stings my ears. A gust of wind blasts my hair back over my shoulders. But Katieâs right. Thatâs the worst that happens. The world does not stop. My life does not end. And, more importantly, neither does anyone elseâs.
 Well. Excluding the bird.
 A weight lifts off of my chest, flooding my lungs with warm, smoke-filled air. Every inch of me that doesnât swell with air swells with something else: a sudden, strong sense of pride. Of accomplishment. Of purpose.
 I can do this. I am no longer the voice of the rebellion: I am the rebellion.
 I take out another jay. And another. And another. My squad sticks to me like glue, stabbing, hacking, and shooting a path through the mess of war. Eventually, Hosanna and her soldiers catch on to the plan. They assemble their own squads: a sniper and a few guards a piece. Some of them miss. Some of them miss the detonators, bring down the birds, and are obliterated in their wake. Fewer miss the birds entirely and are killed when the birds dive out of panic. But most of them â most of them do not miss. Most of them aim true. And even more eventually, the Carrierjays stop coming. When the last of them explodes in the sky, we turn uphill, toward the factory.
 The Peacekeepers scramble to reconfigure their lines, but it does not matter. Their numbers have been depleted by the bombs, as well. Because the Capitol didnât care if its own men died. Because, if you could see through the tinted glass of the Peacekeepersâ visors, you would see fear. Because, for them, reinforcements have not been sent.
 Because the bombs were not supposed to fail.
 Hosanna leads the charge up the hill. During the fight, a part of me goes away. I feel like Iâm watching the battle from a cloud somewhere â watching from a distance as I and the people I love turn into creatures of war. Watching Maggie, wincing from the pain of raising her rifle to fire, but raising it just the same. Watching Asher and his look of wild animal panic as primal instincts kick in to save him from the rational mind begging him to run and hide. Watching me, as I empty another magazine into a Peacekeeperâs visor and slam a replacement mag into the clip. Watching Katie, as her sword peels another arm from its shoulder.
 She doesnât even bat an eye.
 Suddenly, I feel the weight of gravity tugging at my gut.
We shouldnât have to be like this. Fearless, in the face of death. We shouldnât have to face death at all. We shouldnât have to stare down fellow human beings as we deliver the blows that end their lives.
 Our hands should neverâve been this red.
 In the end, we fight our way up that hill. We corral the remaining Peacekeepers into a guarded circle of rebels. Hosanna places the charge that blows open the factory doors. A smaller team of rebels enters the building to round up the guards. I know the task is finished when hundreds of civilians stream through the doors and into the open. Across the expanse, I see Leoâs future. I see the man he wouldâve been in ten, twenty years, glancing about himself in search of something. Hosanna wraps herself around him. Sheâs pulling him in for a kiss when the metaphorical knife stabs through my chest. I turn from them, tears welling in my eyes.
 âReady for your victory speech?â  Maggieâs waiting for me, with Asher at her side.
 My heart splinters down the middle. I push past them, calling over my shoulder, âHave either of you seen Darius?â
 Asher catches up to me first. Maggie hobbles along behind us, grimacing. Asherâs shaking his head, scanning the crowd for me. âI havenât. But heâs gotta be around here, somewhere.â
 âYou donât want to see him.â
 Katie materializes out of thin air and into my path. Startling, I take a breath to relax my heart rate before retorting, âAnd why wouldnât I?â
 Iâm about to push past her, too, when she grabs hold of my wrist. Her touch is the same as I remember it. Though her skin is rough and calloused, she handles me with such tenderness. Like Iâm the most precious thing in the world. Swallowing, I look up. Her eyes bore into mine.
 âAndy,â she warns. âYou donât.â
 Gravity tugs again.
 I lay my free hand over hers and squeeze. âTake me to him.â
 She stares me down for a long moment. I stare right back. In the end, that must convince her, whatever it is, I can handle it. She inclines her head and concedes.
 I find Darius next to a blackened crater near the bottom of the hill. I donât recognize him until Iâm up close. The entire left half of his body is marbled with third-degree burns, the entire right half torn to ribbons by debris. Entire chunks of his left leg, stomach, and shoulder are missing. He lies completely still, looking up to heaven with eyes that will never burn again.
 As I sink to my knees beside him, my heart dive-bombs my stomach, exploding me from the inside out.
ME, ALONE IN THE TRAINING GYM, with one of my most vocal haters. What could possibly go wrong? The only pleasure I take from this experience is the knowledge that Maggie is just as uncomfortable â if not more so â than I am. Weâre fifteen minutes in, and she still refuses to establish eye contact with me. She keeps swinging her arms behind her, stressing muscles sheâs already stretched a dozen times. She glances at the clock every now and again, counting down the seconds until Don has deemed it satisfactory for her to leave me with my guards. Â
 âYou could go, if you wanted to,â I coo at her, regarding her from underneath my lashes. âRubber stamp me. Donâll trust you.â
 âPresident McAvoy trusted me to clear you for active combat duty.â Her words are laden with sighs. âIf you show up at the drop and embarrass me, I break that trust. You donât get out of here until I say youâre ready.â
 âYou wonât even come at me,â I jeer. âYou sure youâre ready?â
 âThese arenât the Games, Lenley,â Maggie hisses back. âYou canât hide in a snowbank until someone comes at you first. I need to know that youâll willingly engage to keep Andy safe.â
 The name triggers a rush of blood to my head. It pounds in my ears, covering the world in a haze of red. This time, I do not need to deny the fire in my belly. This time, I can use it. I fill myself with oxygen and let the fire breathe. Then, I run at Maggie. As I run at her, the same part of me that retreats every time I resort to violence goes away.
 Maggie answers me with everything she has: arms, elbows, knees, legs, feet. But I am faster, because Iâm not seeing her from where I am. Iâm seeing her from the part of me that has drifted away, looking down on the scene, watching her muscles twitch from above before she goes to strike. Itâs quick and easy: a duck and a series of jabs to her ribs and a spin and a knuckle to the jaw and a swift kick to her knee. Something cracks as she goes down. She confirms the hit with a groan as she collapses into the mat.
 I slam back into my body, knowing instantly I have done too much. Maggie rolls over on the mat, moaning and cradling her knee to her chest. My hands begin to tremble, so I squeeze them into fists. I crouch beside her, blowing my bangs out of my face. âAre you okay?â I ask. I almost reach out to stroke her shoulder, then think better of it and stay my hands at my sides. Maggie chomps down on her bottom lip, stifles another moan, and turns to me with venom in her eyes. She starts to say something, but before she can, a spindly little white boy with a crop of short brown hair pokes his head through the door.
 âVasquez?â He sees her on the ground and takes a step into the room.
 âWhat is it, Aaron.â She doesnât turn her head to snap at him.
 The boy swallows. â3 just sent us the coordinates for the drop site. McAvoy wants me to take over with Katie while you brief the rest of the guys.â
 âHow are you communicating with 3 if they have a scrambler over the District?â I furrow my brow. âRadio waves and ELMs wouldnât go through.â
 âWeâve been using Carrierjays,â Aaron answers in excited schoolboy voice before Maggie can stifle him with a glare. âItâs hella old school, but they donât have to disable the grid to get word out.â
 âCarrierjays?â I frown.
 â⊠Yeah.â Aaron puckers his brows at me âTrained birds? They used to use âem to send coded messages in olden times. Except⊠I guess they called âem carrier pigeons back thenâŠâ
 Maggie widens her eyes at him in a âshut up nowâ wince. âThank you, Aaron, but Iâm not leaving you alone with her. Go get Rinehart.â
 âOhâŠâ Aaron stammers. âBut we wonât be alone. Iâm supposed to take her to the range. Make sure she knows how to use the guns.â
 âThereâs no way Iâm putting a gun in her hands.â Maggie scowls at him. âRinehartâll work with her on a sword drills. If President McAvoy has a problem with that, he can take it up with me.â She saunters toward Aaron and the door.
 âYouâre sending me to a gunfight with a knife?â The words are out before I can swallow them. The second theyâre out, I swallow hard. Trap the panic in my throat. Maggie tosses her hair as she looks back over her shoulder at me.
 âA really big knife.â She grins. âYou wanted a trial by fire.â
 A scream rises inside me. A bloody murder scream. I want to charge her. Gouge her eyes out with my fingernails. But then, thatâs what she wants. She wants me to slip up, lose control, get violent. Because then, sheâll have her excuse. And Iâm not ready to leave yet. As long as Andy Boyleâs locked up in here, safe behind this concrete walls under layers of solid earth, drawing breath, I will never be finished. So I bite down on my lip.
IT FEELS WEIRD TO BE SURROUNDED BY THE OLD TEAM AGAIN. Asher, Darius, and I shoved into close quarters in the chopper. It reminds me of the day they took us to the arena. Itâs somewhat similar: Weâre headed into a fight â possibly to the death â and Iâm pissed off at Darius. But other than that, itâs an entirely different animal. Asher and I are friends. Iâm glad heâs alive. Marissaâs dead. Maggieâs here. Sheâs got some kind of brace on her knee she refuses to talk about. And all the way in the front, surrounded on all sides by the only soldiers allowed to ride armed, is Katie. She doesnât look at me. Or at any of us. She gazes straight ahead, lost in her own world. Maggie catches me looking and frowns. âYou really should give up on her.â
 Her eyes flicker toward her knee. âSheâs no good.â
 Asher rolls his entire head. âShe was fine with me.â
 âBecause she needs you on her side,â Darius cuts in, loud enough for the whole chopper to hear. âSo she can get to Andy.â
 Asher and I scowl down the aisle at him. Darius is sat as close to by himself as he can be on such a crowded aircraft, given that the seats on either side of him are unoccupied. Heâs crossing his arms and leaning his head back against the wall like a little pissbaby. I make a show of rolling my entire head back toward Asher. âDid she ask about me?â
 He purses his lips and remembers. âNope. She was all business. Didnât say much outside of weapon talk.â
 The chopper shudders in the air. A soldier emerges from the cockpit, heading for Maggie. âWeâre approaching the drop site.â
 Maggie inclines her head in acknowledgement. Then, she glances around the tetrazoid at us. âEveryone, get ready to jump.â
 We parachute down in teams of two. Mostly because parachutes are scarce in our fly-by-night rebellious operation, but, in Katieâs case, Iâm sure itâs because no one trusts her to stick with the group. As fun as it is watching her hard-face her way through the process, wrapped in the arms of some agent named Henry, whom she must pretend is stronger than she is, itâs much less fun harnessing my back to Dariusâs chest while we prepare to drop. Iâm stuck with Darius under Maggieâs orders â because heâs the only one who distrusts Katie as much as Maggie does. While he knows better than to try and apologize, especially since we both know he wouldnât mean it, the resulting silence just makes the shuffling and strapping and bumping body parts more awkward. Soon enough, weâre second in line behind Maggie and her partner, ready to slide open the door and leap into the abyss.
 Iâm not ready for the gale force winds waiting on the other side of the door. It suctions every loose inch of my skin, dragging it away from my skull in all directions. Though a pair of goggles protect my eyes, the yanking of my skin cause my eyes to water anyway. I stumble backward a step, rebounding off the taut muscle of Dariusâs chest. He grabs my elbow. Holds me steady. I want to hate him for the gesture. Mostly, though, I hate myself for being relieved by it. Then Maggie screams, âGo!â and pitches forward, out of the chopper, and the only thing left for me to feel is the clench of panic in my gut.
 Falling from the sky feels a lot like tumbling down the mountainside in the Arena, only this time, Iâm not buffeted by rocks and patches of ice so solid, they might as well be rock. This time, Iâm buffeted by winds coming at me like freight trains. As I fall down, Iâm also thrown up, into Darius. I hear his voice yelling in my ear, but I canât make sense of the words. Not until he drives his knee between my legs, forcing them open. Suddenly, the pressure against my ribcage and gut releases. I almost feel like I can breathe again. Any worries I mightâve had about wiping out the second we hit ground evaporate the second Darius pulls the chute. The harness yanks my torso up and back, settling it over my hips like Iâm standing upright. The sensation knocks the wind from my lungs, but I imagine itâs a much better feeling than plowing face-first into the ground. Darius and I jog to a stop on the ground. Once weâve successfully touched down, I follow Maggieâs voice to the edge of the clearing.
 Maggie and her partner help Darius and I out of our harness while the others begin touching down behind us. Once Iâm free, Maggie pulls me aside and claps me on the shoulder. Iâm still gulping greedy mouthfuls of air.
 âYou alright?â Maggie frowns down at me. When I manage to straighten and brush my hair out of my face, she grins. âNot bad for a first jump, eh?â
 Weâre interrupted by rustling from the trees. A handful of men and women emerge from the forest, all dressed in the sleek back and silver armor-like fashions of District 3. Upon closer inspection, they appear to be battle gear made entirely of Kevlar plates. The woman in the lead tucks a flyaway strand of light-brown hair back into her ponytail and fixes me in her silver-eyed gaze. A knife of pain plunges through my chest.
 She looks so much like him.
 Rolling her shoulders back and lifting her chin, she carriers herself over to me. âAndrea Boyle?â Rather than extend a hand, she winds her fingers through her belt loops and narrows her eyes.
 âAndy,â Maggie inclines her head to me, âthis is Hosanna Thermopolus, leader of rebellion and our contact in District 3.â
 I fall to my knees at her feet. Maggie, scratching behind her ear, looks down at me. âAndy. What are you doing.â
 I look up at Hosanna â all lithe, athletic build and features sharp enough to cut glass â and I see him. The tears are already in my eyes, brimming over my lids and onto my cheeks before I can swallow them. I bow my head. Ignoring Maggie, I speak to Hosanna. âI owe you my life.â
 Maggie throws her hands. âWhat?â
 âYes. You do.â Hosannaâs voice cuts sharper than the blades of Tabbyâs whip. âMy son became distracted and careless over you. Now my husbandâs gone and done the same. Youâve got a whole host of everymen in that factory thinking they can be heroes âcause of you.â Â
 Maggie steps forward, shielding me behind the right half of her body. âThermopolus, none of this is Andyâs fault. 13âs rebellion wasnât her idea-â
 âSure. Sheâs a naĂŻve child taking orders.â Hosanna leans over Maggieâs shoulder to spit her venom down at me. âBut naĂŻve children need to learn there are consequences.â
 Leoâs face in the second after the arrowâs hit him flashes across the backs of my eyes. The scar in my abdomen sears like it did when Jarrod cut it open. Fortunately, Hosannaâs attention isnât on me when I waver. Her gaze travels past me, landing on Katie as Katie lands on the ground. Hosannaâs voice drops to a subconscious whisper. âHer, I want to thank.â
 Hosanna takes a step forward â straight into Maggieâs outstretched arm. âItâs not safe for you to approach her, maâam,â Maggie growls.
 Hosanna raises an eyebrow. âAnd why not?â
 Maggieâs gaze flickers momentarily to me. She jerks her chin, motioning for me to stand. As I do, she offers Leoâs mom a more complete answer. âSheâs tracker jacked. Sheâs prone to unpredictable violent outbursts.â Maggieâs eyes drop to the brace on her knee.
 Out of the infinite list of possible responses, Hosanna laughs. Softly and to herself, but she actually laughs. âYou donât get many jackers in 13, do you?â She shakes her head. âThe outbursts arenât random. They create an emotional trigger by flashing images in front of the subject while inject them with the venom, which, among other things, is comprised of trace amounts of epinephrine and norepinephrine. Thatâs why the treatment kills most people: it constricts blood vessels and heart muscles. If blood pressure doesnât increase enough, blood canât get through, and they die. Or, blood pressure increases too much and the heart gives out from the stress. If subjects survive, though, whenever they receive the subliminal cue, their psyche associates it with the adrenal response of anger and reacts accordingly.â
 Maggie and I exchange blank looks. Hosanna scoffs. âBasically, you two piss her off.â
 The conversation is brought to an abrupt end when Darius meanders over.
 âEveryoneâs down,â he says to Maggie. âAre we ready to ship out?â
 Maggie locks eyes with Hosanna. âLead the way.âÂ
THE THREE HOUR WALK FROM THE DROP SITE to the tunnels beneath the District wall does little to relieve my festering nerves. It feels like somethingâs crawling around my skull, just below the skin. Every time I catch a glimpse of Andy, flanked on either side by the Katie fanclub (Maggie and Darius), my fingers twitch for the dual katana swords strapped across my back. The weight of them unsettles me: I only carried weapons a few times, during my training. I suppose I should feel comforted: I can draw either blade faster than anyone in my entourage can draw their gun. But even the fact that, in Maggieâs distrust of me, she has armed me better than she otherwise wouldâve provides no comfort. I need the violence to start. To lose myself for a while. Iâve been fighting for so long, Iâve forgotten what itâs like to live in stillness.
 Itâs boring.
 Something feels off, too. I have vague memories of living in stillness for hours â days on end. I have vague memories of Lewis praising my patience. They donât mesh with the way I feel now: this perpetual itch.
 Maybe Maggieâs right. Maybe the venom did have some kind of effect on me.
 Iâm torn from reverie when one of the new arrivals â the brunette woman who looks like someone I vaguely recall from the arena â stops at the head of our formation, turning to face us. âLadies and gentlemen,â she calls, her voice echoing off the dirt walls of the tunnel, her eyes glinting with the echoes of dancing torchlight. âOn the other side of this door is an army of Peacekeepers holding the people of 3 hostage. If you call yourself rebels, you will prepare yourselves now. And you will fight for us.â
 The rebels from 3 raise their guns in the air, cheering. The soldiers of 13 reluctantly follow suit. I donât even try to bite back the grin tugging at the corner of my mouth.
 The world goes quiet as the rebel lead from 3 throws the trap door back. It slams into the earth with such force, the tunnel trembles. There is a cool rush of wind past my ears. Then, there is the crackling of gunfire. My own yell is lost in the chorus of war cries as our party surges from the tunnel. The monster in my belly stretches itself awake. Then, it devours.
 Bodies peel away from me, casualties of bullets and faceless enemies. I palm the katana swords, twirling them in my hands, giving over to their weight. For a few precious moments, I become those swords. I am unthinking, unfeeling. Ruthless. Cutting. Precise. I separate guns from hands, hands from arms, arms from shoulders. Shoulders from heads. I lick wet from my lips and taste blood. But every time I kill one, another rises. Another mask. Another suit of white metal. I stare into the blank, black visors of their helmets, and I laugh. The last thing I want them to see before the end is the curve of my smile.
 I slam back into my body when I hear it. In the midst of whizzing bullets and clashing metal, I hear it: the chirp of a bird.
 Lifting my head, I see the flock. There are hundreds â thousands of them. Theyâre just beyond the wall, and theyâre getting closer. Voices echo in my head.
 âThe rebellion has set up a scrambler over the District, so itâs a no-fly zone. The Capitol canât send air support.â
 âWeâve been using Carrierjays. Trained birds? They used to use âem to send coded messages in olden times. Except⊠I guess they called âem carrier pigeons back thenâŠâ
 Across the space, I watch Andy bury a round in a Peacekeeperâs stomach. Suddenly, Iâm not watching her on a battlefield anymore. Iâm watching her aim a toy gun at the digiscreen, making silly sound effects and laughing at herself as we watch the Games. Blood pounds in my ears. Sheathing my swords, I sprint toward her. Maggie catches sight of me and moves to intercept.
 âShoot the birds!â I donât stop coming as I scream at her. I barrel into Maggie shoulder, knocking her out of my way as I stumble into Andy.  Andy sees me in the last second, her blue eyes widening in terror as I pin her to the ground.
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