Prim finding out about the baby isn't nearly as bad as I was afraid of. My mother must tell her, because she knows by the time the two of them come over for dinner the next night. She's nothing but excited for me, and the closest thing to a reprimand she has is when she laments that she didn't get to be part of my first examination. She practically does another one anyway, feeling around my stomach and asking a million questions. I indulge her to a point, but I draw the line when she tries to hike up my shirt.

At one point after dinner, Peeta brings Prim into the kitchen with him, ostensibly to help him with dessert, but I know Peeta doesn't need any help with dessert. When she comes back out five minutes later, she comes straight over to me and curls herself up in my lap, clutching her arms around me and laying her head on my shoulder. I don't know exactly what Peeta said to her, but it must have been about our trouble with the Capitol.

I find myself genuinely angry at Peeta. There was no reason why she needed to know any of the dirty details of all this, and it's obviously scared her to death. He had no right to do that. And once Mom and Prim have left, I tell him so.

Peeta is surprised by my sudden change in mood, but he recovers quickly. He takes a seat on one of the couches in the living room, and I seat myself on the other one, directly across from him with the low table separating us. "You said you didn't think you'd gotten through to your mother. You asked me to help explain things."

"Help explain things to Mom," I say. "I'm trying to protect Prim, not scare her to death."

Peeta shakes his head. "You need to decide what you're protecting her from, Katniss. Are you protecting her life or her innocence? Do you want her alive and scared or oblivious and dead?"

I'm left silent for a moment; I'm not used to Peeta speaking this bluntly. This is not happy sunshine Peeta who always manages to find the good in things, this is a bit of the Peeta who survived living with his mother for sixteen years. Peeta who can brush everything else aside and zero in on what's most important. "You think I'm wrong to protect her innocence?"

"I think maybe you're not giving her enough credit," he says gently. "She's been through a lot, just like you. Lost her father. Watched her sister in the Games. She's a survivor, just as much as you are."

"She cried when I tried to take her hunting," I say.

"And you almost threw up at a stab wound that wouldn't have phased her for a second," Peeta counters. And he's right, Prim doesn't bat an eye at the kind of gore that sends me running for the hills. Maybe just because I inflict wounds and she heals them doesn't make her more innocent, any more than Peeta is.

"She's my little sister," I say.

"I know," Peeta says. "But she's thirteen now. She doesn't have the same burdens you did when you were thirteen, but like I said, she's been through plenty. She can handle knowing a little bit of the truth. And I think she deserves to know enough to protect herself."

"That's not for you to decide," I snap out bitterly. That was my original objection, wasn't it? Before Peeta clouded the issue with his clever words.

"And who does decide if she deserves the chance to protect herself?" he asks. I just scowl at him. Peeta's shoulders sag with a sigh. "Look, is there anyone in this world whose loss would devastate you like Prim's?"

I immediately think of Peeta himself, but I don't give voice to the thought. Peeta nods at my silence. "Exactly. So I'm sorry if it upsets you, but you're not going to convince me to not do everything I can to protect her."

When I don't say anything in reply, Peeta stands to leave the room, but he pauses behind me. I can almost feel him hesitate before his hand gently lands on my shoulder. "Do you remember when we first came home from the Games, how you chafed when your mother tried to reassert control over you? Do you remember how you complained that you weren't eleven anymore and she needed to stop treating you that way?"

"Yeah," I say, unsure where he's going with this.

"Well, Prim's not seven anymore either. Even if you don't trust me to help protect her, you should think about trusting her." With that he leaves me alone with my thoughts.

…..

"I do trust you," I say later, when we're wrapped up in bed together. "I trust you. You have to know that."

Peeta is quiet for a long moment. Finally he says, "I think deep down you don't really trust anybody."

…..

I mull that one over for a while. Peeta lets me stew, knowing that it sometimes takes me a while to figure out what to say and that I'll respond in my own time.

We begin to develop a new routine, now that we can't go out to the woods anymore. Even without hunting, staying inside all the time just isn't an option for me. We try taking walks around the district to replace our walks through the woods, but there isn't much to see inside the fence, and it feels silly walking just for the sake of walking, without a purpose for the trip or a destination in mind. We still make plenty of purchases at the Hob and at the shops in town to spread our money around, but that isn't anything to fill our days. We try having a picnic out in the Meadow like we used to out in the woods, but it only takes one trip for us to notice the hovering Peacekeepers and decide that it's better that we not spend so much time right next to the district fence.

We wind up settling on a tree near the edge of the Victor's Village. It's a little bit away from the houses, but still out of sight from town. There's a bit of grass right under the tree that's the perfect spot to sit and rest, or set out lunch. When I get sick of aimlessly wandering our dismal district but don't want to go back inside yet, that's where we go to spend time in some semblance of the outdoors we're now cut off from.

It isn't until Peeta points it out to me that I realize that this is the very same tree we spent time under the day we were married, after we went to see his mother and I wound up decking her. I still have mixed emotions about that, but more than anything it makes me think about what will happen when we tell her about our baby, which we'll probably have to do sooner rather than later.

Haymitch has been in touch Effie and our other handlers in the Capitol. Soon enough a television crew will be coming out to Twelve to film an interview with Peeta and me about the baby. "As soon as you're showing enough for the cameras. Or maybe sooner, if they can rig up something that'll look convincing."

I had to roll my eyes at that. With everything they can do with their Capitol camera tricks, why bother with me being pregnant at all?

…..

I think deep down you don't really trust anybody. It sounds like an accusation. I know Peeta doesn't mean it that way, but the more I think about it the more I can't really react to it any other way.

Why should I trust anybody? Who am I supposed to trust, exactly? My depressed mother, who abandoned her children to starve? My drunken mentor, who would trade his own life for a drink? I trusted my father, but that didn't do me much good once he was dead. I trust Prim, but I'm supposed to protect her, not the other way around. I trust Peeta, but Prim is my responsibility, not his.

"I don't mean it in a bad way," Peeta says when I bring it up again, one day under the tree at the edge of the Victor's Village. We're both bundled up in Capitol winter gear to protect ourselves from a late-winter snowfall, but I'm greedy for the outdoors and unwilling to return home just yet. We sit side by side, pressed up against each other but separated by the thick winter coats we wear. "You've been carrying so many burdens on your own for so long. I just think that part of you has a hard time accepting that you aren't in this by yourself anymore." Well, sure, because if I had ever allowed myself to believe that before I would have been wrong and my whole family would have died for my mistake.

But then I stop myself, because there was one night when I was decidedly not all alone, and it saved my life. And even in the days after that - when, yes, I fed my family, but I did so using my mother's family plant book and the skills my father spent years teaching me. The vendors at the Hob would probably have accepted anyone who showed up with fresh meat, but what about the merchants in town who opened their back doors to my illegal game? Would they have placed their fate into the hands of any scrawny twelve-year-old with meat to sell? Or did they trust me to be discreet because my father had earned that trust?

"How do you trust people so easily?" That's the real question. Peeta didn't have a lot of trustworthy people in his life growing up either, yet somehow he still became this kind, sweet man who always sees the best in people. That's what makes no sense. My distrust makes perfect sense by comparison.

"I don't know that I trust people that easily," he says.

I scoff at that. "You picked Haymitch up out of a pool of his own vomit and still expected him to mentor us."

"And it worked, didn't it?" Well, he does have a point there. "I don't expect people to be more than they are," he says.

"You expected Haymitch to be more than a drunk."

"But I never expected him to not be a drunk," he says. "I don't trust people to never let me down, that'd just be setting myself up for disappointment. But people tend to be consistent. If you know what they've done in the past, it's pretty easy to predict what they'll do in the future. So I guess I just trust people to be themselves."

I shake my head. "What does that even mean?"

"It means I expect people to act like they've always acted, and I'm not let down when they do," he explains. "Like, I trust my father to be who he is, and part of that is knowing that he's never going to stand up to my mother. I trust my mother to be who she is, so I'm not surprised or disappointed when she does the same things she's always done."

"That's not something you should have to get used to," I say.

Peeta dodges the topic. "I trust Haymitch's knowledge of the Games, but I don't expect him to quit drinking. I trust Effie to know what a Capitol audience expects from me, but I don't expect her to have an epiphany and suddenly start feeling guilty for the mass murder she's a part of. I trust Rye's quick wits, but I don't expect him to start taking everything seriously. I trust Barlee's intelligence, but I don't expect him to stop kowtowing to my mother."

Peeta is such a keen judge of people, no wonder he's able to do that. "And you think that's what I do?" I ask him. "I expect too much from people and so they let me down?"

"No, not at all," he says with a shake of his head. "I don't think you expect anything from anyone, because that way they can't let you down. I think it's been so long since you had someone you could really trust that you're out of the habit."

"I trust you," I insist.

"You didn't trust me to tell Prim what she needed to know."

I scowl. "You told her too much."

"You only think that because you don't trust Prim to help take care of herself."

"I…" I want to snap back at him, but I find myself stopped by the unexpected lump in my throat. I'm supposed to protect Prim, not lay that burden on her.

When I remain silent, Peeta asks, "What was the first thing we promised each other, on that train ride home?"

That's easy. "No more lies."

"Because you don't lie to someone you love," he says. "You don't leave people you love in the dark. You trust them with the truth."

"She's my responsibility," I choke out.

"You have to let her take some responsibility for herself," Peeta says.

"But I'm the one who put her in danger."

"No you're not," Peeta says. I open my mouth to contradict him, but he cuts me off. "Snow put her in danger. All you've done is try to protect her. But you don't have to do it alone anymore. And you don't have to protect her from the real world like you did years ago."

I take a moment to stop and really consider Peeta's words. They almost make me laugh when I realize what he's really saying. My life is so messed up. "How many sixteen-year-olds have to be given the 'let your kids grow up' speech?"

Peeta actually does laugh a little. "I don't know. How many sixteen-year-olds have raised someone as smart and confident and ready to grow up as Prim is?"

I scoff a little. "That was all her doing."

"Now I don't believe that for a second," Peeta says. He drapes his arm over my shoulders, and it's a bit awkward with our bulky winter coats but I allow it. "Talk about a tough act to follow. If our kid doesn't wind up as amazing as Prim, it'll be entirely my fault."

He actually gets me to smile a little. "Not much chance of that. I can't imagine your child being anything but amazing."

"Our child," Peeta corrects me. Then he stops himself, shaking his head and smiling as if it's the first time he's realizing it. "We're having a baby, Katniss."

I wish I could be as happy as he is about this. But I'm still so afraid.

…..

At my next exam, Prim is her usual self, mixing enthusiasm and excitement about the baby with serious dedication to performing her parts of the exam in the way that only she can. The deep emotional scarring I was afraid of last week seems so silly a worry now.

I let Peeta come with me this time, but make him leave the room when the actual exam is going to begin.

"Are you sure?" he asks me. At my confirmation, he takes a step back, raises his arms above his head, and begins spinning as he works his way toward the next room.

Prim starts giggling at his antics. Mom just looks confused. "Peeta, what on earth are you doing?" I ask.

"I promised you a dance!" he calls out as he twirls through the doorway.

We can't start the exam until I can stop laughing.

…..

Left with too many hours to fill, I enroll Peeta in a project to update my family's plant book. The book was invaluable to me in the early days after my father died, but now I know many plants that aren't recorded in the book. Some my father taught me but never recorded before he died. Some I discovered on my own. Some I learned from Gale. Even some that I learned in the Training Center before the Games. Peeta sketches each one on scrap paper, based on my descriptions and, when possible, on his own observations from the few months he came out to the woods with me. Once his sketch meets my approval he copies it into the book, and I add everything I know about each one in my most careful handwriting. It's quiet, absorbing work that helps take my mind off of our problems. But it's slow going, because the look of concentration Peeta gets while he's sketching only exacerbates the effects that pregnancy hormones are having on my libido. Especially when his tongue begins to creep out from between his lips.

I also find myself spending more time with my friend Madge Undersee. We've only seen each other occasionally since I stopped attending school, but it turns out that she has plenty of empty hours to fill as well. It's a bit weird at first, we never did speak much even when we saw each other every day, and ever since the Victory Tour Madge is a constant reminder of the mockingjay pin she gave me, which I know is being used as a symbol by rioters in several districts. One day she tells me a bit more about it, saying that it had been in her family for a while but that she had inherited it from her aunt. I tell her about how the design of the pin has become the height of fashion in the Capitol, figuring that's a safe enough tidbit to share.

Madge tries to teach me the piano, but I prefer to simply listen to her play. It turns out she's dying to go to the woods, and is very disappointed when I tell her that I don't go out beyond the fence any longer. She also becomes the first person outside of my family to find out about the baby, when I have to throw up twice during one visit to her house. If this is morning sickness, my body has a real funny definition of morning.

The weeks go by, and winter becomes spring. Peeta's birthday passes, and mine is fast approaching. I don't see anything different in the mirror yet, but Peeta swears he can see my stomach beginning to grow, and my pants are getting a bit tighter. When we go to bed at night, Peeta lays his head on by stomach and talks to the baby. I don't think the baby understands much, according to Mom it's about the size of my finger right now, but Peeta won't be dissuaded, and to be honest I find it absolutely adorable. I can feel my fears and anxieties slowly ebbing as I'm lulled to sleep by the sound of Peeta describing various pastries our child will learn to help him make for me.

…..

"Well, get ready, sweetheart," Haymitch says as he barges into our kitchen unannounced. It's late in the morning, but I've been so tired lately that I'm actually sleeping in for the first time in my life, and we've just finished breakfast. I'm seated at the table with a cup of tea and the last of my toast. Peeta was preparing some dough on the counter for dinner later before turning his attention to Haymitch. "Cameras will be here next week to tell all of Panem that you've got a bun in the oven," Haymitch continues.

"Already?" I say, looking down at my decidedly not-protruding stomach. I can finally see the beginning of a bulge in the mirror, but it's still small enough that it isn't noticeable when I'm wearing clothes.

Haymitch follows my gaze, studying my midsection. "I guess they'll figure something out."

"They may actually prefer it this way," Peeta suggests. "They can fake up a cute little tummy without having to deal with any of the other ways a woman's body actually changes later in pregnancy."

Haymitch narrows his eyes at Peeta. "That sounds just like them. You sure you're not aiming for a job with Capitol television?"

Peeta rolls his eyes and turns back to his dough. I say, "There's no need to be insulting, Haymitch."

"Are you kidding me?" he asks. "That squawking woman woke me up at the ass end of the morning to tell me about something that isn't even happening for another week! I'll insult whoever I damn well please."

"It's nearly eleven," I point out.

"Ass end of the morning!" he repeats. Then under his breath he grumbles, "See if I save your ass from the Hunger Games again."

...

As luck would have it, we were already planning on eating with Peeta's family that night. I bite my lip as I stand in front of the mirror later that day, braiding and rebraiding my hair in a futile attempt to calm my nerves. We have to tell Peeta's family about the baby tonight, something we've both been putting off for too long. I carefully consider my reflection, trying to see myself the way I know his parents will. Do I look like a mother? Do I look like a responsible adult ready to take on the responsibility of raising a child?

No. I look like a child. I'm not as scrawny as I used to be; I've been eating like a Victor for almost a year now and three months into my pregnancy my body has changed somewhat, even if the budge of my stomach is almost entirely hidden by my shirt. But I'm still small enough that I look much younger than my not-quite-seventeen years. And nervously biting my lip doesn't make me look any older, so I stop and press my lips together into a hard line instead. There. Now I look like an angry child.

I see Peeta enter the room behind me. In stark contrast to my childish looks, Peeta is practically the ideal image of a handsome young man. His boyish mop of blond waves is nicely contrasted by his broad shoulders and sharply-defined jaw. Where I'm still struggling to grow beyond scrawny, Peeta looks robust and strong. He looks like exactly the sort of person who is ready to take on the responsibilities of raising a family.

Peeta looks like someone who's spent his life wrestling and lifting heavy weights. I look like someone who's spent my life struggling and starving. I guess some things you just never quite grow past.

I can see Peeta's gaze rake up and down my body as he walks up behind me, before our eyes meet in the mirror. He wraps his arms around my waist; his large, warm hands coming to rest over my stomach. He pulls me flush against his front and I allow myself to lean against him. "You're so beautiful," he says against my hair.

My loud snort breaks the peaceful quiet of the room. "Yeah. Okay."

"You are," he says, and plants a kiss behind my ear. His hands begin to roam up and down my sides, from my hips up to my ribs and back again. "You're exquisite."

I know Peeta means what he says. And usually it makes me feel good that he sees me this way, even if I think it's mostly in his head. But right now I'm just not in the mood to be flattered, so instead I change the subject. "What about you?"

Peeta pulls himself up to his full height and puffs out his chest. The preening manages to draw a small smile out of me. "I don't think I'm too bad," he says. "You could probably do worse."

"It's impossible to imagine how I could do any better," I say. "You, on the other hand, you could probably have any girl you want."

Peeta drops another kiss behind my ear. "Lucky for me I already have the only girl I want," he says, and trails a few more kisses down the side of my neck.

It would be so easy to lose myself in this moment, lose myself in Peeta's kisses and his loving words and let them soothe all my fears and anxieties away, as they so often do. But I don't have that luxury right now. "We need to get ready."

Peeta halts his kisses, and leans his forehead down on my shoulder with a heavy sigh. "I suppose you're right. The last way we want to start off tonight is with my mother annoyed that we're late. Of course, she'll most likely find some other reason to be annoyed with us anyway."

"I'm sorry your parents hate me."

"Hey," Peeta says, wrapping me in a hug around the waist and pulling us together once again. "My parents don't hate you. My father loves you. And my mother hates me."

"I just want them to be happy for you," I say. "I want them to see me as someone who can raise their grandchild."

"They won't," Peeta says bluntly. "Katniss, no matter what we do it won't change my parents' reaction tonight. My dad will be happy but he'll think we're rushing into things too quickly. My mother will think I'm too stupid and worthless to raise a child, and you're from the Seam so she really shouldn't ever be burdened by your presence anyway, let alone as the mother of her first grandchild." He gives a sad shrug of his shoulders. "Maybe she'll eventually come around if it's a girl."

It makes me profoundly sad whenever Peeta talks about his family like this. He's so accepting of their behavior, so defeated about the whole thing. I understand it, of course. I understand the thought process that goes into the decision to stop hoping for things you know you'll never get. Even a parent's love. But it still makes me sad. "You deserve so much better."

"It's okay," he says. "I have you."

"Always," I promise.

…..

It's a very odd feeling, as we make our way to dinner later that afternoon. We can both feel it. These dinners with Peeta's family are always a bit difficult, his mother's behavior ensures that. But tonight should reach an all new high. Or low, depending on how you look at it.

Our hands are clasped between us but we say nothing as we walk down the road to town. We said everything we needed to before leaving. Peeta had stopped me just inside the door and said, "Listen, whatever happens tonight happens. It doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is that once we get back home I'll have you all to myself, and we're finishing what we started upstairs before." I responded by kissing him until I couldn't breathe. No matter what, we'll go into this as one, and we'll come out of it the same way.

The only sound is the crunch of our footsteps, until I notice another set of footsteps approaching us. When we pass the next bend in the road we find Gale approaching us on his way to the Village.

I haven't seen Gale very much since we stopped hunting. I'll go to his house occasionally, but my visits are always awkward. Hazelle will offer me tea and make conversation, and the kids are the same as they ever were. But what passes between Gale and I is mostly stunted silences. I don't want to tell him about the baby yet, and I know he doesn't want to hear anything having to do with Peeta, so I don't know what to talk about. Without hunting or our shared starvation, we seem to be at a loss for anything to say to one another.

Gale never comes to my house. I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen him in the Victor's Village, always accompanying Hazelle to her job at Haymitch's. The effect Hazelle has had on Haymitch's standard of living is remarkable. I'm still caught off guard when I go into his house and find it fresh and clean, with food warming on the stove. It's such a stark contrast to before the Victory Tour, when his house was filled with trash and empty liquor bottles, and I'm not sure I ever saw fresh food over there except for the bread and game that Peeta and I brought him. Now his house looks so good that, if I didn't know better, I'd think he had simply left his trash dump behind and moved to one of the other, empty Victor's houses.

Gale came with Hazelle the first few days, despite her protests, and he still does occasionally. He seems to think she needs protection, like Haymitch might attack her or something. But for all of his loud complaining, Haymitch is harmless, so long as you watch out for his knife hand when you wake him up.

I have no idea what he's doing here now, though. Hazelle is only at Haymitch's for an hour or two each day, now that the initial heavy cleanup is done. She would have been home hours ago.

Soon enough we're standing face to face. We all greet each other, though Gale seems to eye Peeta warily. "You two on your way somewhere?"

"Dinner with my family," Peeta answers.

"Were you coming to see us?" I ask.

"Not exactly," Gale says. "Rory's over at your house. Well, your mom's house, I guess. He was supposed to come home for dinner, but he seems to have lost track of time." Gale pauses, and takes another look at me. "You okay, Catnip? What're you all bundled up for, it's pretty warm today."

I'm wearing a big, poofy winter coat Cinna sent home with me after the Victory Tour. "I've just been feeling chilly lately," I say. The truth is exactly the opposite, the last couple of months I've actually felt much warmer than normal. My mother says that's common in pregnancy, but I've never been more grateful for Peeta's tendency to leave the windows open every night. It's absolutely stifling closed up in this heavy coat, but just before we left the house I became paranoid that my stomach was visible despite my loose shirt, and threw the coat on to hide it.

Gale frowns in thought. It's clear he doesn't entirely believe me. "You're sweating and your face is red. Are you sure you're not coming down with something? Maybe you should check in with your mother."

"We just saw her yesterday, she said it wasn't anything to worry about," Peeta lies smoothly.

Before I can stop him Gale reaches out and lays his hand over my forehead. "You're burning up! You shouldn't be walking around like this."

"I'm fine, Gale!" I snap at him, knocking his hand away. "I'm just… You're right, it's just a bit warm in this coat." I unzip the coat and let it hang open. "There. I feel a much better now."

Gale shakes his head. "Katniss…" he begins, but then he trails off. His eyes are wide, and he's staring at me.

Staring right at my stomach.

I can tell immediately, he knows. However little I'm showing, however hard it is to tell right now. He knows how I move, how I stand, how I hold myself. He can tell something is different. Or maybe he just knows me too well to be fooled. "Gale," I begin, but I don't know what else to say after that.

"Are you…" he says, and it sounds like something inside of him is broken. He stops, and swallows. Then his jaw clenches. "This was your part of that deal, wasn't it? This is what Snow got from you."

I don't think I need to confirm that, so I say nothing. Peeta says, "Gale, you need to calm down-"

"Don't tell me what to do, townie!" Gale cuts him off. "This is all your fault! How could you do this to her, offering her up to the Capitol like a brood mare? Were you that desperate to get into her pants?"

"Nobody did anything to me, Gale," I say. "This whole deal was my idea. I agreed to this."

"I don't believe that for a second," Gale says. "You never wanted to have kids. You were pretty damned clear about that."

"Things change," I say.

"What could have possibly changed to make you suddenly want to have kids?" he demands.

"I fell in love with their father!" I say back to him.

It's silent after that. Gale opens and closes his mouth several times before he speaks. "Well. That's just great. Really. I can picture it. Just the two of you, your little townie baby, and President Snow. One big happy family. I hope you're all real happy together." With that he stalks off back towards town, his trip to retrieve Rory seemingly forgotten.

"Should we go after him?" Peeta asks. Part of me wants to, but I know better than to prolong an argument with Gale. At times like this it's best to let him cool off before bringing the topic up again. There's no telling what he'll do when he's this angry.

We give him a few minutes head start before continuing on towards the bakery. And I'm sure to keep my coat zipped up the whole way through town.

…..

Compared to the explosive fight with Gale, telling Peeta's family is almost mundane. Barlee is quiet. Rye makes bawdy jokes about the conception. Peeta's father smiles at us even as his eyes look concerned. His mother makes her share of nasty comments. "No grandchild of mine will be Seam trash!" "You always planned on trapping him like this." "How do you know it's even yours?" She's predictable, if nothing else.

The reaction has just died down into a tense quiet when I first notice the noise coming from outside. There's some sort of commotion in the town square. I can feel Peeta tense up beside me at the noise. Rye and Mr. Mellark have noticed the sound as well, and Barlee looks sad all of a sudden. "What is it? What's going on?" I ask.

"Out in the square…" Peeta begins, but then he trails off. Now that I'm listening carefully, I can hear another sound. A faint whistling in the air, followed by a snap and the reaction of a crowd. And it's clear that I'm the only one in the room who doesn't recognize the sound.

"Haven't had one in more than a year," Mr. Mellark comments.

"Probably one of your fellow Seam rats," Mrs. Mellark sneers. "Maybe it's even the real father."

Somehow I have to know what they're talking about. I get up from my seat and go to the window that overlooks the square. I can feel Peeta behind me, but he doesn't try to stop me from looking.

It's hard to see from this angle, but the crowd is centered at the far end of the square, by the old whipping post. Someone is at the post, their wrists bound and tied to a nail that has been driven through the neck of a dead turkey. What used to be his back is a raw, bloody slab of meat. Standing behind him is a man dressed in a Head Peacekeeper's uniform, but not the rumpled uniform of old Cray. This is a tall, muscular man with sharp creases in his pants.

It takes me a moment, but I recognize the man tied to the post, even though I can't see his face. After years of stalking the woods together, Gale's body is as familiar to me as my own. But even seeing him like this, somehow the pieces of the picture don't quite come together in my mind until I see the Peacekeeper raise his whip once again.

And then I'm bolting out of the apartment and down into the square.

…..

Oh, Gale. What have you done?

This chapter wound up a bit long, and the next one a bit short, but they both have ending spots that were too good to pass up.

If you read Peeta in this chapter advocating for telling people everything they need to know to protect themselves and trusting people with the truth, and heard references to how Katniss and Haymitch kept Peeta in the dark immediately after the Hunger Games, then congratulations, you're more perceptive than Katniss is.

In Catching Fire Katniss mentions that the new whipping post and gallows that Romulus Thread has built are mere yards away from the bakery, and since they're all centered on the town square it's not too much of a stretch to assume the old one wasn't too far away either. Full credit for the idea that Peeta and his brothers would have grown up witnessing any floggings that happened in the square goes to gentlemama (who came up with it) and arollercoasterthatonlygoesup / everlarkbakery (who first published it).

Next chapter: Oh, Gale. What have you done?

Preview quote from Chapter 17:

"I'm not taking the fall for this one when the Capitol finds out."