Mocking Jay

Those seem like two disconnected things. Negotiating with Coin for the privilege of executing Snow after
the war and this unauthorized flight through the Capitol. "But not like this," I say. "It's been a complete disaster."
"I think it would be considered a highly successful mission," says Gale. "We've infiltrated the enemy camp,
showing that the Capitol's defenses can be breached. We've managed to get footage of ourselves all over the
Capitol's news. We've thrown the whole city into chaos trying to find us."
"Trust me, Plutarch's thrilled," Cressida adds.
"That's because Plutarch doesn't care who dies," I say. "Not as long as his Games are a success."
Cressida and Gale go round and round trying to convince me. Pollux nods at their words to back them up.
Only Peeta doesn't offer an opinion.
"What do you think, Peeta?" I finally ask him.
"I think...you still have no idea. The effect you can have." He slides his cuffs up the support and pushes
himself to a sitting position. "None of the people we lost were idiots. They knew what they were doing. They
followed you because they believed you really could kill Snow."
I don't know why his voice reaches me when no one else's can. But if he's right, and I think he is, I owe the
others a debt that can only be repaid in one way. I pull my paper map from a pocket in my uniform and spread it
out on the floor with new resolve. "Where are we, Cressida?"
Tigris's shop sits about five blocks from the City Circle and Snow's mansion. We're in easy walking
distance through a zone in which the pods are deactivated for the residents' safety. We have disguises that,
perhaps with some embellishments from Tigris's furry stock, could get us safely there. But then what? The
mansion's sure to be heavily guarded, under round-the-clock camera surveillance, and laced with pods that
could become live at the flick of a switch.
"What we need is to get him out in the open," Gale says to me. "Then one of us could pick him off."
"Does he ever appear in public anymore?" asks Peeta.
"I don't think so," says Cressida. "At least in all the recent speeches I've seen, he's been in the mansion.
Even before the rebels got here. I imagine he became more vigilant after Finnick aired his crimes."
That's right. It's not just the Tigrises of the Capitol who hate Snow now, but a web of people who know what
he did to their friends and families. It would have to be something bordering on miraculous to lure him out.
Something like...
"I bet he'd come out for me," I say. "If I were captured. He'd want that as public as possible. He'd want my
execution on his front steps." I let this sink in. "Then Gale could shoot him from the audience."
"No." Peeta shakes his head. "There are too many alternative endings to that plan. Snow might decide to
keep you and torture information out of you. Or have you executed publicly without being present. Or kill you
inside the mansion and display your body out front."
"Gale?" I say.
"It seems like an extreme solution to jump to immediately," he says. "Maybe if all else fails. Let's keep
thinking."
In the quiet that follows, we hear Tigris's soft footfall overhead. It must be closing time. She's locking up,
fastening the shutters maybe. A few minutes later, the panel at the top of the stairs slides open.
"Come up," says a gravelly voice. "I have some food for you." It's the first time she's talked since we
arrived. Whether it's natural or from years of practice, I don't know, but there's something in her manner of
speaking that suggests a cat's purr.
As we climb the stairs, Cressida asks, "Did you contact Plutarch, Tigris?"
"No way to." Tigris shrugs. "He'll figure out you're in a safe house. Don't worry."
Worry? I feel immensely relieved by the news that I won't be given--and have to ignore--direct orders from
13. Or make up some viable defense for the decisions I've made over the last couple of days.
In the shop, the counter holds some stale hunks of bread, a wedge of moldy cheese, and half a bottle of
mustard. It reminds me that not everyone in the Capitol has full stomachs these days. I feel obliged to tell Tigris
about our remaining food supplies, but she waves my objections away. "I eat next to nothing," she says. "And
then, only raw meat." This seems a little too in character, but I don't question it. I just scrape the mold off the
cheese and divide up the food among the rest of us.
While we eat, we watch the latest Capitol news coverage. The government has the rebel survivors
narrowed down to the five of us. Huge bounties are offered for information leading to our capture. They
emphasize how dangerous we are. Show us exchanging gunfire with the Peacekeepers, although not the mutts
ripping off their heads. Do a tragic tribute to the woman lying where we left her, with my arrow still in her heart.