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As I turn to go suit up as the <strong>Mocking</strong>jay, I catch Gale watching me and Finnick unhappily. What now? Does<br />
he actually think something's going on between us? Maybe he saw me go to Finnick's last night. I would've<br />
passed the Hawthornes' space to get there. I guess that probably rubbed him the wrong way. Me seeking out<br />
Finnick's company instead of his. Well, fine. I've got rope burn on my fingers, I can barely hold my eyes open, and<br />
a camera crew's waiting for me to do something brilliant. And Snow's got Peeta. Gale can think whatever he<br />
wants.<br />
In my new Remake Room in Special Defense, my prep team slaps me into my <strong>Mocking</strong>jay suit, arranges<br />
my hair, and applies minimal makeup before my coffee's even cooled. In ten minutes, the cast and crew of the<br />
next propos are making the circuitous trek to the outside. I slurp my coffee as we travel, finding that the cream<br />
and sugar greatly enhance its flavor. As I knock back the dregs that have settled to the bottom of the cup, I feel a<br />
slight buzz start to run through my veins.<br />
After climbing a final ladder, Boggs hits a lever that opens a trapdoor. Fresh air rushes in. I take big gulps<br />
and for the first time allow myself to feel how much I hated the bunker. We emerge into the woods, and my hands<br />
run through the leaves overhead. Some are just starting to turn. "What day is it?" I ask no one in particular. Boggs<br />
tells me September begins next week.<br />
September. That means Snow has had Peeta in his clutches for five, maybe six weeks. I examine a leaf on<br />
my palm and see I'm shaking. I can't will myself to stop. I blame the coffee and try to focus on slowing my<br />
breathing, which is far too rapid for my pace.<br />
Debris begins to litter the forest floor. We come to our first crater, thirty yards wide and I can't tell how deep.<br />
Very. Boggs says anyone on the first ten levels would likely have been killed. We skirt the pit and continue on.<br />
"Can you rebuild it?" Gale asks.<br />
"Not anytime soon. That one didn't get much. A few backup generators and a poultry farm," says Boggs.<br />
"We'll just seal it off."<br />
The trees disappear as we enter the area inside the fence. The craters are ringed with a mixture of old and<br />
new rubble. Before the bombing, very little of the current 13 was aboveground. A few guard stations. The training<br />
area. About a foot of the top floor of our building--where Buttercup's window jutted out--with several feet of steel<br />
on top of it. Even that was never meant to withstand more than a superficial attack.<br />
"How much of an edge did the boy's warning give you?" asks Haymitch.<br />
"About ten minutes before our own systems would've detected the missiles," says Boggs.<br />
"But it did help, right?" I ask. I can't bear it if he says no.<br />
"Absolutely," Boggs replies. "Civilian evacuation was completed. Seconds count when you're under attack.<br />
Ten minutes meant lives saved."<br />
Prim, I think. And Gale. They were in the bunker only a couple of minutes before the first missile hit. Peeta<br />
might have saved them. Add their names to the list of things I can never stop owing him for.<br />
Cressida has the idea to film me in front of the ruins of the old Justice Building, which is something of a<br />
joke since the Capitol's been using it as a backdrop for fake news broadcasts for years, to show that the district<br />
no longer existed. Now, with the recent attack, the Justice Building sits about ten yards away from the edge of a<br />
new crater.<br />
As we approach what used to be the grand entrance, Gale points out something and the whole party slows<br />
down. I don't know what the problem is at first and then I see the ground strewn with fresh pink and red roses.<br />
"Don't touch them!" I yell. "They're for me!"<br />
The sickeningly sweet smell hits my nose, and my heart begins to hammer against my chest. So I didn't<br />
imagine it. The rose on my dresser. Before me lies Snow's second delivery. Long-stemmed pink and red<br />
beauties, the very flowers that decorated the set where Peeta and I performed our post-victory interview. Flowers<br />
not meant for one, but for a pair of lovers.<br />
I explain to the others as best I can. Upon inspection, they appear to be harmless, if genetically enhanced,<br />
flowers. Two dozen roses. Slightly wilted. Most likely dropped after the last bombing. A crew in special suits<br />
collects them and carts them away. I feel certain they will find nothing extraordinary in them, though. Snow knows<br />
exactly what he's doing to me. It's like having Cinna beaten to a pulp while I watch from my tribute tube. Designed<br />
to unhinge me.<br />
Like then, I try to rally and fight back. But as Cressida gets Castor and Pollux in place, I feel my anxiety<br />
building. I'm so tired, so wired, and so unable to keep my mind on anything but Peeta since I've seen the roses.<br />
The coffee was a huge mistake. What I didn't need was a stimulant. My body visibly shakes and I can't seem to<br />
catch my breath. After days in the bunker, I'm squinting no matter what direction I turn, and the light hurts. Even in