fuelforthefire | Conclusions

It's been two days since I remember seeing the first reports about the murder int he park. Other than making a note to stay out of that area, and to mention it to the others, I'd not paid much attention. Even hearing that the woman was stabbed repeatedly by a number of different swords didn't make me tie it to home, only that there were some crazy people out there.

But when reports of a band of teenagers with swords and axes start surfacing, I can't help but be reminded of the Games. When there's another death reported in this morning's paper, along with a blurry cell phone photo of four identically-dressed youth holidng what could very well be those weapons my stomach bottoms out. It was taken the day before by some person near the edge of town, and there's been no sign of them since, only the body, also stabbed with swords.

I text everyone, Katniss, Finnick, Prim and Effie first. Tell them to stay safe and that we need to meet at Katniss' house as soon as we can. I send a message to Claudia telling her I'm worried about something, and I'll check in on her later, and for her to be careful. I make an excuse to my boss at the bakery, stuffing the paper in my bag and heading out. It's worth taking a cab, I decide, wanting to be home quickly. I have him drop me off at my house, though, not Katniss', coming via our path in the woods that separate the two places.

All I want is for them to tell me that I'm crazy. That this can't be the Capitol. That this is all a coincidence and those aren't Tributes running around our city. I don't think that they'll be able to.

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His first instinct is to run. Where, he's not entirely sure, but as far as his feet will carry him is probably the safest bet. But this is Darrow and he's more trapped than ever, incapable of escaping even if he tried. And it's the wrong thing to do, anyway, so he stares at the message from Peeta for a while before he makes his way downstairs, inexplicably shaken, but refusing to abandon the people who have kept him from falling apart. "Katniss? Prim?"

I wish I had a better explanation other than the pieces that I've put together. But how much better does it get? Will we get invitations from President Snow? A broadcast over the televisions here?

That last thought fills me with fear. What if they do something like that? Take over the airwaves, tell people to hunt us. No, I tell myself, that isn't going to happen

My eyes are worried as I look to Finnick, having laid it all out for him. "What do you think?"

"What do I think?" Finnick echoes first, because he has no idea what he thinks beyond terror and anger. Anger mostly at himself for believing even for a moment things might be different, that Darrow might be something resembling safe. "I... we need to be ready. We should have been ready before."

We should have been. We had warnings, but did we really prepare ourselves? "It's not easy when we had no idea what could happen next."

As true as that is, I feel responsible for this, for these deaths. "We need to stop them."

"We do," Finnick says, although he's not so sure about Peeta's previous statement. Maybe it wasn't easy, but was that any excuse? Nothing about any of their lives had been easy since each of their names was drawn out of the bowl at the reaping. He, at least, thinks he should have always been prepared for a new threat. "And we will. We need to make sure people are safe, first."

He thinks of Mags, dead, of Annie, impossibly far away. How his first response was always for their safety. Here, it's Prim, and the small number of friends he's inexplicably made along the way.

My thoughts echo his, in as much as I'm worried about Prim, Effie and Claudia. There are other people, other friends I've made, but those are the people who've crossed a line to be truly close. I briefly think of Jordan who's gone now, and amsurprised by how much I miss her. It's better, I think, that she's not here.

"Where do we start?" I want to pick up weapons and charge out the door, but I doubt that's a useful strategy when it comes down to it. "I know someone, he works for the police?"

"I don't know about that," Finnick says, but he's honestly not sure of anything. He just knows that authority has never kept him safe. If anything, it's just made sure he didn't get to escape danger. Didn't get to seek safety. "I think we're meant to fight. I mean, my trident... they're not going to let me defend myself, the police, are they?"

"Am I supposed to throw bread?" I let out a hollow laugh, wondering why I couldn't have gotten a useful gift, at least. The cornucopia and then the bread, both not much use against other tributes. "You're right. No police."

"Good," Finnick says, a little relieved at that. He's not sure he's got it in him to convince anyone of his reasons behind not trusting the police, especially knowing that Peeta considers one a friend. "And we'll find something for you. Don't worry. I mean, more than you should."

I have something, I realise, hidden in a box at the bottom of a closet. "My machete. I have my machete. From the Games."

I always thought that, when something happened, it would hit close to home. Something specific, to target Peeta and Finnick and me, remind us that we haven't really gotten away from the Capitol at all. We're the ones it really affects, after all. The rest of the people here, they're irrelevant. So I pay about as much attention to the news as I do anything else involving the city. What goes on here, I don't care much about it one way or another.

I do care about what Peeta's mentioned to us, if only because, at a time like this, we can't be too careful. So when his text comes in, telling us to stay safe — there are few people who could actually get me to look at that phone — I can only assume that something's happened. In the living room, I wait, unable to sit still, pacing back and forth, so tense I feel like I could snap in half. I always knew it would come to something like this, but that doesn't mean I welcome it.

It takes too long to get there, and I know that they have to be worrying about my texts. It was vague at best, just telling them I had information and they needed to stay safe.

"Katniss," I call out her name even as I knock on the door, opening it and looking in carefully. I see her and take a breath of relief. She's not dead, they haven't gotten to her. "You're here."

"I'm here," I say with a quick nod, chest tight as I look at him. It's not difficult to tell that whatever he sent us messages about is something serious, confirming what I'd been worrying before he even says anything about it. For now, I try just to be glad that he's made it here safely, glancing out the window to make sure there's no one else coming towards the door. "Everyone's fine."

"Good," I say, even though it's the only good thing about this. I'm not sure how to start, thrusting the paper out toward her with a frown. "I think they're tributes. Here, in Darrow."

I don't read so much as skim, gaze darting over the picture and article too quickly to really take it all in. It's the idea that matters more so than the details, and I pick up on that easily enough, drawing in a sharp breath when I look up at Peeta again. "This just happened?"

"Past couple days I guess," I say softly, scrubbing my hand through my hair to try and steady myself. I feel like I'm on edge, like adrenaline I hadn't realised built up has suddenly vanished, leaving me nervous and worried. "We have to find them."

Effie hasn't stopped pacing since she arrived. Arms crossed, hugging herself tightly, she can't settle at all and she wishes (not for the first time) that Haymitch were here. He would know what to do, he would know what to say to them and she feels like she should be doing a better job filling the void.

Not that she ever could.

A fact that becomes increasingly obvious to her as she looks at how focused they all are. How prepared for this kind of thing. She would be proud if she wasn't so anxious.

Effie isn't the only one to wish that Haymitch is here. I do, and I'm sure that Katniss does too. He'd have a better plan than go out and hunt down four people who could be anywhere.

"Thank you for being here." I say it softly, wanting to keep it just between us as Katniss and Finnick look over the article again, hoping it might tell us something new. "It helps."

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