Caesar pats Peeta’s shoulder. “We can stop now if you want.”
“Was there more to discuss?” says Peeta wryly.
“I was going to ask your thoughts on the war, but if you’re too upset…” begins Caesar.
“Oh, I’m not too upset to answer that.” Peeta takes a deep breath and then looks straight into the camera. “I want everyone watching—whether you’re on the Capitol or the rebel side—to stop for just a moment and think about what this war could mean. For human beings. We almost went extinct fighting one another before. Now our numbers are even fewer. Our conditions more tenuous. Is this really what we want to do? Kill ourselves off completely? In the hopes that—what? Some decent species will inherit the smoking remains of the earth?”
“I don’t really…I’m not sure I’m following…” says Caesar.
“We can’t fight one another, Caesar,” Peeta explains. “There won’t be enough of us left to keep going. If everybody doesn’t lay down their weapons—and I mean, as in very soon—it’s all over, anyway.”
“So…you’re calling for a cease-fire?” Caesar asks.
“Yes. I’m calling for a cease-fire,” says Peeta tiredly. “Now why don’t we ask the guards to take me back to my quarters so I can build another hundred card houses?”
Caesar turns to the camera. “All right. I think that wraps it up. So back to our regularly scheduled programming.”
Music plays them out, and then there’s a woman reading a list of expected shortages in the Capitol—fresh fruit, solar batteries, soap. I watch her with uncharacteristic absorption, because I know everyone will be waiting for my reaction to the interview. But there’s no way I can process it all so quickly—the joy of seeing Peeta alive and unharmed, his defense of my innocence in collaborating with the rebels, and his undeniable complicity with the Capitol now that he’s called for a cease-fire. Oh, he made it sound as if he were condemning both sides in the war. But at this point, with only minor victories for the rebels, a cease-fire could only result in a return to our previous status. Or worse.
Behind me, I can hear the accusations against Peeta building. The words traitor, liar, and enemy bounce off the walls. Since I can neither join in the rebels’ outrage nor counter it, I decide the best thing to do is clear out. As I reach the door, Coin’s voice rises above the others. “You have not been dismissed, Soldier Everdeen.”
One of Coin’s men lays a hand on my arm. It’s not an aggressive move, really, but after the arena, I react defensively to any unfamiliar touch. I jerk my arm free and take off running down the halls. Behind me, there’s the sound of a scuffle, but I don’t stop. My mind does a quick inventory of my odd little hiding places, and I wind up in the supply closet, curled up against a crate of chalk.
“You’re alive,” I whisper, pressing my palms against my cheeks, feeling the smile that’s so wide it must look like a grimace. Peeta’s alive. And a traitor. But at the moment, I don’t care. Not what he says, or who he says it for, only that he is still capable of speech.
After a while, the door opens and someone slips in. Gale slides down beside me, his nose trickling blood.
“What happened?” I ask.
“I got in Boggs’s way,” he answers with a shrug. I use my sleeve to wipe his nose. “Watch it!”
I try to be gentler. Patting, not wiping. “Which one is he?”
“Oh, you know. Coin’s right-hand lackey. The one who tried to stop you.” He pushes my hand away. “Quit! You’ll bleed me to death.”
The trickle has turned to a steady stream. I give up on the first-aid attempts. “You fought with Boggs?”
“No, just blocked the doorway when he tried to follow you. His elbow caught me in the nose,” says Gale.
“They’ll probably punish you,” I say.
“Already have.” He holds up his wrist. I stare at it uncomprehendingly. “Coin took back my communicuff.”
I bite my lip, trying to remain serious. But it seems so ridiculous. “I’m sorry, Soldier Gale Hawthorne.”
“Don’t be, Soldier Katniss Everdeen.” He grins. “I felt like a jerk walking around with it anyway.” We both start laughing. “I think it was quite a demotion.”
This is one of the few good things about 13. Getting Gale back. With the pressure of the Capitol’s arranged marriage between Peeta and me gone, we’ve managed to regain our friendship. He doesn’t push it any further—try to kiss me or talk about love. Either I’ve been too sick, or he’s willing to give me space, or he knows it’s just too cruel with Peeta in the hands of the Capitol. Whatever the case, I’ve got someone to tell my secrets to again.