Chapter Text
Ten years.
It has been ten years since I put an arrow through President Snow’s heart. Ten years since I thought I was killing the true villain of Panem, only to realize—far too late—that I had done exactly what the real enemy wanted. President Coin still sits on her throne, her silver hair now streaked with white, her expression ever-cold, ever-calculating. She rules with a precision that even Snow would have envied. The Capitol fell, but nothing changed. The districts still starve. The Hunger Games continue.
And I am still a prisoner.
I don’t live in a cell. Not officially. I have a home in the Capitol—more lavish than anything I ever knew in District 12, but the golden bars of a cage are still bars. The walls feel like they’re closing in, thick with ghosts of my past. I have no contact with Peeta. No word from Gale. No visits from my mother. The last time I saw Haymitch, he was being dragged away by Peacekeepers, too drunk to fight back. I don’t know if he’s alive.
Coin told me Peeta was unstable, too dangerous to be around me. She never let me see him, never even let me send a letter. At first, I believed her. His eyes, wild and furious, haunted me after the war, the way he screamed that he wanted me dead. But now, I’m not so sure.
Now, I know what Coin is capable of.
The Capitol’s districts—their people—are being treated just as the rest of us were. The once powerful now live in poverty, forced into labor camps to "atone" for the sins of their past. District 2, the old stronghold of Peacekeepers, has been broken apart, its people scattered across Panem to prevent another rebellion. And the Hunger Games—oh, the Games—are worse than ever.
At first, they only took tributes from the Capitol as some twisted form of poetic justice, to let the districts see how it felt to watch their children die. But it wasn’t enough. Coin saw how the districts rejoiced in the suffering of the Capitol’s children, how they thirsted for more.
And so, when the next year came, she expanded the reapings again. The Capitol children still go, but so do the rest of us.
Because the Hunger Games were never about punishment.
They were about control.
I sit by the window of my grand apartment, staring at the city below. The Capitol is unrecognizable. The glittering gold streets are cracked and worn, the once-proud citizens now walking with their heads bowed. Posters of President Coin’s face cover every wall, the words beneath them the same across all of Panem:
UNITY THROUGH SACRIFICE.
Sacrifice. That’s what she calls it. When a child is taken from their home, sent to fight in the arena. When families are torn apart for speaking against her. When people disappear in the night, never to be seen again.
I was a fool to ever believe in her.
There is a knock at my door. Sharp. Precise. Not a request, but a command. I don’t move right away. It doesn’t matter. The door unlocks itself—the Capitol’s security systems see to that—and a Peacekeeper steps inside. Not one of the ones in white. Coin’s Peacekeepers wear black. A new regime, a new uniform. But the cruelty is the same.
“You’re expected,” the Peacekeeper says.
Not at the mansion, though. That’s what’s strange. Usually, when Coin wants me, I’m taken straight to her gilded prison. Instead, I’m led through the dimly lit streets of the Capitol, past crumbling buildings and empty shops. A car waits for me at the corner. Not the sleek, polished kind Coin’s officials drive—this one is unmarked, battered, its paint chipping.
I hesitate. Something about this is different. Off.
But I step inside anyway. Because what else am I going to do? Run? There’s nowhere to go.
The drive is silent. The Peacekeepers flanking me say nothing, their faces hidden behind helmets. They don’t even look at me. My fingers twitch against my coat, itching for my bow, but I haven’t held a weapon in years. I don’t even know if I remember how.
We stop outside a plain, gray building. I don’t recognize it. Not a government facility. Not a prison. Just another nameless structure in a city full of them. One of the Peacekeepers gestures for me to step out.
Inside, the hallways are dim and narrow, the air heavy with dust. No guards. No security cameras. Just the sound of our footsteps echoing against the walls.
This isn’t Coin’s doing.
I don’t know how I know, but I do.
They lead me into a small room, then step aside. For a moment, I don’t move. And then I see him.
Beetee.
He sits at a metal table, his thin fingers folded in front of him, his glasses reflecting the dim light overhead. He looks older, more tired. His hair has gone entirely gray, his shoulders hunched as if the weight of the world has pressed down on him for too long. But his eyes— his sharp, calculating eyes—haven’t dulled.
I frown. “Beetee?”
The door shuts behind me. The so-called Peacekeepers are gone. It’s just us now. Beetee gestures to the chair across from him. “Sit, Katniss.”
I don’t. “What’s going on?”
He exhales, like he’s bracing himself. “There’s something you need to know.” “I don’t need to know anything,” I snap, my pulse quickening. “I know enough. I know Coin is just as bad as Snow. Worse, even. I know she’s turned Panem into something even he would have been proud of.”
Beetee flinches slightly but doesn’t argue. He adjusts his glasses. “That’s not what I mean.” A pause. “It’s about Prim.”
A chill sweeps through me.
“No.” My voice is firm, but my hands are already shaking. “No, don’t—” “Katniss.” Beetee’s voice is quiet but steady. “You were lied to.”
I shake my head, stepping back. “Stop.”
“It wasn’t Snow.”
My breath catches. “I killed him for it.” My voice is barely a whisper. “I—” “Coin ordered the bomb,” Beetee says, and the world tilts beneath me.
I grip the back of the chair to keep from falling.
No.
No, I killed Prim’s murderer. I did. I put an arrow through his heart.
Didn’t I?
Beetee's movements are careful, cautious. Like he’s afraid I’ll bolt. “Katniss, I know because I built the bomb.” His voice cracks slightly. “Me and Gale.”
It feels like the air has been sucked out of the room.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
Beetee keeps talking, each word hammering into me like a physical blow. “It was designed to kill rescuers. To create a second blast after the first. That’s why Prim was there. That’s why the medics ran in. Because Coin knew that would happen. And she let it.”
I can’t breathe.
I see it again—the sky splitting open, fire raining down, Prim’s face just before the explosion.
And I remember the vote. The one where Coin asked if we should have one final Hunger Games using Capitol children. How she wanted to make sure I wanted it, how she smiled when I said yes.
Because she knew.
She knew I had already done exactly what she needed me to do.
She knew I would kill Snow, believing I was taking my revenge.
And the whole time, the real murderer was standing right beside me.
Still standing.
Still breathing.
Still ruling.
I clutch the chair so hard my knuckles turn white. “Why are you telling me this now?”
“Because you deserve to know the truth,” Beetee says softly. “And because we need your help.”
I finally meet his eyes.
There it is again. That look I saw in Plutarch’s eyes all those years ago. That quiet, simmering thing beneath the surface.
Rebellion.
Even after everything, after all the bloodshed, after the war that was supposed to change the world, it’s still here.
And for the first time in ten years, I feel something stir inside me.
Something I thought had burned away with my sister’s body.
I thought I had already taken my revenge.
I was wrong.
My pulse pounds in my ears. The room tilts and spins, but Beetee’s voice keeps pulling me back. Prim. The bomb. Coin.
I swallow down the nausea clawing up my throat. I want to run. I want to scream. I want to bury this truth so deep it never sees the light of day. But I don’t.
Instead, I force myself to look at him.
Beetee studies me carefully, like he’s waiting to see if I’ll break. But he must find something in my face—some tiny piece of steel buried beneath the years of exhaustion—because he exhales and continues.
“There’s more, Katniss,” he says gently. “It’s about Peeta.”
My body stiffens.
“No,” I say immediately. I shake my head as if that will shake off whatever words he’s about to say. “No, I don’t want to hear it.”
Beetee’s expression doesn’t change. He just nods, like he understands, but keeps going anyway.
“You were told he was too dangerous to see you. That the hijacking never fully wore off.”
I swallow. “That’s true.”
“No,” Beetee says. “It isn’t.”
I don’t move.
“The doctors cleared him years ago.”
Something inside me snaps. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not.” Beetee’s voice remains calm, but I hear the weight behind it. “He was deemed fully stable. He’s been stable for a long time.”
“No,” I whisper. My fists clench. “Coin wouldn’t—”
Wouldn’t what? Wouldn’t lie? Wouldn’t manipulate me?
Wouldn’t do exactly what I should have expected from her?
Beetee leans forward. “She didn’t keep you apart for his safety, Katniss. She did it because she was afraid of you.”
I shake my head. “That doesn’t make any sense. Why—”
“Because together, you and Peeta started a revolution,” he says simply. “And Coin knew that if the two of you were reunited, you would do it again.”
The words hit like a physical blow.
I stumble back, gripping the edge of the table.
Ten years.
Ten years, I lived in isolation. Ten years, I believed Peeta was too broken to see me.
Ten years, I thought I was protecting him by staying away.
All of it—every agonizing, lonely moment—was a lie.
Coin took everything from me.
She took my sister.
She took my home.
And she took Peeta.
I can barely breathe.
“Where is he?” My voice is hoarse, unsteady. “Where is Peeta now?”
Beetee hesitates.
“Tell me.” My voice sharpens. “Where is he?”
Beetee exhales. “Under surveillance. He lives in District 4 now. Coin placed him there, far from you, far from any center of power. He’s kept comfortable—he has a home, a routine— but he’s watched, always. He can’t leave without permission. He’s allowed to live his life, but only within the limits she set.”
My nails dig into my palms. “So he’s a prisoner.”
“Yes.”
Just like me.
A sick, twisted part of me had always believed that Peeta had moved on without me. That he had found a life beyond the war, beyond me. Maybe even found someone else. And I had told myself that was good. That he deserved that.
But it was never real.
Coin didn’t just keep us apart. She caged him, just like she did to me.
And suddenly, I understand what Beetee is really saying.
This isn’t just about the past. It’s about now.
About what comes next.
Beetee watches me carefully. “Katniss.” His voice is soft, but there’s something unyielding beneath it. “We need to end this. For good.”
I lift my eyes to meet his.
And for the first time in a decade, I feel the spark of something I thought I’d lost forever. Fire.
Because I killed the wrong person once.
I won’t make that mistake again.
I expect Beetee to tell me we need to take down Coin the same way we took down Snow. Another rebellion. Another war. Another round of death and destruction. But that’s not what he says.
Instead, he takes a deep breath and adjusts his glasses, his fingers twitching like they do when he’s about to explain something complicated.
“We can’t fight Coin the way we fought Snow,” he says. “She’s too deeply entrenched. Every district is under heavy surveillance. The Capitol’s completely locked down. Even if we tried, we’d be crushed before we got the chance to start.”
I cross my arms. “Then what are you saying?”
Beetee meets my eyes. “I’m saying we need to start over.”
I frown. “Start over?”
Beetee nods. Then he says something so absurd, so impossible, that I almost laugh. “I’m going to send you back in time.”
Silence.
I stare at him. Waiting for him to tell me this is a joke. But he doesn’t.
“You’re insane,” I say flatly.
Beetee doesn’t flinch. “I know how it sounds, Katniss. But this isn’t theory. It’s real.” I shake my head. “No. That’s not—”
Beetee cuts me off. “Do you remember how District 13 survived underground for 75 years? How they had nuclear capabilities? How they were so advanced compared to the rest of Panem?”
I hesitate. “Yeah.”
“They weren’t just advanced in weapons,” he says. “They had technology that even the Capitol never knew about. After the war, I spent years studying what was left of their research. Most of it was destroyed, but I salvaged enough to reconstruct one of their most ambitious projects—time displacement.”
I exhale sharply. “You’re actually serious.”
Beetee gives me a small, tired smile. “Deadly serious.”
I sit down. Not because I’m convinced, but because I suddenly feel like I might fall over. Time travel?
Of all the things I expected when I walked into this room, this was not one of them. I rub my temples. “Let’s say, for one insane moment, that I believe you. Why send me back? Why not someone else?”
“Because you’re the one who can change things,” Beetee says simply. “You were the catalyst. You sparked the rebellion. If you go back, you can do things differently. You can save more people.” His voice softens. “You can save Prim.”
I freeze.
Save Prim.
The words hit me like a knife to the chest.
My hands clench into fists. “And how far back are we talking?”
“Back to when you were twelve.”
I jerk my head up. “Twelve? That’s too young. I wouldn’t even be reaped until I was sixteen.”
Beetee nods. “I know it sounds early, but it gives you more time to prepare. Time to gather allies, time to learn, time to plan. If we only sent you back to the start of the Games, you’d be trapped in the same cycle. The same war, the same losses.” I swallow hard. “And I’d have to go through the Hunger Games again.”
“Yes.” Beetee’s expression darkens. “But this time, you won’t have to rely on luck. You’ll know what’s coming.”
I shake my head. “The 74th Games were brutal. If I don’t get reaped, I’ll never be the Mockingjay. If I do get reaped, I’ll have to survive all over again.” Beetee sighs. “You won’t be playing in the 74th Hunger Games, Katniss.” I frown.
“What do you mean?”
“The 70th Hunger Games. That’s the one you’ll enter.”
My stomach twists. “Annie Cresta’s Games.”
He nods. “They were the shortest in history. The dam broke, and almost everyone drowned. Annie won because she was the last one standing.”
Realization slams into me. “Which means she wouldn’t win if I take her place.”
Beetee’s expression tightens. “It’s… unfortunate. But if you win those Games, you gain the protection of being a Victor four years before your original timeline. That gives you influence before the Quarter Quell. Before Snow ever thinks to put you back into the arena.”
I feel sick.
I never knew Annie Cresta well. But I knew of her. Finnick’s love. The girl who lost herself in the Games.
And if I do this, she dies in my place.
“Is there no other option?” I ask, voice hoarse.
Beetee shakes his head. “No. The 70th Games were the most predictable. The best chance at survival. Any other arena would be a gamble.”
I close my eyes.
More blood on my hands.
It’s never going to stop, is it?
A long silence stretches between us. Finally, I whisper, “You said you can only send two people back.”
“Yes.”
I look up at him. “Who’s the other person?”
Beetee hesitates. That alone makes my stomach churn.
“It’s not me,” he says. “I won’t be going.”
I narrow my eyes. “Then who?”
He adjusts his glasses. “I haven’t asked them yet. I wanted to speak with you first.” I don’t like that answer.
“Tell me,” I demand.
Beetee exhales slowly. “I will… once they agree.”
I glare at him. “That’s not good enough.”
“I know,” he says. “But trust me, Katniss. You’ll want them with you.” That doesn’t reassure me.
But at this point, nothing does.
I lean back, my mind spinning. This morning, I woke up believing my life would never change. That I was trapped in this empty cycle forever.
Now, Beetee is offering me a way out.
A chance to fix everything.
A chance to stop Coin before she ever takes power.
A chance to save Prim.
But it means starting over. Losing everything I’ve lived through. Facing the Hunger Games again.
And whoever is coming with me—whoever Beetee has in mind—could change everything. I take a deep breath.
And for the first time in ten years, I whisper the words I never thought I’d say again.
“I’m in.”
The door opens.
I don’t look up right away. I keep my eyes on my hands, fingers laced together, knuckles pale. I’ve spent the last ten years forcing myself to stay still, to keep my thoughts quiet. To pretend.
But I know who’s here before he even speaks.
“Hello, Peeta,” Beetee says.
His voice is older. More tired.
I finally glance up.
He looks almost the same as I remember—thin, wiry, sharp-eyed—but there are more lines on his face now, more weight in his shoulders. His wheelchair hums softly as he moves forward, positioning himself across from me. Beetee doesn’t waste time. He never did.
“I need to ask you something,” he says.
I nod, waiting.
Beetee exhales. “It’s about Katniss.”
My fingers curl into my palms before I can stop them.
I school my face into something neutral. “What about her?”
Beetee studies me. I know he sees the tension in my shoulders, the way my body reacts before my mind catches up. I’ve spent a decade keeping my emotions buried, but with Beetee —someone too intelligent to be fooled—it feels pointless.
“She’s alive,” Beetee says. “She’s here, in this building.”
I freeze.
My heart stops, then starts again, slamming against my ribs.
Ten years.
Ten years without a single word. Without a single letter.
I spent the first few months recovering from the hijacking. Learning how to tell what was real and what wasn’t. I thought… I thought maybe when I was better, she’d come. That we’d talk.
But she never did.
And after a while, I convinced myself she didn’t want to.
That she was better off without me.
That she had moved on.
Beetee doesn’t say anything. He just waits, watching me.
I swallow. “Why are you telling me this now?”
“Because I need your help,” Beetee says. “I have a plan. A way to fix things.” I exhale, shaking my head. “Fix what?”
Beetee doesn’t answer that.
Instead, he folds his hands and says, “I’m sending Katniss back in time.” Silence. I stare at him. “What?”
“I’ve found a way to send her back. To when she was twelve.”
I laugh once, hollow. “That’s impossible.”
Beetee tilts his head. “I assure you, it’s not.”
I shake my head. “Why twelve? That’s years before the Games. Before the war.”
“That’s the point,” Beetee says. “She’ll have more time to prepare. More time to gather allies, to change things before the war even begins.”
I inhale slowly. This is insane.
But Beetee isn’t insane.
If he says he can do this, then… maybe he can.
I glance at the door. For the first time in ten years, Katniss is just down the hall. And she still hasn’t come to see me.
I keep my voice steady. “Why are you telling me this?”
Beetee leans forward. “Because my machine has enough power to send two people back.” The air in the room shifts.
Everything slows.
He’s asking me if I want to go.
If I want to relive all of it. The Games. The war. The hijacking.
I think about my life now. The quiet days in District 4, the routine that keeps me from spiraling. The people who watch my every move, ensuring I don’t do anything to disrupt Coin’s rule. The isolation. The knowledge that Katniss was out there somewhere, but she never came.
The thought of going through it all again should terrify me.
But it doesn’t.
Because if I go back—if I redo it—I can do things differently.
I can protect Katniss.
I can protect my family.
I can stop things before they ever start.
I straighten. “I’m going.”
Beetee nods like he expected that. “I thought you might.”
I exhale sharply. “Does she know?”
“That you’re coming?” Beetee shakes his head. “No.”
That stings more than it should.
After everything, I guess she still doesn’t want me.
But that doesn’t matter. Because I won’t let her do this alone.
I glance at Beetee. “When do we leave?”
The door opens.
I expect Beetee. But I don’t expect him.
For a moment, I forget how to breathe.
Peeta stands in the doorway.
I don’t move. Neither does he.
Ten years.
Ten years without a word. Without seeing his face except in old memories, in dreams that always ended too soon.
And now he’s here.
I don’t know what I thought he’d look like after all this time, but it still knocks the breath from my lungs. His blond hair is a little darker, like he’s seen less sun. His shoulders are broader, but there’s tension in the way he stands, like he’s bracing for something. His eyes— the same blue I used to stare into across campfires, across battlefields, across the wreckage of our lives—are unreadable.
I want to say something. Anything. But my throat locks up.
His expression is carefully neutral. Not angry. Not happy. Just… distant. Like I’m a stranger.
Beetee wheels himself forward slightly, breaking the silence. “I assume you two remember each other.”
Peeta lets out a quiet breath, almost like a laugh. But there’s no humor in it. “Yeah,” he says. “I remember.”
His voice.
It’s deeper than I remember. Rougher.
I swallow hard. “Peeta.”
His eyes flick to mine.
For a second, something moves behind them. Something raw. But it vanishes just as quickly. Beetee clears his throat. “Katniss, Peeta is coming with you.”
I blink, tearing my gaze away. “What?”
Beetee looks between us. “He’s the second traveler. You’ll be going back together.” Together.
The word feels too big, too heavy.
I glance at Peeta again, but his face is blank. I have no idea what he’s thinking. I turn back to Beetee. “You didn’t tell me.”
“I wanted to confirm with him first.”
I should have guessed. Of course, it would be him.
No one else makes sense.
Peeta is smart, resourceful, a survivor. But more than that—he’s a Victor. A symbol.
Just like I was.
And if Beetee is right about us being a threat to Coin… then it makes sense she kept us apart. My hands clench. She took everything from us.
I don’t know if Peeta feels the same. I don’t even know what he thinks about all of this. So I force myself to ask.
“You want this?” I say quietly.
Peeta holds my gaze. “Yes.”
Simple. No hesitation.
And yet, there’s something missing. Something unsaid.
I shift on my feet. “You realize what this means, right? We have to go through everything again. The Games. The war.”
His jaw tightens slightly. “I know.”
Another silence stretches between us.
Beetee lets out a breath. “Well. I suppose that settles it.”
I look back at Peeta, searching his face for something familiar.
The shock finally starts to wear off. My body moves before my mind can catch up. I take a step forward. Then another. And then I run to him.
Before I can second-guess myself, before I can let the weight of ten years keep me frozen, I throw my arms around him.
For a moment, he doesn’t react. He’s stiff, caught off guard. But then, slowly, his arms wrap around me.
It’s different from how I remember. He’s broader now, stronger. But the warmth is the same. For the first time in ten years, I breathe.
“I’m glad to see you,” I whisper. My voice cracks, but I don’t care.
Peeta doesn’t say anything right away. I feel his chest rise and fall, his fingers pressing lightly into my back, like he’s making sure I’m real.
Then, after what feels like forever, he exhales.
“I’m glad to see you too.”
I don’t let go of Peeta for a long time.
For a brief moment, everything else fades away. The war, the years of silence, the pain of losing everything—we're just two people clinging to each other, as if the past decade never happened.
But then Beetee clears his throat.
“We don’t have much time,” he says, voice measured. “The longer we wait, the harder it is to maintain the energy needed for the jump.”
I pull back from Peeta, my fingers lingering on his arms for just a second before I force myself to step away completely. He looks at me—really looks at me—for the first time since walking in. His expression is still guarded, but I see something else there now. Something unspoken.
Maybe we don’t have the time to talk about everything now. Maybe we never will. But that doesn’t matter.
Because soon, none of this will have ever happened.
I turn to Beetee. “How does this work?”
Beetee wheels himself over to the far side of the room, where a large, unfamiliar machine hums quietly. Thick cables snake across the floor, connecting to a panel covered in blinking lights. A pair of metal chairs sit in the center, each with a strange-looking headpiece attached by wires.
Peeta stiffens beside me. “That doesn’t look safe.”
Beetee gives a small, humorless smile. “It isn’t. But neither is the future we’re leaving behind.”
I take a deep breath. He’s right. There’s nothing left for us here. Nothing worth saving. Peeta and I exchange a glance, then step forward together.
Beetee gestures for us to sit. “Once the process begins, you’ll feel disoriented. Your consciousness will detach from your physical form and transfer back to your younger selves. The moment you wake up, everything will be as it was when you were twelve.”
Peeta hesitates. “And what happens to us—the versions of us that are sitting here right now?”
Beetee’s face darkens. “You’ll cease to exist in this timeline.”
I grip the armrests. “So we die.”
Beetee hesitates, then shakes his head. “No. This version of reality will simply… end. It won’t matter anymore.”
It should be terrifying. But instead, there’s a strange relief in knowing that this world—this twisted, broken future—will disappear.
“Are you sure we’ll remember everything?” Peeta asks.
“Yes. That’s the only reason this will work,” Beetee says. “You won’t just be your younger selves—you’ll have the knowledge and memories of everything that’s happened.”
I glance at Peeta. “That means we’ll still have the—”
“The hijacking?” Peeta finishes for me. He shifts uncomfortably. “I guess we’ll find out.” I don’t like that answer. But it’s too late to back out now.
Beetee reaches for a switch. “Are you ready?”
No.
But I nod anyway.
Peeta does the same.
Beetee pulls the lever.
The machine roars to life. A deep, electric hum fills the room. My vision blurs. My head feels like it’s being yanked in every direction at once. I try to scream, but the sound is swallowed by the light—blinding, white-hot, consuming.
And then—
Darkness.
Katniss Everdeen opened her eyes to the steady light of dawn filtering through the small window of her childhood bedroom. She was in her own bed—a neatly made cot with a thin, rough-spun blanket pulled tight at the foot. The room was exactly as she remembered it from years past, down to the creaking wooden floor and the faded scratch marks on the wall where she and Prim once measured their heights.
But something was unmistakably wrong.
Her hands were small and uncalloused. Her body was light, the lean shape of a twelve-year old girl. Her muscles, once hardened from years of hunting and surviving, felt weaker, unused.
The memories hit her all at once.
The war. The rebellion. Prim’s death.
Coin.
Katniss sucked in a sharp breath, her fingers clenching the blanket. She had spent years believing she had avenged her sister. That her arrow had found its rightful target.
But she had been wrong.
She thought killing Snow would bring justice. Instead, it had handed Panem over to a woman just as cruel. A woman who had manipulated her, used her grief, and then cast her aside the moment she was no longer useful.
Now, she was back.
Back in a time before the Hunger Games had taken everything from her.
Somewhere else in District 12, Peeta Mellark woke up to a similar sense of disorientation. The familiar scent of fresh bread and flour lingered in the air, but something was off. His limbs were smaller. His hands softer, not yet scarred from burns and battles.
But his mind—his memories—were still intact.
For a terrifying moment, he braced himself for the familiar static in his thoughts, the uncontrollable flood of anger and confusion that the Capitol’s hijacking had forced into his mind. He tensed, waiting for it to surface.
But it never came.
His breathing steadied. He tested his thoughts, recalling Katniss' face, her voice, her warmth. No distortions. No hatred.
The hijacking was gone.
A shudder ran through him. He wasn’t just young again—he was free. And that meant they had a real chance to change things.
Later that morning, Katniss stepped outside into the awakening streets of District 12. The narrow alleys and weathered shacks were exactly as she remembered. The air smelled of coal dust, of damp earth.
The sound of early morning work filled the air—miners heading toward the pit, the distant clang of metal, the soft murmurs of people trying to make it through another day.
Everything was the same.
But nothing felt the same.
Because she knew what was coming.
She walked the streets, searching.
And then, she saw him.
Peeta stood across the way, just outside the bakery. He was smaller than she had grown used to, with rounder cheeks and wide blue eyes that flickered with something only she would recognize.
Recognition.
Memories.
The weight of an entire lifetime neither of them should remember.
For a moment, they just stared at each other.
In this timeline, they were still strangers. A boy who once threw her bread, a girl who barely acknowledged him. But in their minds, they had lived through war together.
Saved each other. Lost each other.
Now, fate had given them a second chance.
Life in the past was both familiar and strange.
Katniss had forgotten how small she had been, how heavy the weight of her father’s absence had felt in those early days. Her mother barely spoke, lost in grief leaving Katniss to care for Prim. It was difficult pretending not to know what would come. Difficult to act like a grieving child when, inside, she was already hardened by the future she had lived.
She couldn’t start hunting yet—not without drawing suspicion—but she foraged, gathering whatever she could to stretch their meager meals. Every little bit mattered.
Peeta had his own role to play. He worked at the bakery, kneading dough under his father’s watchful eye, pretending to be nothing more than a boy who had never seen war. But at night, he and Katniss met in secret, whispering plans beneath the cover of darkness.
They tracked the Peacekeepers’ routines. Mapped out weak spots in the Justice Building. Made lists of what they would need.
And above all, they focused on their first objective:
Winning the 70th Hunger Games.
They had to be there.
They had to take control of their fate.
In a shadowed alcove behind an abandoned building on the outskirts of District 12, Katniss and Peeta met away from prying eyes. The distant hum of voices and the rustle of wind underscored the urgency of their conversation.
Katniss leaned forward, her voice low but firm. “The first step is clear: win the 70th Hunger Games. Without that victory, our plan collapses.”
Peeta’s blue eyes locked onto hers. “Exactly. Surviving the arena is our key. It sets everything in motion.”
They spoke in hushed tones, their words measured, their determination unshaken.
"We'll need to know the arena layout,” Katniss murmured. “We won’t have time to find food, so we need to secure supplies fast. Annie won her Games because the dam broke early and wiped everyone out. We need to be ready for that.”
Peeta nodded. “That means sticking together in the bloodbath.”
Katniss inhaled sharply. “And when we win—”
“We use it,” Peeta finished. “To gather allies. To start dismantling everything before the rebellion even begins.”
Katniss studied his face.
Peeta had always been the heart of the rebellion, whether he knew it or not. The boy with the bread. The symbol of hope.
And now, they had something even more powerful than hope.
They had knowledge.
A chance to rewrite everything.
No more waiting. No more reacting.
This time, they would be in control.
Katniss clenched her fists. “We do this right.”
Peeta exhaled slowly. “We change everything.”
They exchanged a glance, the weight of their past and their future pressing heavy between them.
It was time to begin.