Katniss returns to the Capitol with blood caked under her nails, two pistols slung low on her hips, a scarred flak vest, and her bow and arrows strapped to her back. When she catches glimpses of hers reflection in the few un-shattered windows, she looks rangy, feral, like a cat that's been too long away from the touch of a human hand. Finnick, a few paces behind, has same ravaged look in his eyes.

The Capitol is a disaster; ruined buildings, shattered glass. The power is out and all Katniss can smell is the reek of spoiling food.

"So this is winning, is it, Sweetheart?" Finnick comments. "I should have turned myself in."

You should have, Katniss thought. Likely the only thing that would have changed was getting to see Annie murdered in person, instead of on live television. "Only Haymitch calls me sweetheart," she said instead. Which was like saying "no one calls me sweetheart," given that Haymitch was as dead as Annie. Both of them had been there when he died. Neither wanted to talk about it.

She hadn't seen Peeta's death but looking at the wreck of the Capitol, she had no doubt he was dead. Him, and Cinna, too, and by her hand as much as anyone. She hadn't protested when the decision had been made to gas the Capitol.

She'd been smiling when the first videos of it started to roll in, a tiny, fierce grin that made her teeth ache.

She was a murderer many times over; but no one who survived the games ever deserved to.