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I watch Katniss run out the door, her face set and fearless. But only I can feel her adrenaline pounding through her veins. I can feel it in my own. It's probably the last time I'll ever see her alive. I'm glad we kissed.

The workers Coin had been ordering around now scatter here and there, grabbing battle equipment. The population of District Thirtee amaze me in so many ways, but mostly because they can go from being computer genuises to warriors of battle within seconds.

Meld takes advantage of one of the free computers and begins to frantically gather documents from Mockingjay Firearms, whatever was salvaegd from the Nut when it fell, particularly on one project.

"Meld," I call down to him, and my voice sounds stronger than I feel. He looks up quickly, pausing in a way that is more a suspended movement, as if I need to deliver my message quickly because he's going to continue in exactly five seconds. So I speak quickly: "It was an honour working with you."

Something passes across his eyes, but it quickly disappears. "Thank you, Mr. Hawthorne. Same to you." I turn to go, not wanting this to drag on more than necessary, when Meld speaks up. "And I'm glad she forgave you."

I think I know what he means. I think he's talking about the Rebellion. He's talking about the part I played, the part that made Katniss's skin a patchwork mess, the part that murdered thousands, the part the murdered one and savaged any remaining love Katniss had for me.

I don't know why Meld thinks she forgives me for that. 

As I grab my gun on the way out, I close my eyes for a moment, and think of Prim. I know if she were here, she would be stuck in the middle of all this, helping and prying and organising and bossing us about. I loved Prim Everdeen like a little sister, and when she was killed, because of me, no one took time to see how the murderer felt. I was never regarded as someone who lost Prim - I was the one who took her away.

I would win this fight, for Prim Everdeen.

In the same way I killed her.

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