A/N: This fic is inspired by the film Suicide Squad, but it focuses on the prison. There's no formation of a squad of villains or saving the world. Title is from the song by Twenty One Pilots.

Part I

Seven years later, and she looks the same, albeit skinnier and more world-weary, both of which are impressive considering her childhood.

But he recognizes the dark braid hanging halfway down her back, the scowl he used to banish from her face with the right joke.

The orange jumpsuit she wears is new.

"Mellark, are you listening?"

Peeta's head snaps to the left just as she disappears around the corner, flanked by two guards. He looks up at his new supervisor - Boggs, is it? - and nods.

"Yes sir."

Boggs holds out an arm, and they both stop.

"Look, I know many people find this job appealing for the pay, but there's a reason it pays so much, understand?"

Peeta blinks, his mind a beat behind the conversation. He forgot about the pay differential. This prison pays five dollars an hour more than his last one, which means a fatter savings, and escaping this hellhole of a city faster than he originally planned. But he isn't here for the money.

He's here for her.

Whether he likes it or not.

"A lot of people can't handle this place," Boggs continues. "Every couple of months, I get a wave of new transfers. And every couple of months, those same men and women transfer back."

"I understand," Peeta says.

"I'm not sure you do. But you will."

Three days pass before he sees her again.

Three days of screaming, swearing prisoners threatening to kill him, to rip him apart limb by limb. Three days of deranged rambling from the mentally ill, the ones who clearly need to be in a different kind of facility. They beg him to help them escape and throw fits when he ignores them. Thrashing, hitting, yelling.

He's not sure which ones are worse.

In the past seventy-two hours, Peeta has grown accustomed to the guards' gross mistreatment of the inmates. He looks away, says nothing, because he can't risk his new position. Then halfway through his shift, he turns a corner and sees a guard with his hands around Katniss Everdeen's neck.

Peeta breaks into a run. He opens his mouth to yell, but before he can make a sound, Katniss has freed herself and stolen the guard's gun in the process.

Blood trickles from a cut on her forehead, threatening to drip into her eye. She cannot wipe it away without moving the gun thanks to the handcuffs around her wrists. There's a bruise on her cheekbone, a swirl of colors beneath her right eye.

Peeta slows his gait as he approaches. He raises his arms, copying the two guards in front of her.

They lock eyes. If she recognizes him, she gives no indication.

"You're outnumbered, sweetheart. Better hand over that gun," Cato warns. His tone does nothing to distract from the fear on his face.

"What the hell is going on?" Peeta demands.

"She attacked us!" the second guard says.

"She attacked you?" Peeta repeats. "Unprovoked?"

The guard nods, his eyes never leaving the gun.

Katniss scowls but says nothing. She moves the gun from side to side in a smooth line, moving from Cato to the other guard then back to Cato. She never lingers on Peeta.

"I doubt she attacked you unprovoked," Peeta says. "Isn't that right, Everdeen?"

"Excuse me?" Cato demands, turning toward Peeta and dropping his hands.

Then she's next to Cato, gun pressed against his temple, digging into his skin. She pushes on his shoulder. In a second, he's on his knees.

"Everdeen," Peeta repeats. "I know it's tempting to kill him. I've only been here three days, and I can already tell he's a psychopathic asshole who probably has more reason to be in here than some of the prisoners."

"What. The. Fuck!" Cato screams, eyes bulging.

"But there's no getting out of here. There's too many guards, too many doors you can't open. And if you kill Cato, hell if you even wound him, they'll punish you. You'll lose your privileges." He pauses, finds the magic words. "They'll stop letting you go outside."

Her gaze flickers over him, and he knows he's hit a nerve. He reaches out his hand.

"Just give me the gun. Hand it over right now, and we don't have to report this. It'll be like it never happened."

"Bullshit!" Cato yells, spit flying from his mouth. "This bitch is in trouble, big fucking-"

Peeta raises his voice, talking over Cato, "Like I said, it'll be like it never happened." He takes a step toward her, and when she doesn't move, he takes another. He notices the wet patch on her shoulder, and the small drops of water on the ground, dripping off her braid.

"Everdeen?" He reaches out his hand.

After a long moment, she lets the gun drop. She is careful not to touch him as she hands it over.

Peeta glares at Cato. "What the hell are you doing with a gun?"

"You have no idea what it's like here," Cato says. "Pepper spray and a baton are no match for psychos and meta-humans. We need guns to protect ourselves."

Katniss quirks an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I see that's working out well for you," Peeta says.

"Fuck you. She's your problem now." Cato throws a set of keys at Peeta's feet before ripping the gun away. He rushes off, the other guard on his heels. Peeta touches Katniss's elbow, and she jerks away.

He holds up his hands and says, "I'll bring you back."

Regulations require a minimum of two guards while escorting a prisoner, but Peeta's out of luck. It doesn't matter anyway. Another guard won't help. She doesn't need a gun to hurt him, although he seriously doubts the guards know that, or Katniss would be living a very different life behind bars.

When Peeta passes a guard on duty, he ignores the man's quizzical expression and asks him to send the doctor to Katniss's cell.

Peeta unlocks the door, but leaves it open as he follows her inside. She sits on the bed, and he stands in front of her.

"Can I…?" He gestures to her face. After a long moment, she nods. He gently grasps her chin and tilts her head up toward the light. The blood trickles back, toward her forehead. He looks around, but of course there is nothing more than a bed, toilet, and a couple of books.

"What'd they do?" Peeta asks. He's seen the extent of the damage. He has no reason to keep examining her face, yet he doesn't let go. "Everdeen?" Her gaze is faraway, unfocused. After a moment, he tries a different approach. "Katniss?"

And then she snaps back into herself, gray eyes locked on his.

"Doctor here," a voice announces.

Peeta immediately takes a step away, his hand falling back to his side. An older, dark-haired man stands in the doorway. Peeta vaguely remembers meeting him on his first day. The badge clipped to the man's coat reads "Dr. Abernathy."

"What happened?" the doctor asks, looking from Katniss to Peeta.

"She fell."

Dr. Abernathy scoffs. "Right. The prisoners here are so damn clumsy." He gives Katniss a quick onceover. "She'll be fine," he says. "No stitches needed." He cleans the cut and places a bandage over it. "Doesn't look like a seriousfall." He eyes Peeta. "You're new here, right? You might need to find some better excuses."

"I didn't-" Peeta begins.

"I don't care." The doctor draws out the last word as he disappears through the open cell door.

"They were staring at us."

Peeta startles and looks down at Katniss. Her voice is quiet, subdued. He hasn't heard her speak in seven years, not since the night she cried behind the bakery, apologizing for things out of her control.

"In the shower. They're supposed to give us privacy, but they don't even pretend."

"So you attacked them?" There is no anger or judgment in his tone. He's just trying to collect the facts.

"They were saying awful things to Annie. I couldn't let that slide."

Annie. Peeta tries to conjure a face, but he knows the inmates only by their last names. He bends down in front of Katniss and slides a key into the handcuffs.

"You're not going to tell them, are you?" she asks.

He slips the cuffs off her wrists and looks up at her. His position is all wrong. He's vulnerable, crouched in front of her, hands hovering over her rather than his weapon. If someone walked by right now, he'd be written up.

But this is why he's here. This is why he transferred.

"I won't tell them what happened with Cato," he says.

"No, I mean about what I can do."

His heart stutters in his chest. The years fall away, and they're twelve again, sharing secrets under the bleachers at school.

He touches her then, barely, his fingertips tracing the tops of her hands. Her skin is warm, burning, just as he remembers.

"No," he says. "I won't."

Peeta isn't surprised when Boggs calls him into his office the next day. While Peeta doubts Cato breathed a word to anyone, the inmates would notice Katniss's bandage. There would be talk. Whatever the inmates know, the guards eventually do too.

And then there are the cameras.

The video lacks sound, but two things are clear: Katniss lashed out first, and Peeta diffused the situation.

"Normally, I'd be commending you on a job well done. I'd be impressed that a transfer handled a dangerous situation, one that could have easily turned deadly. But I can't. Do you know why?" Boggs asks, leaning forward in his chair.

Peeta decides there's no point in playing dumb. "Because I didn't report it."

"That's right. An inmate in my prison held a gun to a guard's head yesterday, and there isn't a single report of it anywhere. I believe you know the process for filing the paperwork, Mellark. It's the same at the county jail you transferred from."

"I'm aware, sir."

Boggs folds his hands in front of him as if to say, Well?

"I told Everdeen there would be no report if she handed the gun over."

Boggs makes a noise in the back of his throat, but says nothing.

"When I came across the fight, Cato had his hands around her neck. She was defending herself."

"With a gun. Do you know how many people she's murdered?"

Peeta almost reminds his supervisor that Katniss's weapon of choice is a bow and arrow, but he manages to keep quiet. It wouldn't help the situation if Boggs knew Peeta read up on her.

"She could have killed those men," Boggs continues. "She could have killed you."

No, Peeta thinks. She could have killed Cato and the other guard. But not him. He's not sure where the certainty comes from. He recalls the articles he's read online, the aerial pictures of a smoking mansion, but he also remembers the way the gun slid past him yesterday. As if he wasn't there at all.

"Cato shouldn't have had a gun," Peeta says.

"No, but that's a separate matter that I've already attended to. I want to know why you think it's appropriate that an inmate that attacked two guards shouldn't face punishment."

"I told her she wouldn't so she'd hand over the gun. I thought it was the best way to end it quickly and without violence."

"So are you friends with the inmates now, Mellark? Striking deals with them whenever you wish?"

Peeta's fists clench at his side. "No, but-"

"But nothing. I don't care what the hell you promised her. We have a protocol here that willbe followed."

Peeta's vision grows fuzzy as rage burns a trail down his body. He wants to ask if beating the shit out of inmates on a regular basis is protocol too. If denying them food, mocking them, sexually harassing them is in the employee handbook.

"They were watching them in the showers," he blurts out.

Boggs lays his palms flat against his desk. "Excuse me?"

"Cato and the other one. Marvel. They were watching the female inmates in the shower and making inappropriate comments."

"And how do you know that? Did Everdeen tell you?" Peeta opens his mouth to answer, but Boggs cuts him off. "Because she doesn't speak."

"What?"

"Selective mutism. That's the fancy term the doctors came up with for her 'condition.' So I can't imagine an inmate who hasn't said a word to anyone the entire two months she's been here suddenly struck up a conversation with the new guard."

Peeta stares at his supervisor, unsure of what to say.

Boggs rubs his chin as he studies Peeta. "Every once in awhile, I get a transfer who doesn't care about the money, no, he wants to help these inmates. He thinks he can rehabilitate them. Save them."

"That's not me."

"You better hope you're right. Now go home. You're off the rest of the week. No pay."

Peeta doesn't argue. He's just relieved he isn't fired. He can only imagine the consequences if he loses this job.

And imagine them he does, in vivid, excruciating detail.

The day before he returns to work, Peeta stares into his empty refrigerator and realizes he cannot put off shopping any longer.

The walk to the grocery store is less than ten minutes, but the back of his neck prickles the entire time. He doesn't know why he feels so afraid. It's not like they couldn't find him at home. But out here on the sidewalk, surrounded by strangers, he feels vulnerable.

The only place he truly feels safe is the prison. It's the only place they can't reach him.

When he returns to his apartment, two bags of groceries in hand, he leans against the closed door, breathing heavily. Muffled music filters through the walls. Heavy footsteps vibrate through the ceiling. Normal noises. Nothing strange.

He spends the afternoon baking, his mind closed off to anything but the recipes he's memorized.

It's late, nearly three AM, when he stumbles through the darkness of his kitchen to retrieve a glass of water. He doesn't see it, but he feels it, the wrongness in the air, the intrusion. He flips the light switch. A photograph of his brother lies perfectly centered on the kitchen table. With a trembling hand, Peeta picks it up.

Across the back of the picture in thick black marker, he reads: Do better.

He never falls back asleep.

When he returns to work, he's surprised to find that he's on the rotation that includes Katniss's part of the prison. He's even been assigned to bring her dinner.

Which means two things. One, this is a test from Boggs, and Peeta better not fuck it up. And two, Katniss is being kept in isolation as punishment. While they keep her enclosed in a box of a room by herself for the majority of the day, she typically eats both meals with the other inmates.

Hours later, he carries the tray to her door. He knocks twice to give her a warning before he slides the small slot near the top of the door open.

Her gaze softens when she sees it's him. He wants to say something, but he knows somewhere, Boggs is watching.

Peeta opens the second slot on the door, wider to accommodate the width of the tray. Carefully, he inches it through until she grasps the other side.

For the briefest of seconds, he studies her: dark hair hanging loose around her shoulders, the top of her jumpsuit peeled away to reveal a white tank underneath.

Then he shuts both of the slots and walks away. The entire encounter takes less than thirty seconds, but he replays it over and over in his mind for the rest of the night. He can't stop imagining her sitting on her bed and staring at an empty cement wall as she eats.

He delivers her dinner the next day.

And the next.

On the fourth day, he smuggles a piece of freshly made raisin nut bread into the prison. When he grabs her meal, he removes it from his pocket and peels away the tin foil. It's slightly smushed, but he places it on the corner of her tray.

Gray eyes meet his when he slides open the top slot of the door. She's been waiting for him.

"What are you doing here?" she asks.

Her tray is halfway through the bottom slot, but she doesn't grab it. He silently pleads with her to take it, but her gaze is unwavering. He can't be caught trying to give her outside food.

Especially when there's a note concealed inside.

"You suddenly show up two months after I get here...for what? For me?" There's a hint of desperation in her tone. "This isn't a coincidence."

"Katniss, take your dinner."

Finally, she glances down. Her face contorts with anger. Without warning, she slams her palms against the tray, sending it flying back through the slot and to the ground. Fried beans and rice splatter across Peeta's pants and shoes.

"Fuck you," she snarls as he kneels to clean up the remains of her dinner. She smacks the door. "Do you hear me? Fuck you!"

He grabs the bread and shoves it through the slot seconds before another guard walks up.

"Did she do that?" the guard asks. "Is she causing trouble?"

"No," Peeta says. "It slipped out of my hand."

The guard looks unconvinced, but Peeta barrels on. "Can you get another tray for her? I'll clean this up."

The guard rolls his eyes but heads toward the kitchen. Peeta stands and glares into Katniss's cell.

"I'm here because of your fucking boyfriend," Peeta snaps. "Now eat your damn bread."

At first, he doesn't understand her violent reaction. He puzzles over it as he drifts through the rest of his shift. There's no way she could know there was a note inside the bread or what it said.

Then, it hits him. He reminded her of the past, before she became an assassin-for-hire and the girlfriend of the most dangerous man in Panem.

He reminded her of how she used to be.

Peeta was nine years old the first time he saw her. Dressed in overalls streaked with dirt, hair carefully twisted into two braids, she walked into his family's bakery on a Saturday afternoon.

His mother was in the back, swapping freshly baked cookies in the oven with dough. She didn't reappear at the sound of the bell, so Peeta decided to take care of this customer himself. His father had shown him how to work the register, and Peeta had already memorized all the prices. Besides, this customer was his age!

He knew this would impress his mother. Maybe when she saw how capable he was, she'd stop nitpicking everything he did.

Katniss asked for a loaf of bread without meeting his eyes.

"What kind?" he said.

She bit her lip. "I didn't know there was more than one kind."

"Oh yeah! We have sourdough, ciabatta, cinnamon raisin, whole wheat…" He rattled off every type they made. When he finished, she fidgeted but said nothing. She looked overwhelmed.

"I know!" he said. "We just made a few loaves of raisin nut bread. They're still warm."

"Okay."

Peeta smiled, thrilled that he was about to make his first sale. He wrapped a loaf up in a thin paper bag adorned with the Mellark Bakery logo.

"Can I get you anything else?" he asked.

She pointed at the case furthest from the register. "A chocolate cupcake?"

As soon as he bent over to pick one up, the bell rang, signaling another customer. He stood, cupcake in hand, but there was no one new.

And the girl was gone.

Peeta returned to the register, wondering if she had forgotten her money, when he realized the loaf he had carefully wrapped for her was gone too.

His heart sank.

His mother emerged a moment later. The look on his face told her something had happened. She was vigilant about the cash register and inventory anyway. There was no use in lying.

Despite the relatively small loss, she delivered her worst beating yet. He went to bed that night with a black eye and sore ribs, seething over that little girl and her quick fingers.

Why had she stolen a loaf of bread? If he was going to swipe a treat from the bakery without his mother knowing, it would have been a sugar cookie or a red velvet cupcake.

Not bread.

He recalled the overalls that didn't quite reach the tops of her worn shoes, the thinness of her arms, and the dark circles beneath her eyes.

He may have only been nine, but he wasn't an idiot. That girl hadn't stolen the bread on a lark. She was hungry. He spent the rest of the night staring up at the ceiling, unable to sleep, as he wondered if she was okay.

Two days later, his teacher pulled that same girl up to the front of the room to introduce her as their school's newest student: Katniss Everdeen.

Katniss wore the same overalls. She stared down at her shoes, only glancing up when a chorus of welcomes rang out. Her eyes flitted from face to face, stopping when it landed on Peeta's. Her shoulders sank, and her gaze returned to the ground.

The following week, after watching Katniss sit by herself at lunch every day without any food, he set down a plastic tray in front of her. It was cafeteria food, and therefore not very good, but her face lit up as if he had laid out a Thanksgiving feast.

On the corner of the tray next to the limp salad, hamburger, and carton of milk was a hunk of raisin nut bread. It was a few days old, and according to his mother unsellable, so she wouldn't miss it.

Katniss pushed the tray away, her mouth set in a firm line.

"It's for you," he said. He lifted up a paper bag that contained the peanut butter sandwich he had made in secret after asking his dad for lunch money. "I brought lunch today."

"No thank you," she said quietly.

He sat across from her and pushed the tray back. "I hate hamburgers. I'm a vegetarian," he lied.

She stared at him for a moment, suspicion written all over her face, before she took a small bite of the burger. She closed her eyes as she swallowed. Then, she was devouring it as if worried he would change his mind and take it back.

By the time he pulled out his sandwich, the burger was gone.

"Do you want the salad?" she asked.

"No, I'm good."

And then she forked that down too.

She picked up the bread but didn't bring it to her mouth. "That black eye you had last week…was that because of me?"

Peeta was grateful for his mouthful of peanut butter. It bought him a moment to think. No one - not a student or teacher - had ever mentioned the injuries he periodically showed up with. And even though his brothers sported matching bruises, they never talked about it either.

"No," Peeta said. He was about to tell her some stupid story about wrestling with Rye, an excuse he had carefully rehearsed time and again even though no one bothered to ask. Then, he changed his mind. He didn't have to make her feel guilty, but he didn't have to hide either. "I dropped a tray of cookies."

"Your father?"

"My mother."

A couple of days later, Peeta invited Katniss to his house after school. She offered his two brothers small smiles and shook his father's hand, but she stiffened when Peeta introduced her to his mother.

Katniss soon became a regular at Peeta's house despite her dislike of Mrs. Mellark. The feeling was mutual. Mrs. Mellark hated her dirty clothes and poor manners and how often she stayed for dinner, but it was more than that. Another three years would pass before Katniss would share her secret with Peeta, but he sensed the power she held, even then. Mrs. Mellark did too, and it unsettled her.

But Peeta wasn't afraid. Not then, when Katniss watched his mother with clenched fists and narrowed eyes and not later when he understood what she could do. Truthfully, he had always felt better in Katniss's presence. Safer.

She wouldn't let anyone touch him.

Peeta doesn't understand how Katniss knows exactly when he'll show up with her dinner. While he brings it at the same time every evening, there is no clock in her cell. There isn't anything besides a bed and toilet. There were books at first, but he suspects those were taken away after she attacked Cato.

He wonders what she does all day. The idea of being trapped in such a small space with no distractions from his thoughts unnerves him.

Maybe she stands in front of the door and waits for him to show up.

"How much is he paying you?" she demands the next night.

"Your dinner," he says, pushing the tray through the slot.

"How much?"

"You really think I'm getting paid to do this?" he snaps.

"Everybody has a price."

He glares at her, furious that she thinks he would compromise the safety of every person inside the prison for a few bucks. He supposes he's doing the same thing by keeping her secret, but he won't give her up. No matter how many dinners she ruins or swears she hurtles his way, he won't tell a soul.

"You're right. I am getting something." He leans closer. "If I do this, he won't kill my entire family."

Her eyes don't widen. Her mouth doesn't drop open. She has always been an expert on keeping her emotions hidden.

She grabs the tray.

"Enjoy your dinner, Katniss."

A month ago, they grabbed Peeta off the street. It was late, nearly midnight, when two men in tailored suits yanked him into the back of a van. He fought until one of them slammed his head into the side of the door. Dazed, he slumped to the floor and watched the blur of buildings and lights outside the window.

Peeta resisted when they dragged him out of the van and toward the most notorious club in the city. Dozens of people waited in line to get inside. They witnessed Peeta's struggle, but they did nothing to stop it.

The two men shoved Peeta into a backroom. The lights were bright, but it did little to improve upon the room's dark interior. All of the furniture was either black or dark brown. Mounted animal heads lined the walls, their frozen snarls directed at Peeta. Weapons covered the furthermost wall: guns and knives of varying sizes.

Peeta stared at the light glinting off the blades to avoid looking at the other person in the room. A tall, dark-haired man with a long scar across his right cheek sat on top of a massive oak desk. As soon as the door shut behind Peeta, the man jumped to his feet, hand outstretched as if to introduce himself.

But Peeta already knew who he was.

Sure enough, he shook Peeta's hand and clapped him on the back.

"Wow, you are not that impressive," the man said, taking a step back. He walked around Peeta, studying him.

Peeta remained silent and still. He had seen images of Gale Hawthorne, or Thorne as the majority of the criminal underworld called him, on television and in newspapers. Thorne basically ran the city. He had the drugs, the weapons, the money, the men. He started out as an assassin-for-hire before quickly climbing the ranks of the criminal elite.

"I don't get it." Thorne shook his head. "You're not even that tall." He stopped in front of Peeta. "Sit down."

"I don't-" The two men from earlier appeared at Peeta's side and shoved him into a surprisingly plush armchair. Thorne dropped into a seat across from him. Dissatisfied, Thorne dragged the chair closer until their knees were practically touching.

"So," Thorne began, resting his chin in his hand. "You're Katniss Everdeen's first love."

Peeta dug his fingernails into his palms as he tried to keep a pained reaction off his face. According to Thorne's smile, he had failed to appear nonchalant.

"Look, you can lie if you want, but it'd be much easier if we just skip all that bullshit," Thorne said.

"She-"

Thorne held up a hand to silence him. "Do you remember Madge Undersee? Lovely girl, bit of a drug problem though." Thorne tapped his nose and wiggled his eyebrows. "She was all too happy to tell me about your days of puppy love with my Katniss."

This time, Peeta didn't bother trying to speak. It was clear Thorne had a script and was sticking to it. While Peeta couldn't do much to help himself, he worried about Katniss. Everyone knew the stories of Thorne's violence and mental instability. Would jealousy drive Thorne to hurt her? Fear hit his chest like a bullet, ricocheting through the rest of his body before he remembered that Katniss had been arrested. He'd seen it on the news.

"Now, you know Katniss. Nothing rattles her. I guess after you slaughter a family of four, nothing really gets to you anymore."

Peeta flinched at the mention of the Crane murders. For years he had clung to the hope that it was a mistake, that the police had blamed the wrong person, but it was the only killing they could officially pin on Katniss. Still though, he couldn't believe that the woman he had known, that little girl in overalls, could be capable of such a heinous crime.

"Holy shit though, when I mentioned your name, she lost her fucking mind!" Thorne clapped his hands. For whatever reason, this confrontation seemed to bring him a lot of joy.

"She wouldn't say a word about you. Just warned me to stay the fuck away." Thorne leaned forward, grabbed Peeta's knees, and squeezed. "But she's in jail now. Doesn't really have a say anymore, does she?"

Peeta forced himself to swallow despite the dryness of his throat. "What do you want?"

"You work at a prison."

"Not hers."

"Not yet." Thorne offered up an ugly smile.

"You want me to help her escape."

"Yes and no. We both know Katniss doesn't need any help escaping."

When Peeta stayed quiet, Thorne rolled his eyes.

"Don't pretend she didn't tell you. I know she did. I bet you're the only person she told. Besides me."

Peeta stared at the wall of weapons. His silence was answer enough.

"Transfer to her prison. Convince her to start a riot and help as many prisoners as possible escape. Tell me the day, and I'll be waiting."

Peeta scoffed. "A riot? No way." He knew what kind of people were locked up in Panem Penitentiary. They were dangerous, violent, unstable. They felt no remorse. He would never help set those psychos on the loose.

"I pay extremely well."

Peeta's eyes slid from the weapons to Thorne's eyes. With a lot more courage than he felt, he said two words: "I won't."

"Okay." Thorne shrugged and stood. "I mean, I can't make you, right? It's a choice. Everyone gets a choice." He grabbed a manila folder off his desk and turned back to face Peeta. "Hey, do your parents still own that bakery?"

Everything inside Peeta stilled. Even his heart skipped a beat.

"Your brother Tyler, he lives near them and helps out, right?" Thorne dropped the folder in Peeta's lap. "And Rye...he's married. Beautiful wife, couple of kids. He lives right outside the city."

With mounting dread, Peeta opened the folder. Photographs of every member of his family, including his niece and nephew, were inside. Such innocuous looking pictures. They could have been candids taken by a friend.

"Now, Peeta," Thorne said. "I trust you'll make the right decision."