Coriolanus soldiered his way through the aftermath, remaining stone-faced and speechless as he traveled back to the base, returned his gun, and walked to the barrack. He knew people were staring at him; Sejanus was known to be his friend, or at least a member of his squad. They wanted to see him crack, but he refused to give them the satisfaction. Alone in his room, he slowly removed his uniform, hanging each piece with precision, smoothing the creases with his fingers. Away from prying eyes, he allowed his body to deflate, his shoulders to droop in fatigue. All he’d managed to get down today had been a few swallows of apple juice. He felt too debilitated to rejoin his squad for target practice, to face Bug and Beanpole and Smiley. His hands shook too badly to hold a rifle anyway. Instead he sat on Beanpole’s bunk in his underwear in the stifling room, waiting for whatever was to come.‌

It was only a matter of time. Maybe he should just give himself up. Before they came to arrest him because Spruce had confessed to, or — more likely — Sejanus had divulged the details of the murders. Even if they had not, the Peacekeeper’s rifle was still out there, covered in his DNA. Spruce had not fled to freedom, probably lying low until he could rescue Lil, and if he had remained in District 12, so had the murder weapons. They could be testing his gun right at this minute, looking for confirmation that Spruce had used it to kill Mayfair and discovering that the shooter was their own Private Snow. The one who’d ratted out his best friend and sent him to the gallows.

Coriolanus buried his face in his hands. He had killed Sejanus as surely as if he’d bludgeoned him to death like Bobbin or gunned him down like Mayfair. He’d killed the person who considered him his brother. But even as the vileness of the act threatened to drown him, a tiny voice kept asking, What choice did you have? What choice? No choice. Sejanus had been bent on self-destruction, and Coriolanus had been swept along in his wake, only to be deposited at the foot of the hanging tree himself.

He tried to think rationally about it. Without him, Sejanus would have died in the arena, prey to the pack of tributes who had tried to kill them as they fled. Technically, Coriolanus had given him a few more weeks of life and a second chance, an opportunity to mend his ways. But he hadn’t. Couldn’t. Didn’t care to. He was what he was. Maybe the wilderness would have been best for him. Poor Sejanus. Poor sensitive, foolish, dead Sejanus. Coriolanus crossed to Sejanus’s locker, removed his box of personal items, and sat on the floor, spreading the contents in front of him. The only additions since his first search were a couple of homemade cookies, covered in a bit of tissue. Coriolanus unwrapped one and took a bite. Why not? The sweetness spread across his tongue, and images flashed in his brain — Sejanus holding out a sandwich at the zoo, Sejanus standing up to Dr. Gaul, Sejanus embracing him on the road back to the base, Sejanus

swinging from the rope —

“Ma! Ma! Ma! Ma! Ma!”

He gagged on the cookie, bringing up a splash of apple juice, sour and acidic, along with the crumbs. Sweat poured off his body and he began to cry. Leaning back against the lockers, he curled his legs into his chest and let the ugly, violent sobs shake him. He wept for Sejanus, and for poor old Ma, and for sweet, devoted Tigris and his feeble, delusional Grandma’a’m, who would soon be losing him in such a sordid way. And for himself, because any day now, he would be dead. He started gasping for air in terror, as if the rope already choked the life from his body. He did not want to die! Especially not in that field, with those mutant birds echoing his last utterance. Who knew what crazy thing you’d say in a moment like that? And him dead and the birds screaming it all out until the mockingjays turned it into some macabre song!

After about five minutes, the outburst ended, and he calmed himself, rubbing his thumb over the cool marble heart from Sejanus’s box. There was nothing to do except try to face his death like a man. Like a soldier.

Like a Snow. Having accepted his fate, he felt the need to get his affairs in order. He had to make what small amends he could to those he loved. Unfastening the back of the silver picture frame, he found quite a bit of cash still remained after Sejanus’s gun purchase. He took one of the creamy, fancy envelopes Sejanus had brought from the Capitol, stuffed the money in, sealed it, and addressed it to Tigris. After tidying Sejanus’s keepsakes, he returned the box to his locker. What else? He found himself thinking of Lucy Gray, the one and now only love of his life. He would like to leave her a remembrance of him. He dug through his own box and decided on the orange scarf, since the Covey loved color, and her more than most. He was unsure of how he’d get it to her, but if he made it to Sunday, maybe he could sneak off the base and see her one last time. He placed the neatly folded scarf with the strings Pluribus had sent. After rinsing the snot and tears from his face, he dressed and walked over to the post office to mail the money home.

At dinner, he whispered an account of the hanging to his miserable bunkmates, trying to soften it. “I think he died immediately. He couldn’t have felt any pain.”

“I still can’t believe he did it,” said Smiley.

Beanpole’s voice quavered. “I hope they don’t think we were all involved.”

“Bug and I are the only ones who’d be suspected of being rebel sympathizers, being from the districts,” said Smiley. “What are you worried about? You guys are Capitol.”

“So was Sejanus,” Beanpole reminded him.

“But not really, right? The way he always talked about District Two?” said Bug.

“No, not really,” agreed Coriolanus.

Coriolanus spent the evening on guard duty at the empty prison. He slept like the dead, which made sense since it was only a matter of hours before he joined them.

He went through the motions during morning drills and almost felt relief when, at the end of lunch, Commander Hoff’s aide appeared and requested that he follow him. Not as dramatic as the military police, but as they were trying to reinstate a sense of normalcy among the troops, it was the right way to proceed. Sure that he would be taken straight from the commander’s office to the prison, Coriolanus regretted not placing some bit of home in

his pocket to hang on to in his last hours. His mother’s powder would’ve been the thing, something to soothe him while he waited for the rope.

While not grand, the commander’s office proved nicer than any other space he’d seen on base, and he sank into the leather seat across the desk from Hoff, grateful that he could receive his death sentence with a little class. Remember, you’re a Snow, he told himself. Let’s go out with some dignity.

The commander excused his aide, who left the office and closed the door behind him. Hoff leaned back in his chair and considered Coriolanus for a long moment. “Quite a week for you.”

“Yes, sir.” He wished the man would just get on with the interrogation.

He was too tired to play some cat-and-mouse game.

“Quite a week,” repeated Hoff. “I understand you were a stellar student back in the Capitol.”

Coriolanus had no idea who he’d heard that from, and wondered if it could have been Sejanus. Not that it mattered. “That’s a generous assessment.”

The commander smiled. “And modest, too.”

Oh, just arrest me, thought Coriolanus. He didn’t need some long windup to what a disappointment he’d turned out to be.

“I’m told you were close friends with Sejanus Plinth,” said Hoff.

Ah, here we go, thought Coriolanus. Why not speed the thing along instead of dragging it out with denials? “We were more than friends. We were like brothers.”

Hoff gave him a sympathetic look. “Then all I can do is express the Capitol’s sincerest gratitude for your sacrifice.”

Wait. What? Coriolanus stared at him in confusion. “Sir?”

“Dr. Gaul received your message from the jabberjay,” Hoff reported. “She said sending it couldn’t have been an easy choice for you to make. Your loyalty to the Capitol came at a great personal cost.”

So, a reprieve. Apparently, the gun with his DNA had not yet surfaced. They viewed him as a conflicted Capitol hero. He adopted a suffering look, as befitted a man who grieved for his wayward friend. “Sejanus wasn’t bad, just . . . confused.”

“I agree. But conspiring with the enemy crosses a line we can’t afford to ignore, I’m afraid.” Hoff paused in thought. “Do you think he could’ve been mixed up in the murders?”

Coriolanus’s eyes widened, as if the idea had never crossed his mind. “The murders? You mean at the Hob?”

“The mayor’s daughter and . . .” The commander flipped through some papers, then he decided not to bother. “That other fellow.”

“Oh . . . I don’t think so. Do you think they’re connected?” asked Coriolanus, as if mystified.

“I don’t know. Don’t care much,” Hoff told him. “The young man was running with the rebels, and she was running with him. Whoever killed them probably saved me a lot of trouble up the road.”

“It doesn’t sound like Sejanus,” said Coriolanus. “He never wanted to hurt anyone. He wanted to be a medic.”

“Yes, that’s what your sergeant said,” Hoff agreed. “So he didn’t mention getting them guns?”

“Guns? Not that I know of. How would he get guns?” Coriolanus was beginning to enjoy himself a bit.

“Buy them on the black market? He’s from a rich family, I hear,” said Hoff. “Well, never mind. It’s likely to remain a mystery unless the weapons turn up. I’ve got Peacekeepers searching the Seam over the next few days. In the meantime, Dr. Gaul and I have decided to keep your help with Sejanus quiet for your safety. Don’t want the rebels targeting you, do we?”

“That’s what I would prefer anyway,” said Coriolanus. “It’s hard enough dealing with my decision privately.”

“I understand. But when the dust settles, remember you did a real service for your country. Try to put it behind you.” Then, as if as an afterthought, he added, “It’s my birthday today.”

“Yes, I helped unload some whiskey for the party,” said Coriolanus. “Usually a good time. Try and enjoy yourself.” Hoff stood up and

extended his hand.

Coriolanus rose and shook it. “I’ll do my best. And happy birthday, sir.”

The bunkmates greeted him with delight when he returned, ambushing him with questions about the commander’s calling him in.

“He knew Sejanus and I had a history together, and he just wanted to make sure I was all right,” Coriolanus told them.

The news improved everyone’s spirits, and the update to their afternoon schedule gave Coriolanus some satisfaction. Instead of shooting at targets, they were cleared to take out the jabberjays and mockingjays at the hanging tree. Their chorus following Sejanus’s final outcry had been the last straw.

Coriolanus felt giddy as he blasted the mockingjays off the branches, managing to kill three. Not so clever now, are you! he thought. Unfortunately, most of the birds flew out of range after a short while. But they’d be back. He’d be back, too, if he didn’t hang first.

In honor of the commander’s birthday, they all showered, then dressed in fresh fatigues before heading over to the mess hall. Cookie had laid out a surprisingly elegant meal, serving up steak, mashed potatoes and gravy, and fresh, not canned, peas. Each soldier got a big mug of beer, and Hoff was on hand to cut an enormous frosted cake. After dinner, they all assembled at the gymnasium, which had been decorated with banners and flags for the occasion. Whiskey flowed freely, and many impromptu toasts were made over the mic brought out for this purpose. But Coriolanus didn’t realize there would be entertainment until some of the soldiers started setting up chairs.

“Sure,” an officer told him. “We hired that band from the Hob. The commander gets a kick out of them.”

Lucy Gray. This would be his chance, probably his only chance, to see her again. He ran to the barrack, retrieved the box from Pluribus with the instrument strings and his scarf, and hurried back to the party. He could see that his bunkmates had saved a chair for him about halfway up, but he stood at the back of the audience. If an opportunity came, he didn’t want to make a scene getting out. The lights flickered off in the main part of the gym, leaving only the area by the mic illuminated, and the crowd grew quiet. All eyes were on the locker room, which had been hung with the blanket the Covey used in the Hob.

Maude Ivory scampered out in a buttercup yellow dress with a wide skirt and hopped up on a crate someone had set in front of the mic. “Hey there, everybody! Tonight is a special night, and you know why! It’s somebody’s birthday!”

The Peacekeepers broke into raucous applause. Maude Ivory began to sing the old, standby birthday song, and everyone joined in:

Happy birthday

To someone special!

And we wish you many more! Once a year

We give a cheer

To you, Commander Hoff! Happy birthday!

It was the only verse, but they sang it three times while the Covey, one by one, took their places onstage.

Coriolanus drew in a sharp breath when Lucy Gray appeared in the rainbow dress from the arena. Most people would think it was for the commander’s birthday, but he felt certain that it was for him. A way to communicate, to bridge the chasm that circumstance had dug between them. An overwhelming flush of love ran through him at her reminder that he was not alone in this tragedy. They were back in the arena, fighting for survival, just the two of them against the world. He felt a bittersweet pang at the thought of her watching him die, but gratitude that she would survive. He was the only one left who could place her at the murders. She hadn’t touched the weapons. Whatever happened to him, there was comfort in knowing she would live on for the both of them.

For the first half hour, he didn’t take his eyes off her as the Covey ran through some of their regular numbers. Then the rest of the band cleared out, leaving her alone in the light. She settled in on a high stool and then — had he imagined it? — patted the pocket of her dress as she had in the arena. It was her signal that she was thinking of him. That even if they were separated by space, they were together in time. Every nerve tingling, he listened intently as she began an unfamiliar song:

Everyone’s born as clean as a whistle — As fresh as a daisy

And not a bit crazy.

Staying that way’s a hard row for hoeing — As rough as a briar,

Like walking through fire.

This world, it’s dark, And this world, it’s scary. I’ve taken some hits, so No wonder I’m wary.

It’s why I Need you —

You’re pure as the driven snow.

Oh, no. He had not imagined anything. The mention of snow confirmed it. She’d written this song for him.

Everyone wants to be like a hero — The cake with the cream, or

The doer not dreamer.

Doing’s hard work, It takes some to change things — Like goat’s milk to butter,

Like ice blocks to water.

This world goes blind When children are dying. I turn into dust, but

You never stop trying. It’s why I

Love you —

You’re pure as the driven snow.

His eyes filled with tears. They would hang him, but she would be there, knowing he was still a genuinely good person. Not a monster who’d cheated or betrayed his friend, but someone who’d really tried to be noble in impossible circumstances. Someone who had risked everything to save her in the Games. Someone who’d risked it all again to save her from Mayfair. The hero of her life.

Cold and clean, Swirling over my skin, You cloak me.

You soak right in, Down to my heart.

To her heart.

Everyone thinks they know all about me. They slap me with labels.

They spit out their fables.

You came along, you knew it was lying. You saw the ideal me,

And yes, that’s the real me.

This world, it’s cruel, With troubles aplenty. You asked for a reason — I’ve got three and twenty For why I

Trust you —

You’re pure as the driven snow.

Had there been any doubt, this confirmed it. Three and twenty. Twenty-three. The number of tributes she’d survived in the Games. All because of him.

That’s why I Trust you —

You’re pure as the driven snow.

The mention of trust. Before need, before love, came trust. The thing she valued most. And he, Coriolanus Snow, was the one she trusted.

As the audience applauded, he stood still, clutching his box, too moved even to join in. The rest of the Covey ran onstage while Lucy Gray disappeared behind the blanket. Maude Ivory got her crate back in place and a twangy tune began.

Well, there’s a dark and a troubled side of life. There’s a bright and a sunny side, too.

Coriolanus recognized the tune. The song about the sunny side. The one she’d been singing during the murders. This was his chance. He maneuvered his way out the nearby door as inconspicuously as possible. With everyone safely inside, he sprinted around the gymnasium to the locker room and tapped on the outside door. It flew open immediately, as if she’d been waiting for him, and Lucy Gray flung herself into his arms.

For a while, they just stood there, clinging to each other, but time was precious.

“I’m so sorry about Sejanus. Are you okay?” she asked breathlessly.

Of course, she knew nothing about his role in that. “Not really. But I’m still here, for the moment.”

She drew back to look at his face. “What happened? How did they find out about him helping to get Lil out?”

“I don’t know. Someone betrayed him, I guess,” he said. Lucy Gray didn’t hesitate. “Spruce.”

“Probably.” Coriolanus touched her cheek. “What about you? Are you all right?”

“I’m awful. It’s been just awful. Watching him die like that. And then, everything after that night. I know you killed Mayfair to protect me. Me and the rest of the Covey.” She rested her forehead on his chest. “I’ll never be able to thank you for that.”

He stroked her hair. “Well, she’s gone for good now. You’re safe.”

“Not really. Not really.” Distraught, Lucy Gray twisted away and began to pace. “The mayor, he’s . . . He won’t leave me alone. He’s sure I killed her. Killed them both. He drives that awful car down to our house and sits in front of it for hours. The Peacekeepers, they’ve questioned us all three times now. Anyway, they say he’s on them night and day to arrest me. And if they don’t make me pay, he will.”

That was scary. “What did they say to do?”

“Avoid him. But how can I, when he’s sitting ten feet from my house?” she cried. “Mayfair was all that mattered to him. I don’t think he’ll rest until I’m dead. Now he’s starting to threaten the rest of the Covey. I — I’m going to run away.”

“What?” asked Coriolanus. “Where?”

“North, I guess. Like Billy Taupe and the others talked about. If I stay here, I know he’ll find a way to kill me. I’ve been setting some supplies by. Out there, I might survive.” Lucy Gray rushed back into his arms. “I’m glad I got to tell you good-bye.”

Run away. She was really going to do it. Head into the wilderness and take her chances. He knew only the prospect of certain death could drive her to do such a thing. For the first time in days, he saw a way to escape the noose. “Not good-bye. I’m going with you.”

“You can’t. I won’t let you. You’d be risking your life,” she warned him.

Coriolanus laughed. “My life? My life consists of wondering how long it will be until they find those guns and connect me to Mayfair’s murder.

They’re searching the Seam now. It could be any moment. We’ll go together.”

Her brow creased with disbelief. “Do you mean it?”

“We go tomorrow,” he said. “One step ahead of the executioner.”

“And the mayor,” she added. “We’ll finally be free of him, of District Twelve, of the Capitol, all of it. Tomorrow. At dawn.”

“Tomorrow at dawn,” he confirmed. He thrust the box into her hands. “From Pluribus. Except the scarf — that’s from me. I better run before someone realizes I’m gone and gets suspicious.” He pulled her in for a passionate kiss. “It’s just us again.”

“Just us,” she said, her face shining with joy.

Coriolanus flew out of the locker room with wings on his heels.

Let us greet with a song of hope each day, Though the moments be cloudy or fair.

He was not just going to live; he was going to live with her, as they had that day at the lake. He thought of the taste of the fresh fish, the sweet air, and the freedom to act however he wanted, as nature had intended. To answer to no one. To truly be rid of the world’s oppressive expectations forever.

Let us trust in tomorrow always To keep us, one and all, in its care.

He made it back to the gymnasium and slipped into his place in time to join in the last chorus.

Keep on the sunny side, always the sunny side, Keep on the sunny side of life.

It will help us every day, it will brighten all the way If we keep on the sunny side of life.

Yessir, keep on the sunny side of life.

Coriolanus’s mind was in a whirl. Lucy Gray rejoined the Covey for one of those harmonious things with unintelligible words, and he tuned them out as he tried to ride the curve life had just thrown him. He and Lucy Gray, running away into the wilderness. Madness. But then again, why not? It was

the only lifeline in his reach, and he meant to grasp it and hold on tightly. Tomorrow was Sunday, so he had the day off. He’d leave as early as possible. Grab breakfast, possibly his last meal in civilization, when the mess opened at six, then hit the road. His bunkmates would be sleeping off the whiskey. He would have to sneak off the base. . . . The fence! He hoped Spruce had had good information about the weak spot behind the generator. And then he’d make his way to Lucy Gray and run as fast and as far as he could.

But wait. Should he go to her house? With the Covey all there? And possibly the mayor? Or did she mean to meet in the Meadow? He was mulling it over when the number ended and she slid back up on her stool with her guitar.

“I almost forgot. I promised to sing this for one of you,” she said. And there it was again, ever so casually, her hand on her pocket. She began the song she’d been working on when he’d come up behind her in the Meadow.

Are you, are you Coming to the tree

Where they strung up a man they say murdered three? Strange things did happen here

No stranger would it be

If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.

The hanging tree. Her old meeting spot with Billy Taupe. That’s where she wanted him to meet her.

Are you, are you Coming to the tree

Where the dead man called out for his love to flee? Strange things did happen here

No stranger would it be

If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.

He would have preferred not to meet up at her old lover’s rendez-vous spot, but it was certainly much safer than meeting at her house. Who would be there on a Sunday morning? Anyway, Billy Taupe was no longer a concern. She took another breath. She must have written more. . . .

Are you, are you Coming to the tree

Where I told you to run, so we’d both be free? Strange things did happen here

No stranger would it be

Who did she mean? Billy Taupe telling her to come there so they’d be free? Her telling him tonight that they’d be free?

Are you, are you Coming to the tree?

Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me. Strange things did happen here

No stranger would it be

If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.

Now he got it. The song, the speaker in the song, was Billy Taupe, and he was singing it to Lucy Gray. He’d witnessed Arlo’s death, heard the birds call out his last words, begged Lucy Gray to run away to freedom with him, and when she’d rejected him, he’d wanted her to hang with him rather than get to live without him. Coriolanus hoped this was the final Billy Taupe song. What else could be said, really? Not that it mattered. This might be his song, but she was singing it to Coriolanus. Snow lands on top.

The Covey performed a few more numbers, then Lucy Gray said, “Well, as my daddy used to say, you have to go to bed with the birds if you want to greet them at dawn. Thanks for having us tonight. And how about one more round of wishes for Commander Hoff!” The whole drunken gymnasium slurred out one more “Happy Birthday” chorus for the commander.

The Covey took their final bow and exited the stage. Coriolanus waited in the back to help Bug get Beanpole back to the barrack. Before they knew it, it was lights-out and they had to climb into bed in the dark. His bunkmates lost consciousness almost immediately, but he lay awake, going over the escape plan in his head. It didn’t require much. Just him, the clothes on his back, a couple of mementos in his pockets, and a lot of luck.

Coriolanus rose at dawn, dressed in fresh fatigues, and tucked a couple of clean changes of underclothes and socks into his pockets. He chose three photos of his family, the circle of his mother’s powder, and his father’s

compass, and hid them among his clothes as well. Last, he made the most convincing form of himself he could with his pillow and blanket and arranged the sheet over it. As his bunkmates snored on, he gave the room one final look and wondered if he would miss them.

He joined a handful of early risers for a breakfast of bread pudding, which seemed a positive omen for the trip, as it was Lucy Gray’s favorite. He wished he could take her some, but his pockets were full to bursting, and they didn’t have napkins in the mess. Draining his cup of apple juice, he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, dropped off his tray for the dish washers, and headed outside, planning to make a beeline for the generator.

As he stepped into the sunlight, a pair of guards descended on him. Armed guards, not aides. “Private Snow,” said one. “You’re wanted in the commander’s office.”

A jolt of adrenaline shot through him. His blood pounded in his temples. This couldn’t be happening. They couldn’t be coming to arrest him just when he was on the verge of freedom. Of a new life with Lucy Gray. His eyes darted to the generator, about a hundred yards from the mess hall. Even with his recent training, he’d never make it. He never would. I just need five more minutes, he pleaded with the universe. Even two will do. The universe ignored him.

Flanked by the guards, he drew back his shoulders and marched straight to the commander’s office, prepared to face his doom. As he entered, Commander Hoff rose from his desk, snapped to attention, and gave him a salute. “Private Snow,” he said. “Let me be the first to congratulate you. You leave for officers’ school tomorrow.”