Mockingjay

must swing free on hinges like the one the guard appeared through.
    “Where is that again?” asks Fulvia.
    “You’ll find the Head Office on Level Seven,” says the guard, extending his arms to corral us back to the elevator.
    From behind door 3908 comes a sound. Just a tiny whimper. Like something a cowed dog might make to avoid being struck, only all too human and familiar. My eyes meet Gale’s for just a moment, but it’s long enough for two people who operate the way we do. I let Cinna’s sketchbook fall at the guard’s feet with a loud bang. A second after he leans down to retrieve it, Gale leans down, too, intentionally bumping heads. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he says with a light laugh, catching the guard’s arms as if to steady himself, turning him slightly away from me.
    That’s my chance. I dart around the distracted guard, push open the door marked 3908 , and find them. Half-naked, bruised, and shackled to the wall.
    My prep team.

The stink of unwashed bodies, stale urine, and infection breaks through the cloud of antiseptic. The three figures are only just recognizable by their most striking fashion choices: Venia’s gold facial tattoos. Flavius’s orange corkscrew curls. Octavia’s light evergreen skin, which now hangs too loosely, as if her body were a slowly deflating balloon.
    On seeing me, Flavius and Octavia shrink back against the tiled walls like they’re anticipating an attack, even though I have never hurt them. Unkind thoughts were my worst offense against them, and those I kept to myself, so why do they recoil?
    The guard’s ordering me out, but by the shuffling that follows, I know Gale has somehow detained him. For answers, I cross to Venia, who was always the strongest. I crouch down and take her icy hands, which clutch mine like vises.
    “What happened, Venia?” I ask. “What are you doing here?”
    “They took us. From the Capitol,” she says hoarsely.
    Plutarch enters behind me. “What on earth is going on?”
    “Who took you?” I press her.
    “People,” she says vaguely. “The night you broke out.”
    “We thought it might be comforting for you to have your regular team,” Plutarch says behind me. “Cinna requested it.”
    “Cinna requested this ?” I snarl at him. Because if there’s one thing I know, it’s that Cinna would never have approved the abuse of these three, who he managed with gentleness and patience. “Why are they being treated like criminals?”
    “I honestly don’t know.” There’s something in his voice that makes me believe him, and the pallor on Fulvia’s face confirms it. Plutarch turns to the guard, who’s just appeared in the doorway with Gale right behind him. “I was only told they were being confined. Why are they being punished?”
    “For stealing food. We had to restrain them after an altercation over some bread,” says the guard.
    Venia’s brows come together as if she’s still trying to make sense of it. “No one would tell us anything. We were so hungry. It was just one slice she took.”
    Octavia begins to sob, muffling the sound in her ragged tunic. I think of how, the first time I survived the arena, Octavia sneaked me a roll under the table because she couldn’t bear my hunger. I crawl across to her shaking form. “Octavia?” I touch her and she flinches. “Octavia? It’s going to be all right. I’ll get you out of here, okay?”
    “This seems extreme,” says Plutarch.
    “It’s because they took a slice of bread?” asks Gale.
    “There were repeated infractions leading up to that. They were warned. Still they took more bread.” The guard pauses a moment, as if puzzled by our density. “You can’t take bread.”
    I can’t get Octavia to uncover her face, but she lifts it slightly. The shackles on her wrists shift down a few inches, revealing raw sores beneath them. “I’m bringing you to my mother.” I address the guard. “Unchain them.”
    The guard shakes his head. “It’s not authorized.”
    “Unchain them! Now!” I yell.
    This breaks his composure. Average citizens don’t address him this way. “I have no release orders. And you have no authority to —”
    “Do it on my authority,” says Plutarch. “We came to collect these three anyway. They’re needed for Special Defense. I’ll take full responsibility.”
    The guard leaves to make a call. He returns with a set of keys. The preps have been forced into cramped body positions for so long that even once the shackles are