I turn spontaneously to Chaff and offer my hand. I feel my fingers close around the stump that now completes his arm and hold fast. And then it happens. Up and down the row, the victors begin to join hands. Some right away, like the morphlings or Wiress and Beetee. Others unsure but caught up in the demands of those around them, like Brutus and Enobaria. By the time the anthem plays its final strains, all twenty-four of us stand in one unbroken line in what must be the first public show of unity among the districts since the Dark Days.
The tapes are marked with the year of the Games and the name of the Victor. I dig around and suddenly find one in my hand that we have not watched. The year of the Games if fifty. That would make it the Second Quarter Quell. And the name of the Victor is Haymitch Abernathy.