She remembers. It's not something that Katniss will easily forget, all of that blood slick underneath her fingers. Shaky stitches that she was sure wouldn't hold. The flash of needle and thread. Her hands had been shaking. All these little details form in her mind as the calloused pad of her thumb brushes against his scar. They've both got them in spades.

And suddenly, a sick sort of anger dawns on her. A rage that used to be familiar but was something she thought had faded in time. The person who had inflicted that cut on Jason had made it deep. Probably deep enough to kill. Her expression darkens, brows pulling together in order to try and retain some semblance of normalcy in her face.

"Who? Who is it?"

She killed four children once upon a time, because she loved her sister. And as much as she hates herself for it, Katniss knows she'd do more. Loyalties are not easily made, but when they are she never lets them become tarnished.

It's one of the only things Katniss can stand about herself, actually.