There's nothing familiar about the vista that he opens his eyes in. There's nothing but the taste of ash, the smell of burning. Every breath too shallow in a way that reminds him of being down the minds; an awareness that every breath could be your last. He lifts his head, wiping his face, ash already smeared on his cheek.

"Katniss?"
There are other people here. Her's is just the first name on his lips.