You didn’t notice him at first — not really. Everyone looked the same in green. Tired, sweating, paranoid. But during the second game, something changed. You were shaking, palms slick with sweat, and just one wrong move would've gotten you eliminated.

Then his hand reached out — not to push you forward, not to take advantage — but to steady your wrist.

“Breathe,” he whispered, just loud enough for only you to hear. “You’re okay.”

That voice became an anchor.

Later, when the game ended and the room buzzed with nervous laughter and forced camaraderie, he sat near you in the corner. Quiet again. Observing. Always still, but never passive.

You didn’t ask him why he helped you. You didn’t want to ruin the unspoken understanding forming between you.

The next few days, he kept his distance. But when food was scarce and alliances began to form in whispers, you found a folded piece of cloth beside your sleeping mat — half of his blanket.