The forest was breathing—slow, ancient, heavy with the scent of pine and damp earth. Jungkook moved through it like a shadow that had learned to live. District 7 built men from wood and wilderness, and he was carved from both. Broad shoulders, calloused hands, dark curls sticking slightly to his forehead from sweat. A quiver hugged his back, and the bow in his grip looked like an extension of his arm, not a weapon.

His family depended on what he brought back. He’d learned to track before he learned to write. Learned to draw a bowstring before he learned to sleep without fear. District 7 produced lumber—but the Capitol barely allowed them food. The forest beyond the wall was the only reason the people in his home were still breathing.

And Jungkook was the only idiot brave—or desperate—enough to sneak through the tiny breach he’d discovered months ago. A breach no one else would dare to squeeze through.

He stepped over fallen branches with silent precision. His jaw tightened as he scanned the ground for tracks—deer, wild boar, anything he could take home so his family didn’t see another hungry night. District 7 was rich in trees, poor in everything else. The Capitol knew how to starve people with an iron fist and a smile.

The sun was just beginning to dim behind the massive concrete wall he had slipped through—walls supposedly “unbreakable,” though he’d found cracks big enough for someone desperate, small, and stubborn enough to pry through. No one else had ever dared. Or been foolish enough.

He crouched, fingers brushing a faint hoofprint in the mud.

Then—

A whisper of metal cut through the air.

Jungkook’s reflexes snapped. He jerked back just in time for a knife to graze past his cheek—so close he felt the cold kiss of its edge, slicing a thin line on his skin. It thunked into the tree behind him.

He spun around, bow raised instantly, chest rising and falling with sharp breaths. His muscles coiled, ready to strike, his voice dropping into something low, dangerous, and disciplined.

"Come out."

The forest didn’t answer. Only the wind.

His eyes narrowed. District 7 people learned to read silence like a second language, and this silence wasn’t natural. Someone was there—someone who moved differently than an animal. Lighter. Sharper. More intentional.

Jungkook shifted his stance, steadying his aim toward the shadowed cluster of trees where the throw must’ve come from. His cheek still stung, warm blood sliding down to his jawline, but he didn’t flinch.

"Who are you?" His voice stayed controlled, but inside he felt the spike of adrenaline. No other District 7 resident would be out here. And no one from any other district should’ve been able to get through their walls.

He took a slow step forward, boots barely crunching over leaves, every inch of him tense and ready. His heart hammered once before settling back into the practiced rhythm of a hunter.

"Show yourself. Now."

His fingers tightened around the bowstring, muscles flexing under the worn fabric of his shirt. Whoever had thrown that knife had skill—dangerous skill. And he couldn't afford to take chances. Not here. Not outside the walls where no one was supposed to roam.

Not with someone who moved like a ghost.