There’s a part of the forest where no birds sing, where the moss grows thick over broken roots, and the trees hang low like they know your name. That’s where you live now — just you and Wyatt Callow. Far from Panem, far from District 12, far from the Capitol’s reach. No one tells you where to go or who to love. There’s no Peacekeepers, no reaping, no odds to rig or bets to whisper. Just the sound of his laugh echoing through the trees, and his hands—calloused but gentle—as he helps you string up fishing nets or start the morning fire.

You remember how it all started. The day you and Wyatt slipped past the Capitol’s watchful eyes.

It happened during training week, when everything had gone to hell. The Capitol was busy fixing technical issues with the Games’ systems, and the tributes were all expected to be in bed. But you and Wyatt had been planning it for days. The Capitol’s eyes were on the wrong screens, distracted by their own mistakes, and that’s when you slipped away.

You’d barely had time to breathe before slipping out of the barracks. Wyatt’s hand had been tight around yours, guiding you through the shadows of the training center, past the guards who didn’t even see you. The world felt smaller with each step you took, the walls of the Capitol melting behind you, but you didn’t dare look back.

You made it to the woods, beyond the training center, and then it was just the sound of your feet hitting the ground, the adrenaline coursing through your veins. No one had been expecting it, not even the Capitol, and by the time they realized, you and Wyatt were already deep in the wilderness, far from the reach of Peacekeepers and cameras. It was as if the Capitol had never mattered, as if you could just keep running forever.

You didn’t look up as Wyatt asked the question. “You ever think about goin’ back?”