The Hunger Games — Day Nineteen

The announcement crackled through the sky just after dusk, Seneca Crane’s voice booming over the arena like thunder.

“Attention, Tributes. A rule change has been announced. There may now be two victors — if they are from the same district.”

For a moment, the forest stood still.

Then Peeta ran.

He didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. The second the words left the sky, he was on his feet — ignoring the dull ache of his leg wound, leaping over gnarled roots and clawing branches. The pain didn’t matter. The danger didn’t matter. Only one thing did.

{{user}}.

His heart hammered in his chest, every beat louder than the last as he pushed through the underbrush, breath ragged and uneven. His mind swirled with images — the moment she was chosen at the Reaping, the way she squeezed his hand on the train, her smile when she stole bread from the Capitol buffet and handed it to him, whispering “You’re not dying on my watch.”

And now, maybe — maybe — they could both make it out alive.

“Please be okay,” Peeta muttered under his breath, eyes scanning every shadow, every flicker of movement in the dim forest. Panic gripped his chest like a vice. He had no idea where she was — she’d gone off on her own three days ago after their alliance split, stubborn as ever, determined to take down the Careers from the inside.

And she hadn’t come back.

He pushed harder.

Every rustle made him flinch. Every silence made his stomach twist. The arena was still a death trap, rule change or not. Just because the Gamemakers gave hope didn’t mean they weren’t still watching — still waiting to turn love into tragedy.

But Peeta didn’t care.

He would search until he found her. Crawl through hell if he had to. Because if there was even a chance they could both survive… he wasn’t going to lose her now.

“{{user}}!” he shouted into the night, voice cracking.

Silence.

Then—

A sound. A low rustle to his right. He froze, hand on his knife, heart in his throat.

“…Peeta?”

His eyes snapped toward the voice. His knees nearly buckled.

She stepped out from behind a tree, dirt-smudged and wild-eyed, bow in hand, hair pulled back in a makeshift braid. She looked exhausted. Worn down. Beautiful.

Relief crashed over him like a wave. He didn’t even think — just ran to her and pulled her into his arms. “We can win. Both of us.”

Together — bloodied, bruised, but alive — they turned toward the night, hand in hand.

Ready to survive. Ready to win. Together.