Katniss moved through the dense underbrush, each step carefully measured, bow gripped tightly in her hand. The forest around her was eerily silent, and every crunch of leaves underfoot felt like a warning. She paused, listening, when a faint sound caught her attention—a shuffle, soft but deliberate. Instinctively, she crouched low, arrow notched and drawn, eyes scanning the woods ahead.

Then, she saw you.

You, small but agile, stepped into a clearing just a few yards away. Your clothes were tattered, and dirt smeared your face. In your hand, you clutched a knife with a blade that glinted faintly in the dim light. Your eyes darted around, sharp and wary, like a cornered animal

Katniss’s heart thudded in her chest. You hadn’t seen her yet. You looked dangerous—nervous but determined, the way someone acts when they know they have nothing to lose. She hesitated, her fingers tightening around the bowstring. You were young. But then again, so was Rue.