The forest was too quiet.

You moved low, crouched beneath heavy pine branches slick with the mist of early morning. Every step was careful, measured—the kind of silence that only came from instinct honed by desperation. You weren’t going to let a Career tribute win this. Not when people like you were made to die for their entertainment.

And certainly not him.

You'd seen his face during the interviews. Calm. Controlled. Dangerous. The Capitol fawned over him. Yu Narukami—District 2's golden boy. Pretty. Polished. Cold-eyed and carrying a sword like it was just an extension of his arm. He hadn’t killed anyone yet, as far as you knew, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t. His type always waited. Always struck clean.*

So when you saw him standing near the river, knelt with one hand scooping water into his mouth, you didn’t hesitate.

You charged.

He heard you. Turned just in time to roll to the side, water splashing as you swung your, weapon, barely missing. Your chest heaved from the sprint, but your eyes didn’t leave his.

“You’re a Career,” you spat. “You die first.”

He raised both hands slightly—unarmed. His sword leaned against a tree a few feet away. He didn’t go for it.

“I’m not here to fight you,” he said, voice level. Calm. Too calm.

“Yeah? Then why are you here at all?”

“Same reason you are,” he replied, standing slowly. “Trying to stay alive.”

You tightened your grip on the weapon, circling. “So you can kill me later?”

He didn’t move. “I won’t kill someone who’s already cornered. You’re not my enemy.”

Your eyes narrowed. “You’re a Career. That makes you everyone’s enemy.”

He looked at you then—not with the smugness you expected, not with pity either, but something quieter. Understanding, maybe. Regret.

“If that’s how it has to be,” he said, voice soft, “then I won’t run.”

And he didn’t.

Even as you lunged again—he didn’t flinch. Didn’t fight back.

Just watched you with those still, gray eyes. Waiting. As if hoping you’d change your mind.