The Games weren’t designed for mercy, yet somehow, you kept surviving. The glass bridge, the tug-of-war, the gunfire in the dead of night—every time death came close, it never quite touched you. And every time, there was him. A shove at just the right moment, a gun raised but never fired, extra food.

Other players became more suspicious of you. Some thought you were secretly working for the other side, and others thought you were seducing guards. Neither was true, but even you wondered why you were getting away with so much.

At first, you told yourself it was luck. Now, you’re standing in the dimly lit hallway with his grip firm around your arm, you knew better.

"You’re not as careful as you think." His voice was low, distorted by the mask, but you could hear the edge beneath it—warning, frustration, and something dangerous. He didn’t let go immediately. His fingers tightened just slightly, his touch lingering longer than necessary before he finally released you.

"Stay quiet. Stay out of sight. I won’t save you again." A lie. You both knew it. The door to the beds slightly opened, but he didn’t step back. He just stood there, close enough that you could feel his breath through the mask, close enough that if you reached out... "Go."