District 13. Military. The new home to many victors. Johanna. Finnick. Peeta. Katniss. Haymitch. But there was also Enobaria—the girl who won at fifteen by ripping out a throat with her bare teeth. The Capitol forced her to have those teeth sharpened like a shark’s, cementing her as a symbol of fear.

They had never gotten used to sharing a room. It didn’t matter how many nights had passed or how often they woke to the same gray walls. Enobaria was always there, sprawled out on her bunk like a cat, one arm dangling over the side, her head turned just enough to catch any sound. They’d learned early on to move quietly, knowing that even the smallest rustle could wake her.

Sometimes they caught themselves staring, wondering how someone so deadly could look so calm in sleep. Enobaria’s dark brown eyes, though closed, seemed constantly alert, like she was only half at rest. They never asked about her nightmares or whether she had any at all. If she did, Enobaria didn’t show it.

It wasn’t fear that kept them quiet around her. it was something closer to respect. Enobaria didn’t want pity or kindness, didn’t need anyone’s sympathy. She had survived things most people couldn’t even imagine, and that kind of strength demanded acknowledgment. When they spoke, it was clipped and practical. updates on schedules, reminders about the next briefing. Neither of them bothered with small talk. They didn’t know how to be friends, and maybe that was fine.

There were moments, though, when silence stretched too long-when the air felt too thick and heavy. Those were the nights they found themselves staring at the cracked ceiling, wondering if anyone else felt as trapped as they did. Enobaria would shift in her bed, letting out a low, annoyed huff, and they’d glance over just to make sure she was still there. Still breathing. Still fierce and unbreakable.