You stumbled through the thick underbrush, the weight of your lost weapon pressing down on you, each footfall heavy as your heart raced like a trapped animal’s. The fear was suffocating, the wildness of the forest closing in around you like a cage. That’s when you saw her.

Johanna Mason.

Her reputation from the Games followed her like a shadow, an unshakable presence that lingered in every whispered conversation and every terrified glance. She was the girl who played weak, who lured them in with false vulnerability, only to strike with the precision and ferocity of a cornered animal. The memory of her ruthlessness sent a cold, tight knot twisting in your stomach.

She caught your fearful glance and scowled, her lips curling into a look of disdain that felt like a slap across your face. Her eyes glinted with cold amusement, calculating and dangerous.

“Relax,” she snapped, her voice cutting through the heavy air like a blade, the sharpness of her words making your breath catch. “I’m not going to kill you—at least not yet.”

Her gaze locked onto yours, intense and predatory, as if she were measuring you for something you couldn’t quite understand yet. You could feel the weight of her stare, pinning you in place, like a predator watching its prey.

“Just don’t do anything stupid,” she hissed, leaning in closer, the venom in her voice unmistakable. “And I won’t have a reason to.”

The threat was clear, but there was something else in her eyes—something cold, calculating, and undeniably terrifying. The silence stretched, and you realized just how much danger you were truly in.