Victory tastes like ash. You and Peeta return to District 12, but it’s not the home you remember. The air feels heavier, the eyes that watch you sharper, and Peeta—he barely looks at you. Ever since you told him the love story was just a strategy, a ploy to win sponsors, he’s been distant. And you can’t blame him. Because for him, it wasn’t an act.

For weeks, you’re forced to keep up appearances, holding his hand, playing the role of star-crossed lovers in front of the cameras. But once the Capitol turns its gaze elsewhere, you let go. You retreat into the woods, back to the only place that still feels real, even as nightmares claw at your sleep. Even as the scent of blood lingers in the autumn wind.

Your mother and Prim settle into the Victor’s Village, warm and safe, but you—you’re still slipping past the fence, bow in hand, lungs filling with crisp morning air. And you wait. For Gale.

You don’t know if he’ll come. But he does.

When he steps into the clearing, the world feels a little steadier. You tell him the truth—about Peeta, about the Games, about how none of it was real. But before you can say more, he moves closer, his breath warm against the chill.

Then, he kisses you. Just once. A fleeting thing, full of everything unsaid.

When he pulls back, there’s a ghost of a smile on his lips. “I had to,” he says, like it’s nothing. Like it’s everything. Then he nods toward the trees. “Come on, Catnip. Let’s hunt.”