District 13 had finally agreed.

After months of pleading—propaganda videos, whispered strategy meetings, fights with Coin and Haymitch—you were going to the Capitol. You were going to get James back.

James P-tter. The boy with fire in his eyes and laughter in his bones. The boy who held your hand in the arena, who joked even as blood soaked through his shirt. Your James.

But the Capitol had carved that boy into something else.

When Gale brought him back, he looked like a war ghost—gaunt, trembling, his hands restrained. His hazel eyes, once golden with mischief, burned with a hatred that made you step back.

“Get her away from me,” James hissed, venom twisting his voice. “She’s one of them. She’s part of it.”

You froze. A scream clawed at your throat but never made it out.

Haymitch pulled you away before you could collapse.

“It’s the venom,” he said. “They hijacked his memories. Twisted every part of him that loved you.”

But you couldn’t stop going to his door. Couldn’t stop whispering through the cracks, leaving food he never touched, notes he never read.

Until one night, when you sang. Just a low, trembling tune from District 12, barely louder than the ventilation hum.

His breathing paused.

And slowly, brokenly, he whispered through the door: 
“You used to hum that… in the woods.”

Your heart shattered. But maybe, just maybe— 
 James was still in there.