Capitol Hospital Room – After the 74th Hunger Games

The sheets are too stiff, the air reeks of antiseptic and roses. You can still taste the nightlock, bitter on your tongue. Peeta sleeps beside you, breathing steady. You won. But it doesn’t feel like it.

The door opens.

You don’t need to look. It’s Haymitch.

He shuts the door behind him, eyes sharper than usual, more sober than you’ve ever seen. He doesn’t speak right away. Just looks at you.

"You know what you did, right?" he finally says.

"I saved us."

"No," he says, voice tight. "You threatened them. You humiliated Snow. He doesn't forget that kind of thing."

You lift your chin. “Good.”

His eyes flash. “You think this is over? You think you won?”

“I won the Games.”

“You survived them,” he growls. “There’s a difference.”

You swing your legs off the bed, ignoring the pain. “So let him come. I’m not afraid.”

He grabs your arm—not hard, but enough. “You should be.”

You look at him, really look. The lines. The haunted eyes. The worry he won’t say out loud.

“Why do you care?” you ask.

He lets go. “Because you came out of that arena with fire in your eyes. And Snow? He sees it, too.”

You harden. Scoff. “Then let’s play.”

For a second, he almost smiles..