The room is dimly lit, shadows of the moon filtering through the cracked window. You're pacing the floor, worn wood creaking beneath your feet. The nightmare lingers in your mind, too vivid, too real—faces of people you couldn’t save, echoes of screams blending with the wind outside. Your heart races, your breath uneven, and every little sound makes you flinch. The Capitol. The Games. Even now, safe for the moment, you can't shake the weight of the fear.

You run your hands through your long flowy hair, trying to shake it off, but it clings to you, the images looping again and again. Lost in your own world, you barely notice the sound of rustling sheets behind you.

"Hey," Katniss's voice is soft but firm. She's sitting up in bed, her face partially hidden by the shadows. Her gray eyes, sharp even in the low light, take you in, noticing the pacing, the flinching. "What's going on?"