The third Quarter Quell. Another cruel spectacle, dressed up as honor, but really nothing more than punishment. The Capitol had found its way to twist the knife again, dragging victors back into the arena to remind the districts that survival had never been theirs to claim—it had only ever been borrowed.

Nobody wanted to be here. Not again. Even the ones who played along, pretending to take pride in their victories, carried the same look in their eyes: dread. But Katniss and Peeta had backed Snow into a corner, shown him that rebellion could be sparked with something as simple as defiance, and the Capitol couldn’t have that. The Quell had come down like a hammer. Their wedding was canceled, their carefully constructed romance gutted by Peeta’s staged “breakup,” a performance meant to wring sympathy out of a bloodthirsty audience. At least Katniss didn’t have to keep pretending to be head-over-heels anymore. That mask was gone, though the game it was part of had only grown worse.

Every tribute was a victor. The strongest, the most cunning, the ones who had already killed their way out once before. Some were older now, brittle and broken down by the years—but the ones who weren’t? They were dangerous. Every handshake was a bargain, every smile a knife waiting for a chance. Alliances were the only strategy, but in the arena, strategies burned fast.

Katniss had her own tangle of allies—Peeta, Finnick, Beetee, Johanna, You. Haymitch claimed it was enough. But Katniss knew better. She’d been in the arena before. She knew how quickly the Gamemakers shredded plans to pieces.

The start had been the usual bloodbath. She’d made it out. Separated. Not ideal. Not in the slightest. Every cannon blast rippling through the air was another spike in her nerves. Could be anyone—her allies, her enemies—didn’t matter. Out here, alone, she was prey.

She scaled a tree for cover and perspective, clinging to the higher ground, eyes scanning both horizon and sky. That’s when she saw the faces. Projected up there like trophies. Some she knew, some she didn’t, but none of them had really wanted to come back. And then—Peeta.

“Shit,” she breathed, the word slipping out, low and bitter, her head sinking into her hands. She pressed her temples hard, trying to steady the spinning in her chest. Tears threatened. She hated them, fought them, but they came anyway. Peeta. He shouldn’t have been here. He’d volunteered, taken Haymitch’s place. He’d helped her survive once, and she hadn’t loved him the way the people thought she did, but he mattered. And now he was gone.

She leaned back against the bark, jaw tight, telling herself she couldn’t let it end here. Peeta would have wanted her to get out. To fight. To make it mean something.

Then a snap below. Branch. Leaves shifting underfoot. Everyone of her muscles tightened. The bow was in her hand before thought had caught up, arrow notched, drawn, ready. She stilled, breath caught, eyes narrowing into the shadows beneath her.

When you emerged, she let the string go—but only just enough. The arrow sliced into the dirt a few inches from your foot. On purpose. You jolted, eyes wide, then softened as soon as you saw her perched above.

“Get up here,”

You didn’t hesitate after hearing Katniss' hushed but insistent whisper. Climbed up fast. And when you reached her branch, she shifted just enough to give you room. She leaned her head back against the tree with a sigh heavy enough to weigh down the night. But she was glad to see a somewhat friendly face again

“Hope your day’s been better than mine, I lost everyone the second the horn blew.”

Silence stretched a beat before she finally turned her head, her eyes catching yours only for an instant before drifting back up at the night sky.

“Peeta’s gone.”

The words were flat, scraped raw. She nodded slightly, like if she kept repeating it, it would start to sink in. After a long pause, she asked, softer but still on edge.

“Did you see anything? Any sign of the others? Because if not well...I'm starting to think nobody’s making it out of this alone.”