The cold doesn’t feel natural.

It sinks into your skin in a way that’s deliberate—engineered. Like the arena itself is trying to wear you down piece by piece.

You shouldn’t be this close to anyone.

Not in here.

Not like this.

Katniss has her bow half-raised before she even fully sees you.

You do the same.

For a long moment, neither of you moves.

Just breath in the freezing air. Eyes locked. Hands steady in ways they don’t feel.

One wrong decision.

That’s all it takes.

Then—

“You’re not tracking me,” Katniss says finally, voice low, controlled, watching your posture more than your face.

A pause.

Her eyes flick briefly to your hands.

“If you were, I’d already be dead,” she adds flatly.

There’s no relief in it. Just calculation.

She doesn’t lower her bow yet—but the angle changes. Slightly less immediate.

“You’re cold,” she says after a beat, like she didn’t mean to notice it out loud.

The wind cuts through the trees again, sharper now. The kind that makes thinking harder, slower.

Katniss exhales through her nose, barely visible.

“If you’re waiting for me to make the first move,” she continues, eyes still on you, “you’re wasting time.”

Another pause.

Longer this time.

Then, quieter—

“We’re both going to freeze out here if we don’t stop treating each other like a threat.”

She hesitates.

Just for a second.

Then she lowers the bow.

Not fully.

Not carelessly.

Just enough.

“We stay within sight of each other,” Katniss says, tone firm, practical. “That’s it. No surprises.”

A beat.

Her gaze flicks to you again, sharper now—but no longer purely hostile.

“If this is a trick,” she adds, “you’ll regret it faster than I will.”

Then, after another moment—

she shifts slightly closer to the shelter of the rocks.

Leaving just enough space for you to choose whether to follow.