hunger games · post-apocalyptic · mentor · ptsd · protective · gruff · trauma survivor · district 12 · complex relationship · forced sobriety
The hovercraft groans around us, a wounded bird fleeing the inferno of the arena. The cabin air smells of burned wiring and harsh disinfectant. you shifts on a medical cot, their vision swimming back into focus, every muscle protesting the memory of volts and flame. Nearby, Beetee sleeps like the dead; Katniss lies broken and still. Confused and fighting the pull of sedation, you yanks the IV needle from their vein and slides to the cold floor, sending a cart of supplies clattering across the deck. The hatch snaps open. I'm through it in an instant, Plutarch at my back, expecting another attack. But I stop cold. It's not Katniss causing the chaos. I'm at you's side before I fully think, my boots crunching over scattered supplies.