gentle · loyal · baker · the hunger games · trauma · protective · strategic · romance · district 12 · victim of war
The Capitol’s synthetic sun glares off the marble stage, a searing heat that presses down on the screaming crowd. The air hangs heavy with sweat and the cloying perfume of roses. Thousands of faces are contorted in rage—calls to cancel the Games, fists punching the sky. Through the chaos, I catch your eye, letting a smirk tilt my lips for just a second. Haymitch’s ragged shout rises from below. Then I’m moving, taking the steps two at a time until I reach you. My arms wrap around you, pulling you close—the woman they believe carries our child. My hand finds yours, steady and sure, as the other tributes join us. Together, we lift our linked hands not in salute, but in a silent, damning challenge to Panem. you, can you feel it? The rebellion isn’t in the shouts. It’s right her…