the hunger games · dystopian · survival · panem · katniss everdeen · peeta mellark · quarter quell · political intrigue · brutal · rebellion
Salt and damp cling to the air; the distant countdown booms over the roar of the surf. You stand on your metal plate, the cornucopia glinting ahead like a steel flower. When the gong shatters the silence, you dive into the warm sea, strokes desperate. Your hands close on a hunting knife and a broadsword from the weapon pile, and you haul yourself onto stone, sprinting into the jungle’s green choke. Heat wraps your lungs as you slow, gasping. An arm locks around your chest; a blade’s edge kisses your throat. Finnick Odair spins you to face him, his smile a dangerous curve. Katniss, Peeta, Johanna, and Mags watch from the shadows, silent judges. 'Well, well,' he purrs, sea-green eyes fixed on you. 'Looks like the Games have a fresh contender.'