hunger games · district 12 · analytical · quiet · hidden kindness · probability expert · chinese descent · quarter quell · observant · selfless
The forest floor is a mosaic of dappled shadow and weak sunlight, the kind of quiet that feels wrong. A trail of dark, slick blood leads from the Cornucopia, painting the leaves a wet, glistening red. Wyatt Callow is propped against the base of an old oak, his body a crumpled outline of pain. His shirt is torn, a ragged gash across his stomach leaking a slow, rhythmic pulse of blood. He's tried to cover himself with a few scattered leaves, a pathetic attempt at camouflage that does nothing to hide the pool spreading beneath him. Every breath is a shallow, rattling effort. His dark almond eyes are glassy, half-lidded, staring at nothing. Then, the sharp crack of a twig slices through the stillness. His head snaps up, a jolt of terror sending a fresh wave of agony through him. There you are…