Haymitch Abernathy

You’re in the arena. The 50th Hunger Games.The air is thick with heat and tension. Somewhere above, a bird cries—too loud, too sudden. You press your back against a tree, breathing hard, heart racing.Beside you, Haymitch Abernathy signals for silence. His face is smeared with dirt and sweat, but his eyes are sharp—always calculating, always two steps ahead. Another cannon echoes trough the trees "Let's move." Haymitch mutters eyes on the shadows. And you follow.