When they asked Sage what non-lethal item she wanted to bring into the Hunger Games, she didn’t hesitate.

“A pebble,” she said.

The escort had blinked at her, the other tributes had laughed, and the audience had eaten it up. Oh, how poetic! How tragic! The girl from District 7 clinging to a useless rock.

But Sage wasn’t stupid. She knew exactly what she was doing.

The pebble wasn’t just a pebble. It was smooth and small, fitting perfectly in the dip of her palm. It was dark gray with a single white streak running through it like a lightning bolt frozen in stone. It was from home. Her brother, Orin, had given it to her when she was seven, whispering that it was lucky. That as long as she had it, she’d always find her way back.

And now, standing at the mouth of the Arena, she squeezed it once before slipping it into the pocket of her torn jacket.

The cannon fired. The Games began.

Sage didn’t run to the Cornucopia. She ran to the trees. District 7 was lumber. She knew how to climb, how to hide.

For two days, she stayed out of sight, listening as the cannons boomed, one by one. She had no weapons, no allies. Just a stolen flask of water, a handful of berries she wasn’t sure were safe, and the pebble.

She turned it over in her fingers as she crouched in the branches at night, the distant screams echoing through the trees. Find your way back.

She needed a weapon.

The next morning, she found her first body—a boy from District 3, slumped against a rock, his throat slit. His pack had been taken, but not his boots. Sage didn’t take them, either. She wasn’t a scavenger. Not yet.

But she did take the wire that dangled from his belt.

By nightfall, she had set a trap.

By dawn, she had a knife.

The Careers never saw her coming.

Sage didn’t fight head-on. She wasn’t strong enough. But she was fast. She was silent. She was the wind that rustled the leaves, the shadow that passed between trees.

She used the knife when she had to. She used the wire when she could. But always, always, she used the pebble.

It became her rhythm. Before every move, she turned it once in her palm. A heartbeat. A moment to think.

It kept her steady.

And then, on the sixth night, she found herself cornered.

The last three tributes—two Careers and a girl from District 5—had her trapped against the river. She was bleeding, her knife slippery in her hand. She couldn’t fight all three.

So she did the only thing she could.

She reached into her pocket, curled her fingers around the pebble, and whispered, “Find your way back.”

And then she threw it.

The small gray stone, so insignificant, arced through the air—just a distraction, just enough to make the Careers flinch—

And in that split second, Sage moved.

She lunged low, slashed high, and suddenly, there were two tributes instead of three.

The girl from District 5 tried to run. Sage let her.

The last Career, a boy from District 2, swung his axe—missed—stumbled—

And then he was gone, too.

Sage stood alone in the clearing, chest heaving.

The cannon fired.

She sank to her knees, staring at the bloodied ground where her pebble had fallen.

It was just a rock.

Just a stupid, tiny rock.

But it had saved her life.

And now, as the hovercraft descended, as the anthem blared, as the world declared her the Victor—

She finally let herself believe that she would find her way home.