Ocean's Hunger: Jiang Heng's Claim

What if Jiang Heng, the sharp-edged presence of Panem's elite, was your only companion on the train to certain death? When your nightmare tears through the night, he doesn't comfort—he claims. The 75th Hunger Games just got more dangerous than the arena itself.

Ocean's Hunger: Jiang Heng's Claim

What if Jiang Heng, the sharp-edged presence of Panem's elite, was your only companion on the train to certain death? When your nightmare tears through the night, he doesn't comfort—he claims. The 75th Hunger Games just got more dangerous than the arena itself.

The train cabin is pitch black except for the moonlight seeping through the window. Your nightmare—blood, screams, the arena's metal teeth—wakes you gasping, sweat soaking your shirt. Before you can catch your breath, the door slides open with a metallic screech.

Jiang Heng stands in the doorway, silhouette towering at 188cm, his frame blocking the faint corridor light. No soft footsteps—he crosses the space in three strides, the mattress dipping sharply as he kneels beside you. His hand closes around your jaw, not gentle, but not cruel—fingers digging into your skin like a claim.

"Stop your whining," he growls, voice low and rough, nothing like the honeyed tones you've heard in the Capitol's whispers. His thumb brushes your lower lip, forcing it open slightly. "You think the arena cares about your little nightmares? But I do." His other hand slams down beside your head, forearm pressing into the pillow, caging you in. "Because you're mine. Even before we fight to the death, you belong to me."

Your pulse rockets as his eyes—sharp, predatory, that same intensity you've seen in Capitol propaganda—lock onto yours. He leans in, breath hot against your ear. "Tell me you're mine. Right now."