dawn unfurled over district 10, the landscape stirred to life in a golden bloom. sunlight seeped over the dotted pastures, casting elongated shadows across wooden enclosures where cattle shifted restlessly, their lowing punctuating the crisp morning air. the scent of damp earth, mingled with the musk of livestock, which settled heavily over the district, a familiar scent that all were fond of. along the dirt roads, workers began their day — unlatching gates, murmuring to themselves, and the occasional clang of metal against wood blended into the distant noises. a rooster's call cut through the morning hush, a herald not for the privileged few who lived by clocks, but for those whose lives were bound to the rhythms of the land and the life they lived.

at the outskirts of town, nestled along a weathered, neglected street, stood a house that had long since surrendered to time. once adorned with pristine white paint, its walls were now a patchwork of peeling layers, curling away to expose the splintering wood beneath. the porch sagged under years of wear, the railing that once stood upright was now bowed outwards. two steps leading up to the porch and the front door had collapsed entirely, leaving gaping absences where countless footfalls had worn them thin. what planks remained groaned under even the lightest tread. beside the door, a rusted lantern hung from a crooked nail.

this was not a house built to endure, yet somehow, it had.

inside, the house was dim, its windows fogged with dust that never seemed to fully wipe away. it was no royal palace nor was it a castle filled to the brim with riches. yet, the walls were lined with something more valuable than gold — memories. picture frames with worn edges, that were carefully dusted, sat on all the walls, the smiles of the lost reflecting back through the glass at those who'd pass by. the frames were carved from rosewood salvaged from a tree that once stood in the backyard.

at the very end of the narrowed hallway, a door stood perpetually ajar, its frame warped. once, it had housed the many children of the alces family. now, it was less a bedroom and more a reliquary — tributes to those who no longer returned home. a pair of well—worn boots, laces frayed, rested neatly by the door. a yellow, tattered scarf, still knotted as if awaiting use, hung on the wall from a hook shaped and formed from a deers antler. and wooden animals, carved and sanded, lined some shelves. a faded brown toy horse lay abandoned in one corner.

to the left of the entrance stood the chaotic kitchen. the wooden countertops, theoretically meant for food preparation, were instead laden with an assortment of mismatched pots and pans, some repurposed to store worn shoes, others filled with scraps of fabric or rusted tools kept for future repairs, that never seemed to have happened. bundles of drying herbs — mint, rosemary, thyme, lavender — hung from the ceiling and the walls along the back of the room, the mix of their odd scents overlaying the earthy smell of the stored potatoes and onions that sat in haphazard piles along the floor. a heavy iron stove occupied one corner, its surface was very blackened from years of use, and the faint embers from the previous night's fire still glowed within.

just beyond the kitchen sat the dining table. once, it'd been the heart of the home, where the alces family had crammed shoulder to shoulder, sharing meals. but as the years passed and each reaping stole another child away, the space at the table widened, but not in a way many would think. a way in which clutter overtook the emptiness of the wooden topside. stacks of newspapers teetered precariously, half—mended clothes flopped on another, forgotten, and tools sprawled across the wooden surface. yet, amidst the encroaching disorder, three spaces remained — one for maverick, one for his mother, and one for his father.

to the right of the entrance, lay his parents' bedroom which mirrored the rest of the house in its careful disarray. bundles of folded clothes formed in uneven towers, while yellowed newspapers lay stacked against the walls. whatever remnants of their lost children had not been consigned to the old bedroom, or elsewhere in the house, were here, scattered throughout this space. a moth—eaten sweater, too small for anyone in the family to wear, lay folded at the foot of the bed.

at the far end of the hall, past the room filled with all the echoes of the past, lay maverick's bedroom. once, it was a crowded space shared among all his siblings, but it now stood as a contrast to the rest of his house. it was clean, orderly, untouched by the creeping clutter that overtook the other rooms. his bed, though covered in patchwork sheets worn thin, was neatly made each morning. all his clothes were carefully folded away in a wooden chest, that his father sculpted and painted, at the foot of his bed, his shoes stacked precisely on top. a single teddy bear, its fur worn smooth and faded from years of comfort, sat against his pillow. it had blue and red buttons for eyes, its original eyes long gone. along the windowsill, wooden figurines stood in a row. first, a moose, an homage to the family's surname, second, a fox, sleek and cunning, one of his favourite animals, and finally, a monkey, small and delicate, though missing its tail, the piece lost years ago and yet to be reattached.

maverick was already awake, despite the fact that the sun had yet to properly arise. he stood quietly at the front door, leaning against the splintered fram. his baggy pyjamas, a mismatched set of his older brothers old bottoms and a long shirt that once belonged to his father, hung loosely around his body. the shirt was far too big, falling down to his knees, and his pants would drag along the floor with every step he shifted.

today was the day.

he had hardly slept, tossing and turning through the night, thoughts racing through his mind like a herd of crazy, wild animals. the thought of the reaping gnawed at him, menacingly. his stomach churned and he put his hands together, rubbing them against one another to try and shake off the nerves that twisted inside him.

a weight settled on his shoulder, pulling him to reality once again.

❝ maverick, ❞ came his mother's voice, soft, soothing and warm, like chocolate that had melted in the sun.

her face was pale, drawn from the weariness that had settled into her bones over the years. her eyes, though tired, were warm with love. she wore a loose, faded dress. it was once vibrant and colourful, but years of work and wear had caused it to turn grey. her smile, weak and crooked, did little to mask the worry etched into her wrinkled features

❝ you'll freeze standing there like that, ❞ she said, her voice was a little rough with sleep, ❝ come inside. go get cleaned up. the house will get cold. ❞

maverick let his mother lead him back through the house, her hand on his arm. the air inside the house was cool, not quite as cold as the morning outside, so it was a pleasant chill. today, though, everything seemed that little bit colder.

she kissed his forehead softly and ruffled his messy hair. her voice was quiet, ❝ the bath's in your room. go clean up, you'll feel better after. ❞

he nodded. he couldn't quite bring himself to speak. he was glad his mother's gentleness was a nice distraction from his spiraling thoughts, but it did little to calm the knot of dread in his stomach. the reaping would come soon enough.

maverick shuffled down the hallway  and entered his small room at the back of the house. he shut the door behind him, a soft click echoing in the stillness of the room, and slowly approached the metal bath that sat in the center of the room. the bath was rounded, with old, chipped edges, and it had been moved from room to room over the years. the water was cold as he sank into it, sending a sharp shock through his body. he quickly scrubbed his skin, moving faster than usual, wanting to be done with the whole ordeal.

when he was finished, he stood up, water dripping from his skin, and wrapped a towel riddled with holes around himself. his eyes flicked toward the bed, where his clothes had been neatly folded. his mother had laid them out for him the night before — a button—down shirt, crisp and freshly ironed, its white fabric almost too bright against the dull surroundings of their home, which his mother had stained and bleached with an inch of its life over the months. a pair of black pants that clung uncomfortably to his narrow waist, too large in the hips and too tight in the legs, and polished shoes that gleamed slightly under the dim light of his room.

maverick sighed as he slipped into the clothes. he fastened the buttons of the shirt, his fingers fumbling slightly as he did so. the pants were stiff, the seams tight against his legs, and the shoes felt foreign, like something he would never wear unless forced to. and today, he had no choice.

he stood in front of his mirror, staring at the reflection of the boy he barely recognized. the oversized shirt hung loosely from his shoulders, and the pants sagged, but it was the shoes — polished and pristine — that made his chest tighten. he didn't want to wear them. he didn't want to be part of this cruel system. he didn't want to be part of the reaping, the reminder that the capitol had the power to take away everything — even the lives of children like him.

but there was no escape from it. not today.

maverick slowly left his room and made his way back down the hall, where his mother stood waiting for him. she gave him a small, tired smile when she saw him, and though it wasn't the smile of someone who had hope, it was the smile of someone who had learned to keep going, despite everything.

❝ come on, ❞ she murmured softly, ❝ let's get us some breakfast. ❞

maverick followed his mother as she led him into the kitchen, the warmth from the stove washing over him like a much—needed blanket against the chill. his father sat at the table, his broad hands clasping a bowl. the bowl was chipped, and the contents were thick and gray, resembling something halfway between soup and porridge. the smell that rose from the stove was a blend of strong, unfamiliar spices and something earthy, with a pungency that made maverick's stomach churn just slightly.

❝ morning, kid, ❞ his father said in a voice thick with sleep but still kind, his eyes warm and tired. he looked tired like most of the men and women here, tired and worn down by years of work.

maverick didn't say much as he approached the stove.
he grabbed the wooden spoon and dug into the thick slop, spooning a generous helping into his bowl. the texture was odd, the mixture sticky and heavy, but it didn't matter. he was hungry. the food slid down his throat quickly after he sat down, its taste a mixture of bitterness and something salty, but maverick barely noticed. he shoveled bite after bite into his mouth.

his father chuckled lightly at him from across the table. ❝ slow down, boy. you don't want to choke on your food, ❞ he teased.

that surely would be a shame, wouldn't it? then, he'd miss the reaping.

maverick glanced up, shaking the thought, and a grin spread across his face as he swallowed the last spoon of slop. ❝ sorry, dad, ❞ he muttered, his mouth full as he got up and scooped himself another helping. he tried to pace himself a little, but it was hard not to eat quickly when he stomach was twisted in knots.

after a few more bites, maverick paused, and his eyes flicked towards the window. ❝ can i go to the market after breakfast? ❞ he asked, his words spilling out his mouth quickly as he set his spoon down, and looked at his father. ❝ before the reaping, i want to see some of my friends. ❞

his father's eyes softened, but a flicker of concern soon passed over his face. his fingers lightly drummed on the bowls edge. his smile was strained, but he gave a slow nod to maverick.

❝ that's fine, ❞ he said, ❝ just... don't wander too far, and come back in time, alright? ❞

maverick nodded, his smile growing wider, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. ❝ i'll be careful. ❞ his father shifted in his seat, his face grim, but he didn't stop his son. the boy needed this. they all needed something to hold onto today.

maverick's mother, who had been standing silently by the stove, her eyes fixed on the floor, suddenly spoke up, ❝ you'll scrub your teeth before you go, and not a speck of dirt better touch your clothes. you're not going to go around looking like a mess today. ❞

maverick looked up at her, his smile widening even more, though it was mixed with an odd feeling he couldn't quite place. ❝ thanks, mom, ❞ he said, his voice filled with a bit of relief. she might not smile as often as she used to years ago, but he knew she cared. her strictness was always a way to make sure he stayed safe, that he didn't forget what really mattered.

❝ go on then, ❞ his father said with a weary smile, pushing his own bowl aside. ❝ don't stay out too long, we'll be waiting for you when you get back. ❞

maverick stood from his seat, his bowl empty and his stomach feeling oddly settled. he moved quickly, eager to leave the house and step into the quiet streets of his district before everything began to change. his friends would be at the market, and it could be one of the the last times they could be together, before the reaping.

maverick rushed across the house and into the small bathroom. he ran the tap and let the cold water from the sink splash against his face as he quickly scrubbed his teeth. he stared at his reflection in the cracked and rounded mirror, his wide eyes staring back at him. his face was still a boy's face — soft, unmarked. his hand shook slightly as he ruffled his hair, the thick strands falling back messily. he didn't have time to care about how he looked anymore. he had his last few hours of peace.

maverick quickly darted down the hall and across the hallway, trying not to step on any of the broken pieces of flooring that creaked under his weight.

as he stepped out the door, the crisp air greeted him. it was cool, and rather relaxing. he quickly crossed the rubble—covered walkway that led down the dirt road of the district, carefully stepping around the patches of mud and the occasional puddle that still lingered from the earlier rain. he tried not to think about how long it would take before his entire life changed, how this morning — this walk — could be something he'd look back on, wishing he had savoured it longer.

as he neared the marketplace, the familiar sight of it all gave him a small sense of comfort. stalls lined the streets, their canvas coverings flapping slightly in the wind. the scents of fresh bread, cured meats, and the earthy smell of vegetables hung in the air. he had been here so many times, with friends and family, and each time it gave him the same feeling.

but now, as maverick approached the row of stalls, his eyes landed on a sight that brought a flicker of warmth to his chest — his friends.

there they were, standing in front of sanders sweet treats, their faces pressed eagerly against the glass as they peered inside. the sweet shop's windows were fogged from the warmth inside, and the colorful jars of candies sat on the shelves in rows. it was a favorite spot in the district, a small haven in the otherwise bleak landscape of their home. bentley sanders, the young man who had taken over the shop from his mother not long ago, always kept it stocked with the best treats in the area — and often, maverick would get a few candies thrown at him for free, for his kindness.

maverick couldn't help but grin as he saw his friends. there was ellie, a short, freckled girl with her red hair braided neatly down her back; byron, tall and wiry, always with a nervous energy about him; and polly, the more serious one of the group, but her smile was just as bright when she saw maverick. the three of them were dressed as he was — clean, their clothes crisp and new, ready for the reaping. they waved maverick over enthusiastically.

❝ mav! ❞ they called in a chorus of high—pitched, child like cheeks.

maverick waved back, and he slowly jogged toward them, avoiding the puddles on the way.

ellie was the first to throw her arms around him when he reached them, pulling him into a tight hug. ❝ mav, i thought you weren't going to make it. ❞ she asked, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

byron could see an unsettling look upon maverick's face. ❝ look at all these sweets, ❞ he said, gesturing to the window, where the coloured jars of candies lined all the shelves and the window. ❝ my mouth's getting full of saliva at the thought of biting into a rhubarb drop... ❞

polly's head shook lightly, but her face wore a smile. it didn't quite reach her eyes, but it was there. ❝ let's go before byron starts licking at the windows. ❞

the group pulled away from the window, walking along the row of stalls. the marketplace was still busy, with people quietly going about their errands. maverick didn't know what to say, so he just walked alongside his friends in a comfortable silence, occasionally he'd glance up at the wares on display. they didn't stop to buy anything.

❝ i can't believe this is it, ❞ polly finally spoke, ❝ we're all just... waiting to be called. ❞

maverick winced, but nodded.

byron let out a nervous laugh, the sound sharp in the otherwise quiet air. ❝ i'm not getting picked. no way. i'm too small. ❞

ellie shook her head, stifling a laugh. ❝ you're not 'cus you're too much of a pain to deal with. they'll go after someone else. ❞

maverick laughed, softly. ❝ i don't think it works like that. ❞

the once lively chatter of the marketplace faded into silence as the thunderous rumbling of wheels echoed in the distance. maverick felt it in his chest first, like a distant storm rolling over the hills, growing heavier with every passing second. the others heard it too. the unmistakable sound of armored vehicles grinding over the gravel roads marked the arrival of even more peacekeepers.

maverick turned his head toward a nearby stall, eyes locking onto the cracked face of an old, weatherworn clock hanging lopsidedly from a wooden beam. his stomach lurched. it was almost time. he needed to get back before his parents worried.

he turned back to his friends, forcing a thin smile. ❝ i'll see you guys before the reaping, ❞ he promised.

his friends nodded, but none of them spoke. maverick hesitated for just a second longer before turning on his heels and heading home, leaving the market behind.

as he neared his house, he spotted his parents standing on the small wooden porch. his father held his mother close, her face pressed into his chest, her shoulders trembling. even from a distance, maverick could see the way his father's jaw was set tightly, his arms firm around her as if trying to shield her from something neither of them could stop.

when his mother lifted her head and caught sight of him, she quickly wiped at her eyes and straightened her shoulders. maverick pretended he hadn't seen her cry. instead, he raised a hand in greeting, offering a small wave.

the sound of the approaching convoy grew louder.

the first of the peacekeeper vehicles rolled into view, their stark white exteriors gleaming in the light. they were massive, monstrous machines, armoured and fortified, their heavy—duty wheels grinding against the dust—coated roads of district 10. and towering at the helm of each of the vehicles was the flag of panem, the capitol's mark, fluttering with an almost arrogant display against the clear sky. the vehicles moved in a steady, oppressive line, their sheer size overwhelming the narrow dirt roads, dwarfing the small, weather—beaten houses that lined the streets.

peacekeepers stood at attention, their pristine white uniforms untouched by the grit and sweat of the district. their helmets masked their expressions, making them look more like machines than men. rifles gleamed in the sunlight. they looked so out of place here — an invasion of sterile, merciless figures in a land of dust and hardship.

this was not the first time maverick had seen them. a contingent of peacekeepers was always stationed in every district, overseeing, controlling. but this — this display of force was different. this was the capitol reminding them why they were here, why they obeyed. the annual reaping always came with reinforcements, a silent threat dressed in white.

his mother stiffened at the sight, her fingers gripping maverick's shoulders tightly, her nails pressing into his skin through his shirt. it wasn't enough to hurt, but it was enough to make his heart pound faster.

she sighed, a deep, unsteady breath, then turned to his father. ❝ we should head down, ❞ she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. ❝ it's time. ❞

his father gave a curt nod, his face unreadable, and stepped down from the porch. maverick followed after his parents. he swallowed hard, his hands clenching at his sides.

the reaping was here.

maverick let his fingers tighten over his mother's. her hands were rough and calloused. her grip was firm but warm, like an anchor against the storm brewing in his chest. his other hand smoothed down the front of his shirt, as if flattening the fabric could still the tremors in his fingers, or suppress the biting nausea curling in his stomach like a coiling serpent.

he was twelve. a boy. despite maverick's efforts to stay composed, tears burned at the corners of his eyes and it made his vision blur with a glossy sheen.

he turned his head slightly, looking up at his mother, swallowing against the lump in his throat. she gave his hand one last squeeze before they reached the square, where hundreds of others were already gathered. this was it.

reluctantly, maverick released her hand and stepped away, his feet dragging as he joined the line of boys waiting to sign in. he kept his head down, watching the dust swirl underfoot, until he reached the front of the line. a woman in a crisp, unremarkable uniform barely spared him a glance. the needle pricked his fingertip—a tiny, sharp sting—and a single droplet of his blood welled up before being pressed against the parchment, staining it with proof of his existence. his name, which was written in a careful, impersonal ink, was slashed with a mark, a tally in the capitol's endless record of lives placed at risk.

with a curt nod, the woman dismissed him, already turning her attention to the next unwilling tribute in line behind him.

maverick took slow steps toward the crowd of boys, forcing himself to breathe evenly. his limbs felt odd, too light and too heavy at the same time. his heart still pounded against his ribs, an urgent, frantic rhythm that refused to settle.

he spotted byron standing among the crowd, their faces pale, their stiff postures betraying the fear they didn't speak aloud. ellie and polly were elsewhere, in the cluster of girls on the other side of the barrier that split the two genders. he gravitated toward byron, and positioned himself beside him. there were no jokes, no whispered schemes of future mischief. just silence.

the stage ahead loomed over them, its wooden frame worn but sturdy, an odd part of the town square. two massive video screens flanked it, dull and lifeless for now, waiting to broadcast the spectacle that was about to unfold. atop the platform sat the district elders who always looked detached and distant.

the peacekeepers didn't bother hiding anything. they stood in rigid lines along the barriers, their rifles held at the ready, helmets reflecting the muted light.

the air was thick and suffocating. conversations had died down to uneasy murmurs, and then, one by one, even those faded, leaving behind a vacuum of sound. the silence stretched on, taut and thin, ready to snap at the slightest touch.

maverick swallowed hard. his heartbeat was too fast, too loud. his fingers curled into fists at his sides. he felt weightless, as if he were floating outside of himself. his body swayed slightly, like a blade of grass bending in the wind. he clenched his fists again, trying to steady himself, but the feeling wouldn't leave.

the sharp, groaning creak of the town hall's doors is what snapped maverick back to reality. his head jerked up as the sound of buzzing followed.

there, standing tall with a carefully rehearsed poise, was cordelia gomez.

her silver—white hair curled into immaculate waves, stiffened with product, framing a face coated in thick layers of makeup. the powdered blush on her eyelids was an unnatural pink, matching the deep red of her lips, which curled into a smile far too polished to be sincere. a fitted pink dress clung to her figure, every seam and stitch meticulously placed, and a delicate ribbon perched atop her head like a final, deliberate flourish.

she was the capitol's embodiment in district 10. their escort. their reaper.

cordelia stepped up to the microphone, tapping it lightly with her manicured fingers before clearing her throat.

❝ welcome, welcome. happy hunger games. and, may the odds be ever in your favour, ❞ her voice echoed across the vast sea of faces in the open square.

a tight, knotted feeling swelled in maverick's stomach, growing as cordelia smiled at the crowd. the screens behind her blared to life, flashing to white.

❝ now, before we begin, we have a very special film, brought to you all the way from the capitol. ❞ the pale haired woman stretched out her hand as the screens flickered to the camera's that focused on the crowd quickly altered to an image of skulls.

maverick winced as the speakers crackled and then steadied, carrying a voice that was deep, husky,l and gravelly.

president snow.

his words carried across the square, slithering through the crowd in a carefully composed cadence, an echo of the same speech. the same empty justifications for the horror about to unfold.

❝ war. terrible war. widows, orphans, a motherless child. this was the uprising that rocked our land. thirteen districts rebelled against the country... ❞

maverick dropped his gaze to his hands. they were trembling. he clenched them, forcing his fingers to fold into the fabric of his shirt, rubbing the seams between his fingertips. a distraction. anything to focus on besides the screens flickering around him, playing images of past games.

❝ ...that fed them, loved them, protected them. brother turned on brother until nothing remained. and then came the peace, hard fought, sorely won. people rose up from the ashes and a new era was born. but freedom has a cost. when the traitors were defeated, we swore as a nation we would never know this treason again... ❞

on the stage, cordelia mouthed the words along with the video, her lips shaping each syllable. she had done this countless times before.

❝ ...and so it was decreed that each year, the various districts of panem would offer up in tribute, one young man and woman to fight to the death, in a pageant of honour, courage and sacrifice. the lone victor, bathed in riches, would serve as a reminder of our generosity and our forgiveness. this is how we remember our past. this is how we safeguard our future. ❞

then, the video cut off. the screens behind her flashed white, then black, and all attention snapped back to the stage.

cordelia's smile stretched wider as she clasped her hands together, eyes gleaming. She stepped forward, her voice poised, sweet, and unnervingly eager.

❝ now, ❞ she trilled, ❝ the time has come to select one courageous young man, and woman, for the honour of representing district 10 in the 51st annual hunger games. ❞ cordelia wore a smile across her face, one that stretched ear to ear, and her eyes glittered under the shine of the sunlight above her.

❝ as always, ladies first... ❞ cordelia reached her hand into a large glass bowl filled with small, folded slips of paper, each bearing a name. she fished her hand in it slowly, twirling her fingers over the slips, before she plucked one and held it in the air in front of her face. the smile in which she wore so proudly had since eased up, and faded.

❝ and, the lucky lady is... ❞ cordelia dragged out the suspense, her painted lips turning upward into a chilling smile once again, as she announced: ❝ sophia waters! ❞

maverick felt a gnawing apprehension dig into his stomach, like a worm writhing within him. it grew fiercer when the name of the young female rang out, which sent ripples of shock and grief throughout the assembly.

sophia stood frozen in place. maverick saw the exact moment her heart broke, after everyone around her turned to face her, shoving their arms into her to get her to shuffle towards the stage. sophia she dropped to her knees, defeated and torn. and, what was worse, was the poor girl was hard of hearing, meaning she was, as his mother would describe: cannon fodder.

a sharp and potent word split the sullen quiet.

❝ i volunteer! ❞

a hand rose from the crowd, and cordelia's lips parted with a gasp. ❝ what's this? we have a volunteer?! ❞

the young girls face flashed white, shocked at the fact that a random courageous, or possibly foolish act from another of her district meant she wouldn't serve time in the arena to die.

cordelia threw out her hand, ushering the volunteer to parade up the stairs and join her on the stage, the smile on her face still warm, yet slightly welcoming.

❝ come now dear. quickly, quickly, ❞ she chirped.

with the broadcast upon the screens now showing the body of the volunteer, heads turned, and whispers soon made it across the crowd. word of the volunteer being a past victor made its rounds, and it eventually hit maverick's ears.

❝ and what is your name, dear? ❞ cordelia spoke into the mic with her body partially turned to the female who stood beside her.

❝ eris reyes... ❞ eris mumbled under her breath, as she looked out into the crowd: her mind replaying every second of her first reaping years ago and the sadness that painted the faces of those in her district — a familiar expression that a lot of those occupying the crowd still wore.

❝ let's have a big hand for our brave volunteer — eris reyes! ❞

cordelia stood there, her hands gently colliding as she clapped, eyes traversing the ocean of sunken faces.

there was a long, silent pause.

❝ and now, for the boys! ❞ cordelia's shoes clacked with each step she took as cordelia travelled to the right bowl, stuck her hand in, and plucked up a piece of paper.

mavericks blood pounded against his temples as he watched as the escort unfurled the slip of paper. the sound of his heart seemed to amplify, and his world grew still and quiet as the syllables of the name rang through the silent crowd.

❝ maverick alces! ❞

the silence in the back mavericks mind was deafening. his breath hitched, and it took him a few moments to register that it was his name that had been called. he stood frigid, rooted on the spot, before being forcefully nudged forward by a boy beside him.

his strides were slightly mechanical as he ascended up the stairs, and he forced his face to stay calm, his eyes flickering over the crowd, to see if he could spot either his mother or father in the crowd. maverick scanned the faces of his district, lingering over his mothers tear riddled face.

cordelia placed her hands on both of the tributes shoulders and shifted on her heels to usher them into the large wooden doors that swung upon behind them.

❝ you'll both get given some time to bid your farewells to your loved ones. treasure the moment for as long as you can, ❞ she whispered.