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Estella guided a pale, trembling Susan through the dense crowd, the younger girl's small hand clutched tightly in hers. A grim buzz filled the air—a shared, unspoken tension that hummed between every footstep. Peacekeepers in stark white uniforms barked commands, herding the children like livestock. "All candidates stand with the others in their age group! Twelve-year-olds here! Thirteen here!" they called, their voices sharp and cold.
That's when Susan realized the crowd inside the square was made up of only children, aged twelve to eighteen. The adults—parents, shopkeepers, neighbors—stood separated by roped barriers, watching helplessly. Among them stood Mrs. William and Mr. William, faces etched with worry as their eyes locked on the two sisters.
Estella squeezed Susan's hand tighter, hoping her grip could somehow transmit calm, but a Peacekeeper stepped in, noticing the age difference, and without hesitation tugged Susan away. The girl cried out desperately for her sister, and Estella—helpless, heart pounding—could do nothing but give her a brave, comforting smile. It seemed to help. Susan didn't scream again, but her eyes stayed wide and searching.
Estella turned away, moving forward alone, passing one tense, drawn face after another as the mayor of District 5 stepped up to the microphone on the raised platform and began the ceremony with rehearsed solemnity. "My friends of District Five, in anticipation of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games, I welcome you to Reaping Day..."
As the mayor's voice droned on, Estella let her gaze drift over the sea of children, eventually finding Susan among the twelve-year-olds. She stood still, her posture stiff with dread, listening to every word though concern clearly pulled at her young features. Estella's eyes wandered beyond the crowd, scanning the workers folding paper slips—the names of the children drawn from blood samples just days ago.
Her heightened senses caught something strange. One woman, the same who had taken Susan's blood, was folding the name slips into square shapes—distinctly different from the rectangular folds everyone else used. Estella noted it, unease crawling under her skin. Something wasn't right.
Then her eyes fell on someone else. Him. The same boy she had encountered in the forest yesterday. Their eyes met for a brief moment before she quickly looked away, slipping into the cluster of sixteen-year-olds. Around her, the air buzzed with nervous posturing—false bravado masking quiet panic.
"This day, like The Games themselves," the mayor continued, "provides us a chance to reflect on the cost of our violent rebellion all those years ago, and to be grateful for the kindness now shown to us by the Capitol. It's a time for both repentance... and for thanks."
Onstage stood Iphigenia Moss, ever flamboyant in her lime-green suit and shockingly pink hair. Next to her was Dennis Fling—a clean-cut man with a thick beard and mustache, though everyone in the district knew of his alcohol problems. Estella recognized them immediately. They were always here, year after year—District 5's assigned mentors. Her eyes briefly met Dennis's.
