❝ THE FALL ◐ the hunger games.

❝ CHAPTER ONE .

The smell of freshly cooked eggs filled the quaint house in District Three—a smell Denari Karma hated. She was certain it was the culprit behind her rude awakening. Her nose scrunched, and her eyes remained closed, but the sunlight streaming through the window made her acutely aware of morning's arrival. She'd been awake all of two minutes and was already annoyed.

"Starting your day in a bad mood sets you up for a bad day." Her brother's voice echoed in her memory, a saying he'd repeated countless times when they were kids. She'd stopped believing it long ago, but that didn't stop the thought from surfacing every morning.

Denari's eyes fluttered open, only to squint immediately against the intrusive sunlight. It didn't stop her from rolling out of bed, though, her movements accompanied by the groan of old springs. The mattress—practically ancient—had long since given up any semblance of comfort, molded instead to the imprint of her body. She was practically sleeping on bare coils.

No point in complaining, though. Complaints didn't change anything here. This was normal for her—and for most in her district. Still, she liked to be difficult.

Six steps out of her room brought her to the kitchen, where she was greeted by a broad figure that nearly filled the space by itself.

"Didn't think you'd be up this early," he said, turning just enough to glance at her.

Kade Austin. Housemate, ally, and friend. Also, apparently, her personal chef. Born and raised in the Capitol, he wasn't a fan favorite of the glittering circus that resided there—a fact Denari appreciated. Originally, he'd come to the Karma house as a fugitive, hiding out while searching for his sister. But over time, he'd become more than a temporary guest. He made the house bearable, painting over old, painful memories with new ones.

"Maybe you were just late to the game today," Denari teased as she plopped onto one of the stools at the dining table—a fancy name for a mismatched set of chairs and a table too small to serve a proper meal. "Don't you know anything about punctuality?"

Kade followed with two plates of scrambled eggs, the loose, fluffy piles divided evenly between them. Denari's face scrunched. She tracked the plate in his left hand—the one he always gave her—as he set it in front of her, the usual rusted fork perched on top.

"I hate eggs," she said bluntly.

"I know. Eat." His response was as routine as the breakfast itself.

This was their dance: Kade cooked eggs every morning, Denari declared her hatred for them, and Kade refused to let her leave the table until she'd cleaned her plate. Once upon a time, this ritual included heated arguments, but by the end of the first month, Denari had resigned herself to the inevitability of it all.

Despite her disdain, Denari devoured the eggs. Reaping Day usually killed her appetite—fear and anxiety bubbling up to consume her. Even after her name wasn't called, the relief rarely dulled the weight in her chest. But today was different. Today, Denari wasn't cowering under the reaping's shadow. If fear lingered anywhere inside her, it was buried beneath layers of sharper emotions—or simply ignored.

"Nadia stopped by earlier," Kade said between bites, shoveling the last of his eggs into his mouth. He grabbed their empty plates and carried them to the sink. "She said to meet at the usual spot."

Denari nodded, watching him move. He always looked so at ease, even in moments like these.

"I can clean up," she offered, standing. "I don't need you taking all the housewife duties."

Kade scoffed, waving her off. "I've got it. Go see Nadia."

"If you say so, Hercules," she quipped, raising her hands in mock surrender before letting them drop back to her sides. "We're still heading to the town center together, right? For the reaping?"