Timber

Chapter Twelve: Opening Act

The District Eight boy slumped against the marble, his braid hanging limp over one shoulder, strands unraveling in every direction.

Hazel watched him and tried to decide whether he was bold or just stupid. Smuggling a weapon onto a Capitol train? Bold. Thinking it would change anything? Stupid. She hadn't even considered trying. Challenging the Capitol with a box cutter felt like trying to punch out the moon.

Then again, she'd just been a breath away from biting a Peacekeeper over a necklace. So maybe she didn't have the moral high ground.

Next to him, the girl from Eight hovered. She wasn't saying anything, just touched his shoulder like she wasn't sure what else to do. 

A nudge from Silus pulled her back. She blinked. The Peacekeepers were lining them up like merchandise. District One at the front, Twelve at the rear. Eight's boy was dragged into place, his arms hooked under the elbows of two Peacekeepers. He didn't walk so much as dangle.

Hazel and Silus ended up near the center. He slipped his bad hand into hers. She covered it without a word.

Commander Drayton addressed the group. "Alright, everyone," he began. "You will stay on the marked path at all times. If you even breathe too close to the barriers... Well, let's just say we don't do warning shots 'round here."

Hazel's gaze dropped to the faint red on the floor. It was probably laser-tripped.

"I suggest you all stay in line," he went on, pacing in front of them like a teacher who hated his job. "Don't even give me a reason to think about you. I'm not in the mood, and I'm sure Dr. Gaul would like all twenty-four of you to make it to the games intact.

His eyes then fixed on the boy from District Eight. "As intact as possible, at least."

Hazel didn't speak, just glanced sideways at Silus. He gave her hand the faintest squeeze.

Commander Drayton's whistle split the air, and the line lurched forward.

As Hazel and Silus stepped outside, the Capitol hit like a punch to the face. Noise, light, movement. None of it was gradual. The crowd roared, vibrating through the pavement and straight into her bones.

The sheer magnitude of the city was beyond anything she had imagined. The architecture was mesmerizing, with buildings twisting into spirals and curves in ways that defied the laws of physics.

But between the sparkle and shine, the scars of the past remained. Scaffolding clung to half the buildings like spiderwebs. Metal beams jutted from exposed walls, and small piles of rubble sat like forgotten graves along the edges of the road. She guessed they were leftovers from the war. A cleanup in progress.

The further they walked, the thicker the crowd grew. They pressed against the barricades. Some were dressed in outfits that Hazel's brain couldn't comprehend. Hair that belonged in wind tunnels, eyes surgically stretched wide, clothes stitched together like fever dreams.

Somewhere overhead, music piped in from unseen speakers. Everywhere she looked, cameras blinked. Some hovered. Others tracked her like hungry birds.

She glanced at Silus. He looked like she felt. Caught between disbelief and nausea.

Snippets of conversation drifted from the crowd like pollen.

"Poor things have to kill each other or watch the other die."

"That's so sweet they're holding hands."

"Lumberjacks are strong. Look at his arms. I bet he could take out Two's streak."

"And you know what they say about redheads."

Hazel blinked, then looked down at their joined hands. Her fingers still shielded his wound, careful not to press too hard. But Silus squeezed tighter.