A peculiar sensation jolted Hazel. An alien vibration resonated through her bones. She sat up, her green eyes snapping open, her senses on high alert.

  Hazel's copper hair cascaded over her shoulders as she glanced upward. The pine needles above were trembling. For a brief, sun-drunk moment, she thought it was an earthquake.

  A resounding thwack reverberated within the trunk beneath her. It was then it became evident that the rhythmic chopping originated from the very tree she had been resting against.

  Her heart raced as she peered down, her eyes locking onto a figure hacking away at the base of the pine. Draped in a dark green coat, the figure's presence was out of place amidst the summer heat of District Seven.

  "Hold on!" Hazel croaked.

  The axe-wielding figure paused, glimpsing upwards.

  Yet their face remained veiled.

  Hazel's attention rushed to the tree's trunk. The axe had carved a deep, wedge-shaped gash. The exposed wood pulp was sandy brown, rough, and splintered. Bark shards were scattered around the base.

  Unheeded, the figure resumed his task with vigor. The tree now swayed under the assault. It groaned and creaked, mourning its impending fate. Each strike of the blade dispatched another swell of panic through her.

  "Stop!" Hazel's voice cracked.

  But it only seemed to fuel the tree assailant. Hazel ditched her lunch. The homemade apple bread tumbled from her lap. Its golden crust and melting butter were like a fleeting dream that disappeared into the abyss below.

  Scrambling to descend, Hazel's muscles felt heavy, weighed down, and wholly uncoordinated. But time was a luxury she no longer possessed.

  The air brimmed with the deafening whack of splintering wood. Birds scattered from their perches. Leaves and pine needles rained like confetti at a morbid gathering. The thunder of the tree's mighty trunk rushed through the woods.

  Her hands were raw and bleeding as she clawed at branches, bark tearing away beneath her fingertips.

  Time slowed as the tree reached its tipping point, teetering on the precipice of collapse. Then, with an overpowering roar, it surrendered to gravity's embrace.

  Hazel's world tilted, a heady rush of adrenaline flooding her senses. Her stomach churned as the ground rushed to meet her, the massive Ponderosa Pine succumbing to its fate.

  Hazel's reality blurred into a whirlwind of motion and noise as the colossal tree hurtled toward the ground. Her tightly shut eyes couldn't block the overwhelming sensation of freefall. Amid the turmoil, a familiar voice pierced her nightmare, calling her name.

  Hazel's body spasmed, jerking her out of the stomach-emptying plunge.

  Dawn's first light remained a distant promise on the horizon. Blinking away the remnants of her dream, Hazel fought to shake off the sensations of crashing branches and the gut-wrenching drop.

  She was sprawled erratically in her bed, drenched in sweat, her heart still pounding from the vivid dream. The lingering adrenaline coursing through her veins clashed with the creeping calm of consciousness.

  Her room lay still in the pre-dawn darkness, and she groaned softly into her pillow, pulling the patchwork blanket closer.

  "Lazybones," the voice from before teased.

  A tall silhouette emerged from the shadows. "Come on, you have to get up, or we will be late."

  Hazel remained still, her face nuzzled deeper into the welcoming embrace of her pillow.

  "Come on, Haze," the voice urged once more.

  Hazel let out a resigned sigh, her nightmare still fading. She rubbed her eyes, trying to erase the last traces of fear that clung to her. "Ugh, Silus, what would I do without my personal alarm clock?"

  "You would have been fired a long time ago," Silus's deep and warm voice grew louder as he teased her. "You are welcome, by the way."

  Hazel turned to glare at him, her gaze traveling up to meet his. Despite his large stature, his voice retained a deep warmth, matching his youthful yet strong face. At seventeen, Silus's features were nearly an exact copy of his father. His cropped dark hair framed deep chocolate brown eyes that sparkled with mischief in the early morning light.

  He wasn't wrong. Mornings were always a struggle for Hazel, a battle she had fought for as long as she could remember. Her eyes briefly flicked to the sleeping forms of Lily and Linden, her eleven-year-old twin siblings, nestled together in their bunk bed. The bunk's wood creaked as the twins shifted in their sleep.

  "Shh, you'll wake them," Hazel whispered.

  Silus chuckled softly, shaking his head. After a playful glance toward the twins, he whispered back, "Those two sleep like the dead; I swear they wouldn't wake for an earthquake. And you, if you could manage to wake up without my help, I wouldn't have to risk it, dragging you out of bed every day."

  "All right, all right, I'm up," Hazel conceded with a mock grumble. She swung her legs out from under the blankets and onto the rough-hewn wooden floor.

  She sat forward slightly. Her red hair and wild, tousled mane tumbled over her shoulders, tickling her skin. She stretched, her muscles stiff from sleep, and the sensation of rising from the bed was both a challenge and a ritual. The morning air was cool, brushing against her skin, drawing her more into the waking world.

  Standing up, the floorboards creaked softly beneath her weight. She glanced at the room around her. Despite being modest, it was rich in character.

  The walls were covered in squares of rough scrap paper, showcasing Linden's black and white charcoal drawings. On the windowsill, in a coffee cup-turned vase, a few wild roses and dandelions added a floral touch, even if they were slightly wilted along the edges. She spared another glance at Lily and Linden, comforted by the sight of their undisturbed sleep.

  Silus and Hazel crept through the house, stepping lightly on the cool, bare wooden floors. Each room they passed bore the marks of a family of eight living closely together: homemade furnishings worn smooth by years of use, walls adorned with a hodgepodge of family photos and children's drawings, shelves lined with well-thumbed books and hand-carved toys.

  In the kitchen, the familiar pre-work ritual of the early morning was in full swing, all under the watchful eye of Rowan, Hazel's sixteen-year-old stepbrother. His movements were graceful, his longer limbs moving with a fluidity that was very much the opposite of Silus's more robust stature. Warm-tone light from the overhead lamps highlighted his tanned skin, turning his curly, longer hair into a wild, tousled halo.

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  "Ah, the sleeping beauty awakens," Rowan teased, his voice cracking slightly due to adolescence's unpredictable changes. His eyes, while similar to Silus's, were distinguished by specks of a softer brown, almost golden color. Hazel couldn't help but wonder if his softer features came from his mother, as they differed strongly from Silus and his father.

  Hazel yawned, stretching her arms high, her joints popping in the quiet kitchen. "I still don't get how you two are so chipper at this unearthly hour." Picking up a slightly bruised apple from the fruit bowl, she began to fill her thermos with the strong, steaming black coffee. "Like a human rooster."

  Silus laughed, patting Rowan on the back. "Now, that's an image. Rowan, the human rooster of District 7."

  "You can be our new district mascot." Hazel joked, winking at him.

  Rowan rolled his eyes. "Better a rooster than a night owl who can't get out of bed without help."

  A deep, groggy voice from the doorway suddenly cut through their light banter. "Can you three keep it down, please?" Hazel's stepfather, his hand wearily rubbing the sleep from his eyes, asked. His middle-aged face, lined with the marks of years of hard labor, mirrored an older version of Silus. His deep chocolate eyes were so much like his sons. Once uniformly dark, close-cropped hair now bore the beginnings of gray sprinkled along his sideburns.

  "Sorry, Dad," Rowan and Silus chanted in near unison.

  "Sorry, Oren," she murmured.

  Oren offered a nod of acknowledgment before turning to retreat to his room, the door closing softly behind him.

  Silus gave them both a conspiratorial wink. "Let's get going before we wake up Mom." The three exchanged knowing glances. Hurrying, they did their best to move silently through the house.

  Near their front door, there was an aged wooden rack that had seen better days. Their axes were lined up in an orderly row. Each handmade tool bore the scars of countless hours of felling and marking.

  Hazel reached out for her own axe. It was a tool that was more like a fifth limb. The handle had been rubbed smooth. "Morning, Oliver," she whispered to it. As a child, she had been intent on naming all of her toys and belongings, and her axe was no exception.

  "You're so weird sometimes," Rowan mumbled beside her, securing his own nameless axe.

  "He's just jealous," she whispered.

  "Come on, you two," Silus commanded.

  Stepping outside, the trio was met with the crisp morning air, a refreshing yet bracing reminder of the day ahead. The warmth of their home faded from her skin.

  Hazel adjusted her grip on Oliver, her fingers finding their familiar positions on his handle as they prepared for another day of labor in the rugged beauty of District Seven's forests.

  As they crunched their way down the gravel pathway, the first hints of dawn began to paint the sky with a rose-tone hue. The trail was a well-worn ribbon that snaked through the heart of the district.

  Nestled in a valley surrounded by towering forests, District Seven began to wake. Tiny houses dotted the outskirts, their fields a quilt of greens and browns.

  The people of District Seven were a hardworking bunch. Their lives were enmeshed with endless forests that surrounded them. They weren't wealthy by Capitol standards, but their resourcefulness, combined with the abundance of natural resources at their disposal, ensured that they lived comfortably.

  But beyond this lay the vast expanse of trees, the lifeblood of their community.

  The Alpine River was the artery that brought water and life to the heart of Seven. At its edge was the gargantuan dam. The low rumbling of the structure was a constant purr in the distance. The perpetual sound hovered over the district day and night this time of year.

  Surrounding it all were hazy mountain peaks, watching over the valley below. However, they offered little protection from the true dangers of Panem.

  As they neared the center of town, Hazel could almost feel the rhythmic drone of the lumber mills.

  Hazel inhaled deeply. The dewy scents of her district filled her capillaries. The crisp, earthy aroma of pine and cedar mingled with the subtle sweetness of freshly cut timber.

  She coughed as another aroma mingled with her favorites. Even this early in the morning, the paper mill's chimneys burped out plumes of white smoke, releasing a scent that no one in the history of the district had ever grown to like.

  The town square was the heart of the community, where people gathered, traded, and celebrated on certain days. But today, it bore an entirely different atmosphere.

  Hazel's eyes were drawn to the stage set up in the center of the square. Workers were busily erecting the platform and draping it in the colors of the Capitol. It was stark and jarring up against the rustic backdrop of their district. People walked by with hurried paces. More than a few kept their heads down, not wanting to lay eyes on the structure.

  Tightness burrowed into her chest when she allowed herself another glimpse of it.

  "Three days to the reaping," Silus breathed beside her.

  The knot that had taken residence in Hazel's stomach consolidated at his words. She exhaled slowly, "Just glad it's my last year."

  Rowan shot her a look, "Lucky you. I've still got three more to go, and Silus has two. And then there's the twins... and Sage."

  The thought of eight-year-old Sage, with his bright, chestnut eyes full of innocence, sent frigidity down Hazel's spine. "I don't want to think about it."

  "Let's not, then." Silus draped an arm around each of his siblings, "Got a whole day's work ahead. Speaking of ... did you guys hear 'bout Birch? Got himself demoted for smoking Cyder on the job."

  Rowan laughed, shaking his head. "That sure explains his existential rants. I always thought he was just sunbaked."

  Hazel elbowed him good-naturedly, "Sounds like he was baked to me."

  Rowan chuckled, "That's one way to make cutting trees all day interesting."

  As they reached the lumber mill, the growl of engines shook the air along with the scent of diesel. Lumber trucks idled like colossal metal beasts, ready to transport them into the emerald depths of woods.

  Climbing into one of the trucks, Hazel settled into her customary spot next to her brothers. Usually, the interior was abuzz with chatter and laughter. Yet, today was different. The atmosphere was stained with a gray, tense undercurrent.

  As Hazel exchanged glances with her brothers, she could discern the unease that flickered in their eyes, lurking just below the surface. Their unspoken fears mirrored her own, and the weight of the impending reaping hung over them all.

  With a lurch, their daily journey began. As the truck wove its way through the serpentine forest paths of District Seven, Hazel found herself lulled into a drowsy trance by the rhythmic motion. Resting her head on the cool window of the vehicle, her consciousness ebbed away.

  Suddenly, a surge of unease coursed through her. She was standing in the forest, but everything felt dreadfully wrong. The towering trees dominated the sky above. Their branches swayed like sinister appendages.

  A pervasive dread clawed at her. Something was amiss. However, she couldn't quite decipher what. The darkness was thicker, and an eerie fog clung to her skin, chilling her to the bone. The forest, usually familiar, now felt unearthly.

  There was a glimpse of movement in her periphery. A figure was cloaked in a shade of green that blended seamlessly with the environment. Their eyes were a shade of vivid green that mirrored the forest itself. There was something familiar about this presence, a faint reflection of recognition that teased her memory.

  Hazel followed him against her better judgment. It was as though she had no control over her movements. She was merely a helpless witness to her actions.

  Abruptly, the figure vanished into the shadows, leaving Hazel utterly alone in the impenetrable darkness of the forest. The air grew thick with a fog that coiled around her feet, and as she gazed downward, she noticed little white flowers gleaming in the scant light. An oppressive silence enveloped her, broken only by the buzz of something slicing through the air.

  The noise only intensified, growing louder with each passing second as if the unknown entity was hurtling towards her. Panic surged within her as she braced for the unknown.

  And then, it materialized before her eyes. A mammoth, red-bladed axe, wheeling end over end, closing in on her.

  Hazel's heart raced, her instincts screaming at her to flee. But her muscles were paralyzed with fear. Just as the blade's edge was about to make contact, Hazel's eyes shot open. She let out a soft gasp as her eyelids fluttered rapidly.

  Gradually, her fingers relaxed their iron grip on Oliver, and she passed a trembling hand over her face, pressing at her eyes as if to physically erase the remnants of fear.

  Get it together.

  Maybe I need more sleep.

  Or maybe I should stop letting Rowan make the coffee.

  Her eyes then drifted to the forest beyond the truck's window. The forest was misty, still mostly dark, yet it lacked the ominous nature of her dream.

  Hazel shook her head with a deep sigh, her fingers massaging her temples in small circles. She tried to promise herself it was just paranoia, sleep deprivation, or how this time of year always gave her nightmares.

  But deep down, a distant whisper warned her that this time, this year, things would be at odds with any other.