As the workday in the dense forest of District 7 drew to a close, Hazel, Silus, and Rowan, along with the rest of the lumberjacks, assembled at the designated pickup spot. They were ready to leave the deep, secluded parts of the forest behind, the dense canopy slowly receding as they prepared for the journey back to civilization.

The sturdy trucks that had ferried them up the mountain in the morning now awaited their return, their engines idling quietly. These vehicles, built for durability rather than comfort, creaked under the weight of the weary workers.

Hazel, Silus, and Rowan huddled inside the truck amidst their colleagues. The usual banter that filled these rides home was notably subdued, replaced by low murmurs and long periods of silence. The sense of unease was palpable.

As the truck began its descent, the winding path down the mountain offered a panoramic view of the forest they were leaving behind. The lush greenery, a mix of towering pines and sturdy oaks, stood as silent sentinels watching over them. Hazel gazed out of the truck, her eyes taking in the serene beauty of their surroundings. Yet, the tranquility of the forest seemed at odds with the turmoil within her.

The lumberjacks' faces, etched with the physical toll of their occupation, now bore a different kind of weariness. It was fatigue that stemmed not from physical exertion. The usual satisfaction of a day's hard work was overshadowed.

As the lumber truck descended the rugged path toward town, Rowan leaned slightly toward Hazel and Silus. Hazel smiled internally to herself. Since Rowan had turned fourteen, he rarely allowed her to hug him anymore. She remembered when he was a little toddler and begged her to hold his hand constantly. The memory warmed her heart, and she rested her head on his shoulder. The truck, filled with the day's fatigue and the workers' silent contemplations, moved steadily, its engine a constant backdrop to their thoughts.

Upon reaching the mill, the truck stopped, its engine quieting as it idled. With a metallic clang, the back door swung open, signaling the end of their journey. Hazel, Silus, and Rowan, along with the rest of the crew, stepped off the truck, their movements reflecting the day's toll.

Hazel stretched her arms, trying to ease the stiffness in her muscles. "Another exhilarating day in paradise, right?" she said, her voice laced with a hint of irony as she turned to her brothers.

Silus responded with a wry smile, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "Absolutely thrilling. Now off to the paper mill for another round of excitement." He had taken to working evening shifts at the paper mill, contributing extra income to support their family.

"I'm heading to the hospital," Hazel added, rolling her shoulders to release some tension. "I'll try to sneak in a few hours before the curfew. Maybe it'll be a quiet night with just minor splinters to deal with." Like Silus, Hazel had taken on additional work at the local hospital, aiding in whatever way she could, from cleaning linens to assisting the nursing staff with minor tasks.

Adjusting his backpack and preparing to leave, Rowan joined in their light-hearted exchange. "Well, while you two are off on your exciting adventures, I guess I'll be at home, keeping the twins and Sage entertained."

"Yeah, you got the short end of the stick there, Row," Hazel winked at him.

Hazel's attention was diverted to a scene unfolding at a distance. She observed an animated Foreman, Thron Pilner. His gestures and agitated demeanor indicated he was passionately recounting something.

Standing as a stark contrast to Thron's fervor was Oren, a figure of composed authority. Hazel noted her stepfather's imposing stature, his broad shoulders squared as he listened intently. His dark skin was weathered yet resilient, a testament to years of outdoor work, and his hair was closely cropped, adding to his no-nonsense appearance. The lines on his face, etched from years of responsibility as the Head of Lumber Distribution, spoke of his responsibility in managing the crucial task of overseeing District 7's lumber production and dispatch.

As Oren finished his conversation with Thron and made his way toward them, his stern demeanor softened upon seeing his children." Thron Pilner has quite the story about you three today," he remarked with a tired smile, running a large hand over his face.

Hazel exchanged a glance with Silus and Rowan. "Is everything alright?" she asked.

Oren's eyes held a mix of mild amusement and curiosity. "Well, let's just say Thron has his version of the day. But I'm more interested in hearing yours."

Oren's gaze shifted between Hazel and Rowan, a silent prompt for more information. Hazel hesitated, her eyes darting to Rowan, who stood with his arms crossed, with a scowl forming.

"You know how tense things can get with the reaping coming up," Hazel finally said. "People say things..."

Rowan cut her off, "He meant what he said, Dad." His voice was tight, his stance rigid.

Oren's eyebrows raised slightly. "Who said what, son?" His voice was even, but his posture subtly changed, leaning in with an alertness that spoke of his concern.

Silus stepped forward, his voice low but clear. "Foreman Thron, he... he made a comment about Hazel being our sister and not looking like us," he said, his words careful.

Oren's eyes moved slowly over each of his children, absorbing Silus's words. A faint nod followed. "I see," he said, his voice steady.

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Silus hesitated before adding, "And Holt ... he said some things. About our family. About Mom and you." His voice trailed off.

Oren pondered for a long time, eyes downcast. This wasn't the first time this topic had come up, and Hazel guessed it wouldn't be the last. Oren's gaze fell on Hazel, "What others say about us doesn't define who we are. It's our actions and our integrity that truly matter."

"Yes, of course. Silus handled it. It really wasn't a big deal," She added.

Oren's eyes shifted to Silus, a hint of pride in his smile. "Of course." He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to ensure only they could hear. "If anyone asks, you three got a good talking-to about today, alright?" His eyes flicked briefly towards Thron, who was still observing them from a distance.

The siblings nodded in understanding.

Oren straightened up, ready to return to his duties. "Make sure you're home before curfew. And," he added, a twinkle in his eye, "I believe mom's making apple pie tonight."

At the mention of more apples, the siblings couldn't help but groan in unison, the thought of any more apple-themed food less than appealing.

Oren's eyebrows shot up. "That's not the reaction I expected." Across the yard, a voice could be heard calling Oren's name. He turned and yelled over his shoulder before returning to the three, "See you at home, just remember to keep your heads down. Keep a low profile, especially around Thron. He's not in the best of spirits these days. And be home for the curfew, no exceptions."

"We will, Dad," Silus assured him. As Oren walked away, he playfully ruffled Rowan's hair before crossing the yard and disappearing into the mill.

Rowan swatted his hand away and began to jog home with a short wave to Silus and Hazel.

Silus gently tapped Hazel on her arm, his expression soft yet concerned. "Be careful at the hospital," he said. "And Hazel," he paused, his voice lowering, "try to come straight home tonight, alright?"

Hazel nodded, a faint unease flickering in her eyes. "I will see you soon," she replied.

The urgency of the curfew drove Hazel's brisk walk to the hospital. The extra income from her hospital job was a crucial contribution to her family's livelihood. In a district where the mainstay of work was in the lumber industry, the risks of injury were high, and the additional earnings helped them navigate the financial uncertainties that often came with such a hazardous profession.

The knowledge she gained there was invaluable, primarily when accidents occurred in the woods. Her basic medical skills had come in handy more than once, allowing her to provide first aid to injured lumberjacks before they could get proper medical attention.

The hospital itself was a modest structure, its walls echoing with the footsteps of medical staff and the occasional groans of patients. Its resources were limited, reflecting the district's place in the hierarchy of Panem. Yet, within these walls, Hazel found a sense of purpose and learning. The hospital was quite removed from the rough-and-tumble environment of the logging site.

As she entered the hospital, a wave of antiseptic smell hit her, a striking difference from the fresh, earthy aroma of the forest. She wrinkled her nose slightly, still not used to the clinical scent even after her months working there. The hospital, with its basic structure and limited amenities, was a far cry from the state-of-the-art facilities in the Capitol. Its walls, painted in faded hues, bore the marks of time and constant use. The staff, dressed in well-worn scrubs, crept, attending to patients with a practiced routine that spoke of their experience handling the district's frequent lumber-related injuries.

She went to the nurses' station, where Mrs. Larkin, the elderly charge nurse, organized patient files. Mrs. Larkin's long white hair was pulled back into a neat bun, and her glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. She looked up as Hazel approached, her eyes softening.

"Ah, Hazel, just the person I wanted to see," Mrs. Larkin greeted her. "We're sending everyone who isn't essential home early tonight. The curfew's got us all adjusting our schedules. I won't keep you long tonight, dear. Just some basic tasks, and I want you clocked out by 6:15. You need to be home before that curfew."

Hazel grasped the clipboard firmly, scanning Mrs. Larkin's list of tasks. She began moving through the hospital's narrow, dimly lit corridors, her rubber-soled shoes making a soft sound on the linoleum floor. The walls, painted in a once-bright but faded shade of blue, bore witness to countless years of healing and care. The fluorescent lights flickered occasionally, casting a clinical glow over the sparsely furnished rooms.

Hazel's mind was a whirlwind of focus and efficiency as she went about her duties. She methodically cleaned the assigned areas, wiped down surfaces with a practiced hand, and assisted in preparing and distributing patient meals. With its limited resources, the hospital demanded versatility from its staff, and Hazel had learned to adapt quickly.

At one point, a couple of nurses, their hands full, called on Hazel to assist with changing bandages on a couple of patients. As she carefully unwrapped the old bandages and helped apply fresh ones, her mind flashed back to her first day at the hospital.

She remembered how the sight of an amputated limb, a result of a logging accident, had made her stomach churn. Back then, her inexperience with such gruesome injuries had sent her rushing to the bathroom every fifteen minutes, fighting the urge to throw up. Hazel couldn't help but think wryly that her mother's asparagus cooking spree at that time certainly hadn't helped her queasy stomach. Over time, she had grown accustomed to the sight of such wounds.

After assisting with the bandage changes, Hazel glanced at the hospital clock. It was nearing time to leave. She walked briskly back to Mrs. Larkin, who was engrossed in sorting through a pile of patient charts. "I'm heading out now, Mrs. Larkin. Thanks for letting us leave early," Hazel said, her voice tinged with gratitude.

"Take care on your way home, Hazel," Mrs. Larkin responded without looking up, focusing on her work. "And stay safe."

Hazel offered a brief smile and a nod before leaving the hospital. A sense of guilt nagged at her; Silus had urged her to come home after her shift. However, a glance at her watch showed it was only 6:15 PM. She calculated she had enough time to run a quick errand before the curfew.