Hazel's mind, far from resting, replayed the events of the Capitol's broadcast. The images of the old arena being demolished lingered in her thoughts, vivid and unsettling. She remembered how the room had fallen silent, her family's faces reflecting a mix of alarm and confusion. The destruction of the arena wasn't just a spectacle; it was a symbol of change, a herald of unknown horrors to come.

She could still hear Snow's voice, smooth and chilling, promising a revolution in the Games. 'A revolution,' Hazel thought bitterly, 'or just a more creative way for the Capitol to kill district children.' She turned onto her back, staring at the ceiling, the shadows dancing in the faint light.

The Hunger Games were always a time of anxiety, but this new development added a layer of fear. 'What kind of horrors has the Capitol concocted this time?' she wondered.

Hazel turned on her side, pulling the blanket closer. Her mind was a whirlpool of worry and anger, not just for the tributes who would be thrown into whatever unknown hell the Capital had in store but for all of the people in the districts and the fragile safety they clung to. The room felt stuffy, almost suffocating in its stillness.

After another hour of chasing sleep but only running in place, she couldn't take it anymore. Maybe a glass of water would help, she thought. Gently, she slid out of bed, her feet touching the cool wooden floor. She tiptoed, mindful of the creaking floorboards, not wanting to disturb the peaceful slumber of the twins.

Stepping out of the room, Hazel entered the dimly lit hallway, her steps light as she approached the kitchen.

Hazel's steps halted as she neared the living room, her parents' low, tense voices reaching her ears. She lingered in the shadowed hallway, just out of sight, her initial intent to get water forgotten.

Fern shifted uncomfortably on the worn loveseat, her fingers intertwined in her lap. The crackling of the fireplace filled the brief silences, casting a warm but flickering light that danced across their worried expressions. Her blue eyes, usually filled with kindness, now held a deep concern. Light brown hair, usually neatly tied back, fell in loose strands, framing her tense face.

Oren, sitting beside her, appeared more composed but equally troubled. His features, usually so assured, now reflected the gravity of their conversation. His closely cropped hair and the lines on his face, usually marks of his resilience, seemed to deepen in the firelight.

"The destruction of the old arena... it was more than just a spectacle," Fern's voice faded in, barely above a whisper. "It's a display of what they can do, a warning to all of us. The Capitol wants to show that they can and will change the rules whenever it suits them."

Oren, his gaze locked on the flickering flames, nodded slowly. "Complacency isn't an option, Fern. We can't let fear paralyze us. We must be wise, but we can't cease fighting for what's just."

Fern's voice trembled with anxiety. "Oren, they're watching. Your actions... they're drawing attention."

Oren's response was firm, his tone tinged with an unwavering resolve. "What kind of example would I be setting if I didn't stand up for what's right? I can't, in good conscience, stand by and watch."

"You're risking too much," Fern insisted, her frustration evident. "This isn't just about principles. Our family's safety is at stake."

"Protecting our district, our home... isn't that a fight worth fighting?"

Fern's voice softened, carrying a note of vulnerability that was rare for her. "And what about your... your communications with Garth? Have you thought about the consequences of that?"

'Garth... Garth...' Hazel thought, her mind churning. The curiosity itched at her, a puzzle piece that refused to fit anywhere in the mental picture she had of her world. She sifted through her memories, associating them with the faces and names she knew in District 7, but nothing clicked.

Oren sighed, the weight of his choices evident in his expression. "I have. But it's not just about us. Other districts suffer, too."

Fern's eyes glistened in the firelight, her concern palpable. "But Oren, when they find out, it won't be the other districts that pay the price. The Capitol won't spare us."

The idea that Garth might be someone outside District Seven made her heart beat faster. She knew well that communication with other districts was forbidden, a transgression that could lead to severe punishment, possibly even death.

While Oren was beloved in District 7 and a figurehead of sorts, his popularity might not shield him—or their family—from the Capitol's wrath.

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Oren's expression hardened. "I know the risks. But doing nothing... that's not an option. We have a chance to make a difference, to help not just our district but others too." Their hands met, Fern's trembling fingers seeking Oren's. Oren's hand closed around hers, a silent promise in his grasp. "I'll be careful, love. But I can't promise to stop. Not when it matters this much."

A slight movement abruptly pulled Hazel's attention away. Turning her head, she noticed Silus partially hidden in the shadows further down the hallway. His eyes met hers, and he gestured for her to follow him towards the back of the house.

As they tiptoed down the hallway, the old wooden floorboards creaked softly under their weight. Each step was taken carefully to avoid any sound that might betray their movement.

The hallway walls were lined with faded family photographs and hand-drawn pictures. The soft, yellow light from the night lamp cast elongated shadows, giving the familiar space an eerie, subdued appearance.

Reaching the back door, Silus eased it open, the hinges letting out a faint squeak that seemed louder in the quiet of the house. They slipped through the door, the cool night air greeting them with a gentle caress. The porch, illuminated by the moon's soft glow, offered a serene escape. The wooden boards of the porch were worn smooth from years of use, and the railings were slightly chipped, giving off a rustic charm.

The backyard was bathed in silvery moonlight, the shadows of the trees swaying gently in the night breeze. The air was filled with the subtle sounds of the night - the distant hooting of an owl, the rustle of leaves, and the occasional chirp of a night cricket.

Hazel and Silus moved to the edge of the porch, leaning against the railing, their faces bathed in the pale lunar light. They exchanged a look, a silent agreement to speak in hushed tones, aware of the need for discretion.

Silus's silhouette was etched against the backdrop of the starry night. He turned to face Hazel, his eyes reflecting a seriousness different from his usually calm demeanor.

"You didn't come straight home from the hospital, did you?" His question, though softly spoken, hung heavily in the air.

Hazel's heart sank. She could feel the accusation in his words, the disappointment underlying his concern. She knew there was no use in denying it; Silus was too perceptive. She looked away, her gaze settling on the shadows that danced along the porch's wooden planks, unable to meet his probing eyes.

Silus exhaled, worry evident in his sigh. "I know Mrs Larkin let all the hospital staff off early. That's why I'm asking. You should have been home sooner. Did you go see him?" His question was pointed, direct.

Hazel felt a lump forming in her throat. She remained silent momentarily, wrestling with the reality of her actions and their potential consequences.

"I know Heath is your father, and you are trying to help, but he's not worth getting killed over." His gentle voice, laden with earnestness, made Hazel look up, finally meeting his gaze.

"Dad issues, right?" Hazel forced a weak chuckle. Silus's expression softened, but his eyes remained firm. Hazel's eyes flickered with mixed emotions – guilt, sorrow, and a hint of defiance. "I know," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I just... I can't live with the idea of him starving in that place." Her words trailed off, the image of her father in his rundown shack haunting her thoughts.

He paused, appearing to weigh his words before speaking. "I'm not saying you should let him starve, Hazel," he said, his voice tinged with frustration. "But you're taking unnecessary risks for him. Honestly, I think you care about him more than he cares about you."

She looked down, unable to meet Silus's steady gaze, and felt a knot of sadness tighten in her chest.

Silus continued, his voice softening but still carrying an edge of seriousness. "If something happened to you, I'm not sure he would even care, as long as his next drink was within reach."

She couldn't argue with him, but that didn't mean the words didn't hurt her.

His voice was softer, "I'm sorry, I'm not trying to hurt you."

She shook her head slowly, her eyes still averted, fixated on the intricate patterns of the wooden porch floor. "No, you didn't," her voice a mere whisper. "I know you're right, but I just keep hoping things will be different someday." The idea of a different reality, where her father was the man she needed him to be, lingered in her heart, an elusive dream she couldn't relinquish.

Silus didn't press her on this any further.

It was quiet for a while, and neither said anything as if they were soaking in the day's events.

"Did you hear them talking?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Silus's nod was heavy. "Yeah, I heard it."

"Do you have any idea what he's doing that would upset the Capitol so much?" Hazel's voice quivered with the fear of the unknown, her eyes searching Silus's for any sign of understanding.

Silus exhaled slowly, his gaze fixed on some distant point in the darkness. "I don't know all the details, Haze, but I've overheard things," he admitted his voice a blend of worry and resolution. "There's talk around the mill... whispers that Dad's been challenging the Capitol's demands. He's also been refusing to assign logging crews to certain parts of the forest."

Hazel felt a cold shiver run down her spine. The idea of her stepfather, Oren, as a beacon of defiance, both inspired and terrified her. "But that's dangerous, why would he do that?" Hazel asked.

Silus leaned against the house, his eyes reflecting the starlit sky. "I guess he has issues with increasing the lumberjacks' hours and the deforestation of some of our endangered areas. We're already working five days a week, Hazel. The quotas they're demanding now... it's just not sustainable." Silus's expression was somber, his gaze fixed on the distant stars. "He's trying to protect us, trying to protect what's left of our district."

Hazel's eyes followed Silus's gaze, looking up at the stars twinkling indifferently. The vastness of the night sky seemed to mirror the enormity of their problems. "Oren is a good man," she agreed softly. "But what if the Capitol sees his actions as a challenge? What if they decide to make an example out of him... out of us?"

Silus pushed away from the house, standing upright with a resolute look. "Then we face it together. We're family, Hazel. No matter what, we'll stick together. Always."

"Always." She repeated back to him.